Please tell me that ...

Oh dear sweetie,
Please do tell that the real reason you want me to stay is to keep me close. And that you don't want me to leave you ever. Despite everything that has happened, I'm still the one that you really want.

That was my wishful thinking when he said what he needed to say. But I know for sure it is what it is. Wishful thinking at it's best. I'd never be the one that he wants. How sad, but true.

Don't you hate it when you know that there is nothing that you can do to change the situation. And don't you even hate it more when before you have the chance to do something, that door closed on you. I mean, really?

So here I am. Done with wishful thinking, laying down on the ground. Hugging the earth close, waiting for that one person who can make me feel the way I did for him again. Waiting for that man with a sense of greater than life to pick me off the ground and sweep me off my feet.

Until then, I'm hugging mother earth and laying low.

Really???

Why is it that I always have this urge to write whenever I'm sleepy. Is it the same like when one feels the urge to purge whenever one is drunk? Purge as in to tells everybody everything one feels the need to tell. Is sleepiness similar to drunkeness? Hmm, I wonder.

Anyhoo, this urge to write is probably caused after I wander into the internet dating site I was writing previously. After so many days shunting it (I was after all in Paris, where hot, gorgeous, men with suit wandering around its streets), I went back and guess what ... so many rejections on my "inbox". One stated a physical distant is too great, but this one does reside in the same state. Physical distant, my a**. One stated other, could also be translated as "not-interested-but-don't-really-wanna-bother-to-tell-you-the-exact-reason-why-cause-you-so-not-worth-it". Or maybe it's just me. Whatever.

But I did scored two. One with not so distinct, oh how do I say it, attractiveness. And the other with an amazing resume, photos and all. Dang, I still feel so pathetic though. To my defense, I live in a city where the great men are either married or gay. And the stock of single, soon-to-be-great men is dwindling. Why did I ever choose this town? Maybe because my objective was to get a degree, not snatching a men. But hey a girl could multitask, can she?

Aw, man. This makes me feel a little depressed now ... aaaargh.

Going Fishing

I have a confession to make. *sigh* Here goes ...

For the past 3 months, I have been a member of an internet dating service. Yes, I am trying on internet dating.

*phew* There you go. Now on the context of this post.

I don't know if you are lucky enough to be doing internet dating. But for those who aren't, well, let me tell you how it goes. So all you need to do it provide your basic information and write short stories on your lonely, but oh so fulfilling life. Make sure you have a picture of yourself. And make sure it shows your best side. Other members would likely to based their judgment by this photo alone. Then you choose some categories. These will be used by the service to match you to several potential future significant others (please let me know if I'm being redundant here ...). Click OK or Submit several times and voila! You have your own internet dating profile.

Then here comes the tricky part. You have to sort through the abundance of matches provided by the website. My particular service let the members go through several steps, until they could send each other secure messages through the website. So to make the short story short, I have gone through some up and down. I've been to the open stage of the matchmaking with several men. But nobody sticks around long enough for me to consider open dating. Oh, the woe of internet dating!!!

I guess this internet dating thing is a lot like non cyberspace dating most people are doing. It feels like going fishing. You throw all the baits you can throw, out there to the water, then sit and wait for the fish bite. Sometimes you got lucky, sometimes the fish snuff you even before step one is done. Oh my god, what I'd do for my dad (long story, that is for another post). Then when first few steps are successful, there is no guarantee that it would translate to a date. A real date. Have the world gone mad? Or to be specific, have I gone mad?

At first, it feels kinda exciting. Picking which match you will communicate with. Hmm, not this one *click*. This one sounds funny *click*. Oh, this one is not going to work *click*. After several attempts to make connection, I am ready to crash and burns. Maybe even gives this internet dating stuff up. *sigh*

There has to be another way to find a future significant other ...

Get your foot out of your mouth!

Yup, your mouth can be your worst enemy. It sometimes has its own mind and you have no control of it. It would blurted out the most embarrassing, humiliating fact, that until one second ago is unknown to the person sitting across you. For me, my mouth, or in this case, my blog was my own worst enemy.

A while back, I was bitching about my living situation. Very tacky, indeed, I know. But what do you expect from a woman who has PMDD (according to me, of course). And suddenly I realize, that this blogging thing isn't entirely private. Well, yeah, DOH! This is the internet after all. And nothing is private in the internet. It's like leaving breadcrumbs, volatile breadcrumbs at that, all over cyberspace. Yeah, I know. I kinda wish I could smack myself in the back of the head, but I can't reach that far.

