Gaudare!

Rejoice, people of the world!

Rejoice, my minions! Sound the bells, roast the children, and feast into the night!

For lo, Behold!

Josie is 19!!


Am expecting presents to celebrate her last year as a teenager. Food , girly stuffs(cocktail dresses, boots, make-ups, accessories, scarfs, pumps), non-girly stuffs (computer games, character figures, books, vertigo comics, films with actual Brain in them, good symphony metal music albums), male concubines, a suitcase full of 50-quid notes, a collection of essential oils, magic weight loss pills, whatever.

Just don't send me chart CDs nor drugs.

Glycophillia.

The entire day of eating healthy food (supper: grilled salmon + mushroom + salad. Was fucking delicious) was promptly dashed about an hour ago by consuming a whole box packet (I kid you not) of this;











(Picture shamelessly stolen from BBC.)

Total 750kcal of marzipan goodness. Shit. I still have another box in the shopping bag (yes, I turned into a Battenberg-devouring monster moment I got back from Sainsbury). My plan is to hide it overnight, and share it with other people like a good girl should.

I think I do need that gym workout tomorrow morning...

FreeRice Challenge, and more about words

Here.

It's one of the most bloodily marvelous ideas spawned out of Internet. No hassles, no gruesome paperworks to be sent in, no pennies to collect nor shoe boxes to wrap up on disgusting christmas wrappings, and the rice is distributed by WFP so less fear of messy dealings...or one hopes.

Simple. Devious. I like it. (That's a quote from a computer game. Now you know what kind of a person I am.)

Rice is given to the hungry. We learn more vocabulary. Especially, I get the satisfaction that while I am supposed to be writing essays instead of agonising over a particularly difficult word, I do it because this is much more important than a sad piece of work about evolution of land plants. I'm out to save the world, watch out gals!

By the way, I'm at about level 36~40. I think that's pretty impressive from a person who's first language is not even remotely connected to English linguistically. *rampant arrogance*


ps. I have finally obtained Mooncup from Boots yesterday (and promptly felt cheated because online mail order was cheaper) Review will come later after I try practicing it. (Am actually on periods now, don't want to try it withtout getting absolutely confident on how to put it in and out, so practice will begin later when I don't have to worry about bloody floors)

Until then, my 20-quid silicone gizmo will sit on my sink in its pretty floral box packaging.

Obssessive-Compulsive Disorder

When I was in primary school, I had to step on alternate-coloured bricks each time because if I didn't I would break. Same applied for edges, cracks and lines on floors. You don't step on edges. You don't step on pink tiles. You need to move like a knight would if the floor tile's black-and-white chequered.

Well, I still do.

I was always uneasy with this blog, and guess what? It was because the font was too big. I promptly made them little and illegible, and now I feel complete and whole. My life is sorted now (well it never was, but this makes me feel better. Let me live in the delusion).

Generic shytes

1. It's so nice to see people having their birthdays in November. I only had about one other person who was born in November back in The Hoedean, then comes Cambwidge with a football squad of November-born people, and that's only within my circle of acquaintances, which is about 1/1000 of other normal denizens of this world. Only one word to say. Woohoo.

I am interested in a lot of pagan/superstitous/mythical ideas, some may say too much for a scientist, but then Dawkins should go and be spanked for being a bullying git. An amazing scientist and a decent writer (alas, the two qualities often do not go hand in hand) , but also a fanatical Arsehole.

I digress.

Astrology attempts to place people's behaviour according to when they were born. Actually it is according to positioning of stars the moment they were born, and since precise location of stars on the sky has moved since Astorology was devised it's not that accurate anyway, but it is interesting as a concept that people born around the same time have certain defining characteristics.

2. Some lovely MSN conversations;

People in London: So, when you're descending down upon here to plunder Chinatown and lay all London restaurants to waste in pretense of 'birthday dinners'?
Gaa: Hmm, I've got carol service on the day itself...but after that whenever's fine.
PiL: Sure? You don't have works to do or anything?
Gaa: *giggles* I break up that week.
PiL: DIE EVIL MANIAC DIE! *runs away in tears*

Gaa: Boo.
Rosanne(My amazing(ly American) younger sister and my slash protégé): Go away I'm busy.
Gaa: Well since I'm nearly at the end of the term I don't really care about work anymore. You sohuld do the same.
Rozy: I'll KILL YOU! USELESS SCUM! YOU DON'T EVEN WRITE PORNS ANYMORE!

Well, it's not my fault that I've got 6 weeks holiday...*smirk*

I kinda deserved the latter conversation because apparently high-school kids across the Atlantic have only 10-day holiday around the Christmas. Despite this, my sister has taken pity on my lonesome suffering during the holiday and is coming to stay with me for her *entire* winder holiday, during the time my college would be 'closed' (ie. no library, no buttery, practically noone around). No she really hasn't, she just wants me to tutor her on AP biology. Anyway, she's my sister and at least has half a brain so it'd be good, at least I am spared from beating those brainless bimbos into doing stuffs and expiring myself in the process. I am an impatient teacher.

I also deserved that conversation because I cleaned out my LJ account recently, not to pretend innocence, but to weed out loads of rubbish, to clean away embarrassingly bad stuffs and to deny that I had a complete standstill in the slashing business during 2 years of Sixth Form days. Besides, my taste changed considerably during the said years. I'm not really mature yet to face all my faults. Hopefully when the holiday begins I can start writing fics and other dreadful scraps again, ho ho ho!

