Today I went shopping with IC. Which was fun. It was rather fun throwing a pseudo-mini-temper tantrum asking him to buy a perfume that was about the size of a baby’s hand, and cost less than twenty dollars. I’m guessing he thought I was going to ask for something ridiculous, at least $50 or so.

I bought him Lacoste Essential deodorant. Apparently in his head using cologne = gay, and he seems VERY afraid of his manhood being questioned. Don’t ask me why… I know plenty of guys who wear cologne and manage to have little black books that is thicker than the bible (I personally think if you start wearing foundation, you are in danger of your manhood being questioned. But apart from the Prescriptives counter guy, who does that?).

We went to C.O. Bigelow as well, did some buying, stopped at Godiva and picked up the free chocolates of the month… all was fine until we went onto State Street.

See, I brought IC along because whenever I’m going home from Michigan Avenue I always have weird sleazebags asking if they can buy coffee for me. I’m more than welcome with coffees from really cute, tall guys, but coffee from sleazebags are just awful. And they stick to you like a wet leaf, no matter how hard you try to shake them off. And yes they stick, or they try to. So I guessed that walking with a male might do the trick. Which did. Until then.

I was walking past Aldo talking with him, Sephora bag in hand, when a woman came up to him. Well, me. Well, us.

“Hi, we’re from Planned Parenthood! Would you like to…”

Now, do keep in mind that I never went out with him. I am not going out with him. He had hair that remotely resembled this guy

 

and had not shaved. I was in jeans and while I was wearing a pink sweater, I had a black leather jacket. Definitely not a date outfit. I probably have looked better seeing my female friends than that. So my question is, why IS IT that we got mistaken as a couple?! IC’s not even 20! (Okay, the facial hair may have aged him, but still.) He’s still playing with Magic the Gathering! I’m more interested in YSL perfume than guys! Hello?! Hello?! Is anybody listening?! WHERE’S THE JUSTICE HERE!

We then wondered, upset, if we looked that old. Then I realised… she probably had mistaken us for a very young married couple or something. Okay, no sleaze bags, but I don’t fancy being mistaken as a married either. I started to think maybe I should wear a big card on my neck advertising my celebrated singledom. Marriage?! YUCK. Parenthood?! H*** NO. Marriage and babies are the farthest things on my mind at the moment. How on earth am I supposed to raise an infant if my biggest problem right now where to but the boxes of perfumes when I get more?! So not happening.

So that was my day. But I did make IC buy this

.

Yes, I know, it’s adorable :D

…JC Penney Opticals told me they’d give me a discount if I buy a batch, and they didn’t. Liars.

It occurred to me today, as IC and I were walking down Chicago Avenue, that what IC views as aesthetically pleasing is very far from mine. And apparently, mine is very far from everyone else’s. I find Grace Kelly amazingly beautiful; Eliza Dushku is NOT beautiful for me. I’ve always heard how beauty is in the eye of the beholder and whatnot, but some people the majority agree that (s)he is beautiful, and others… no. How does that work?

I started thinking about the people I found beautiful. C. Marino, from my high school, for instance, was a beautiful girl to me. And B. Beshk (there is a picture with half his face in it – split down the middle – and I immediately identified him as him. He literally looks like a Greco-Roman sculpture). Grace Kelly. Catherine Deneuve when she was young. Greta Garbo.

Americans seem to like a certain type – firm jawline, slightly slanting down eyes that are on a narrow side, short nose that slightly turns upwards, and rather small lips. Europe, on the other hand, is the EXACT opposite; egg-shaped face, slanting upward eyes, longish nose (well, not long, but definitely not short) that is straight and you can’t see the nostrils very well, full lips.

I happen to be the latter. So I clearly am disqualified as a beauty in the United States. So I’m good-looking in Europe, not so over here. What’s the difference?

Then I remembered the “average beauty” theory. According to the theory, a beauty is the “average” face of the population, and I don’t mean total-wise. If the most popular mouth is a thin mouth, then that’s the pretty mouth. If a long nose is the most popular nose, then that’s the nose you’d want.

Which leads to the conclusion that while I fit the majority of the European population’s facial features, I don’t here. I’m the stark opposite. Actually, most of the pure-blooded people tend to be the opposite. J is purely French. He has a longish nose, full lips, and large, slanting upward eyes. JB is fully English. He has longish nose, average mouth, and I never thought about his eyes but they aren’t slanted down. IM is purely Scottish. He has longish nose, reddish hair, VERY full lips and average eyes.

They are considered beautiful faces. J gets MONEY for being beautiful. Each part of their facial features is average.

So I am not average in the United States. I think being pure-blooded does that.

J pointed out a very good point while discussing the famed Lady GaGa.

"What's up with her model hate?"

"Huh?"

"I'm thinking she must hate them. In every music video they end up dead, or they're really bad people, or something. In Paparazzi they ended up dead, in Bad Romance they sell GaGa off to some whorehouse."

"Maybe she's rebelling against the superficial society, like Everybody's Fool by Evanescence."


"But she only picks on models. As a model, I'm starting to feel like a victim."

J points out a very good point. What exactly does Lady GaGa have against models? They're always these bad people who are never connotative with the good image. They end up dead in the most odd (and sometimes disgusting) way possible, or they're doing something very illicit and illegal. I'm not saying that models are the prime citizens of the society and they uphold all the laws and rules, but come on. Sure, some of them are probably involved in gangs and drugs (actually, I'm assuming most are involved in drugs hearing J's stories), but her presentation of the "model" image is borderline vengeful. Not to mention that her music has nothing to do with models. If Everybody's Fool portrayed bunch of models, sure, I understand, but this one is beyond my comprehension.

So somebody enlightened with GaGa, please enlighten me with this one?

Every year, I say to the world that I will NOT be going to Black Friday this year. I hate the crowd, the noise, the fight over the last sock… and every year, we seem to go. At an insane hour in the morning. Like six.

But this year’s Black Friday has come and gone. J spent it in New York, avoiding the crowd. IM spent it, buying… well, I actually have no idea what he bought, needless to say, they are probably things that he will question purchasing two weeks from now. JB spent it sleeping.

Moving on. IM’s value priority, at least when it comes to me, apparently is hair. Apparently 1/3 of my value is hair; or at least, that was what he had said when I told him that my hair had reddened and it had become dry and brittle. That guy really rubs on my nerves sometimes.

I also created a new blog layout for my friend. A very belated birthday gift. It took me two days, since I wanted to center everything and every monitor lays things out differently. For example, you might say 260 pixels left, 400 down on your laptop, but for your father’s huge desktop that might not be the very center. Apparently the only thing you can center is the background and the image; 2 uneven div’s don’t work. Then I had trouble uploading Chopin; for some reason I kept mixing waltz and nocturne up, so I kept uploading the wrong one.

Well, first, designing became a little painful. I usually have black as a background, but she prefers lighter colors. Then the music selection was difficult. I don’t like light-touch Chopin to begin with – my favorite concerto is Sibelius, and I think that speaks for the rest – but she wanted Chopin, and since the blog was daisies and pink and yellow, I couldn’t exactly bring Ballade No.1 as background music, could I? Rachmaninov was out of question. So I had to ask Mother to pick, since I am no piano expert.

Anyway, I can now layout a blog to a fully customizable level. And my gâteau au chocolat rocks.

Je fais un modéle de blog pour ma meilleure amie. J’ai raté son anniversaire.


Je n'ai jamais réalisé à quel point il est difficile de créer des images blog…

Aujourd’hui je suis allé a Microcenter acheter un clavier numérique et un ventilateur pour mon portable. C’été bon, mais quand je suis venu, j’ai trouvé que le ventilateur était cassé. Donc nous sommes allés retour a Microcenter échanger avec un autre.


Donc je suis trés fatigué. Arrrrgh!

Ou alors il dit.

“Mais tu habites en Paris pour le semestre."

“Je sais, mais il toujours n’est pas.”

…

All my life, I lived in cities. Some were old cities that no longer really qualified as cities; some were blazing young cities. But I always lived in a major city, and these cities were my playgrounds.

So when J asked me why I named my new blog Night City, it made me think. It was rather a spur of the moment, and I didn’t really put in any effort. So his question was valid, and my reasoning nonexistent.

Maybe it’s because I lived in Chicago for so long, but to me, a city is somewhere with bustling streets, cars honking, skyscrapers drawing jagged lines in the sky, where the city never sleeps and it’s always bright. Everything is available to you at any hour (unless you suddenly crave L’Artisan Parfumeur’s La Passage d’Enfer at 2AM, but for some reason I think people can wait until the next morning), cars are whizzing by at 3AM, people never look at you, and you can be so alone when you’re surrounded by crowds.

It’s these moments when I enjoy being in a city. The loneliness, the sense that you can get anything you want except personal contact, is very unique to a city. Each city has a face and a different one at that, but at this all cities are the same. Sure, the pace is different; some cities are slow, some cities whizz by. Every city sins and puts on a pretty face to hide it, like an expensive call girl wearing Dior.

I have never lived in a place where the night was quiet. I never lived in a place where it was completely dark in the night. I go out at 3AM to buy ice cream, go downtown at midnight with my friends, see midnight fireworks on New Years. So these things define the city for me.

A lot of my friends are city kids as well. J lived in Paris and moved to New York, and now he has the jaded ambient decadence of a Parisian and that angry, skeptic attitude of a New Yorker. IC has lived in Chicago all his life (granted, the town he lives in is in the suburbs and he is surrounded by nothing but pure, processed suburbia).

