La Ragione, which translate to “The reason” in English.

Strange how 2006 was the year I picked up Italian, coincidentally prior to the World Cup, and 4 years later is when I revisit the language, both having zilch association to the World Cup.

In 2006, I believe most of us ladies had our hearts (and panties, may I add) on Italia for that adrenalin-pumping, breath-taking, hormones-explosive, lips-biting, panties wetting series of gorgeous, gorgeous pictures.

Yes, I was preggo, BUT it still made me damn hot under the collar and having damn kinky fantasies and images a preggo not supposed to have (I hope it has nothing to do with why Minibean had lifted my skirt, and insisted at peeking at my boobies which had me calling her a “Miniperv” today).

Wait, if you are telling me you have never seen it, it is time for you land and park your space shuttle, and get your ass back to planet earth, stare at those pictures and feel the shudders down your spine.

And if you are a chap reading this now, you can either go one corner and cower in shame with these fine, exquisite forms staring back at you, or you can kindly come out of the closets now. I don’t judge, promise! I am only too happy to share the fantasies of what you are mentally doing to them.

Let’s take a look at the 2006 reason to back Italy for the World Cup win:

Oh God.

Be still, my heart, be still.

Let’s look at it again.

Yes, it is 4 years old but it still speeds up my heart the same it had.

Gasp. *fans self*

Someone get me into the cold shower.

Okay, fine. Someone said Italy’s team is getting old and this is very unlikely to be their year, and sigh, as the match between Italy and Paraguay – OKAY THIS IS BLOODY FREAKY COS I WAS GOING TO TYPE THEY ARE TRAILING BY A GOAL BUT AS I POSTED THE PICTURE, ITALY LEVELLED! OMG OMG OMG! RIGHT AT THIS VERY MOMENT! THE PICTURE IS A CHARM LAH! – is going under way and supposedly to be trailing by a goal, which Italy has just beautifully levelled, just as I am mesmerised by the 2006 picture.

And let me get on with the post and maybe with more pictures, Italy might just score as I write on? Ahem.

So we all know how unlikely it is for Italy to continue their reign this year with the age issue and the rise of the other teams, but still, my soft spot for them means that by default I would still have my heart on their side.

And the 2006 series prompted me to ponder if there are any…. 2010 surprises, so that I could wave my panties their way or something.

I wasn’t disappointed. Giggles.

And now, the 2010 reason for us to have our hearts on the Italian team… may I present to you..

The 2010 Italian football team (well, some of them, that is, but good enough representation).

Before we do so… please be warned. Seat yourselves down, cos I have to do so when my blood pressure soared and I was hyperventilating, thinking I might just die and go to heaven.

So. Be prepared.

And let’s see what the Azzurri are made of:

Be. Still. My. Frantic. Frantic. Heart.

I. CANNOT. BREATHE.

Let’s take a closer look. Of my favourite.

I need a ventilator. Any later I might need a pair of shock paddles.

Claudio Marchisio.

Hubba hubba!

And those eyes.. gosh. The smoldering looks.

WHO CAN RESIST TELL ME? DRIPPING SEX APPEAL FROM EVERY PORE OF THEIRS MAN!

And if you need a better reason, lil’ perv here was browsing through the behind the scenes pictures and saw this….

… Giggles, so shy! Blushing! And of course, of all the reasons.. nothing beats the fact that there is beautiful footballers to be watched!

And since I am not preggo this year, it doesn’t feel wrong for me to have naughty images!

Can you imagine them spewing hot, sexy, melodious Italian to you with those piercing blue eyes stripping you?!

GO AZZURRI!!!!!!! GO ITALIA!!! Despite a draw, we still love you!

If you still have the heart not to love them, I believe you are either a very jealous guy cowering in your inferiority complex, or that, you are not made of flesh and blood.

Tsk, of course I am bias. One very important lesson in life – Do not defy the hormones as sometimes, you know, I just can’t help myself.

(I hate to admit this, but I am grinning to myself and giggling like a silly school girl as I braved through this post! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE.)

His name is Anthony.

I can’t take my eyes off him, and he has to sing one of those songs that can really bring my emotions to another level.

He is fucking cute.

He makes me shudder in absolute ecstasy when I watch him sing. It takes me allllllllllll the control I have to suppress the desire so my white lacey panties don’t get wet.

And oh, those eyes.

