Utterly Inexplicable


I'm in love with a man-whore.

I haven't been able to refrain myself from indulging in Adam Levine mania lately. It doesn't help that their billboards for their Manila concert are still up and distracting the hell out of me. I never really liked him that much until I watched the concert and he loomed -- well, not bigger than life, quite the opposite --- he looked just so real that finally I had to believe Mariel's constant shirking of "OMG, Adam's hot, etc..."

Sadly, I now agree.

Sad because this often leads to brief creative periods for me and then after that --- pffffft. Sad because my imagination has no reins and I am sure it will involve various plots and mechanism on how sometime in the future he and I will meet, fall in love, get married, and *blush* well, let's just say married et.al. Then of course, the crash back to earth will be hard and cruel. It's a wonder I could keep my sanity even if I'm living (or imagining) as violently as I do.

And I'm so deep in the infatuation that the ridiculously rude articles about him just peaked my interest instead of assuaging it. Dated Jessica Simpson, dumped her through text. Rumoured to have called Maria Sharapova a dead frog in bed and denied it. Had sex with his latest ex-girlfriend on the first date AND announced it over on the radio. Strange fixation for blond es. Read: Barbie-doll types. I should be extremely disgusted by now, but instead -- damn it.

I never was one of those girls who dreamt of finding the bad boy and converting him to a revered saint. I want my boys nice and manageable, just like the great hair I dream I'll have someday. See: My cousin's best friend Eleazar, Jonathan Taylor Thomas, that Doogie Howser kid who turned out to be gay, Stephen Gately who also turned out to be gay, my college best friend who is, surprise!, also gay. Only once in a great while do I fall for the bad boy: Moses in college who was brilliant but extremely irresponsible. He was my groupmate and I was extremely annoyed with him until I found out I was actually kind of feeling the opposite. I managed to whip him up to shape (at least long enough to pull a concerted effort for our thesis) but of course, nothing romantic happened. He was into barbie-dolls.

And now this. Buti na lang, I only have 10% chance of really meeting this guy. The sheer implausibility of actually being with Adam Levine gives my infatuation a mortality period of about 30 days, give or take. So check back on me a month from now. If I'm still hooked on Levine, kill me already.

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