So in response to J’s query: I live in the city, and I’m awake during the night. So most of my thoughts and sometimes even events take place in the city during the night.

And that’s my life.

J, our resident playboy and lady killer, had a little escapade last night.

J: “I got stalked.”

Me: “Again?!”

J: “Yes, but this time it wasn’t a young male or a female.”

Me: “Oh?”

“It was a sixty-year-old.”

JB: “Did you ask her age?”

J: “No, but he sure looked like it.”

Me: “Wait, it’s a he?!”

J: “Yes. a senior male.”

Me: “… MAN, that’s gotta suck.”

So our pity goes to the victim. Apparently the new in things among men are being chased by homosexuals and YSL cologne. The latter I have no problems with, but the former is becoming problematic. Women already have enough problems competing against each other to begin with, we don’t need male population to join the flurry. But apparently good-looking men are attractive to men as well; hence all my friends being stalked by gay people. But maybe it can work in reverse, as a sort of a proof of hotness if you are chased by someone gay (sort of like if you keep getting asked out, you can be pretty sure that you are attractive).

On the other hand, my Sephora shipment arrived. I never knew Marc Jacobs’ Lola was in such a big box. The box is HUGE; it can easily fit four bottles of the perfume itself. There are two more on my “want” list; I’m thinking going with IC just for the hell of it.

L’envoi est arrivé hier.
Ces sont merveilleux, mais la boîte de Lola par Marc Jacobs est immense. J’ai acheté le flacon pour 50ml, mais la boîte est probable que c’est pour 100ml flacon ou 200ml. Il à peine va dans ma armoire. C’est à cause de le capsule. C’est beau, mais pas pratique.

I vaguely remembered a conversation I had with JB a few weeks ago. It was late in the night, I was bored and was browsing Givenchy, he was tired and was feeling argumentative and needed much verbal cuddling.

“You know why I like you?”

“Um… because I have breasts and I haven’t slept with J yet?”

“…No. I don’t even want to know where you got that idea. “

“Do enlighten me, then.”

“It’s because you’ve finally gotten out of the pseudo-feminism era of the 1960’s and have finally embraced your gender. It’s refreshing to see a girl who’s trying to play the game by her own rules.”

“But you guys play by my rules anyway. Why should I bother?”

“Perhaps because nobody else coddles and manipulates others to playing by their rules.”

While I don’t remember the entirety, I remembered this snatch of conversation yesterday and started wondering. There are so many women who are very gung-ho on “equality between men and women”, and then there are Charlie’s Angels, and then there’s Marilyn Monroe. But who actually is the closest to achieving “equality between men and women”?

I first decided to examine the “gung-ho”s. Sure, they recite the feminism manifesto, but after all they seem to be playing by the men’s rules, not the women’s. This is frivolous case but the “Men wear trousers, why can’t I” first takes the priorities based on what men prefer for themselves, thereby judging completely according to men’s priorities. Besides, men can’t wear skirts, so why should women be able to wear trousers to work? (And from now on I’m going to sleep with a gun next to my pillow so I don’t get murdered by the feminists).

I then went to the polar opposite – Marilyn Monroe. This, too, was not achieving the fairness that we all seek. While the former is trying to become a man, the latter is trying to become a man’s plaything and that never really is fairness. It’s fun having a sugar daddy and getting pampered, but that is only fun as far as there are no compensations required. So no.

So I’m starting to think that Sabrina Duncan has the right idea. Be feminine, use that weapon to fight the battles. Men use their masculinity to fight their battles, why can’t women use their femininity to fight theirs? That’s the only fairness that can be relatively agreeably achieved. Sure, Bosley can also probably get the jobs done, but Sabrina probably is better in those missions against men. So which is more efficient and painless?

Going back to the conversation. I can never beat JB in Physics and IM is far wiser than me and J has far more energy and IC is far stronger when it comes to last minute jobs. I’ll never be the girl who can carry 400lb. And I’m fine with that. JB can’t write as well as I do, IM can’t carry out experiments as efficiently, J can’t write thank-you notes and IC sucks at organising. So we all have our jobs.

Men and women are fundamentally different and for some reason even the cleverest women are dragged around by men (take Steve and Miranda, for instance). Men say up then down and women panic; women say left then right, men stops listening and just keep moving forward. Katy Parry sang that boys are hot then cold, yes then no, in then out, up then down, but I think girls do that too; it’s just that while girls notice it, get bothered about it, and make a fuss of it, guys just moving at their own paces without getting bothered by their counterparts’ behaviours.

There can never be a corpus callosum between men and women, but there can be google translate.

J’aime des parfumes et maquillage. Je sais c’est sot, mais je pense c’est naturel pour les filles aimer choses comme ça. Enfin, les hommes aiment les voitures et électroniques, et les femmes aiment parfum, maquillage, chausseres et vêtements. C’est naturel, si un peu sot.

Donc j’ai acheté maint maquillage et parfumes. J’aime Sephora; je pense  elle est l’un des meilleurs au milieu de des boutiques de maquillage. Je ne vais pas lister tous les achats, mais je vais dire que c’était beaucoup de quantité. Il semble que j’acheté toujours ombres à paupières de Dior, et rouges rouges à lèvres de Givenchy. Cette fois-ci n’était pas différent.

L’envoi devrait arriver demain.

Mon stylo arrivé aujourd-hui.

C’est de Mont Blanc. Je avait déjà un stylo de Mont Blanc (modèle de Bach), mais c’est trop lourd. C’est impossible d’écrire; je recevais des crampes main.

Mon stylo nouveau est plus léger, mais c’est noir et pas joli. Mais c’est confortable pour écrire avec, ainsi j’aime le stylo.

J just informed me he got a new girlfriend, because the old one dumped him. He sounded his cheery self as usual, perky as a JV cheerleader; I felt like I was hemorrhaging inside when I realised that it might have been me, if something had gone very wrong. And I probably would have sat in my room wondering what went wrong while J would have waltzed off onto his next rendezvous.

When something goes wrong in the relationship, it always seems to be the female populace who sit around moping and wondering what went wrong. Men are also more prone to forgetting anything that isn’t necessary, which leads to the conclusion that for men, relationships aren’t necessary.

Hmm.

After reading a post online about the second movie of Sex and the City, I’m less than impressed. That series was about “how to live single and still be happy” for me; true, it’s not orthodox, but if you look at the female monarchs they all lived like the girls from the TV show. Eat whatever you want, wear whatever you want, consort with whomever you want and move on when the consorting ends. Who said Elizabeth wasn’t happy living that way? I always thought the classic “she must be so lonely, she’s single without children” to be a stereotypical mistake. Celebrate being free, celebrate your choices instead of moping over it. Be intelligent. Be fashionable. Be whatever you want, and don’t apologise for it.

One of the factors that made the message was Samantha. Eldest of the four, wild and free, she showed one way a woman can live – especially when she shouts out the window “You see us Manhattan?! We have it all!” She never apologises for who she is, happy being who she is.

But then I read that Samantha might be trying to get pregnant and… marry Smith. Meaning that all four girls will now be married, as if in order to achieve happiness eventually you have to get married and have babies. I’m not saying marriage+babies= doom, but marriage+babies does not equal happiness either. If she does get married, everything Samantha had said in the past would be a farce, leaving us with the question: is being single and being happy impossible after you hit 35?

This thought terrifies me. Nobody said I’m going to get married for certain. Nobody assured me a happily ever after ending. I’ll get married if I want to, but do I have to do the reverse apology or actually go apologising if I don’t? Did Samantha always feel that she was missing out on something? What if you don’t want to settle down with any old guy? Very few people actually marry their princes, and the vast majority end up marrying based on compromises and give-ins. What if I didn’t want to? Will I be satisfied, or would I always feel a gaping hole?

And is this what masculine society has forced us to think, or is this the natural course? Because life isn’t an HBO sitcom; like everything else, it has expiration date, and chances of marriage and conceiving decline after you hit thirty. So what if you are Samantha, and then suddenly realise that life isn’t actually worth living if you don’t have a husband and three children, but by then you’re already forty-three? It’s a bit too late for marriage and/or conception.

Being single means certain freedom. Sleeping at 3AM, waking up at noon, wearing whatever you want, buying only for yourself. As soon as you’re married and have kids, you stop caring for you appearance (most of the time), the kid is drooling and screaming in the other room and your husband is hungry. I’m not entirely sure which is better.

So I’m not saying the second movie, if the speculations are right, will be a betrayal to single women. But it will certainly be a betrayal to its premises.

Once upon a time, in the cyberspace that never sleeps, two people were carrying on a conversation in their free privacy that warranted only inhibitions against each other.

“So, what did you do this week?”

“Not much. I bought shoes. I got a discount! They’re Miss Sixty, so they cost about $150, but I bought it for 2/3 of a price.”

“… You bought shoes… again!?”

“Would that be wrong?”

“I have no further comments, your honor.”

It’s always these guys who scoff and laugh at the superficial values who check out the girls in heels, which makes the entire ordeal completely unfair. It’s not the guys who well, not exactly respect but provides no comment about these things who value them, oh no. It’s the guys who do. They’ll laugh and be appalled at $200 sandals from Italy, but then will most certainly check out any girl who’s wearing them.

So I asked him (him being IM), what he thought about it.

“Well, of course we check out the girls. It’s natural.”

“Then why do you guys always make rather derogatory comments about it? $200 strappy sandals from Jimmy Choo are your business too if that is going to be the trigger to you checking the said lady out.”

