home of the enslaved and cowardly

Tumblr still down. Stop. Probably a sign to study hard. Stop. One more day in the hellhole. Stop. Need to shower, do laundry, pack. Stop. What will become of this. Stop.

Because I am terrible at them. On the other hand, social observations - I am quite the bitch about those. Young Christian butterfly types in college of the Asian variety seem to be stellar at taking pictures of food, each other, and (of course) themselves. It would be terrible if they were all so dressed up and no one caught a photo of them jumping in unison, wouldn't it? Of course, that isn't to say that I haven't partaken in such photos - everyone, even men, have been a 13 year-old girl once - but somehow I feel like I have the humility to not repeat those photo happenstances. Hopefully. Unfortunately, everytime that I feel like I have dressed up  put on more acceptable, feminine clothing and would like to capture happy memories of when I appear decent, I realize that I don't really have gal pals who have the gall to do shameful things like selfies in bathrooms or the sorority squat (the pose girls take usually in the front row of a photo, but can be the entire gr...

You know what they say. Except - you know how impulsive I am - I am writing the damn thing in pen and sending it. Why can't you help a friend out? I don't understand why this thing takes so much energy and sacrifice from you. It's not like socializing is my forte either, but I just think that this award is a good thing and I just need some help in the form of some support. I am not asking you to make sure that you introduce yourself to anything that moves. Why is this so difficult? But I guess that's what makes us different people - how we treat friends  others. I am still very much frustrated and disappointed  Should have listened to her. And stayed away.

Under-eye bags, that is. I wish that at least my tiredness could be conveyed in a sexy-child-waif-Kate-Moss type of face. Unfortunately, my reflection tells me otherwise. I'm more of a grouchy bulldog facing a powerful gust of wind - attractive, I know. I need earbuds. I have lived almost half a year without working earbuds, and before that I was using a set with only 1 working earbud. It could be worse. I am aware: I could have terrible taste in music. In which case, non-functional earbuds would be saving me from my own terrible choices. Although, let's face it - the music I enjoy most is either really  popular from 18 months ago or terribly embarrassing 90s style. Or Liza Minnelli. Or doo-wop. Or - you know what, let's just stop here. There are some things that I'm really excited for right now (CHRISTMAAAAS, cold weather, painted fingernails, cookies), but my drooping eyelids say otherwise. Cannot even figure out how to end this

So, since checking online for my shows, I now know what I will most likely resort to this weekend. My plans may or may not include: writing a letter to an old friend who is far far away, watching simpsons, watching 30 rock, watching Roomie gravitate towards LoL again, and studying I guess . Getting groceries today so I don't eat all the ramen that I set aside for good enough reasons (see: in a rush, cold weather, loneliness). Where can I find a good, rot-your-teeth-out, asians-pull-out-your-cameras-and-phones cupcake? Not that I need anymore baked goods in my system. On the same day, one of the roommates brought home cookies from the bakery where she works, someone baked me an entire batch of brownies, and there was heavenly chocolate cake at work. My body says no, but my mind says "oh what the hell, just eat it. And that one too. WHY BOTHER WITH STOPPING." (Someone needs to block the food network and the travel channel  from me.)

Binge eating like crazy today. Too many meals too count - I am definitely an emotional eater. Stomach is trying to flip itself out of my gut. I can only spit up anxiety and nausea. Hopefully, I can wait this out before I swallow my apartment whole.

and Other Anxieties Went to a beautiful wedding this weekend. Did not cry (almost did. So close. I was actually hoping to cry at the ceremony ). The ceremony, the dress, the groom choking up at his vows, the two receptions, the food, most of the company - entirely delightful. But every party has its pooper. Now it's back to the sad reality that is my life. Paralyzed by fear right now, so I'm Girl From Ipanema  - ing it up with Old Blue Eyes. Can't really get deep breaths in yet. Not quite sure what my body is trying to do (pretty sure it's trying to tell me how it's 4000% done with me  everything). Wish me love for this week?

Don't any questions. Just do it. Drown all your fears, worries, anxieties, concerns, hesitations, question marks in strawberry milk and never look back. This just goes to show - buy me a strawberry milk whenever I am upset. But given the recent spike of emotions that make up my weepy, excitable being, you may have to buy a lot of strawberry milk. (whoever it is that I am addressing.) Just voted - oh citizenship. Glory be to my "just voted" sticker. In other news, will be attending a wedding tomorrow! I bought the most gloriousbeautiful expensive  dress, but IT WILL BE WORTH IT BECAUSE I SMILE SO HARD JUST FROM LOOKING AT THAT DRESS. Not to mention, it's a super flattering and fluttery and tea-party-worthy frock. Too bad that since I spent a hefty sum on the dress, I couldn't get shoes (or a purse for that matter) to go with it. Darcy kind of looks like James Marsden to me. Chiseled features to the point of... eh.  Wearing a wonderfully handsome ensemble ...