So what prompt me to write a blog again? I don't know. Everything changed. Borrowing from Dr. Covey (7 Habits of Highly Effective People), it's a principle based paradigm shift. It's a coreshaker that changes your point of view. It was the loss of my mom.

So now, everything changes, we all tried to heal ourself from the lost. And somehow I manage to patch things up again. Which is great. Late but great. But better late than never, huh Mom?

*sniff*

So yeah, get your foot out of your mouth!

Avoiding complications

Me? I'm a simple girl, who likes things to be simple. To be thrown into a complication is something I totally avoid in all cost. But here I am, bored out of my mind ... and mildly putting myself in danger of that I avoid the most ... complication.

But it smells sooooo tempting, it feels tempting too. In the middle of my boredom state, I feel the rush, the need for excitement, the thrill of seduction. It feels dangerous ... yet feels so right. It's the boredom that got me in ... I'm sure. Definitely the long hours of watching HGTV and yet another rerun of CSI that drove me to this search of thrills. Oh, what crazy thoughts.

It's like standing on the edge of a cliff, with the waves crashing into the wall below. You know the jump will kill you ... or at least, mange you (then kill you). But that is the least of your worries. In fact, there is no worries at all. The sound of the crashing waves just pulls you in. You want to make that jump. You're itching to just plunge yourself into the deep sea. The only thing that stops you is your common sense, tugging from the deep haze in your brain.

...
...
...
...

I really need to find something to do.

Memorial Weekend, 2009

Home alone. Everybody in the building seems to be out of town. I guess I'm the only who is stuck here. Don't you hate it when you have nowhere to go, when everybody else is already gone? I hate it especially now, when my hormone is raging and I'm more sensitive than normal. A friggin' fine time to have a PMS.

I wish I could do another night of sleepover at my friends', but I kinda think they'd want some time alone. Make me wish I have a lover right now, so I can call him and have rabid make out session just to spend the time. How ... pathetic. This isn't good ... I just called my life pathetic. *sigh*

Whatever. I just have to find ways to spend this weekend. Let's make a list, shall we?

1. Clean up the apartment ... channeling the clean freak in me
2. Oogle over Gerard Butler's pictures ... and be lost in his blue eyes
3. Figure out ways to meet Chris Pine ... Paris sounds like a good backdrop
4. Play The Sims ... channeling the control freak in me
5. Level up in Mafia Wars ... wow, really?

Just five? I'm really getting sleepy now. Writings not making any sense at all ...

Must ...
Stay ...
Awake ...

zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Reboot

Three years after the last post, I decided to reboot the whole thing. Things have changed. I've experience a great loss and now, life is totally different. Things seem different now. And hopefully for the greater good, I have changed myself.

And so here it is ... the story of my life. Slightly uncensored, hopefully more matured, more hopeful, more insightful ... for the lack of a better term, better.

Hopefully more entertaining too ...

Oh My God!

I cannot believe it! Some inconsiderate dumb a** wrote an incosiderate comment on my last entry. I was complaining about family, you b******! And you dare to wrote a commercial for a comment on that?!!!

HAH!

Why oh why?

Why oh why? I wonder why.

I should have known it was a f****** dream. I should have known it would f****** happens. Why would it be? Every dreams and hope (lately) just turned to dust of fairy goneby. Why can't I read the signs?

What so bad about spending family time together? Why wouldn't my dad spend money for that? He gives everything for his siblings etc. Why can't he spend money on us? Is it because we are dispensable? Is it because he thinks we are oblige to love him no matter what? Well, I am NOT oblige to love anyone. There is no such thing as f****** unconditional love. Love IS ALWAYS conditional.

D*** it! My parents are so good in letting people the hardest way ever. They would just let me float my a** off to the sky with a f****** baloon of hope. Then they shoot the d*** baloon off, and let me fall so hard to he ground that I would be buried six feet under. Or worst break into pieces.

I should HAVE f****** known!!! It was just too good to be f****** true. We were to finally spend time together again after the last trip to Bali. God, I hope I leave soon. I can't take it anymore. This family is screwed!

Whatever. I don't care. I AM GOING.

I am going to Singapore with or without you.

Diary of A Mad US Grand Prix

What ever happen this morning (or last afternoon in America)? I woke up this morning remembering some glimpse of a six-cars race. At first, I thought it was a dream. Or I was to occuppied playing some grand prix game, that I still remembering the scenes from the game. But no, it was real. It was real, I tell ya. And it was one bizzare grand prix. For as long as I've became an F1 fans, I don't, I NEVER recall that this had happen before.

