Thank God for the Internet, specifically for the comforting knowledge that I am not the lone high-heel wearer whose heels keep slipping out of them fancy little chunky-heeled stilettos.
In other news, it had been a pretty fun Saturday, riding a bike in the morning dragged across the Marikina river banks by a group of enthusiastic bikers for 17 kilometers (to Eastwood City, no less, and back again), agent hunting part two, some scenario-building for the second novel in the works, wholesale grocery shopping and book ogling later in the afternoon.
And what else must we do on Sunday (apart from Mass), but watch more Johnny Depp movies. I didn't get what Edward Scissorhands was all about. I mean, sure I did, and the way the movie looked was cute and dark and light and all, but I'm not sure I got what it's trying to say. Although now that I'm typing this a theory is forming in my head so I guess I'm just banging out my first impression. I think I enjoyed Cry-Baby a little more than necessary.
I'm still a writer in need of more words, and the new year has done nothing to change that (for proof that it's been a long-time obsession, see here, someone's noticed). It's just as well, I guess. I'm reading up on car crashes, for a story that's been brewing in my gut, and if I don't get into any trouble for it, you'd see more soon.
Til then, up here! ;)
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