“We don’t check the girls out because they’re wearing $300 shoes. We check them out because they look hot. And most likely, if a girl’s willing to dish out $300 for a pair of shoes, she cares a hell of a lot about how she looks. So she’ll diet, go to the end of the world to look attractive.”

“How do you know?”

“By looking at you.”

What he forgot to notice is that these expensive strappy sandals also become expensive weapons. So please, don’t mock the shoes. It may not mean much to you, but it means a lot to us.

J: So what have you done recently?
Me: I bought a pair of shoes.
J: AGAIN!? What's it like?
Me: It's suede, it's pink, it's 3 inches high, and it's from Miss Sixty.
IM: 3 inches? I thought your heel preference was like women's preference for [insert the unmentionable body part] size.
Me: I don't wear 8 inch heels.
IM: So you say.
J: Ya know, I'm so glad we don't have to wear heels - yet. Ya never know, Elle made guys wear heels in February, Stephen was complaining about it.
Me: I thought it was only in women's genes to be able to wear heels.
J: Apparently not. Though I think Alexander McQueen went a bit too far with the heel height.
IM and Me: ??
J: Yeah. He made his models wear these 12 inch heels.
Me: Were the shoes cute?
IM: They f*cking defy laws of physics. What do you think?

I was talking to J while reading through some papers when I stumbled across a certain title that caught my eye. I don't exactly recall its precise title; maybe it's just the timing that I was talking to J, or maybe it's the fact that I said goodbye to my teens, but it just stuck to my mind.

The question that arose in my mind was: when is the right time to lose it?

While I understand that it's not some asset nowadays and it's not necessarily something you "lose" per se, along with its connotations, I grew up in the belief - firmly supported by my unfaithful (male) friends and my faithful (female) friends, that virginity should be kept until, well, marriage. A lot of people I know have the same belief as me; well, not all, but a surprising number the people in my address book do.

On the other hand, now that I think about it, I can only think up of very few males around me who follow my belief. Apparently sometime during Genesis God instilled the belief of "No certain expiration date" in women and "Well, there isn't any expiration date but hey what the hell, it's in the fridge let's eat it" belief in men.

Well, maybe I'm being biased. But then I stumbled across another - and rather frightening - statistics in the New York Times. Apparently 1/4 of Japanese people in their 30's are virgins.

Considering that I've never heard of "virgin going on thirty" as being a valuable asset in relationships, I decided to count "virgin going on thirty" as a somewhat negative factor. So people won't be saying "Hey yeah, I'm a virgin" in this survey. Which meant that AT LEAST1/4 of the 30-somethings in Japan are virgins. Which means there may be more.

Not to mention that apparently some guys think virgins are just burdens. I can see that. Those who are virgins in their twenties are probably trying to save themselves for the right guy, regardless of whether he exists, and well, those types don't do well in easy flings.

Which leads to the question: What is the right time?

If you're thirty and unmarried, should you just go do it? Or should you still wait? I'm twenty now, so what about twenty-year olds? (Note: apparently it's easier to get a boyfriend if that factor isn't really important. Never knew...)

Asking J was a foolish thing. His immediate response was, "Why? Trying to lose it?"

"Is that an offer?"

"I'm always offering."

"Right. Go offer it to some other victim."

Is virginity a sign that you're reproductivly challenged? (And mind you, you ARE reproductively challenged if you don't have anyone to reproduce with; for now, anyway.) Or does that mean you're just waiting? Is it a trophy or is it a burden? Is it like a produce, something that you want fresh (I've never seen anyone who likes to drink regurgitated milk) but don't want it beyond expiration date?

Unfortunately the guys around me (read: JB, IM and J) seem to think of it as trophies. But clearly they've had their share of their plays, so I can't really know whether their opinions represent the general populace. Not to mention that it's rather easy for guys to ascertain (to a certain degree) their partners' freshness, with girls, not as easy. As IM said, "It's okay for guys, but maybe not as okay for girls". As much as this sounds sexist, there is cold harsh reality facing the young generation: how many XY's are there against XX's who can claim the same? In my case, not many.

Guys have it so much easier. Spinster sounds derogatory, but bachelor sounds normal leaning on "independent and handsome" (or so my friend said).

Pseudodoctor: I want a gay friend.
IM: Not a gay boyfriend?
Pseudodoctor: No, a friend. So I can take him to lunches and shopping sprees at Barney's.
JB: Sorry love, but I'm not going to sleep with IM for you.
Pseudodoctor: So you'd sleep with J instead?
IM and JB: (Looks at each other) ... NO.

IM: See, there's an ideal. Women should wear make-up, but you should know no change from the face without make-up. That way, you know that she cares about how she looks, but you don't feel cheated when you wake up the next morning and see the face next to you.
JB: It is rather shocking when the light transforms a face into something completely different.
IM: Yeah, you also feel cheated! I mean, we don't have half an inch cream mask to hide behind, do we?
Me: Wait a minute. So you want girls to wear make-up, but you don't want anything to change WITH make-up. What's the incentive for the girls to wear make-up anyway?
JB: I have no idea. I never understood the concept behind cosmetic aesthetics. They say it's to look prettier and get men, but it's going to come off by the next morning, unless you have it tattooed (and then that's pretty horrifying on another level). And if you're pretty enough, why hide your face behind toxic chemicals? Therefore, make-up is useless.

I was talking to IM a few days ago when (predictably) our conversation turned to relationships. IM, the notorious bachelor, seems to enjoy the life of a bachelor but said "I want to settle down someday."

"Um, okay." That's great, what's it got to do with me?

He then continued on without any regard to me, saying "The problem with you, pseudodoctor, is that you have too many limbo guys."
"The what?"
"You know, the guys you have nowhere to tidy into, so you have the ever-ambiguous 'I don't know what this is' category."
"Do elaborate."
"Well, there's me, there's J, there's your debate partner, e.t.c., of which you don't classify them as friends, because your warped definition of a friend is someone you don't have romantic interest in and neither do they to you. You have too many of them."
"Okay, you just put me off my yogurt."
"Sorry to hear that, but all I'm saying is, stop classifying people."

Which made me think. Do I classify people? Probably. I'm rather Aristotelian. I like things packed neatly away according to categories: colour, number, width, height, e.t.c. So there are my best friends, my female friends, my male friends. And then there are a few who don't belong anywhere. And when one of them tries to wiggle out of that little box, I freak out.

It is rather a mystery, because it looks like no one has this problem aside me. Most of my friends have "romantic interest", "friends", "don't care" section, while I have "Romantic interest", "eye candy", "friend", "Enemy", "Friendly Rival", and much more in the pigeon hole, and each person is neatly put away in each drawer. And then there is one drawer in the corner that says "misc", in which people like IM are thrown in pell-mell, regardless of all the other labels they might offer.

Should I stop labeling, or should I start more minute labeling?

Pseudodoctor: I cleaned out my wardrobe, I don't have any more place to store shoes and still I want more. Is that bad?
JB: You and your shoes...
Pseudodoctor: Ooh, hold on a sec. My lipstick just arrived!
JB: You and your cosmetics...

Yeah. Have anything else to say, mister?

This concerns the ladies and therefore the guys might not want to read this, but I recently came to the conclusion that while human beings have made great advancements and can build skyscrapers, they can't make underwear that won't fall down without straps.

Yes, ladies, you know what I'm talking about.

I hate it when people walk around in tank-tops and halters with the straps showing. It's almost as if you're wearing shorts but the grannie underwear's showing underneath. It's annoying, and if you go without the straps then you always have to run to the ladies room to adjust it so it won't fall down. It just irks me.

So... Wacoal, Gilly Hicks, VS... I know you are all amazing, so can you please invent affordable underwear that won't fall down if we remove the straps? Seriously.

I went through a lot this summer, ranging from... well, if you know, you know, if you don't, you don't. Anyway, there are a few things I've discovered along the way, whether for better or for worse, and I'm hoping that I will be able to look back to this summer with a reminiscent smile on my face.

First, IC grew up. Dramatically. He must have gone through a lot more than I had expected, but he did. After not seeing him for a year, he seemed to have grown so much that he was taking care of me, not the other way around. This was jarring, but it also reminded me that guys just grow up like that; one day you see him and the roles have been reversed, and you are both emotionally and physically weaker than him in more ways than you expected.

When I first met him, he was like a little brother for me, someone I had to care for. He was more fragile than I was, more prone to shatters and breaks, and I felt that I had to watch out for him. This continued through high school, with me standing and watching from afar while he went ahead and crashed headfirst into troubles (emotional troubles, I mean). After all, we were both teenagers with teenager-problems.

But then this year, it seemed that he had graduated from my care and he was mentally caring for me. It was rather odd, since in my head I could accept it, but in my mind he was still the Freshman IC. But it hit me finally; he had grown up enough to have enough emotional leeway to care for what I was going through without involving himself to the point that he was breaking.

Or maybe he just realised that I was not the confident me that he knew so well, the one who would crash and then bounce back, but I do have breakdowns and when I do they are bigger than expected.

Even so, it was a nice change, and it's nice to have someone that I can lean on when I'm shattering.

Second, I had come to fully accept that I am a female and therefore there are weaknesses that can be exploited. It is a terrifying thought to be honest; the fact that there are some things that guys can do that cannot be prevented when it happens without any warning. I'm really glad that my friends always maintain enough self control to not do something stupid.

Third, to J, IM, and IB: thanks for being there when I was falling apart. Thanks for not giving me pep talks but just listening. Thanks for giving me your arms when I needed someone to be embraced by.

