It’s not a good idea to underestimate a woman, no matter how dim-witted she might be. Happenstance might step in and shift random quotients of fortuitousness in her favour.

If only because she’s a woman.

If a dim-witted woman were to keep a man in tow, the probability of the man becoming equally dim-witted is quite high.

Sometimes, the man might become increasingly befuddled and glazed, thus exceeding the level of dim-wittedness displayed by the dim-witted woman.

At the end of the day, it all comes down to love.

You fools.

I’ve learnt that coffee makes me happy (or at least not as unaccomodating as I usually find myself to be) in the morning. Then again, my disposition’s normally sunny at dawn. I’m not sure of myself in this respect; I’m also not sure about what my favourite position while sleeping is. If I did know, it’d most likely be easier to sleep, as opposed to endlessly pondering over what my favourite position was prior to actually sleeping.

But as I slowly creep out of the caffeine-induced episodes playing in my head, I’ve come to the realization that I miss being a muddled, unorganized brat of a child who didn’t know how to properly tie his shoelaces until he was 10. At least as a child, pompous behaviour could be attributed to simply being young. I suppose that it explains my brimming, ever-present inclination towards the most unattainable, extremely attractive and terribly outgoing girls with a sense of Parker Posey mirth and quirk. Because I treasure eccentricities that others would disregard as being plain…strange.

No, childhood pompous leanings don’t really explain my inclination at all. And a very low number of the aforementioned apples of my eyes could ever be considered pompous.

It doesn’t sound that strange when I think of all my past relationships being adventures. Not so much because of the drama, but because of how inextricably different each girl was in comparison to the other. There’s no pattern; no links; no commonalities; no method to the madness. (And it gets better in terms of those who got away.) Neither can I say that I was randomly trying my luck and casting a net whilst trying to ensnare multiple catches at once.

I respect the softer sex, if only because it’s hardly ’soft’. I could probably gush about the fascination I have with them in general, but that’d betray my standing as a (failed) misogynist. Or would it only contribute further? I’ll leave that particular vote in your hands.

More java, please.

Most of us enjoy being the center of the earth every once in a while, fully aware of our true calling to be yet another paeon in the scheme of things.

Then they’re some of us who think differently. A moment of madness or two presumably grants us the free reign to impart rampage upon a few lives or so, sparing ourselves of any feelings of selfishness or guilt because we think that it’s our God-given right, our calling, to do so. In the end, tears are shed, hearts are broken and everybody sleeps unsoundly, not knowing where to move on.

It’s amazing how quick you are to repent once you realize the extent of the damage that you’d caused. The hard part is coming to that realization.

Steering through the dreary cacophony that’s life is hard enough as it is without people coming in and making matters worse, be it unconsciously or not. What you do and what you say creates a ripple that, one day, will raise a fury so grand that even your dead mother will be popping out of her grave to have a listen. And you’ll be at the center of it. Unless you change. Buck up. And fuck off.

There’s no point asking for forgiveness when all you have to show for it is a smug grin and an insincere disposition.

This whole Don Imus fiasco worries me. The act of censure on the media’s part for what he said makes me feel that the world’s foremost proponent of free speech is second guessing itself.

I’ve never listened to his radio show, but I’m guessing that he’s a Howard Stern knock-off, only that he’s still on the terrestrial airwaves.

I suppose we’ve all gone liberal and PC to an extent that we can’t crack a few jokes without a bunch of placard-wearing, picket-waving feminists blowing hot air up our asses.

And even if he is a bigot, I still believe that he should get a fair chance to say what he wants. People tune in, no? Otherwise, you could simply change the station…or just stop listening completely.

Nobody lightens up anymore.

Show me the last guileless girl alive, and I’ll give you a million bucks. Show me the last semi-guileless girl alive, and I’ll give you half a million. Throw a rock in the air, and it won’t land on either of these classifications of the ’softer’ gender…simply because they don’t exist.

I don’t believe that any woman ever has a man’s best interests at heart. Ever. Somehow, even the best of intentions are thrown into a strange tangent, giving totally unexpected results. Everybody’s selfish. Everybody’s trying to look good.

Especially them. We might moan and groan about how we can’t live with them/without them, but, Godwilling, it seems inevitable to believe in them simply because they will it off you.

Everyone’s fake. It’s just that women seem to need to be that way much more desperately than men do, whether it’s to prove a point or to hammer the last nail into the coffin.

Wily vixens vividly vex. Always.

It just occured to me that I’ve only met a few genuinely funny girls before. I’ve seen more than my share of comediennes/talk shows hosts on the telly, but as for someone with a genuine sparkle in her eye with an uninhibited nature, I’d have to go out on a limb and say that there’re not a lot of those out there. Everybody’s so serious around here that it borders on being a parody…either that, or they’ve got a heavy case of wanting to be bimbo bland or simply just too stereotypically introspective and sensitive.

I know that not everybody can be Sarah Silverman, but it’s not the point.

On a different wavelength, I like ditzy girls…because they’re totalling unaware of their ditzyness most of the times, and it makes them more endearing. Being ditzy is not the equivalent of being a bimbo. I’m fighting hard for a line to be drawn between the two.

Seeing someone hamming up the femininity can be such a drag.

It’s just as pretentious as name-dropping Sarah Silverman.