Oh my gosh. Those eyes. Puppy eyes alert!

Let. Me. Breathe.

My heart can’t stop fluttering lah! Oh dear, be still, my fragile, overhyped heart.

I wanna have your babies.

Many many!

When I watched Twilight, I tsk-ed at the endless gasps and sighs of those horny ladies whose hormones went into overdrive. You could even feel the tension and bated breaths frozen in the air BEFORE the vampires made their entrance onto the screen.

The muffled squeals and all… I was raising my brows and giving those “You kidding me, right?” condescending laughs as my viewing pleasure was disrupted by heaves and low grunts. And the rows of ladies with their hands to their hearts to still them so they wouldn’t leap out or something (especially the one who kept shifting in her seat right next to us, who was an executive female in her late twenties watching it alone, probably for the X-th time).

At the end of the show, fuck, I found myself holding my breath also. Got more wimpy or not?

I caught myself unaware as I was in the midst of some shyshy girlish giggles halfway through the show and wondered what the freak was so wrong with me?!

It was perhaps one of the most interesting movie outings I have ever been to, that emotions and hormones are orchestrated like a symphony, with I-don’t-care-he-is-MINE (deleted to ensure the safety of my being) Edward Cullen as the conductor.

And for the upcoming New Moon.

Gosh.

How Jacob has grown.

I have to keep my mind in check. He is just a teenager and it feels so wrong that it feels so right to feel so wrong..

Tsk tsk tsk.

And of course with the Volturi taking centrestage…

… Let’s get ready for some Team Caius. He has an English accent, ohmyfreakinggoshohdearletmebreathe.

(I just hope he doesn’t make me cringe in a bad way kind…)

Sad to say, I am not looking forward to blatant hormonal display in the cinema which I probably be impossibly annoyed by the disturbing reactions and strange, strange noises from the ladies.

It is even more emotionally traumatising to find myself being one of them. Giggles.

I better get plenty of pantyliner ready when the movie is out, so I don’t cream my panties.

Get ready people, when you walk into a cinema with plenty of ladies watching New Moon, you might find yourself experiencing what Yang Tze theatre is to old men.

Brollies, anyone?

I was looking for an one-off fling, and perhaps look for some answers I have been looking for.

With the initial bad experiences, I was ready to just stand my ground, to make sure it was just… well,  a fling.

I can do it, I told myself. I can be firm. I will look elsewhere after this.

When he walked through the door and saw a heaving me, I held my breath and stared for a second longer than I should. I wasn’t sure if he caught the shock in my eyes like that of a deer knowing it had came head-on with the hunter, and its doom looming.

That’s it. I knew it. I had wavered. I was a gone case.. I was ready to start this long-term relationship and make the plunge. No more resilience…. no room for doubts. His

The accent, the charming eyes, and he is…for the lack of better words.. fucking, fucking hot.

I tried to be as disconnected as I could be. But when he ran his hands up from my hips and work his work up slowly up to my neck.. the tingling sensations crept quickly down my spine (what an irony…), and I relaxed like I hadn’t in a while.

I was actually started to feel a little shy when I felt his hand dancing on my bare skin. I bet my last dollar that if I was a guy (and gay), I would be having a hard-on.

The most candid part was when we spoke about my allergy to alcohol and it was plenty of sympathy in his eyes when I elaborated on the effects of alcohol in me.

And then, I asked myself, am I ready for this?

Am I too irrational? Am I too quick to jump into this…… just because he is so droolworthy.

But knowing how broken and screwed I am, I know he can somewhat heal me.

I tell you ah, medical profession these days are freaking evil. They get the cutest doctors and that make sure suckers like me will keep on going back.

And ladies, if you are looking for someone to ask you to lie down and wait for him, lifting your legs high in the air and then run his fingers up and down your body…. as your mind and imagination do the dirty, you should be looking for a chiropractic. Maybe you will get a surprise like me.

But I scared lah! I can imagine every trip how tense I will be just to exercise that amount of self-control. Having a bad back already like that, can you imagine how ravenous I will be when his magical touch gets me better?! I will eat him up lor! Like, alive!

Tsk tsk, very dangerous.

So, after being diagnose of a shorter right leg due to a shift in my hip (thus my hip is twisted), I would need paddings in my shoes. Bra paddings could possibly be of multi-purposes hereonforth.