Woke up later than usual from a quite satisfactory sleep. As planned, made pancakes by myself (with help from Mr. Hungry Jack). Splendid, magnificently splendid. Take a look for yourself. With honey and pineapples Also, first time ever having an actual stack of pancakes (not just one or two), so I was able to cut them like they do in cartoons - in a perfect wedges of pancakes. And the pineapples kept the honey from being too sweet. Tea and pancakes for brunch. Wonderful. As usual, my fascination with recipes that are successful in boxes drives my interest in making them from scratch. That will probably have to wait until I get home. Home. Cannot wait, but I can wait on figuring out the timing of everything.  Have a sensational day today. 

After work today, I suggested defeat and rediscovered the books that I had brought with me for this year. The Wind Up Bird Chronicles  always renders me into a drowsy, lonely, cold lull (and I've noticed that I'm always reading it in a sunbeam. I must be a kitten. Or Bonbon). After a few chapters, I fell asleep, only to awake way after the sun had gone down. I was very much disoriented, and my first thought was to look for anyone at home - but no one responded to my pitiful " he-hello? " and my scaredy-cat face. I was lonely, but it was too late (and I wasn't that driven) to go surround myself with people. So tonight has been dedicated to spaghetti, television, and Pink Martini with the usual suspects (a little bit of homesickness, Food Network, and Nick@Night). Speculation/Thoughts brought on by Wind Up Bird - It's probably because of my age and inexperience, but I think I may want someone a little like Okada. Then again, I go through phases where I want ...

(LOOK I'M IN A BETTER MOOD. IN FACT I WAS REALLY GIDDY LAST NIGHT AND COULDN'T FALL ASLEEP - jk that was yesterday. I am now a hormonal mass of mess. I was crying from watching Man vs. Food and Cupcake Wars. Yeah, shutup.) Just like any other semi-exclusive group, Da Group has a group text (massive spammage, all quantity, little quantity, minimal drama - cuz u no how we dooo). For Thanksgiving break last year, even though we were all headed back to the same little piece of surburbia we call home, due to classes and ride availability and such, we were all in separate vehicles at different times. Besides sleeping and watching the person next to you sleep, there's nothing better than to text everyone and ruin their naps! And so begins the purely-from-my-memory-not-directly-from-the-group-text-because-I-don't-have-that-patience-with-all-of-that-scrolling-upward-shit, sooped up  Episode XXI: Friendly Hostage Situation ... Setting: Roomie, The Whine, and myself are on the...

Definitely was worrying over when to reveal to my future progeny that Santa Claus doesn't exist. Should they even be given the notion of St. Nick sneaking around only bringing worthy children gifts? But then how would I explain the Phineas&Ferb Christmas special to them? Clearly I showered for too long. Also, how do you stop from eating your feelings? Please let me know. And the nothing-tastes-as-good-skinny-feels shit doesn't work with me. Except for sometimes. AlsocouldsomeonepleaseholdmewhenmyheartbreaksforfictionalcharactersThankssomuchly.  WHEN I AM IN A WONDERFUL MOOD, PLEASE GENTLY REMIND ME TO TELL THE TALE THAT NEEDS TO BE TOLD: The Thanksgiving Episode or The Friendly Hostage Situation or Schrodinger's Whine

Fuck the shut up. No seriously. Stop talking. No one talks like that. And I'm not about to take that shit from you. "I'm not some adult child of an alcoholic that will take that shit" (thanks Tina Fey). Go Greendale, go Greendale, Go! Cannot wait for Community to come back and charm the pants off me. And the Simpsons' Treehouse of Horror. And try out the new Munsters remake. Not a TV junkie. Definitely not.

So tired right now. Not even sleepy, just fatigue' .  Can I just quit schoolio to go home and mill around forever? I have this wonderful buddy waiting at home for me. Even if it's because she's a lazy bum that doesn't like going anywhere. WHO AM I EVEN KIDDING. BACK TO THE BOOKARAMAS.

Because everyone who is anyone these days knows to appreciate the layering and options of disguising poor tastes in clothing by wearing more of it. Of course, you know that I am actually a master of wearing so many layers that I may occasionally (on my more tired days) pass for a hipster. To the untrained eye, that is. Prepster and hipster are two very different creatures. If you mistake the more stylish (prep) for the trendy (hipster), please leave. Or at least, don't speak to me about clothes. Just nod when I tell you to appreciate something. Like how adorably afraid of the cold I am dressed at them moment. Because I fucking am.  Ensemble du jour: snakeskin print skinny trousers (in a short cut, so my black socks encased ankles are shown, studded smoking slippers (or tuxedo slippers. Regardless, gold on black pleather is always classy), navy pea coat and multi-colored homemade infinity scarf covering up my loose striped knit-borderline sweater-top and denim men's cut shirt...