Fourth, to all my female friends: thanks for having that blind faith in me that only females can have. I won't say that's what's been keeping me going (because it isn't), but it is a relief that someone has faith in me when I never have faith in myself.

So I have learned to breathe a little. And maybe sit back and not run for once.

Pseudodoctor: I love Sephora.
JB: My card doesn't.

I think this explains it all.

Now listening to: Simian Mobile Disco - Hustler - Hustler

Today did not start off well. First, I went to bed at seven in the morning, because I was reading something and I couldn't stop until I came to a good point. Now, I would not have done this if it wasn't for my mother yakking at me to do it.

Sometime while I was sleeping, my father decided that today would be a good day to take my mother and me to the mall, since I wanted to buy something there, and had told him some time ago. Now, this is very fine, except I was notified - rather abruptly - around 10 AM - that we were leaving. Right away. Needless to say, I was groggy, and the last thing I could care about was going to the mall. My mother then gave me a 30 minute "grace period" to get ready, during which I had to get up, throw some clothes on, and rush out. Not happy.

She then informed me that I was ungrateful and I always think I'm always right, and I'm a spoiled brat. As much as I agree with the part that I am quite possibly spoiled, she has NO right to say that I think I'm always right, since she does exactly that. In fact, she is the most inert creature I have ever met. She resists to anyone suggesting her to change like a child resisting going to a dentist. Jesus.

I will NOT be thankful for being woken up after 3 hours of sleep, and I will be grumpy, thank you very much. I don't do well with sudden change of plans since you never did, and while I'm thankful for everything you bought me today, that's actually Father's money, not yours.

And if you're going to do something at your own cost, don't complain or rub it in after you've done it. It halfs the effect and quite frankly, if you have to complain about it then I'd rather have you not do it.

And stop blaming everything on the accident. Sure, half of it might be the accident's fault, but not everything is. You're the one who gave up on rehab, so stop complaining.

But considering that the skin is the largest organ in the body and far larger than the brain, maybe it is logically safe to say that beauty, while maybe not the most important, really is the largest part of your life in some ways. My goodness, this is depressing.

Anyway, I saw J on BYBLOS runway today on youtube. Later on, this conversation occurred:
Pseudodoctor: J! What happened to you?!
J: What?
Pseudodoctor: You look like a normal guy now! Where did my beloved J go?!
J: Did you telephone to make me angry?
Pseudodoctor: No. I just wanted to say that you look good in red.

But J's look has changed, and I'm not sure if I like it. Maybe it was the bad make-up staff.

NOW LISTENING TO: Placebo - - My Sweet Prince

Never thought you'd make me perspire.
Never thought I'd do you the same.
Never thought I'd fill with desire.
Never thought I'd feel so ashamed.
Last night, I had a dream.

In it, I was unclothed in bed, my hair unbound. I don't know why, but there was a distinct sense of regret in the air; I was watching JB sleep next to me, equally unclothed. It was rather obvious what we had been doing. The air was rank with desire, sweat, and... shame. Despite the fact that at least in my dream, I knew that he was the one. That he was the only one who could break my heart over and over again, the only one that I'd let my heart broken by. I felt defiled, worthless, and an utter failure.

I woke up crying.

A lot of things I hold dear to me because I can't take things for granted; I'm not saying that I'm the most unfortunate person in the world, but there had been so many things that I had to go through that others did not. Moving around the world (literally), parents' instability, my mother's car accident debilitating her, my own mental problem... everything I have right now I had to fight and beg for.

Some have managed to breeze through life. Not many nights where you cried yourself to sleep without even knowing; not many mornings where you woke up with tears on your face. Z once told me that he had his heart broken; but I always wonder if he knows the true meaning of getting your heart broken, that dark desperation that this is all a bad dream. Whether it is someone you love or something you had spent your life on, having that taken away from you can't be described with any word. I remember every sense becoming duller, as if someone had suddenly taken a vibrant photograph and marred it by dulling the colours; life seemed to move slower, especially when I wanted it to move faster so I could flee the numbness. It was no longer pain; it was just numb. No tears would do justice to the pain. It was so life-altering that I still drag the remains of the incident behind me to this day, and I think I will for a very long time in the future. Each love is a battlefield, and the winner and the loser both emerge with scars.

JB is one of the very few people who is sensitive enough, delicate enough, yet strong enough to go into battle. He had his heart broken just as I had mine; he had felt rejected by something he had spent his life on, time and time again, felt desolate and hopeless, yet he always stands up and walks back into the foray of battle again, knowing that whether he is victorious or not he will be bleeding even worse than before.

Each love is the same, in a way. Love is not peace but war, and both parties come out so hurt and so battered that it makes one wonder why some people go back into battle time and time again, bodies covered in wounds, blood spilled onto fresh earth. It is so easy not to go back, to let go; yet some keep fighting, knowing that when they finally die no one will recite their heroics. We wear the crown of thorns and bear our own crosses, knowing that it is possible for us to throw off the cross, take off the thorn and flee; yet we walk through our own Jerusalems, our backs raw and bleeding. Each step gets worse than the one before, and the sun sheds its harsh rays cruelly. And in the end we end up on the hill of Golgotha, waiting for our judgment that is always so cruel.

I sometimes envy those who have easy lives. But on the other hand because I bear this cross every tree I see is more vibrant, every fruit I taste is sweeter than ever. Despite all the wounds I bear, now that I look back I would not trade my life for an easier one. Because each hardship prepares me for the next one. And in the end, even if I do end up on Golgotha, I will know that I have lived my life to the utter fullest, my body full of scars but also filled with memories of every intense pleasure.

I dedicate this post to all those who know what it is to feel that intense helplessness of being rejected by that being you love so much - and those who keep plodding on, despite carrying a cross, back raw with a crown of thorn on the head. For we cannot help but be whatever we are. And we had chosen our path and can only live that way.

今日ふっとドリー（前の討論部のパートナー）のことが頭に浮かんだ。

それと共にキャンディーズの歌が浮かんできた（古！）。

　　真っ赤な林檎を頬ばる　←やった
　　ネイビーブルーのTシャツ　←着てた
　　あいつはあいつは可愛い年下の男の子　←確かに年下

　　淋しがり屋で生意気で　←確かにそうだ
　　憎らしいけど好きなの　←確かに憎らしい（つーか言うこと聞かない）￥
　　L・O・V・E　投げキッス
　　私のこと好きかしら
　　はっきり聞かせて

　　ボタンの取れてるポケット　←取れていた
　　汚れて丸めたハンカチ　←ハンカチを持っていない
　　あいつはあいつは可愛い年下の男の子

　　デートの時間に遅れる　←確かにいつも遅れる
　　いつでもけんかをしかける　←喧嘩をしかけるのが楽しいのかと思うほど
　　あいつはあいつは可愛い年下の男の子

　　忘れん坊でわがままで　←すぐ忘れるしマイペース
　　意地悪だけど好きなの　←死ぬほど意地が悪い
　　L・O・V・E　投げキッス
　　私のこと好きかしら
　　はっきり聞かせて

　　片方なくした手袋　←手袋ではなく靴下
　　ほどけたまんまの靴ヒモ　←結ばれていたためしがない
　　あいつはあいつは可愛い年下の男の子

　　淋しがり屋で生意気で
　　憎らしいけど好きなの
　　L・O・V・E　投げキッス
　　私のこと好きかしら
　　はっきり聞かせて

　　ボタンの取れてるポケット
　　汚れて丸めたハンカチ
　　あいつはあいつは可愛い年下の男の子
　　あいつはあいつは可愛い年下の男の子
　　あいつはあいつは可愛い年下の男の子

やれやれ。

あいつのなんだったんだ、あたしゃ（笑

What do you do when you find yourself in a limbo, unable to identify where you are in another's regard?

What do you do when you realize that you were about 4 years too late?

What do you do when there's an ocean standing in the way?

What do you do?

For some reason I don't think this'll solve like an algebra problem.

Or that's what they seem to think.

Now that this glorious sleepy summer is hitting autumn, I decided to disclose myriad of lewd comments I received from my male acquaintances this summer. Some of them are... well, wow, others are funny. And all of them contain more than enough implicit sexuality.

Be warned.

Oh, and I also found it amusing that they were all said by Europeans. Apparently Americans are prudes :P

Jeremy: Your waist size is 24?
Me: Yup.
Jeremy: Perfect.
Me: For what...?
Jeremy: For me to wrap my arms. Without me going SQUISH.
Me: ?!?!?

Me: Why is it that guys stare at me? Is there something on my face?
Jack: There's lipstick on your mouth.
Me: That's not what I meant!
Jack: I think you're the one who's responsible. The way you dress doesn't leave much to imagination...
Jeremy: Or leave too much.

Jeremy: I hope she's coming home with me tonight~~
Me: She's not.
Jeremy: ... You did.

Jack: You're coming onto me.
Me: Nope.
Jack: What's that hand?
Me: It's on the table.
Jack: Yeah, you're coming onto me. Wanna take it further?
Me: ... no.

Jeremy: For God's sake, can you please stop swooning over 2D characters and swoon over a real guy for once!?
Me: Like who...
Jeremy: I'm a real guy...
Me: Uh huh. I love you too.

Jack: The guys were looking at you.
Me: Okay. As usual.
Jack: It amuses me that I'm the only one who can talk to you.
Me: And what do you feel about that?
Jack: I'm happy about that, thanks very much.

