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Notice I used “probably” in the title instead of “surely”? Well that’s because there’s a slight chance that I’ll marry someone who will totally be OK with my brilliant ideas like pizza for breakfast everyday. Lots of crazy chicks running around these days.

A few days ago, a discussion was started on Twitter about baby names. I’d like to link to the relevant tweets, but I’m lazy. Yay me! Besides, you’d be lucky to read those tweets because Twitter’s being a douche these days. Anyway, that discussion reminded me of one baby name that I really loved ever since high school. “Scarlett”. I don’t know, there’s something about that name that evokes strength and femininity. But I stopped loving it when Scarlett Johansson became a prominent fixture in Hollywood. Just think about it. If I name my future daughter “Scarlett”, the first thing that will come to mind whenever I say her name is this:

That would be totally weird. So I’m thinking maybe it’s time I think of new baby names that I’ll try to give my future kids and will probably be rejected by my future wife who will totally be a pain in my future ass. Here’s what I came up with:

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To end Mean Girls Week, I think it’s appropriate if I share a mean girl story. A story plucked from my own retarded high school past. It’s not a story about skanky bitches calling everybody “sluts” and “whores”. It’s about high school drama, angst, and awkward silences. It’s about me being in jail with a girl named Vanessa.

I went to a Catholic school in Sta. Rosa, Laguna. Canossa School to be exact. A place were dreams are born and hearts are broken. A breeding ground for leaders, jocks, losers, artists, mean girls, and background dancers for noontime TV shows.

Well hello there, Sexbomb Izzy. How YOU doin’?

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Let’s face it. We live in a world where child molesters are in every corner. They’re in the playgrounds. They’re in the schools. They’re in the churches. They’re in our homes. They’re on the Internet, Facebooking and MySpacing your sweet, innocent, adorable little angels. And let’s not get started with serial killers and people who are itching to sell your children’s kidney in the black market for avant garde culinary douchebags to turn into Chinese soup.

We need to be mindful of our children’s whereabouts at all times, by any means necessary. Question is, are we really willing to go through these means? Would you go through any length to protect your child? Would you go as far as putting a GPS tracking device on your precious sons and daughters?

I would.

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Ahh, yes. April Fools’ Day. A day of hoaxes and practical jokes unleashed upon the weak-minded and the gullible. A time for merriment and dickeries. But can we learn anything from all this mischief? I believe we can because I did.

Before I share the lessons I’ve learned on April Fools’ Day, let me tell you about the pranks I pulled for this most glorious of days:

Prologue: BADDIE JOKES PRACTICALLY!

Pre-2003, I was constantly playing practical jokes on my friends and family. From farting in front of my sister’s face, to tripping a friend who was running really, really, really fast, I’ve done it all. But nothing a few words of apology can’t fix. Then I sort of grew up. Sure, there’s the occasional Dumping a Pail of Water on Someone Just for Kicks gag, but I got over my Extremely Annoying Prankster phase early in college. But I just couldn’t resist. I decided to take it up a notch. I was ready for some mind games!

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I know it doesn’t look like it (or does it? whatever.), but I’m a very sentimental person. I put a lot of sentimental value on stuff. As soon as I pay for a ballpen, BAM! There’s a connection between me and the pen. If I lose it 2 hours later, I’ll be depressed like hell. So just imagine me losing something I’ve had for 4 years. Just imagine it being a reminder of my breakup with my girlfriend for 2 years. Just imagine it being a souvenir from a time and place of healing (Cable Car Alabang Town Center, a couple of days from the breakup). Just imagine me not just losing it, it was accidentally smashed into thousands of pieces by an idiot! My heart got smashed too when I got home, only to discover that one very precious artifact from my college days was gone. This is why I hate people touching my stuff. I’ll miss you, Mr. Ashtray. =(

I didn’t even get the chance to take a decent picture of it. =(