I hereby declare that I hate being a fifth wheel. Please.Could we forbid these occurrences in the future? I hate hating, and I hate it. Can I elope with myself? (Was asked what I most love about myself on an online quiz - panicked. Need reevaluation. Stop. Will get to eventually. Stop.) Also, whoever it is that currently has a death grip on my heart - would you please go? It's getting a little hard to breathe in here.  and you're doing it wrong Memo: please write about my most favorite episode of the group, "Thanksgiving Hostage Situation"

Cum his vive qui te meliorem facere possunt; illos admitte quos tu potes facere meliores. Seneca That and the to-do list for when you're sad. And the love letter. Don't forget them.  Good girl.

With help from that social networking site I have a love-hate-hate-so-mostly-hate relationship with, I like to play everyone's favorite game - social evolution. If you don't know the rules, you either have a life or are too nice. Either way, I hate you already. For the rest of us, the rules are pretty familiar. Find someone you haven't seen in a while, pray that they don't have their privacy settings on to super-ultra-mysterious mode, and surf them pictures. It works best when a). you're a young adult, and your peers are all going through major changes/developments/discoveries or b). you haven't seen this person in more than 4-5 years or c). the unspoken rule: the person being subjected to researching was (let's be honest, is is a better term) the ultimate douche or bitch. I especially hate and love to see the girls that used to look like Cabbage Patch kids who are now major social butterflies. Sometimes it's a "we all saw that coming" sort o...

...apparently an ISFP or INFP. Know of any quiet perfectionist or confidante-types? I really do have a ton of ESFJ qualities (namely guilt-manipulation, seeking appreciation, taking criticism as a general indictment of my character, needing approval, being hurt by indifference - obviously I am not going to list out the good qualities, but you can go look them up and see what kind of gal I am). This week is kicking my butt, but (HAHAHA - completely unintentional. Scout's honor) soon I will be home with my family and trusty hound, resting for the weekend. Cheers to my current repertoire of recipes that are ingrained into my trusty cerveau (tonkatsu, pizza, raspberry-filled lemon cupcakes, and now Korean barbeque). On my way to becoming a happy homemaker.

Apparently, cheerleaders and my grandmother both have this habit of folding their shirt half up, exposing their navels. I imagine that they do this for very different purposes - clearly, cheerleaders are trying to cool down during sweaty practices, and my grandma wants to show off her navel (Yew gross. I barely came away from that joke with my life intact). In my family, cursing is an occasional occurrence. However, the bigger your dilemma is, the quieter and more prolonged your whisper of "shit' is. Drop a spoon onto the ground? shit Drop a plate that crashes into a kajillion pieces? shhhiiiiiiiit Leave your wallet at home after leaving 10 minutes ago? shhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit Got my ass handed to me by a very short and sweet quiz today. shiiiiiiiii-

Sometimes I wonder how it was that I would spontaneously send people "good morning" or "have a wonderful day today!" messages less than a year ago. Where on the scale of happiness was I at the time? What did I do to get there? How did it feel? Is it possible for me to go back to that? Not in a particularly solemn mood. Just curious. So tired these days. But not the hope-to-go-sleep-and-never-wake-up way that I wished for a couple years ago. Just the usual heavy-eyelids-dizzily-teetering-along-the-edge-of-consciousness manner. Sleepy babies are fussy babies. Or at least I am.

Oh Weather. You are a tricky little itch with a bee. Why are you so nice when I have to stay at home all day? Definitely not helping me be a shut-in to accomplish things. On the upside, I made marinade for Korean bbq. Downside - no one will be around to eat it with me tomorrow. I even did the whole watching tv whilst eating ice cream all alone on a Saturday night. BACK TO THE CHRISTMAS MUSIC AND LATIN REVIEW.

I like this one fellow's blog. It makes me sigh and squish all the airs out of my lungs. But it's too smart and beautiful and sad for me to be a real reader of. I can barely make intelligent and intelligible comments about his writing in meo capite . So I shall keep my admiration to an anonymous minimum. If any of those sentences made any sense to you - well done.  Blerg, justspenttwominutesretypingonesentencedoIhavetowriteinEnglish? Sometimes the fact that people may be reading what I spit (as in nasty, water-out-of-your-mouth not the straight-rappin-fuck-all-you-haters-type) onto here worries me. But I keep it public because I don't want to back down in surrender. Skim shady told me that she doesn't get this concept, so I realized that I may be the only one with this strategy.  GAH. Also, (secretly) I call dibs on the term "boo," Usher and Alicia Keys style. This is in accordance with my inner inner-city gal. One night, The Easily Offensive a...