Jeremy: If you had to pick someone to sleep with, who would you pick?
Me: I have no clue.
Jack: We can do three to a bed.
Jeremy: Nope. We'll do it, you can watch.
Me: Wait, wait a moment! Don't I get a say?!
Jack and Jeremy: (stares) ... No.

4:30PM. It's nice weather. I'm wearing regular clothes, and I go out to get something from a store nearby. I walk there. The heels clatter against the sidewalk. In the due process of getting there, which took, oh, let's say, about 10 minutes, I got hooted twice by a guy I didn't know, got honked at (no, I was not crossing the street), got stared at, and was beaten by a branch.

WILL YOU LEAVE ME ALONE?

Oh, and by the way, please stop staring at me. It's RUDE.

Jebus.

My results came in (well, not really). I passed, and as all med students know, it's pass baby, it's all about the pass. Hence I was able to sleep, and I slept for about 15 hours (is that possible? Trust me, it is). Anyway, I'd like to shout...

FOR THOSE OF YOU WHO ARE SAYING THAT YOU DON'T NEED SEX BECAUSE YOUR MAJOR FUCKS YOU EVERYDAY...

well...

SHUT THE FUCK UP.

I'm not being elitist. Really, I'm not. But I nearly died last year, and the hardest year has yet to come. I think the worst was when I pulled 3 all-nighters consecutively, not because I had any deadlines coming up but because I was so behind in compiling notes. Med school sucks, and probably law school too, so just shut up and go back to solving Calculus.

And for those of you who are aspiring to go to med school and think House is close to reality, think again. It's not. It's one of those professions where your fingers have the honour and privilege to travel to the grossest places ever devised by God, and those include sick vaginal orifices and men's rectums. So unless you have a fetish of sticking your fingers up there (and in which case please desist from coming back here again), try a cleaner profession.

Seriously.

Here's the stuff I need to learn next year...

Pathology
Microbiology
Medical Ethics (WHAT?!)
Biostats
Physio and Anatomy
Pharmacology
Psychology (again, WHAT?)
Immunology
Histology

so if you don't hear from me again, that means I died.

Ciao.

And the remainder of the lyrics shall not be disclosed because I have to keep this blog rating PG13 (haha)


Anyway, the lyrics is from 'I touch Myself' by The Genitorturers. Go look it up yourself if you want to know it that bad.

And here I am, sort of dreading July because that's when I get my exam results... and get to know if I can continue university next year o-O oh crap.

Now, excuse me while I go enjoy the art of a bronzer.

Dear Dolce and Gabbana,

In case you haven't noticed, you and your kind of sexual orientation are the only ones who actually find naked males in nothing but underoos hot and arousing.

Thank you, the management.

But SERIOUSLY. It's gross. Those steroid-induced genetic freaks that flaunt their abs (and more) in nought but briefs should be arrested. I don't CARE if they're hot, they're sexy, they're good-looking, whatever.

Fact of the day: THEY LOOK GROSS.

I don't want to see it! I just don't. Thank you, I was enjoying the nice scenery outside and then all of a sudden I see the stupid D&G ad where there's a guy with nothing but white briefs trying to look cool. Not only did that attempt fail horribly, but it also made my stomach churn.

It doesn't help that their muscles are bulging, inducing yucky images of the gym, sweat, and well... steroids.

Ew.

So, when you get this memo, D&G, please stop using muscly bundles of fiber. I DON'T WANT TO SEE IT.

...

So I was looking at Ticketmaster when I saw...

LED ZEPPELIN COMES TO KINGS COLLEGE!

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

Yeah, that's what I thought. Duh.

And since I thought Robert Plant was one of the sexiest vocalists ever, I looked at the photos when I saw...

Ew.

Old.

REALLY old.

No matter what I look at, THEY'RE OLD.

I HATE OLD GUYS!

Therefore, I'm not going. Apparently the ticket costs 11.50 pounds, but it's still expensive even if the ticket was 20p!

I'll go if they become young again <-arrogance rampant

Go away, old man.

Actually, how about going into a coffin instead? I think it's about time to go to the next world. You've finished your job here. I don't think there's anything to regret about this world either. Therefore, just go without a fuss.

Well... Not just Led Zep, but Queen and all those people too. You guys were popular half because of you guys' looks! You guys are utterly useless when you guys get old! Your places aren't even in this world, let alone a stage.

By the way, Linkin Park cost 60 pounds but I still went anyway.

Yeah, these days Linkin Park costs more than Zep. Time changes, ha.

Youth is the best。Therefore, the CD Led Zep is quite enough, thank you. Even if they offered me a 100 quid to go, I still don't want to. They'll hurt my eyes ><

Oh, they'll probably hurt my ears too.

Oh wait, never mind, Jimmy's guitar was sometimes painful to my ears to begin with. Oh well.

But I gotta say this...

KCL, get a sense in your head, for god's sake.

．．．

いやー、チケットマスター見てたら．．．


うおおおおおおおおおおおおお！

と思ったんですね。当たり前だわな。

で、「今のツェッペリンどうなってんのかいな」と思って写真見たら．．．

げ。

爺．．．

つーか爺。

どうみても爺。

爺は嫌いだ。

というわけで行きません。１１．５０ポンドらしいが２０Pでも高いわ！

若返ったら行ってやろう。←何えばってんだよ

爺は向こうへ行け。

つーか棺おけに入ってください。もういい加減あの世に行ったらいかがでしょう？役目も終わったんだし～。人生悔いることもねーでしょ。だからあっさりぽっくりと。

もうクイーンとかツェッペリンとか全員ぽっくり行けよ、お前ら顔で半分持ってたんだろ！爺になったら役立たずなんだよ！お前らの場所は舞台どころかこの世にはもはやない。

ちなみにリンキン・パークは60ポンドですが行きました。

今はツェッペリンよりもリンキンの方が高いのさ、時代は変わるぜ（ふっ

若さが一番。という訳でツェッペリンはCDだけで充分でございます。100ポンドもらっても行きたくありません。目の保養どころか目の害に．．．

耳の害にもなったりして．．．（あ、ジミーのギターはもう耳の害か、そこは変わってません）。

うちの大学もセンス悪！

First of all, I'd like to say...

WHY THE HELL DIDN'T ENGLAND GET THROUGH?!

HUH!? HUH!!!???

I demand an explanation.

Other than that, it looks like it's going to be the regular cup fight between Netherlands, Italy, Germany, France, Spain and Portugal. Given that Portugal plays dirty, they're probably out... but France, Italy, Spain and Germany are probably going to put up a good fight.

Who am I rooting for? I don't know yet :P

So my first year in med school is finally over, and now all I've left to do is pack my stuff and go home. As much as that sounds fun, it's not, because...

A. Most of my US friends were done in MAY, and have been lounging around for a while.
B. Oh wait, I have a grand total of about 3 friends. Never mind.
C. Dragging microbiology, biochem and other textbooks across the ocean is NOT my idea of FUN!

Anyway, enough with ranting.

Tata.

実写だったら神田はこの時のガクトさんで（笑

今のガクトは却下。

Conclusion: My debate partner is a little retarded sometimes.

Conclusion: I am not an ordinary female.

Conclusion: Ehh, what?

I finally got a response from my ex-debate partner after a hiatus of... what? 5 months? He just disappeared (not literally, I mean, but he wasn't responding to me) then suddenly decided to make a comeback. And I'd like to hollar:

WTF ARE YOU DOING?! DID YOU THINK I'D BE THERE FOR YOU? (well, I was, but...) TREAT ME A LITTLE NICER DAMN IT, I AM NOT YOUR GIRLFRIEND OR YOU MUM!

Ahh, that felt good.

But if he wanted a little space, then why the hell didn't he say so? He could have, right? But oh no. He just stopped responding, leaving many clueless people in what? Fear (or maybe that was the select few), desolation (now I'm being overdramatic), e.t.c. Not cool, Ian. Not cool.

But he did make a move. Now it's my turn.

Checkmate.

Well, I found it.

I found the song.

And I'm about to die of joy... well, not really.

Let me explain.

A few weeks ago, I randomly wandered into a weird CD shop in Richmond and heard this song that was just grabbed my heart. After I went home, I craved it. I wanted it. I was dying for it.

The problem was, I didn't know the song title... or the artist name. So basically, I was screwed. I mourned for such a song. It's rare for me to instantaneously love a song - usually it takes about 30 listens. But this one was... different. It caught me.

And just this morning, I stumbled upon the song on YOUTUBE. I nearly cried when I heard the song.

What's the song? Well, you're probably listening to it right now. It's by Kirito, and it's called Poison.

Lyrics:
I watch you as you sleep beyond the deep fog
Just like sweet poison I embrace and dig my nails

The pose with tears is beautiful
Like swallowing light darkness is made

The night your eyes were wet with tears and mourned, the door opened
The memory that interrupted the two shattered into pieces

The night when body trembled and shattered, the door opened
The silence that interrupts the two has already disappeared

I'll pour it into the wanting lips
If you want to fall endlessly
I'll give it to the upraised palm
The despair that makes you even love regret

I did think of something though... the guy who can say this to me is either A: VERY confident, B: very sadistic, or C: Both. Normal guys will probably get scared of getting this response:

"HUH?! You want to make me drink poison? How about I make you drink it instead?"

So... the guy's sure that I'll drink it, or he's sadistic enough to make me drink it.

And while that's dangerously romantic, I might say no to that offer...

