I promised a mouthful, but this will be terribly shorter than I hoped to write, for obvious reasons. I'm still distraught...

.:Wretched Weekend:.

Pardon my French, but I will need to hurl expletives here.

I passed by my high school alma mater, and things went well there. That was the end of my string of good things.

Last Friday, I went along with Kathy and Sacha to spin in Roxas Boulevard, and some Baywalk Patrol people didn't like our "activity" and asked us to cease and desist unless we had a permit.

Asking us to do that is one thing, but being downright rude and offensive while at it is definitely another. I can't help but feel rather ticked off at that Patrol person... I'm so flummoxed I can't even say much else about the night, sadly...

But what makes it worse is Saturday.

MY CELLPHONE GOT STOLEN.

To whoever stole my phone, fuck you, and I curse you and your family with every breath I take. I never quite believed in the power of curses, but I'm willing to start now, just for you, you bastard.

It's not even about the phone, dammit! It's about the memory card: two fucking years of memories, names, friends, messages, and pictures, all wiped out in an instant by some thoughtless son of a bitch who thought it better to steal my phone than to do something about his pathetic state. I don't fucking care if you're starving, and your son is dying of cancer. I would trade in my own hunger just for my memory card back. Hell, I even offered to buy it from you, you son of a bitch!

A curse on you and your family, whoever you are who stole my phone. I hope you burn in hell, and for your sake, you better get there before I find out who you are, because you'd want to be in hell more than around me the moment I find out who you are.

Or have you forgotten that you're going to sell that phone either in Galleria or Greenhills and I can ask around what you look like?