But you have to be absolutely  sure that you wish for exactly what you most desire right now.  Absolutement. No backsies. What do you wish for?

Let me meet someone who will know how to handle me when I become a sweats-wearing, emotional lump. No matter how high I want to pull up my pants. And please let them be prepared. And it wouldn't hurt if they(wrong pronoun I know) think I have a winning smile. Or if I think that they have a winning smile. Totally up to you. We can totally jam to the same songs. Oldies but goodies. And hiphop. And Mongolian. And Tibetan. And now the list has become unrealistic. (Although I now know that the target population should be Asian and nearly thirty years old. Totally unhelpful.)

Don't ask me to explain myself. I don't have time for your shit. I am a busy woman - why are you making me resort to listening to my fiery tracks to simmer? (Can't nobody-ing it so hard up in here) Fuck off - we'll deal with this later. Not that I want to. Bacteria that lives on the scum scraped off the maggots that are crushed beneath my feet. No one wants to deal with me dealing with you. Who said anything about being mature?

And then you remember you love it. You loveitloveitloveit. But one night everything comes back to you and the fingers are restless again. The eyes sting because you move them too fast and too slow all at once. And you hate it. Everything collects at the bottom of your stomach to remind you how much you hateithateithateit because you forgot what it felt like in its absence. Now you can only hopehopehope that it can go away just to be back when you have vaguely forgotten its texture. Everything is leaving you and smothering you all at once and you're Alice - smaller and smaller and bigger and bigger. Nothing fits in, so you wait it out until you drift between consciousness and something painless and remote. You've done nothing and everything waits on you and you want to finish it all at once - but you don't want to even touch it. So you swing back and forth where it's most precarious and tense and stressing. Where are those notes that you left yourself from the last time ...

When discussed with a 10 year-old brother on what element I could be a bender of...

It turns out that working with fish and buying myself a Spongebob popsicle was exactly what the doctor ordered.

Because watching chick flicks can make you feel that way.

Would it be trashy if I wanted at least one Queen song ( I was born to love you ) play at my wedding? I guess just a tad.

"When days feel like years and you're immortal and you can eat tons of custard" -Some QI episode from eons ago.

Current mood: infectious. "Or maybe infected," Roomie would quip if she were present. Shorts and Perry the Platypus shirt and general mild weather have put me in a wonderful temperament. I'm a set of pigtails away from skipping off to my next playdate. One more exam until I'm home-bound. In an hour. (It has  just  occurred to me that I'm doing so well in that class, I care not for the final. Actually, this may have occurred to me a few weeks ago). In my down time, I have drafted my Mother's Day letter. In Chinese. Aren't I the overacheiver?  (According to Mr. 蓝白拖, my Chinese is very prose-like. According to Roomie, I am cheesy, 肉麻, and sweet-to-point-of-inducing vomit). Can I help it if I'm adorable? Not even going to apologize for my utter obnoxiousness. Giddy - that's the word I'm looking for. Sidenote: HAPPY 1000TH DAY BABY JINGYO! LOOKIE AT HOW SUCCESSFUL YOU ARE. ADORABLE, BEAUTIFUL, SEIZURE-INDUCING LOVE OF MY LIFE.

亲爱的弟弟， 你真地是一个很了不起的家伙。可惜地是你自己心里的障碍让你看不了你所有的优点。跟你说了好几百遍不要跟别人比较，你还是要跟顺子和我和同学们比。姐姐知道你心里面很复杂，有许多事你不太会开口自己提出来，可是你要知道你应该对自己多有一点信心。你有这世界上最忠实的支持者；我们都觉得你很有才华，有自己的想法，很努力地迈向更好的成绩。我只想告诉你要多有一点信心，要为你自己去进步而不是为了给别人看。好样的，加油。我会支持你和陪你走到底。 姐

朋友别怪我要讲又没有讲, 心里太乱会像哑巴.

I had a beautiful dream last night.

Captivatingly frightening and fascinating. When you're scared but can't bear to peel your eyes away. That would be my first take on her work. I wonder if she has any part of her or her body that she feels self-conscious about. Maybe the highs she get during her pieces and performance state prevent self-consciousness? So much nudity and vulnerability, not just in terms of her body - there must be some awareness, right? Obviously, I am not the woman herself, but I cannot even fathom those experiences or attempt to understand them from perspective. Like almost everyone out there , performance art to me was something... less substantial? Perhaps because it is hard to understand, we put it off as something only the performers and critics and comprehend.

你的容身之处不是在我这里. Grass is greener. Help others only when you are sure that you don't need help.