うおおおおおおおおおおおおおおお！！！！！

とうとう見つけた...あの運命の曲...（運命じゃないって）

いやー、何かって言うとですね、たまたまなんかでかかってたんですよ、なんかオタッキー系のCDショップだったと思うんだけど。リッチモンドだったと思うけど。もうすごい気に入っちゃったんだけどどうしても曲名もアーティスト名も不明。そんなわけで２週間ぐらいイライライラ...

タイトルは毒薬。キリトさんの曲だそうです。

歌詞はどうやら男が女に毒を飲ませる...ことらしい。ううー、なんちゅうS。

でもこれ私に言える人ってそうそういないんじゃ？大体普通の奴が私に言ったら「逆に私が飲ましてやろうか...」って黒い笑みを浮かべながら言いかねない。そしたら普通怖いでしょ。

だから言える人→相当の自信家、相当のサド、傲慢。

なんか言われたいような言われたくないような...複雑な心境です。

でも唇に毒ってよく使われてるな。思わず三島由紀夫を思い出させるフレーズ。

I got this passed around from somebody... and since I did Reno in the Japanese blog, I'll do Tyki in this one.

I Love You Baton■

1.Without hiding anything, tell all the truth
2.Do not run ahead of yourself
3.You must specify a male
4.No matter how many times this is passed on to you, you must complete it


【Specify】Er, Tyki Mikk


■The place where you met 【Tyki】?

Probably when I was browsing through Crunchyroll and stumbled upon him in nought but underwear.

■What about【Tyki】makes you a fangirl?

I'm not a fangirl (I think) so I really can't say.

■Is 【Tyki】S or M? Which would you prefer?

As much as I love bullying people, I have a good feeling that I'd be bullied... so S.

■What kind of 【Tyki】's behavior makes you love him?

Errr.... I have no clue.

■What makes you like 【Tyki】?

Probably the devil-may-care attitude.

■What don't you like about【Tyki】?

He's probably smoking pot, not cigarettes?

■What do you want from 【Tyki】?

Erm, please die very soon in the back alley of South London so I can stop reading that thing... it's getting long and tedious.

■Anyone who should become closer to 【Tyki】?

I want to see Sherrill/Tyki interaction, actually. That sounds amusing.

■Anything you focus on when writing/drawing 【Tyki】?

I do neither, so none?

■Do you want him as a family?

No thank you. He'd drive me nuts.

■School uniform or blazer?

Blazer!

■Jersey or Jeans?

Jeans!

■Would you like to marry him?
No thank you. Again, he'd drive me up the wall.

■Any last words of love?

... please die very soon. I don't like your recent transformation...

バトンが回ってきたので（つーか回すな！）一応義務感も在り…（ないって）

愛してるんだけどバトン■

1.包み隠さず全て語ること
2.突っ走るのは禁止
3.指定するのは男の子であること
4.また回されても何回もやること


【指定】 困った…えーと、えとえと、レノ


■【レノ】と初めて出会った場所は？

ＦＦＶＩＩの最初ボス。あのゆらゆら揺れる立ち方が印象深かった。

■【レノ】の何処に萌える？

萌えないのでなんとも言えません。

■【レノ】はS？M？どっちでいて欲しい？

うーん、本人Ｍは嫌なんじゃないでしょうか。武器見てても接近戦用だし…

■【レノ】のどんな仕種が萌える？

あの三つ子を吹っ飛ばす時の笑み。あんた、自分も爆発エリアにいたら死ぬってわかってますかー？

■【レノ】の好きなところは？

飄々としている性格。どうなっても笑っている所。

■【レノ】の嫌いなところは？

なんかこう決まらない所。一応二枚目なんだろ！飲んだくれてないでちったあ格好いいとこ見せてちょ。

■【レノ】に望んでることは？

とりあえず死なないで。後は望みません。格好よくなるのは無理だって知ってます。

■もっと【レノ】と絡んで欲しい人は？

絡むってねぇ…見るなら社内風景（特にイリーナにくどくど言われているところ）が見たいです。

■【レノ】を描（書）くときに特に主張しているところは？

あのヘラヘラ気味でしょうか。学ナシ、変態（多分）、ヘタレの三冠王。

■家族にするなら？

ご遠慮します。あんな奴が家族だったらこっちが気が狂って死ぬわい。

■学ランとブレザー、どっちを着てほしい？

つーか常にブレザーなのでもっぱらブレザーです。

■私服ではジャージ、ジーパンどちらでいて欲しい？

ジーンズ。

■結婚したい？
絶対に嫌です。見てるのは好きだけど。

■最後に愛をどうぞ。

コミックなところがありながらも決める所は決めるエース。

これからも沢山人の邪魔をしてください。

あんたはそのために生まれてきたんだから。

So, my first year at a university is ending rapidly (ONE MORE EXAM TO GO... not to mention that this might be my last year if I fail my exams... oh crap), and I thought about reviewing this year, sum it up, and kinda lock it away in my memory and throw away the key (just kidding). Lots of stuff... didn't happen, actually, my life didn't have all the high school drama shit for once.

Well, what I learned is that... people still hate me in the States. And to be honest... I've ceased to care. Provided that I don't fail my exams (of which fate, I don't know), I've long left all the high school/undergrad drama and if I just keep passing my exams I'm set for life, right? (NOT). Most of them I'll never see again, so help me God. And for those of you who think that you're actually happy getting illegally drunk every night, well, good for you. I won't mention just how many dendrites you're damaging, because surprise surprise, it's recoverable... mostly. But many of the dendrites never rejoin, and hence bye bye synapse; but that's your choice.

Two, med school sucks. Yes it does. It sucks like no tomorrow and most of the time I was so sleep-deprived and so... health-deprived and so caffeine-overloaded that I might as well as have been guzzling amphetamines instead of 600mg caffeine (which is very close to lethal dose, I learned later). But you know what? If I can, I'd like to remain in this world, not because of the power trip (although I won't deny it), or the drama (of which I've witnessed many but never partook), but because... I like medicine, I guess. I've worked so hard to grab at it... I've sacrificed a lot of things for it, and getting rejected is one thing, but letting it go is quite another. So for those of you who keep asking me "why won't you enjoy your undergrad years?", excuse my Anglosaxon expletive but please, sod off (wait, that's not an expletive).

Three, I'd like to thank my next door neighbour to the left... you've shown me a lot of things that no one else could before. Although I still question your work ethics and your random habits of knocking on my door at bizarre hours and/or asking me to do bizarre things (and no, I am not letting you give me a Physical, no is a no), each of your observations warranted and merited a close analysis later on. And I did appreciate the ice cream.

Hopefully (although I can hear my best friend in university, Jennifer, screaming "JUST SHUT UP"), I can come back to this school next year.

And hopefully Stolkie retires or croaks it this year; I refuse to have him as my neuroanatomy lecturer. Either create a constructive and informative slide for the notes or stop reading off it. Your existence in the classroom merited zero benefit this year.

And stop making me feel like an idiot. I know I'm an idiot, that's why I'm here. I don't need a constant reminder...

タイトルは特に意味はありません。ただめちゃくちゃむしゃくしゃしてるからそういうタイトルにしただけです。でもなんかピストルかなんかばんばん撃てたらすっきりすんだべな。もっとも私はやりません、たぶん人を撃つだろうから。

まず停電が起きた。朝の九時頃。必要なPDFをダウンロードしてたらいきなり回線が切れたので「あれ？あれ？」と思ってたらいきなり動かなくなった。そしてあっという間にあたりは薄暗い闇に包まれ…って言うと小説調だけど実は電気が消えただけ。驚いて外に出てみると廊下は暗し。おかしいなと思ってロビーに出るとエレベーター動かず。

この時点で「あ、停電だ」と気がついた。ま、普通の停電は３０分ほどで復旧するので待っていたが待てど暮らせど電気はつかない。腹が立ったのでパソコンとバインダー引っつかんでガイズの図書館行こうと思ったら閉まっている。仕方がないのでウォータールーに行った。あそこの図書館にいると頭が痛くなるのであまり行かないようにしているんだが背に腹は変えられないということでいたしかない。

帰ってきたのは７時頃。私は雨女に変身したらしくこの頃外に出ると必ず雨に降られる。中に入るとぱったり止み、外に出るとまたじゃんじゃか降ってくる。傘を持っているとどういうわけか降らない。キーっと叫びたかったがそういうわけにもいかないのでとりあえず雨の中を帰った。

よくよく調べてみるとこれは停電って言っても大規模らしい。ロンドンブリッジの駅で洪水があり、その下に電気配線があったんだそうな。それがやられてあたり全滅。寮は「朝の八時から夜の六時までいてはいけません」と言う命令を出した。なんででしょーねー。よっぽど文句を言われるのがいやなんだろうか。それぐらいしか思いつかない。

ところで試験勉強で全然漫画は見ていませんが（当たり前か）どうやら私が好きなキャラは正気を失ってあれだけの激戦をやった後にピンピンして戻ってきたようです。なんか拍子抜け。おまけに太った。イケメン悪役が太ってどーすんだ。やっぱしヨーロッパ男は２５歳が限界でしょうか。（ちなみにこいつは２６歳）。　が　 になったんだよね、これまたどーして？

あのー、びんぼーにひたすら耐えていた爽やか悪役ティキぽんはどこへ行ったんでしょう？

あの下層階級ヨーロッパ人特有の「いい服着てるから俺は偉いんだぜエッヘン」的な雰囲気をかもし出していますが。

つーかおらの夢を壊さんでくれー、それでなくてもうちの学部は美形がすくないんだよォ。（訂正：皆無です）

おまけになんかじじむっさくなってるし。

それに燕尾服にロン毛はあんまし似合いません。つーかはっきりいいましょう、ロン毛で燕尾服が似合うのは世界でただ一人！少佐だけです。（あ、伯爵もいたか、一応）。後はやめてください。燕尾服への冒涜です。おまけに腕が太すぎ。すこしダイエットしろよ。肉体労働してた時はやせてたけどピートン伯爵のところにいて太ったんかい。ポケットチーフもないし花はどうした、花は！ボタンホールないのか。

やっぱし昔のティキの方がよかった！着こなしもよかった！あのティキ返せ、アレン！お前はどうなってもいいんだ！

つーかなんで悪役の方が好きなんだろ…性格ねじくれ曲がってるのかも…

Okay, I know, the Chinese were always causing problems, but I didn't think they'd be THAT insensitive.