I'd need a beta in that case. Hopefully you'd realise that my english grammar isn't...perfect. After 6 years of living in England, I can speak, listen to, read and write English with enough confidence to go around but sometimes some grammar points confuse me. To top it off, I'm record-breakingly clumsy.

It's just creepy that my written English is steadily getting better than my written Korean. True, I can write perfectly fluently in Korean, I very rarely make grammar or spelling mistakes, hell, most Koreans make more spelling fuckage than I do in writing, but my creative well is starting to dry up in the Korean side of the pool. I know why. It's because when it concerns creative writings I read way more in English than in Korean.

Well, can't help it.

3. My life's dream is slipping away from my hands. Ticketmaster is being extra evil and refusing to accept anything else than credit card for payment. There is no way that I can use my parents' credit card to buy me a ticket to go to a metal gig.

But, but, but but but but but but I want to see Teh Band Of Gawd Nightwish, please don't deny me from seeing my Hero Band from age 11. Please...*cries*

*Aurally masturbates by their music*

4. My birthday plan, by the way, is rapidly falling apart. Carol service on the day itself, supervision on Friday...there will be no problem spending time with people I know here, but when can I go and meet my minions mistressess companions in EBIL in London?

5. The word 'procrastinate' was my favourite word ever since I learnt what it meant. It describes what I aspire to be, what I am most good at.

Therefore the new title.

6. Is it just me that you fail to find any respect in people who write their fic works (fanfic or original) in chat-language? Yes, I use them in gay abandon, but only according to which person I'm communicating with. Doing that is like writing my essay in Lolz-tongue. (Hmm, might be interesting. YO FLAWA I CAN HAS MOAR SMEX WID U? I CAN HAS?) Please, people. This is about self-respect. You don't want to be seen as shallow idiots in front of stuck-up bitchs such as myself.

I Do Not Care Whose Fault It Is.

Natwest jinxed me.

Or there is someone in my corridor who likes collecting Natwest savings cashcard (it's bloody ugly anyway). I have never lost a bank card in my life until I entered university, and now I lost my savings account bankcards twice in two months. See where my frustration comes from?

I admit that I'm not the world's tidiest person, still, losing a card twice in two months after not managing to do so in 7 years, hmm, I might need to switch back to HSBC.

The disturbing thing is that the last time I used it I was in my room entering its number for my PayPal account. I think I have an invisible roommate, a famished monster who likes gourmet plastic cards. Do I need to make a human sacrifice to appease him?

I am going to the bank to request another card (the third card in two months), curl up to myself and give up with my life. Grrrrrr.........

First Sign of Detrimental Insanity; posting twice a day.

And I really don't care, because we all need to stop believing that being sincere is enough. Just because you believe it is true, does not mean that it is true. What the world need to do right now is join the Crusade of Unitarian Jihads. Let us strike this world with all our might, and strive against the Satanic Filth that is Fundamentalism!

You can be religious without being a Fundamentalist, and you can go to church without believing that Life as we know it was created by a Bearded Chump whose favourite sacrifice was lamb chop. Personally I am not keen on religion anyway, but I have some (sadly too few) wonderful examples of 'sensible' religious people. (Although they still try to convince me that religion is still in fashion. Well, I never followed fashion trends anyway.)



Bad thing about British Winter is that the room is becoming increasingly damp and inevitable damp-smell will follow suit. I never heard that Febreeze contains carcinogens or other nasty 20th-century chemicals, but even if it does, I think fresh and nice-smelling bed today is worth having your cancer risk raised by, I don't know, 5%?

None shall stop be Febreezing my beddings. Oh, and my stuffed toys.



What is it with my college that we are subtlely deprived of making music, or it is me being stupid enough not to know how my college's music room system works?

It's Called MITTELSCHMERZ!

'Middle Pain', as my AS-level German tells me so. It describes abdominal cramp or pain during ovulation, and this happens to about 20% of women, it is just like mentrual pain, without the obvious 'menstrual' bit. I really don't need two cramps per menstrual cycle (which is very, eh, elastic at its own discretion), thank you very much.

For more clinical information, please consult Wikipedia.

So after a lovely ice cream party and feeling slightly better about myself *thanks to all of you who gave me actual/virtual hugs during my terminal depression last week* the Flocking Goddess of Pain hits me square and I end up snuggling inside the duvet to do work instead of in front of a desk.

I shall not envy men quite yet. It is through pain that we become something greater. (This is me self-hypnotizing self. Therefore any argument against will not be taken seriously, simply because the above sentence is not to be taken so. Also, I do not believe that women are superior or inferior than men. That's just childish.)


How am I supposed to do work when I am having cramps accompanied by a full-bast ovulation-mood?

Hormones, sneaky bastards...

Welcome to Hell on Earth, by the way it's called Cambridge on maps...

If you know a smidgen about me, you'd know that state of my room rotates between about 6~30 days of what closely resembles a nuclear aftershock, and about 1 or 2 days of cleanliness when I cannot deal with it anymore and (miraculously) shoves everything in its right places.

I like to think that it resembles my mind state.

Being on the losing side of a battle is not fun. Being on the losing side of a battle against oneself is not only un-fun but very, very painful. It's one thing to bash one's head against a seemingly impossible (but to others ridiculously easy, or so it seems to me) mathematical problem, fail miserably, fling one's supervision questions fluttering down the floor, curl up to oneself and bask in utter misery, but to find yourself suddenly tumbling into self-remorse and depression during a lecture and secretly bow one's head and start crying. If anyone saw me today in Cell's lecture frantically trying to mop off tears from my face, I was mourning for my long-deceased self-confidence. It's nothing, really.