When things (read: real life conversations ) don't go according to the script that I have already thought of, signed in triplicate, stamped, mailed, and reread in my head - I panic. Just a little. My panic is usually proportional to how close the conversation was to my script. Throw something in my direction that I didn't anticipate, and things can happen one of two ways. I can pretend to carry on the conversation in a plausible manner while silently thinking up of reasons why you said what you did (or if I was being too presumptuous or if we are very incompatible and should gradually drift away as the conversation slows down). Or I will throw something more unexpected your way - great relish and enjoyment of your refreshing response and thought process (or perhaps sudden fury and anger at your repulsive and unwanted comment). But, by all means, please don't let this discourage you from conversing with me. I will handle myself most appropriately. Or inappropriately. We'...

The Genteel Giant He comes from the days of yore, when you measured up your peers by their relative height and willingness to share french fries. Never one to treat anyone unfairly, this means that The Genteel Giant was capable of being quite the not-pushover. To everyone. Even with girls. Smaller than he. Which is still everyone. Because we were  are all still smaller than he. Apparently, something occurred during the High School arc that mellowed and sensitized the creature into the chill being he is today. Always one for witty banter and the absolute last word, The Genteel Giant is easily rendered amused by clever things. Solid loyalty and survival skills acquired from the Boy Scout years mean that you shouldn't vote him off the island. _____________________________________________________________________ Never Laconic Current status: female companion to The Genteel Giant. But, that's none of your business,  and her identity is strictly her own. Always qui...

This weekend, I did not fight with water balloons. I fought water balloons (an hour's worth of pruny, swollen fingers to mark my valiance). Watching them get used up in less than thirty minutes by bratty 9 and 10 year old boys was even more wonderful. Truthfully? Setting up everything for the kid brother was well worth it because that kid is the most delightfully sweetest, shyest, brightest, creative boy I know. Between we siblings three, our love is the obnoxiously loud, screaming, laughing, squealing, bear-hugging, wrestling, too loud to be publicly acceptable sort. CHEESINESS ALERT: I couldn't imagine my life or family being any other way. Happy (early) birthday to my dear brother! We're Phineas & Ferb fans. Bite me.

Summer plans are being in terms of productivity, so I have rewarded myself with a frozen yogurt waffle cone (it's not as bad as it sounds. Almost like a soft-serve ice cream cone). It's quite difficult to type coherently with just one hand whilst eating at the same time. Now for the real celebration... Kid brother of mine is turning a whole decade old soon, so I will be rushing home for the weekend and setting up his scavenger hunt. As tradition has dictated for the past 4-5 years, I create a scavenger hunt for the kid brother that involves clues, missions, and pictures that lead him to the location of his birthday present. For this year, in a fit of productivity (read: too lazy to do actual schoolwork), I started brainstorming the setup. So far, this masterpiece will include: riddles, pictures, codes, and other neat-o things. Last year I incorporated Chinese clues into the clues - he apparently wasn't ready for that. NO WORRIES. This year's gifts are bigger and better....

Upon watching reruns of childhood cartoons, I pointed out that Angelica from Rugrats  was a role model for me when I was younger. She was my favorite mostly because she was girly. The only other female main character would be Lil, but to the little girly-girl I was, Lil was simply too tomboyish and bald . Angelica wore her pigtails and dress with pride, ruling the "dumb babies" with the support of her doll Cynthia. Her brashness and cunning side would give me both secondhand embarrassment and hope to be more outspoken (read: less of a pushover). I doubt that I was completely convinced as I have only developed a backbone these past few years, but  it was a good push in the right direction. Coach cleverly suggested that I could be the Angelica of The Group. Though I wouldn't find this to be such a terrible thing, I am not objective enough to judge whether that would be an accurate description of me. Hmm. ALSO (more importantly) - ANOTHER SHOUTOUT TO MY FAVORITE ANONYMOUS...

Really. Without my roomie, I would be stumble around whilst simultaneously suffocating myself. Once again, she has shared some brilliant insight that was a completely new perspective on something I've been told and told myself for a while now. How lucky I am to have someone this clear-minded and close and wonderful. This new take I have now encourages me to not walk around in the dark like Blanche. Hair up. Earrings on. The old gal is back in a refreshing new flavor. Now it really feels like I'm Carrie Bradshaw. What is this.

Countdown until a certain genetics exam (let's just call it self-destruction) has begun. And here I sit, typing. When in a mood of the cerulean type, I generally like to dress wraith-like ( a la Blanche ). So here I sit, dressed like a conservative old goose, typing. ________________________________________________________________________________ There are some characters that are not ready to be fleshed out - mostly because I am not ready to closely examine yet. My dynamics with them and their dynamics with the group aren't fully cooked. So for those, we have to be patient. Just a heads up so that you don't hold your breath waiting. I will also try to do less self-advertising. Coach was right - no one really cares. This is more of a self-discovery, corny sort of thing. And I'm much more used to having an imaginary audience anyways. ________________________________________________________________________________ She-Sheldon At a superficial glance, thi...