It all started at the Friday free practice session. The tyres of Ralf Schumacher's Toyota gave away because of the speed at turn 13. This accident caused the Michelin people to doubt wheter their product is safe and good to go for the grand prix. One thing led to another, and they demanded that a chicane is build at the turn 13, to slow down the cars, so the risk of another tyre failure is minimized. The FIA (and Bernie Ecks too, mind you, that money grabbing dictactor) did not give in to the demand. The start was delayed, but all cars were on the grid. The fans was cheering (I was too). The warm-up lap goes underway. But alas, to no avail, the Michelin runners (cars that used Michelin tyres) turn into the pit lane entry at the end of it. And there they were six cars on the grid, the two Ferraris, the two Jordans, and the two Minardis. All were Bridgestone runners. The crowd was startled. I was startled. Could this be true? A six-cars race? But then, as soon the six of them lined up on the grid, the five red are lighted and the race begun.

I was shocked, so does the crowd. I was appalled, so does the crowd (a water bottle thrown into the track prooved that point). The crowd chanting, wanting their money back. I was laughing hysterically, wanting my sleeping time back. This is what I wake up for? A six-cars race? A race so predictable, that you didn't need to watch the struggle, instead just the front and the back. A race so pathetic that I do not have the desire to watch, even as a self-proclaimed hard-core Ferrari fans (and Ruben Barichello too). A race so bemusing, it still feels like I was dreaming of a nightmare last night.

Alas, it was not a dream. It was real. It was real, I tell ya. As real as the pain in my forehead, from repeated slaps from my hand, it was not a nightmare. It was real, REAL, I tell ya. The most bizzare, pathetic, confusing, and oh-so-not-cool race ever. Was it the FIA mistake (for not giving in)? Bernie Ecks (that money grabbing dictactor, for being money grabbing dictactor)? Michelin (for a lack of quality)? Bridgestone (for whatever they do)? Michelin teams (for deciding not to race and forfeit points)? Bridgestone teams (for staying put on the track even thou' it was spelled disaster)? Well, one thing for sure, it was so bizzare that it would rather be forgotten. And another thing for sure, the fans, the crowd, and the drivers of Michelin teams was the victim of this schmagance (chaos, disaster, freak - red).

I WAS THE VICTIM, DAMN IT.

So does Jarno Trulli and his pole position. I'm sorry Jarno, best of luck next time. Peace and god bless.

Damn!

I finaly realized what my dad is trying to do!

He was so bitchy about my cousin who is staying with us for a few days. And he was soooo annoying about him being the oldest, he didn't stay at home (he has a few days off), he's running away from his responsibility, bla bla bla. I was just soooooo furious about it. I thought he's just trying to make someone misreable just because he feel misreable, he's soooo mean, etc.

Then it hit me. He was dumping his frustation on him. His youngest sister and her son are in town, because her son has a uni entrance test. And he wants them to stay here at our house. But because my cousin is here, he couldn't invite them. So he dump all his anger on him. He's always like that. Building up anger then try to justified his anger toward people, even when they are innocence, not guilty. Gosh! I can't believe it! Can you believe it?

I'm sooooo not liking him right now. I just want to shout "shut the f*** up!". But of course I can't do that. Cause that would cause a bigger problem. Then he would make sure that I would suffer. Then he would recite all my past mistakes. Then he would make me feel guilty about it. And if I don't appologize, then he would degrade me.

Believe me...I live with this man for more than 20 years. What do you think makes me goes downhill on depression lane? Him!!! And he won't believe that it's his fault! Feels like living with Hitler.

Because I'm a queen

VIDEO
by India.Arie

Sometimes I shave my legs and sometimes I don’t
Sometimes I comb my hair and sometimes I won’t
Depend on how the wind blows I might even paint my toes
It really just depends on whatever feels good in my soul

I’m not the average girl from your video
And I ain’t built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I’m not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I’m wearing I will always be india arie

When I look in the mirror the only one there is me
Every freckle on my face is where it’s supposed to be
And I know our creator didn’t make no mistakes on me
My feet, my thighs, my lips, my eyes; I’m lovin’ what I see

I’m not the average girl from your video
And I ain’t built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I’m not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I’m wearing I will always be india arie

