OHNO! Walang signal ang Globe punyetaaaahhh! Now that I'm in front of my pc let me traverse the rational barriers of my feminist cogitation: Katas.

No, I am not in love and I cannot accept that to be so for my fancies trick me, I know, I just know, that, despite this indefinable ineffable feeling, my emotions commit to the opposite pole of my rationality. And wherefore I am effusively demonstrative of my sentimental emotions, I am a woman who studies the concept of love through intellectual inference, and this man who I am infatuated with must be a total shrackass, a word of my invention which means a cunning opponent of a cunning woman cunning as himself for they are held on the chessboard of a cunning game called shracking, or mind games. He may not be able to deduce this right away, though he may be in the league of winning, for I am a step behind for the bastard has a FUCKING GIRLFRIEND and he only told me after FIVE foooreaaakin months of incessant flirtation.

I, like a crab whose carapace shield its squishy innards, am pachydermatous on the outside and flocculent on the inside. And most often than not I am a woman governed by pride and snob appearance who could tear a man into pieces of manflesh--nay, I am aware I am of wrong analogy. Nevertheless, you get the point: I am never submissive before a man, but apparently methinks that is so not the case.XP Days without blogging refrained my mentation from calculating my every step into this chess game of love. Uuuuukkk. Love. Riddance. The very word shakes my innards into tangled shriveling complications. And in this game I shall win. Winner shall I be, and to be one I shall have to apply my erudition in reconnaissance, that is, to study his movements, plan for action, and attaaaaaaaacccckkkkk!XP Gaaaaah. I have made every man in my life CRY and BEG and GROVEL at my feet, and no I am not hubristic, that's just how things work (nay, all men who underwent my feminist frame of machinations are but whiny friable little wussy asses), I swear they all kept coming back to me like attached, dependent, slimy baby slugs.XP My analogies are dead good lord.XP

All of them were assholes nevertheless. But this! This man seems to be in level with my deceitful chicaneries. He has a girlfriend of five years. Five years! And I, but of what, five months! I am of no comparison in terms of timespan, but perhaps of quality. Our moments together are seemingly passionately blissful: I am elated and submissive (Fuckage, I am submissive!X0 I lose my mind when he's around I swear.) when his presence near me, and when he is gone, I am back to my veneer of snobbery. Blast him, that fucking shrackass. And now that I have divulged my sentiments towards the buggery of my disturbed mind, it is time to plan for action. The aim is to make him want me more.XP Yes, I may be that kind of woman; I am ostentatious, but fuck you, this is my business!XP I fancy myself a sensual, passionate sex machine behind this moronic buffoonery.XP I am a buffoon camouflaged as the woman of every man's dreams! Everything is but a subterfuge, an act, and when I'm through, I leave. They, shattered to bits, craving the glue from me to put them back together. And so, the premeditation.

FUCK. He has a bloody fucking girlfriend of five fucking years. That's what's making me so effing mad. Gaaaaaaaahhhhh. If only... gaaaaaahhhhh.

So. The bullet points:

• Never say the three blasted words.
• Never get attached; when given a question, answer in general, vague statements.
• Let him do the talking.
• Take control: decide on dates, time, and places... and food to eat! For everything else, be in control!XP
• Make him your slave! Nya ha ha ha.
• Never show your emotions.
• Never have sex unless you want him horribly badly; sex in habit and memory kills physical passion.

That's about it for now. To be updated.

Word did you say?

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