Running into a problem lately. As I have found myself to be one of my best companions (going to forgo any denial because, at this point, even I can recognize this as kuh-razy), I talk, mutter, and voice my thoughts to myself. Which isn't weird to me. At all. Anyways, with all of this quality me/myself/I-time, I can't stand to be around certain strangers. How can I explain in this a sane manner? I cannot help but physically and mentally cringe when too many people are coughing and sneezing and wheezing and whispering too loudly in my too-tight-for-too-many-people-who-have-just-brisk-walked-in-the-hot-midday-sun-and-haven't-finished-perspiring-yet classroom. ANYWHO, TIME FOR THE MEAT. I am still closely examining the dynamics between what roomie calls, "THE Group" to fully explain in this, what I imagine to be, Abed-slash-Carrie Bradshaw (see: Sex and the City ) manner. ________________________________________________________________________________ In every gen...

And other things. Hammurabi's for my etymology paper. The other things are for my friends. It's my genius  fault, really. I REALLY want to make a parallel between the hit show Friends  and my, well, friends. But we soon realized that the pool of characters wasn't enough to cover all of our friends. So, we started collecting more characters from TV show, cartoons, movies, books. Maybe what we need is our own original series. Too bad we don't have an objective third person to use as a narration device. I, as challenged by one of the said friends, will simply serve as the writer for now (let's ignore all of my emotional, delusional. and hormonal baggage that all of my imaginary audience is familiar with from previous posts). Let's start off with the easy ones... _____________________________________________________________________________ Coach Coach - Nick Kent if you're well-versed in the world of sports blogs - as I like to call him, has been a class...

Or at least where the heart doesn't chew itself up only to spit out a sobbing, rotting mess covered in festering wounds. Not to say that I am said mess, but it isn't hard to figure out who I'm talking about on a blog that no one reads. Usually, I am just addressing myself - for anyone (nonexistent) who hasn't got that out of the previous sentence. Home is just so wholesome. Family is so wholesome. Pets are so wholesome. Coming home for even just a weekend is likely taking a vitamin that not only gives neon yellow pee, it also gives you a pep in your step and a giggle to creep people out with. Not that I mind, because mind you, I've got the giggles and don't really give a damn on what you think. That's what the power of having the giggles means. A shoutout to Tina Fey's Bossypants  that has managed to keep me from dissolving more often than I would have without a daily dose of giggles (which, for the record was twice this week. With Bossypants , that is)....

It's been nice outside these days. Too nice. It must be a trap for all of those seasonal allergy sufferers. I, of course, have been graced with the wonderful lack of allergies. I would like to say that is because of my upbringing in a household led by a mother who doesn't believe in allergies. Except my mother doesn't like for me to tell people (even nonexistent Internet audiences) that she doesn't exactly not believe  in allergies. It's more of a I don't have any allergies (seasonal, food, latex, medicine, or whatever people are allergic to these days)  so my children must not have any allergies ergo they don't ever need to be tested for allergies . I am, of course, exaggerating about my mother's viewpoints. However, I have never been tested for allergies and continue to fill out all doctor's forms with a long string of "N/A's" when it comes to allergies, reactions to drugs, sexual activity (which is never awkward for me. Just kidding....

Your Flow's like Menopause. Gotta rhyme that shit, son. Apparently, stuck in a rut lately. Horoscopes have maybe affected my life (i.e. bias my interpretation of people's actions). Killed that beast with pink icicles... or however Hotel California  goes. Went to a "shady" location with roomie ( sans the Group) and ran into a 乖宝宝 there. I never expected to run into her there. Or find out that she had been three times prior to that. It was my first time there. Hanged out with her crowd for majority of the night, gothitonbyaguyandIdidn'tunderstandthesocialprotocolforthat, and I left. Cool story, bro. I also recently found out that not everyone talks to themselves. It has gotten to a point where roomie doesn't really even listen or ask what I'm muttering about. Should I stop? Can I even stop? You can't stop now. You'll never stop talking to me. I forbid it.  Okay. Guess not. Haha...sorry, not funny.

Happy, happy, haaapppy birthday to you, beloved unnie!~~~~ I have no regrets being your stan or having you as my ultimate bias. Today (for you) marks the anniversary of another year into the amazing life full of your wonderful and awesome accomplishments. Forever cheering for your beauty, voice, and -alwaysalways always  - your beautiful personality, I don't mind in the slightest loving and supporting you. Even though there's no one here reading this obviously , I wish you the best 29th birthday in the world and lots of love!~ Aw what the hell, this isn't twitter, but why not?  #Happy Birthday Bommie, #BOMratatata Hash tags make me a cool kid. Whatevs.