Am I less of a lady if I don’t wear pantyhose?
My mama said a lady ain’t what she wears but, what she knows
But, I’ve drawn a conclusion, it’s all an illusion, confusion’s the name of the game
A misconception, a vast deception
Something’s gotta change
Don’t be offended this is all my opinion
Ain’t nothing that I’m sayin law
This is a true confession of a life learned lesson I was sent here to share wit y’all
So get in where you fit in go on and shine
Free your mind, now’s the time
Put your salt on the shelf
Go on and love yourself’cuz everything’s gonna be all right

I’m not the average girl from your video
And I ain’t built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I’m not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I’m wearing I will always be india arie

Keep your fancy drinks and your expensive minks
I don’t need that to have a good time
Keep your expensive car and your caviar
All I need is my guitar
Keep your crisp style and your pistol
I’d rather have a pretty piece of crystal
Don’t need your silicon I prefer my own
What God gave me is just fine

I’m not the average girl from your video
And I ain’t built like a supermodel
But, I learned to love myself unconditionally
Because I am a queen
I’m not the average girl from your video
My worth is not determined by the price of my clothes
No matter what I’m wearing I will always be india arie

Disclaimer
The lyric are copyrighted by its' righteous owner
Courtesy of LyricsFreak.com

I Will Be Me (Greater Reason)

I believe I'm here for a greater reason
To be able to give to others
It may not be in a form of a nobel prize for peace
Or a cure for AIDS
I do believe I am able to do it
Serving food that give others joy
Seeing the happy faces when tasting the food
It is not about the revelation of the deed
But to do the deed with passion and determination
I may not be a PHd
With stars and honors
I may just be a chef or a decorator
But at least I'm happy and satisfied
That way I can give myself 100%
Because I have a self to give
I'm not a empty case anymore
But a person with soul and will
Also passion and dreams
I'm not just a reflection of others
But a true spirit of myself
Years ahead may not be a comfort journey
But I know I will have my reward
A happy and satisfied person
With dreams and passion
A compassionate and loving person
With all myself to give
At the end of the journey
I will be me
And me only

Weird Dream

How weird is it if you dreamt having an elephant as your pet? Not those jumbo-mega-gray creatures ... the tiny version of it. And it bites. Literally ... it bites my index finger. It's good thing it's the mini version. Imagine if it's the real size elephant ... next thing I know I only have four fingers. Anyhoo ... in my dream, the tiny elephant grew so fast just by feeding it with lettuce. Weird huh? I remember the dream vividly because it seems so real ... the house and everything.

...

Weird.

...

Totally.

...

PS. Congrates to Jarno Trulli for securing the driver seat at Toyota F1 Racing Team. May all the best with you and may the words of the tech director are truthfully true (regarding equal partner and all). And may BAR Honda will grab the no. 2 Constructor (sp?) title. Hurrah.

Bad Anatomy Jokes

Do you know that some researcher says that those 'dumb blonde' jokes could really reduce blonde person intellegentia level. I reckon this is true. No...wait, I know it's true. Somehow labeled dumb and being joked about it doesn't help you to be smarter. This works the same way with the 'fat' jokes. It doesn't help any overweight-plus-sized people to loose weight. It is...demeaning. Trust me, I know how it feels. It doesn't help me at all.My father's side of the big family would call the 'fat' jokes ... encouragements. I call it ... insults. I know I'm overweight aka plus size. But I don't need some people joke about it. It's bad enough that I'm so self-conscious about my figure. I don't need some people to bring the topic up. Maybe they would somehow reason that I should just laugh about it.

That one who laugh at one self is at peace with one self. True. But laughing at someone else is bad. It's demeaning. It's discouraging. It's cruel and unhuman.I've endured the fat jokes as long as I can remember being overweight. But sadly enough, the people I remembered making these jokes are my own family. How sad is that. Sure, some of my junior high classmate did some fat jokes on me. But they never really ... over-joke it. I remember one classmate calls me 'Molen' which is a sort of pastry that is puffy. Well, I don't mind being puffy or chubby. As long as I'm not the one who sink ship. Yep, that's one of the fat jokes my family did. 'She's so heavy that the ship would sink' they said on one family gathering. 'Her groom would be able to lift her up on their wedding day' they said one night. Who said anything about lifting me up on my wedding day. This is another reason why I should just elope when I get married. It'd save me the fuss and muss dealing with my father's side of the family. Blah.

