Since when has it been that a lip-lock should change anything? No, it never should amount to anything. A lip-lock is just a lip-lock, nothing more, nothing less. It is just some integrated skin contact, not some ticket to the third base, neither is it a prerequisite to something that requires more body humping. Even if it constituted Josh Hartnett in the picture, a lip-lock is just a lip-lock. Nothing else.
Besides, it�s just a kiss, goddammit.
Second Order of Agenda…
First off, I need a stomach transplant.
I had a Jace moment this morning as the Gen. Trias wind breezed through my face from the open-windowed bus as I went home. You know when you get this feeling like your eyes are blessed with this natural wonder that your seatmates fail to take notice of, even if the breath taking wonder brings about such a wonderful feeling of nirvana? Simple things that people on the MRT fail to notice, like Jace said. Which is why I try to ride standing up on the MRT, because you just won�t get enough of the scenarios if you�re sitting down. Have you guys ever tried riding on the first train cab yet? The one that had the MRT driver on it? Once I made my mother run with me just for us to catch that train cab, in order for us to marvel at the way the rail tracks seem to come at you. He he.
Anyway, back to the momentary cheesy-ness, like I said, I had a Jace moment while I rode the bus on my way home from an overnight swimming. Yes, despite all the aches I�ve been through last Sunday to Monday, I managed to escape my mother�s frowns and fled to Gen. Trias, Cavite for a swimming victory party with the whole section celebrating our semester�s success�what with Anna and Mark winning the Fashion Expo, and us winning three major awards with our play, and now, us taking in 12 awards (that�s what I heard, although I couldn�t enumerate all of them) at the Gawad TALA (Talento, Awit, Lente, Arte) Video Awards night. So, with all the reminiscing I had this morning, it just seemed oh so fit with the morning rays dawning on every tree we passed by. Cavite just seems to be greener in the morning.
I can�t say I�ve had such a blast last night, though. I�m still bitter because I couldn�t take any of the beers around. I mean, the place is just over flowing with it, and I can�t even get to place any bottle near my lip. Come on: vodkas and red horses and san mig lights dancing around me, and my fucking stomach is up doing a revolution. I know I�m paying for my running to Mayrics� that Friday, but do I REALLY need to suffer this much?
No. that�s why I�m telling you now, I need a stomach transplant as soon as possible. If my fucking stomach�s going to desert me, my guts definitely won�t�and my guts can handle a fucking transplant, IF that�s what it takes to get the fucking beers rolling.
Anyone willing to be a donor? Just list your names below. My secretary will contact you for further questions.