Spring Break was spent tentatively eating food. By the way, the little flap of tissue between the inside of your bottom lip and the lower gum line is a beautiful  place to have a canker sore (read: also, a delightful place to have a canker sore to rinse out with hot, salt water the night before a dentist appointment. Life, you are sensational). Anywho . I can't quite place why I feel so giddy. Is it because BOMMIE'S BIRTHDAY IS ON SATURDAY~~~~~~(that makes no sense, but tell that to my erratic fangirl heart)? Is it because a few well-written fanfictions have been updated (likely)? Perhaps, it is due to the insane amount of dried craisins I have consumed the past two nights (I don't even know anymore...). Or the fact that I have painted my fingernails a fiery and chippy  shade of Really Rio (read: glittery red). Who knows? All I know is that today was a beautiful day. And that I will be wearing my snakeskin print pants frequently. Yay.

Or you may be more used to "No pain, no gain." Not exactly a direct translation from ancient Greek, but close (read: cool) enough for me. I forgot to mention, lest I forget by next year, for this year's Valentine's Day, I received candy flowers from an anonymous source. When I came back from class, a bouquet made of rosebuds (two Hershey's kisses stacked flat end to flat end and secured in red saran wrap) on the ends of skewers covered in floral arranging tape was pinned to the bulletin board on my door. To this day, the sender has not revealed their identity (Apparently it wasn't Beth or any of my close-ish friends). Secretly (read: of course), I am very excited to receive anything for Valentine's Day (friendly gifts don't count if everyone gets them). Throughout middle school and high school, NO ONE, not even friends, sent me carnation deliveries or singing Valentines ("And none for Gretchen Wiener  me"). A laughable landmark in the hysteri...

Oh internet folk (namely, just one person), I adore you so. GOT A PERSONAL POST FROM MY FAVORITE AUTHOR ON YGL. NOT GONNA LIE - I FEEL REALLY SPECIAL. And my non-stop giggling may have creeped my roommate 10 minutes ago, but she has put earbuds in since then. So - YEEHEHHEEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE. I haven't felt this light (complete with toothy grins, bouncing up and down, and dancing in a limb-flailing and body-rolling kind of way) in the longest time. THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU. THIS IS STARTING TO GET EMBARRASSING. Alright, I feel ready to face the world tomorrow.

You know those studies where the listening of music has been found to greatly affect mood? Yeah. Self-explanatory here: Went from listening to Karina Pasion's Slow Motion  and Big Bang's Blue to... BIG BANG'S BAD BOY! ...jk, cannot embed the video. ANYWAYS. After being an insane woman for more than a week now, this song just makes me WANNA DANCE AND LET LOOSE (see: "when rainbows are enuf"). Have to do some real world stuff coming up on Thursday (you know, paperwork and such). Cheers.

Having read for colored girls who have considered suicide/when the rainbow is enuf  for my theater class, I have a feeling of being understood, yet not quite. I think that I like this play, but I haven't gotten exactly what it is that I like about it. Although I am not "colored," I realize that I too enjoy expressing myself through dancing without abandon and talking to someone I keep a secret inside my mind. BUT. That can't be it. This play, as difficult I have found it to read, has got something that I, I dunno, want to nod my head in agreement to. Is it a female thing? I almost said "a woman thing," but honestly, I don't feel as if I could be described as a woman. (I've already had the what really determines when a girl becomes a woman? debate with some of my friends before - so far... menstruation? virginity-or lack thereof?) SUBTLE SEGWAY I want to eat, breathe, and sleep rice when I go back home for spring break. Sweet, fragrant white rice, s...

I would like to show off  the love that I have received from a technically not so anonymous Interweb acquaintance. Not in that way, dumbass. In that we share mutual interests on the same forum and can talk freely about things that are not ourselves kind of way. Almost in a maybe I can live without friends  people in the real world, but who am I kidding I hardly have friends in the real world sort of way. ANYWAYS. Hopefully, my luck will start to change. As of today, I had my haircut after a year (农历二月初二 - 剃龙头), ate rice (龙抬头的日子), and found out that my beloved author at a forum I frequent  lurk on has updated. This could be the start of something good (or however that High School Musical song segway works). I do not even care.

If you haven't heard, scroll down and listen to . Ad nauseum. Rinse and repeat. Replay. Blahblahblah, indeed. Going to end this without even wishing anyone "Good Luck." I know, fairly malicious (read: joke). But - that is what you can do when no one is listening. Be malicious (and joke badly).