Sadly, I couldn't do a damn thing about except writing it down on my blog. Even this is bordering on danger on being caught. If one of them read this and it goes through to dad ... well, let's just say it ain't gonna be pretty ya know. But I do have the right to shout out my thoughts and feeling. And to hell with bad jokes. Any jokes that involve parts of somebody's body aka the bad anatomy jokes are to be condemned. They are cruel and inhuman. Down with bad anatomy jokes

...

The down side on being caught is they probably gonna try to blame it ...wait, they're gonna blame it on my mom. Some stuffs about not raising me properly. Yeah right. Not raising me properly my ass! She raise me proper enough, thank you. *censored*

...

Damn!

The Urban Supremacy

Ooooh, I am soooo sleeply right now. Turn out that one solo Coffee Frappuccino and a small sip of Caffe Verona do not have an affect on my 'sleep' nerves. If it weren't for the tea, I would be curling up on the bed right now. Need sleep. Badly.

[Warning: The next review is written by a woman whose energy has depleted until the lowest number of 25% - Damn, I need sleep]

I went to see The Bourne Supremacy today. It was great. I've seen the preview on HBO Advance Screening about a couple week ago. Instead feeling bored, I actually enjoyed the high speed chase which was the preview (Does Russian police really uses Mercedes Benz for high speed chase?). It was great...very dramatic. I even like what Matt Damon did with the character. And I'm not even his fans. But he play Jason Bourne nicely (although reminds a
bit about his role in The Talented Mr. Ripley). The plot also good (I just rated it B+ on Yahoo! Movies). I came to see the movie with no expectation because I'm not a fans on Matt Damon. In fact, at first, I wanted to go because of Karl Urban (and only Karl Urban). So sitting there in the dark with nothing in my hands, I enjoyed the movie. It was ... memorable. I watched it with caution, sitting on the edge ... hoping that this won't turn out to be a sour one. And it's not! You know how some Hollywood movie maker looooves happy ending. So I was so worried that they ... (spoiler alert) resurect Marie in the end. But never happened, so I'm totally pleased with the ending.

Aaaand now ... to the first reason why I watch the movie. Tadaaaaa! Karl Urban. He is ... so ...
H-O-T!!! Make that triple! Totally gorgeous. I know that he's the bad guy. But I can't help it. He's the most gorgeous bad guy I've ever seen! When I was watching him, the one thing that kept popping is that he's HOT! Yes, I know I've repeated that twice. But I can't help it. I'm totally smitten. Wow! I mean WOW! I know he's amazing as Eomer. And I know that he's deadly as Lord Vaako. But this role ... is something else. So glad he took it. At first, I was affraid that he would be just some enemy Bourne had to killed. But he stole the scene (at least for me). Wow! And wow!

Wait, the old agent from the Treadstone. The only one who survived beside Bourne ... isn't he the Count Dracula on Van Helsing? Wait, gotta check.

[checking IMDb]

Oooops, nope. My bad. I think I'm mistaken him with Marton Csokas aka Celeborn in Lord of the Rings trilogy. I knew he looks familiar.

Dear Sister

It's officially 24 hours (or so) since you left. I'm watching Channel's V Double Shot Rock, which I know you really love. Too bad you're not here to shout the name of the bands (Incubus is on the screen now, before that was Train's 'Drop of Jupiter'). Then you would wish and hope so hard that Channel V would play Lostprophets (spelling?), so you could gaze at Lee Gaze aka The Blond Guitarist (your version) aka Pretty Boy Guitarist (my version).

Home is doing fine, dear sister. It's bland without you around. I spend my day on the internet. Something I haven't done for a while, because I usually drags you around somewhere (dingdong-ing, shopping, etc). But since you're out on the wild (not literally 'wild' but well...you know), I have no one to drag around. Oh btw, our dear nephew stopped by about an hour after you left. He hasn't shower yet (well, I just woke up so we're even) and wearing his red sandals, screaming 'imbang an' as he entered the house. Turned out that he drags Ni Epon to have a walk to our house. I'm so convinced that when he knows to open the gate (and have the strength), he would just take off without even saying a word. And we will find him shouting at our gate, alone! Ahh, it'll take some time but I'll be looking forward for that mischieve to happen.

Anyway, your laptop just arrived with special message not to open it until you are here. Very specific. So I'll let you check it out yourself when you're home.