What did they do?

Here.


Do they want to have a war with the world's weapon merchant or something?!

As anyone who knows a little history knows, France and Nazi are a no-no combo. That's like saying about atomic bomb to the Japanese, Manchruian Massacre to the Manchurians, Apartheid to the South Africans or the London Bombing to the British. YOU JUST DON'T DO IT. On personal terms, be prepared to get punched.

On that level?!

Be prepared for war.

I was under the impression that the Chinese wanted to make Beijing Olympics into a success. I guess not...?

いやはや中国は前から外交が下手だとは思っていたが今回はびっくりである。

前から中国はいざこざ起こしてたんすよねー、ただ相手が日本だったから日本は何もしなかった。しかし今回は中華人民共和国はとんでもないことをやらかしました！

これ。

あんた…戦争したいんかい！

大体ちょっと歴史を知ってる人ならご存知だろうがフランスとナチは禁句である。何しろフランスのプラモデルには鉤十字のデカールさえないのだ。フランス人は未だに心に傷を負って生きている。だからフランス人にナチと言う言葉は禁句。それは日本人と原爆、南アフリカ人とアパルトヘイト、満州人と満州大虐殺、イギリス人とロンドン空襲と同じぐらい禁句なのだ。個人レベルで言ったら殴られるの覚悟。

しかしねー、ここまで大規模にやると爆撃されてもしかたないっすよ？

しかもフランスは武器商人。

普通怒らせないだろ、いくら気に食わなかったとしても！

ここで日本人の反応を見てみましょう。

107 名前： 殉職隊員(石油)[] 投稿日：2008/04/19(土) 18:28:39.22 ID:SRu66WxeO ?PLT(12813)
かくして、第三次世界大戦は始まったのであった

117 名前： セレブ(味噌カツ)[] 投稿日：2008/04/19(土) 18:29:04.77 ID:IN7RPVCA0
フランスって欧州じゃ比較的親中的な国だろ
いいのか、こんなことして

123 名前： 救助隊員(馬刺し)[] 投稿日：2008/04/19(土) 18:29:29.93 ID:qxikhRof0
こういうこと平気でするから土人なんてゆわれるんだよ

135 名前： 善光寺事務局(おたべ)[sage] 投稿日：2008/04/19(土) 18:30:21.13 ID:421UlNcK0
これってフランス人のメンタリティからしたらどれほどのもんなの？
天皇陛下の写真にむかって小便かけたくらいのもん？

548 名前： TVコメンテーター(しまむら)[] 投稿日：2008/04/19(土) 18:58:30.31 ID:Fhw3SqRh0
>>135
リアル天皇に小便ふっかけるようなもん

怒ってますねー、叩いてますねー。

だから中国人嫌われるんだよ。

声優って恐ろしい。

ということで今回は声優談から始まり始まり！（ってオイ）

声優の経歴を見ていたところ、恐ろしいことを発見してしまった。

ティキ・ミックは森川智之さんがやっているのだが他にやっているものと言えば…

セフィロス？

いやぁ、それだけはいや！

セフィロス：悲劇の英雄。どんなキザな台詞でも合います。長髪美青年、発狂した孤高な姿。
ティキ：　びんぼーメガネ。無精髭。キタナイ。

これいやっしょ、フツー。

さらに驚くべきことに…

もう１５年前ほどのアニメ、「おばけのホーリー」。好きで見てました、はい。でそれはまた後での話としてあるキャラがいたんですねぇ。ピーマンのおばけ、ピートン。自信家で強引で一人称我輩。私が大嫌いなキャラだったのである。大体ピーマンのくせして生意気だぞー！

これが…

「千年伯爵」？

じゃ、あのティキぽんが「先に飯食わせてもらえます？」って言う会話、ピートンとセフィロスの会話っちゅうことになるんですかね？

で、セフィロスが「ピートンの仰せのままに」ってか？

本当だったらセフィロスがピートンを切り刻んで炒めて終わりだろうがなんか異様である。

じゃあピートンは大量殺人鬼になるのだろうか。

世界を滅ぼすのはピートン？

私は板のように真っ直ぐな直毛のロン毛（神田君ぐらいっすねー）だが母親はオールナチュラルの天パと言うわけのわからないうちである。小さい頃は天パが素敵で羨ましいと思っていたのだが今思うと直毛でよかったなーと思っている。

と、そんなわけで、今回は髪の毛です。

昨日画像を合成していたのだがティキ・ミックの画を画像から切り取っていて本当に腹が立った。何しろ正真正銘のフワフワ天パ。おまけに黒毛。後ろも黒っぽい。切り難いったらありゃしないのである。ロードとか見たいな髪にしろよ！つーかもっと髪に気を使え！後ろでひっつめてんじゃねーぞ、コラ！

でもあれだったら格好つかないだろうなぁ。どうスタイルしてもまとまらないだろうし。（その前に髪切れっての）

合成した画像はこれ。

はいはい、今回もまた戯け事時間がやってまいりました！勉強しないで（って期末もうすぐなのに大丈夫なのかよ、オイ）休暇してるわけですが今はまってるのは…

その通り！Ｄ．Ｇｒａｙ－Ｍａｎでございます。

悪役のティキぽんいいんだよねー。性格似過ぎっちゅうか。もうたまらん（エ！）

つーかこれは私の習性です。必ず飄々としている悪役にはまるっす。その飄々ぶりと熱くなってキレまくるのがいいっす！コントロールしようとしながらもドス黒い感情が渦巻いているこのくろーい私にとっちゃこのさっぱりさがいいっす。こんなやついないかな。

そこでティキシーンだけ読み返してるわけですがそのなかでも好きなのがやっぱし箱舟の中のバトルシーンっすねー。あのキレる所がなんちゅうか…「あー、こういうのってあるある！」的っす。

でも…でも…

１１５夜：弱き人で…

アレンいきなり惨殺？！いきなりティキぽん退場っすか？！

あのー、数少ないイケメン殺っちゃったらまずいんじゃ？

現にティキのためだけにこの漫画読んでるわけだし…ストーリーとしてはクレイモアの方が上だし…

健在だったティキちゃんですが（ちゃん付けか！）何かおかしくなっております。

それに気づいたロードちゃんはダッシュで避難。

そりゃそーだよねー。ロードが一番ティキの事知ってるわけだし。いつも優しい兄ちゃんがキレたら恐いわな。

青くなって髪が乱れているティキ。

満足気なアレン。

アレンー！ティキ殺すなぁ！つーかティキが死ぬぐらいだったらお前が死ね！お前はキャラとして面白くない！

ロードに抱かれて気を失っているティキ。

（ロードが羨ましいっす、こんな兄ちゃんいたらよかったな）

続いてアレンにメタメタにやられた挙句、黒い騎士の様になってアレンたちを圧倒するティキですが…

ちょ、ちょっと待て！どうなってんだー！

つーかなんでもっと早くそうならなかった！

お前はバカか！学がないのは知っていたが頭も回らなかったか！

顔が見えないよー！（わがままな欲求？）

ティキちゃん、気が狂ってしまいました。

クロスにやられて千年公に救出される狂ったティキ・ミック卿。

次はいつ会えるでしょうか。と言うか会えるのか？

あ、でも星野先生、ティキちゃん生き残るけど廃人とかいいやつになってたとかはダメです。あくまで黒ティキ白ティキ両方健在でお願いします。つーか教団負けてもかまいません。ノアの方が好きなキャラ多いので。（いないだろ、オイ）世界なんてどうなってもいいです。でもノアの一族は健在でいてくれ！

あとティキに彼女がいないのはなぜ？！あの位イケメンだったら彼女絶対いると思うんすけど…ファンサービスでしょうか。ルル＝ベルと出来てるとも思えないし…ロードやイーズと出来てるのはロリコン・ショタコンでかなりやばい世界なので考えたくもありませン（なぜ千年公口調？！）

ジャスデロも死んでいてもかまいませんがデビットはダメです。スキンは別に捨て駒なんで気にしませんがロードも生きてて！

Ewww, I gained weight. (panicks)

Yeah, I gained 13~15kg. Yuck yuck.

I also broke out in acne for the first time in... I don't know... 4 years? YUCK.

