scandaluscious!

In about two weeks, the preparation for locking myself up in my bedroom will have its fruit. I will be locked with an enough-for-48-hours supplies. Water. Food. Fruits. Yoga mat. Lights. Candles. Lots of them. Essential oils and aromatherapy utensils might work as well. And also emotions. Not the Bee Gees or Mariah Carey one, but things you have in you.

I will plug off my telephone, pull off internet connection, still thinking about plugging in my laptop which I can't live without. I won't answer my mobile. Text or voice wise. I will ignore any calls from my family. Friends may have to wait for another two days and two nights to know my whatabouts and whereabouts.

I will spend the next 48 hours or so with one to gaze at and direct all my concentration to. Cuddle with. Sleeping with. Laugh to or with. Cry with (if necessary). Sleep on. Hug. Touch. Caress. Should I fall asleep, I may drool on too.

Things like, "I knew it!", "Give me smore!", "Noooooo!", "Whyyyyyyyy?", "Yeah!!!", "Give me more!!", "Yes. Yes. Yes." or the ever universal "Oh. My. God." may be heard. Loudly or faintly. I don't think moaning and orgasmic screaming or laugh would be necessary, though. Regardless, after the 48-hour period is over, I'll become a new man. A sufficed satisfied new man that is.

One thing more. I'm seeing the face of my affair for the first time today. Face and butt. It's only fair that you know the face (and butt) of your future affair whom you're about to encounter a grueling 48-hour with. Now, I bet you two would also like to meet.

Meet my date.

Face.

Butt.

Oh. And apparently, ever since I asked myself, "What the fuck does 'hallows' mean?", looks like I've got me some company.

Two weeks to go, baby! (Monica-like) TWO WEEKS!

Enjoy the rest of the weekend.

best word verification ever

Just when, exactly, did Blogger decide to go urban?

weekend on steroids

You know what, I really hate myself for hating random people I don't know. Sometimes passionately. Like a British lad I know who hates Keira Knightley with a passion just because and I quote, "I can't stand her mouth."

But I can't escape the fact that I am once again ridiculously very happy for this news.

Great weekend, no?

FAQ

What will happen if you join a Dance Addict class to the music of Beautiful Liar, instructed by an almost-but-not-too-much hyperactive, addicted to hip thrusts and groin actions, always-looking-at-you-(or your way)-when-he-asked-questions ("Ready, guys?" Ne-fucking-ver!), Beyonce-wannabe, encouraging-to-mop-the-floor-with-your-shirt-and-pants choreographer?

Possible answers:

a. An accidentally kicked dancing partner. Accidentally accidental. Not accidentally in a Sir Norman Fry kinda way. Sorry, mate.

b. Accidentally kicked dancing classmates. Sorry, mate and mate.

c. A sore butt for being accidentally kicked. Twice.

d. A pair of hip joints needing recovery (but used for Power Yoga the next day anyway).

e. A gassy stomach. So bad so that you can't lift your left hip up.

f. An urge to go to the toilet to exhaust any gas, but only started when you were on a public bus that drove slowly but surely like that turtle in the race with the hare.

g. Trots that lasted less than five seconds.

h. A great time you know you would have had if only that friend of yours who is a huge Shakira fan (and tirelessly pushing the agenda of anti public display of self hip thrusting) had joined you.

i. An intro of a song you can't get out of your head even after 48 hours and you think that it should be your next ringing tone.

j. all of the above.

the real Sascha Pries, please stand up

Seriously, who the fuck is this Sascha Pries? Well, one thing for sure, this column published yesterday (snapped on the right) just made him (or her for that matter) my hero one of my heroes (or heroines for that matter).

I should have some kind of heroes weekly I think.

Kick some Monday's ass, guys.

Update: Link to the article. Hopefully it's permanent now.