Since I have nothing to do, I just surf the net. Finally decided that my Yahoo inbox should be released from its' burden carrying over 1000 mails. But before that, the MSN inbox also should be re-activated.
The Yahoo mails was a tough work, especially because I encounter the same topic all over (besides some Oprah's Book Club, some ads, some junks, and some diet tips). But it's nice to catch up about Viggo at the end. There is so much I missed (some great pictures mostly). It also reminds me how Viggo was...is the ideal man. And how uncomplicated it is to admire him (unlike with a man I see wearing helmet and driving fast car most of the time and so undecisive about his future). I remember how 'easy' to like and admire Viggo, because what's not to like about him. He's multi talented man with great personality and views. But...after some time, I got tired and decided to log off.

One good thing that you're not home is I get to explore an old hobby. And mom's WinMX trully helps. Yup, I decided to find old 'memories' that were lost when our computer's hard disc broke. I found some old tracks that we loved (and some new tracks that we love). Although all is not recovered (the live version of NpC's 'Improvvisando'), but I enjoyed the whole searching and downloading. One bad side of it all, it's that I can share the joy with you when I found the english version of Inuyasha's soundtracks. I definetely needs your help to get the lyrics.

Still watching Double Shot Rock. Fortunately, there's no Lostprophets video (yet). Oh yeah...I enjoyed the benefit of having MTV Asia back. MTV Screen showed yesterday at usual time (btw, After Skool Rock move to Tuesday). Guess what, I found another movie-to-watch, The Stepford Wives. Really entertaining. We should put it down on our list (besides The Bourne Supremacy).

Bad news for Button

Whoops...
Jenson might loose his super license - license he needs to drive in F1 - if he continue to pursue the Williams' dream. So did the CRB announce.

So Jenson, why?

Why does appearance always fool me?

Politics on the fast lane

As Jenson Button make...

Wha? Oh...you think I was going to talk about politics? The 'real' politics (how ironic seeing not much is real in politics)? Nah, I was going to talk about the politics on the fast lane...the Formula One lane that is. So as I was saying...

As Jenson Button makes the headlines all this week, thanks to his presumed illegal switch to English based Williams, I stop and wonder 'does F1 has politics too?'. One editorial at Planet F1.com (read Did Jenson remember the Webber factor?) gave me a few hint about the thought. And yes...there is politics. It's been at my face the whole time, only I was to 'fresh' to realize. And yes...there is.

One example, which I have been dreading for long, is the fact that two driver of a team cannot be an equal partner. One must be the #1, while the other must be #2. Although the most debated example of this subject is those of Ferrari, I would not go there. Instead, I would take the example those of Renault. The news of Jarno Trulli leaving Renault was not as publicised as Jenson Button leaving BAR, but the reason is a good example of this subject. Why did Jarno Trulli decide to leave? Despite holding the number 7 and winning the Monaco Grand Prix, he is second to Fernando Alonso. This fact is not loudly acknowledge, but it is silently.

The editorial I mentioned above also has some saying about the subject of "#1 and #2". Before Jenson Button make his switch, Mark Webber already become the proud driver of Williams. Mark Webber, as pointed by the main man of Williams, will be the #1 driver (he has class bla bla bla). If Jenson does move to Williams, he would be #2. I read in one of the article, somebody at Williams said that Mark Webber need a partner to 'beat', someone who 'will not pose a threat' (that somebody also said something like 'someone like Jarno Trulli'...up yours, man!). Like the the editorial's writer, I would ask the same question 'why on earth does Jenson Button want to play second fiddle for Williams?'. Being #2 driver isn't that bad if you have Micheal Schumacher as partner (read How To Love Michael Schumacher). But if somebody important already said those things...why would you be the second driver? And drop all the glory of #1 driver at the other end of the tug o'war (read Jenson - The Tug Of Love Driver). This is complicated.

It is even more complicated than football. *Phew* I only had two paragraph and I'm beat already. So why did I turn on Formula One, you may ask? Well, despite it has an ugly part of political havoc and mayhem, it's still the most exciting one-seated motor racing ever.

(But I'll be back to football as soon as the Italian Serie A starts their first kick-offs. Politics schmolitics.)

Perchè, Edgar Davids?

Why, Edgar Davids?

Will Inter give you what you are looking for?

Like my sister said, two star instead of one. (Inter has one star; one star = 10 scudetto. Juventus is the only team in Serie A that has two star for 26 scudetto.)

So why?

Are you still looking for title? Glory? Champions Cup? The Scudetto? If it is what you are looking for, wouldn't the logical choice be A.C. Milan? Proud wearer of the scudetto.

So why, Edgar Davids?