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck Hi. How you doin'? How long will it take for me to carry on normally (read: not like the hormonally crazed psycopath that I currently am)? 1 week? 1 month? 1 year? See you in then? (you know that I'm going to be back within hours   soon  before then)

I want to tell them everything, but I want to remind myself to not endanger myself. Self-preservation. What can you do? You're just Totally Fucked, capitalized and everything.

བཀྲ་ཤིས་བདེ་ལེགས  其实最近不算 auspicious nor well。我的情绪起伏相似波浪，忽高忽低。完全不受我的控制。其他的人也是这样子的吗？我有时候想当一个水一般的女人：有一般人的问题，思考，毛病，等等。心里头憋不住。老想大喊大叫，滚来滚去。可是我就是做不到。我每一次发生心理状况，我都会跑去跟朋友或妈妈投诉。也不能叫投诉，算是一种告白吧。 这一次, 我要试一下独立的感觉。 千万不能说出去 (其实， 好别扭. 我自己都觉得不会撑到多久)。 看着办吧。  （错别字应该很多吧) Well, fuck you.

Or option C - suffer in silence. And listen to music that no one else wants to listen to. Then proceed to dance like no one's watching. Even if someone is watching. If at this point you still feel the urge to spontaneously combust, roll around in a whiny fit (read: like a small, ill-tempered child). Be sure to throw in a few stomps and hair mussing for good measure. Because everyone has feet of clay, you are more than welcome to a regular amount of tantrums weekly. Just in case none of these options are enough: give them hell and don't take shit from anyone.

Bitter? What makes you think that? To anyone who is spending the day either with or thinking of their significant other, cheers to you. Everyone else is welcome to join me in the stoning of happy couples (read: in my head). Don't mind me. I will just be blasting 2NE1 in the soundtrack of my life and strutting in the hallways. Almost forgot to mention the little red haired girl (see: Peanuts ) - except there is really no reason to mention her at all, as I am no one's little red haired girl. I don't have a little red haired girl either. Never mind. Can't stand the saccharine sweetness in the air? Hold your breath, close your eyes, and stumble about from point A to point B. Good luck. We are going to need it.

最近的心事让我好想念童年的简单. 听说我是一个性格很急的人, 我就是什么事情都要现在决定. 好朋友有跟我分享, 我应该学会懂得什么叫做耐心. 我也是最近才认识一个叫做情伤的东西 - 虽然我还是没有什么感情界的经验, 我尝试了被人拒绝的感觉. 其实他也不是拒绝我, 因为我根本没有跟他告白过. 他只是把我看成他的一位很亲的朋友. 可以算上那种最亲的朋友. 我现在是在一个很受惊的状态. 随时都能爆炸. 请勿打扰.

Remember that attempt of withdrawing from kpop ... Forget about it. I do believe that it is going to stick around for quite the while. Especially my 2NE1. I can remember when they first debuted the summer before junior year (Read: when I failed to become a section leader and started to become the psychotic bitch that I am now). I was nearly dependent on Fire  (their debut song) to kick start my marching band rehearsal days. For now, I would like to suggest this for anyone (mostly women, but dudes are welcome to listen as well)... http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NGe0hHvAGkc&ob=av2e And look for the lyrics as they are wonderful as well.

At least, I  am still not cool enough. I thought that I had a hold of my kpop (pronounced: kuh-pop, according to my brother) withdrawal...turns out, it's got a hold of me. Messy withdrawal is messy. I blame my love for Bom. On another note as I am too afraid of judgment on tumblr to post this there , I feel that the BIGBANG boys would have a grand ole time discovering the numerous, hilariously cute gifs of Miss Park Bom on tumblr. Yeah - mentioning tumblr anywhere other than tumblr makes me instantly the lamest kid on the block. I can see how you are judging me so hard right now. NO MATTER. On a side note, the word of the day is philtrum.

Here's to a ( hopefully) successful withdrawal from kpop, being a responsible adult (on time paperwork and all), not mistaking boredom for hunger, and of course a studious new semester (complete with planner usage and proper bedtimes). God save the Queen. And me.

It is terribly disgusting of me, and I can probably help it. But. I don't want to. Help it, that is. The sweet scent is to powerful. I cannot help but think of simpler times when my father's embraces held the fragrant burnt nicotine scent. I know my argument is not much of one. But cancer, the expenses, your life, secondhand smoke-all for what?  If mahjong tiles plinking together is the original soundtrack of my childhood, then cigarette smoke is smell of my childhood. Overpowering and inescapable, not matter how long you hold your breath, where you turn your head, or if you breathe through your mouth. I was taught in school, like everyone else, smoking is a death wish . And I went through a phrase of trashing all of my father's cigarettes (see: Ramona Quimby ). But now, I envy that child. I wish that snapping little nicotine sticks were the biggest of my concerns. I don't expect anyone to agree or understand, but for my own good - I would like to agree with myself. O...