My neck ligament is screwed, thus if you see me now, my neck will probably be misaligned to my body and might drop off anytime. Okay fine, it is just bent too forward, causing neck aches and nerve headaches. Frankly, I could see the worsening angle of my neck in pictures.

My torso is also slightly twisted, and I was trying to imagine him putting his weight on me trying to align it. Giggles.

My body weight shift shows I place most of my weight on my left leg.

Of cos, my slipped disc issue.

Okay, I have decided. I need chiropractic treatment afterall.

Sigh. I just need to exercise more self control, and perhaps, some new batteries.

He is an experienced man in his 50s. Suave, charming and with a certain twinkle in his eyes.

It has been a while since I allow a man to go so deep in my mouth…. we had a history and he had been to places that no men with me had ever been.

There was once I lie unconscious in the bed, and I could barely recall what he had done to me when I woke up hours later.

This time, I wasn’t sure he still remember me, and I don’t know why the sudden urge for me to want to see him again.

He urged me to open my mouth a little wider so he could go deeper. Oooo… been a while since I last heard that.

He told me I have a good tongue. Giggles.

An older, and more experienced man he was, and I lied back as I could feel his abdomen against my head, sometimes.

He kept asking me if it hurts, but I could barely feel it…. call me sadistic, I was actually enjoying it.

It was diiiiiiiiiiiiirrrrrrrrrrtttttttttyyyyyyyyyyy as the wetness splashed onto my face, taking me by surprise.

I left with a huge, satisfied grin, and he promised to fill me up the next time I return.

Don’t you just love skilled, experienced men?

I am looking forward to next week already.

He is 17.

And I feel dirty looking at this picture and giggling to myself silly-ly.

I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo. I am not a paedo.

Please don’t cream your panties.

Not saying that I did…

My new favourite Britain’s Got Talent contestant – Greg Pritchard.

Alas most embedding are disabled, so link to it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DhFRFtSzdSI

I think the funniest part is the song they used in his introduction clip. And of course, not forgetting the judges’ expressions, and how Piers was making his comments, his tone went a pitch higher.

I think he is very the charming. *Swoons*

I kept sniggering smiling throughout the performance. I smile smile smile until I teared(his voice really gave me goosebumps in the positive way…)

I wonder what brand of underwear he wears though…

Hmm….

“Sweets, you are actually very shallow,” he said with the signature smirk.

So, I was told I am a very, very shallow person over the weekend. Giggles.

I sure didn’t know I was measured that way.

I know, I am not someone with depth, I have always insisted.

And I think that explains the kind of men I date, those men whom only very shallow ladies should date, to well, stroke their ego a little, and feel like they are enough to be everything to a lady as shallow as, yours truly.

Giggles.

I can’t figure out what it was.

Was it the impromptu shopping trip we had last evening?

Was it the little memento from Rome?

Was it the medication?

I read the album made, of grins and smiles and love and innocence, it was written.

And of all things missed, and unfulfilled promises.

Was it, this, was it that, was it just the unguarded passion we sought?

But when defences are shed, shields are stripped, when things are let go, even ourselves, it would become a powerful concoction that brings on the least expected, mindblowing connection that haunts, that lingers, that messes your senses so much that all of the residues left are of…….

… of….

… of….

… of….

Just couple of days ago, I twittered about one of my favourite songs – Gary Jules’ version of Mad World.

Tonight, I was haunted by Adam Lambert’s rendition of it on American Idol. It was a simple, slightly different, not overly-the-top(nor flamboyant by Adam’s standard), and… just hypnotising.

“Look right through me.. look right through me..”

“The dreams in which I’m dying are the best I ever had…”

“No one knew me.. no one knew me…” and, at this part, the insecurity pours out.

I remember being hypnotised by Phantom of the Opera in London, and there is something just so… I don’t know, captivating about his performance that I keep looping it to just watch him sing.

And knowing how his lifestyle preference is under intense scrutiny, I wonder if it is his story he is telling.

And “I can’t make you love me” is also one of the lovely songs I adore, and sang by a contestant I cannot quite connect with, though I have to admit it was quite a notable performance.

“Don’t patronise… don’t patronise…”

And here, Adam with his very… hypnotising cover of one of my favourite songs. A little strange, a little psychopathic, a little warped, a little insecure, a little afraid and… yet like an amazingly addictive like a drug.

You can view Adam’s performance here as well.