To all the Billy's in the world,

I'd like to dedicate this song to you :-P



Little Billy was the fattest kid in his class
Always the last in line
All the other little kids would laugh at him
Said he'd die before his time

Ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha ha
Little Billy didn't mind

Most of the kids smoked cigarettes
Just to prove that they were cool
The teacher didn't know about the children's games
And Billy always followed the rules

Ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha ha
Little Billy didn't mind

Billy was big on the outside
But there's an even bigger man inside
Ten million cigarettes burning every day
And Billy's still doing fine

Now Billy and his classmates are middle-aged
With children of their own
Their smoking games are reality now
And cancer's seed is sown

Ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha ha
Little Billy's didn't mind

Most of them smoke maybe forty a day
A habit Billy doesn't share
One by one they're passing away
Leaving orphans to Billy's care

Ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha ha
Little Billy doesn't mind

Ha ha ha ha
Ha ha ha ha
Little Billy's doing fine

Because I have to type everything, I have to type myself as well. And well, here it is:

MBTI: INTJ (no duh)
Enneagram: 5w6
SLOAN: RLOEI
Global: Unstable, Orderly, Introvert
Personal DNA:

What's really interesting that all of them came out as Very Functional and introverted, with low confidence and low stability (meaning that I'm a nervous wreck). Oh, I'm also very scheduled, and hates spontaneity.

Sounds fun.

For those of you who are interested, please take a look at the personal DNA by hovering the cursor over teach colour. Notice my MASCULINITY is enormous: I scored higher than 98% of test-takers. Ha.

とある友達（日本人っす、毎日英語だと日本語忘れちゃうもんね）と話していたらこんな話が出てきた。

「美童って医学部でしょ？漫画とか読むの？」（ちなみになぜスウェーデン大使の息子の名前かと言うとそれがハンドルネームだったからっす。別に意味は…なし）
「読むよ。つーか結構好きだし。今時間全然ないからあんまり読まないけど。」
「どんなのが好き？やっぱ少女漫画？」

私は少女漫画が大嫌いである。

「いや、あんまりジャンル気にしてない。」
「へえ。どんなのが好きなの？」
考えてみると…
結構残虐な少年、青年物ばかりである。
「Ｄグレイマンとかクレイモアとかウズマキとか…あ、あとエリア８８ね。あれは傑作だねー。後はＸ／１９９９，ジョジョの奇妙な冒険とか。やっぱしキラークイーン最強！」
「それって少年ジャンプばっかじゃん！少女漫画ぜんぜん読まないの？！」
「いや、読むことは読むよ。」
「どんなの？」どうやらラブラブ物を期待していたらしいのだが生憎…
「有閑倶楽部とか地獄少女とか…」
「地獄少女？あれ怖いじゃん！」
「そうかー？」
「美童って本当に女？」

この質問最初じゃないんだよねー。たぶん最後じゃないし…

この頃なんとなく太ってきたような気がする…確かに一番痩せていた時から１０ｋｇ以上増えている。やっべー。

と全然関係ないことで始まったが私は友達から（イギリス人ですよ、日本人じゃありませんよ、つーか日本人の友達いないし）漫画を借りていてひとつわかったことがある。

少女漫画だめ系な私。

なんとなく飽きちゃうんだよねー。ストーリーに現実味がないって言うか。いきなり古代言語がしゃべれるようになったり。（そんな「銀河ヒッチハイク・ガイド」じゃあるまいしバベルフィッシュでも耳に入れてるのかい。私の４年間のラテン語の苦悩をどうしてくれるって言うんだ、え！）おまけにヒロインが何の取り柄もない。男って顔も頭も能力も偏差値５０か５０以下の女がいいの？ちなみに言っておくが私は男だったとしてもそんなのいやだぞ。顔よし、頭よし、能力ありすぎ、ぐらいがいいんだけどね…

アー、どうせならみんな少年ジャンプ買ってくれないかなー。少女ナントカじゃなくて…

いやはや、イギリスの学生にはびっくりさせられる。

どういうことかって？それは勉強量である。

何しろ勉強しないのだ。８時間しっかり寝てそれで勉強を沢山したと思っている。成績が落ちても平気で飲みに行ってしまう。ペーパーは終わってないがキャンプには行く。それでコースが辛いと言っている始末である。

あのねー…

勉強って試験前に一ヶ月間ちょこちょこっと勉強してはい終わりじゃないんだよ。

おまけに何も危惧に思っていないのだからおめでたい。

私の高校がきつかっただけかも知れないがこちらで平気で行われていることが高校では絶対通用しなかった、なんてことが沢山ある。たとえばペーパーを一年遅れで提出する。

あたしなんて３０分後れもやったことないよ！！

１週間前に提出したことなら何度かあるけど。

どういう神経をしているんだ。おまけにそれを受け付ける教授も教授である。高校だったら三日遅れでもう期限切れ。あとは泣こうが喚こうがとにかくだめ、提出しても受け付けませんだった。

風邪とかの時はどうしたかって？最高２週間の猶予が来る。それ以上はだめ。二週間あれば終わると思っているのだろう。確かにみんな終わらせていた。

おまけに社交遊しないと上に上がれないと思っているらしい。

はい、ここで考えて見ましょう。

こちらはＡさん。部活は一応入っており、バイトもして成績も優秀。独学で勉強もしており、品行方正。

こちらはＢさん。部活は沢山入っているが成績はあまりよくなく、バイトもしていない。友達としょっちゅう遊びに出かけ、よく飲んでいる。解剖でふざけて危ないことをする事もしばしば。

あなただったらどっちを雇いますか？

私はＡさんを選ぶんだけどね。働く兵隊としてはＡさんの方が能率いいじゃん。仕事もきちんとしてくれそうだし。

しかしイギリスではＢさんがＡさんより上に立つらしい。（と言うのは個人的にいうと子供の考え。大人はそんな馬鹿じゃない。）

それでもってＢさん見たいのに限ってアメリカに行くなんて言い出したりする。世の中そんなに甘くない。

おまけに吸収がいいからって生物の学位を持っている人専用の医学部４年間コースにアメリカ文化の学位の人が入るべきだって？笑わせるんじゃない。そうしたら苦しみながら生物をやった人に失礼だろ！ちゃんと計画を立てなかったのも自分の責任。それなりの報いはちゃんと来る。

つーかわかってないのかね、コネって言うのは上の人と作るもんだって。クラスメートとコネを作ってどうする！そいつが引っ張ってくれるわけじゃなし、足を引っ張られて終わりだろうに。

考え方があまりにも幼稚だと思うことがこの頃よくある。

いやー、すごいですね、今時の情報網は！

なんでかって？ちょっと説明して進ぜよう。

なんと！「さすがの猿飛」を見つけたのである。

だってあれあたしが生まれる前のアニメだぞ。

なんでネットにあるねん！

まあ、「桃太郎侍」まであったからなー…

あと「魁！男塾」。あんな馬鹿馬鹿しいアニメ誰が持っていたんだか知らないがとにかくあるのである。世の中は広い。

もし見たかったらここをどうぞ！

バレエ観賞（そういやシルヴィア見に行ってきました！すげー高いチケットだった。おまけに踊り子一人倒れたし。二度と見に行かない）しか楽しみがない私にとってアニメと漫画は特別である。なんでかって？

１．金がかからない。
２．外に出なくて済む。

そんなわけでＤ．Ｇｒａｙ－ｍａｎの７２話を探していたのですが…

こんなものに遭遇しました。

な、なんと！宝塚のエル・アルコンのポスターだそうです。エル・アルコンを読んでいない私にとってはあんまり興味もない代物だったんだけど…青池先生の漫画は読んでますからちょっと興味あったんで、はい。

そんなわけでしげしげとポスターを見てみた後、ティリアンの顔を思い出してみました。

ってこのポスターグロイ！エグイ！シツコイ！ウザイ！

大体ティリアンってスペイン人っしょ。

スペイン人でこんな唇厚いのってムーア人だぞ。

つーかティリアンってイタさん系なんすけどね、顔は（ってなんでティキミック調）。

「ロベリア～♪、乙女の乙女による乙女のための会、別名ヅカ部！」なんて声が聞こえてきそう。（あと環君の悲鳴ね）

ちなみにこのブログを読んでロンドンにルミナスがうじゃうじゃいると思っている方々、残念ながらそんなやついません。レディングには結構いたけどね。

あ、一人いたか。ジャンキービリー。１月半ばから行方知れず。ブリクストンで逮捕されてたりして…

何の事じゃいと思っているそこのあなた！まだ呆れてはいけません。私にはくだらなく心配していることが山のようにあるのだ。

とまあこんなわけで数学の中間テストが返ってきました。って…

まあ、首席だったからいいんだけどね…

ってこのPoint of Inflection　の定義の違いは何？何これ？！

同じ英語圏だろうが！意味を変えるな、馬鹿ヤロー！

と言うわけで一点引かれました。ま、答えはあっていたし、よしとしようか。（宿題の方はもうちょっと気を入れてやらなきゃなー…定義を書かないと言って点数引かれてばっかりいるし…）

ちなみに昨夜の約一時頃、地震がありました。地震なんてなつかしー！日本出て以来地震なんて経験してないよ、あたしゃ。

Today was infested with Japanese, calories, and weird occasions. Not saying that's bad, but after being away from Japan for so long it can get slightly eerie.

I woke up around 6:30 for no reason, stayed in bed till 10:00. Today's plan: Get to Richmond, get some food either at Subway (to the right of the Richmond Station), then head over to Maison Blanc (left of the station), grab some cake, then go to work.

On the train I encountered to Japanese females who were squealing about Madam Tussaud's. They had the typical look of "I didn't get good enough grades in high school to go to a university so I worked my butt off to save up some money to go to London, and now I'm going tourista and looking like an idiot and embarrassing my fellow Japanese". I inched away before I got discovered that I was one of them.

Well, suddenly I decided that I wanted to eat my lunch at Maison Blanc as well. It was a little pricey, but it was well worth it... I ate "Mediterranean", which was really good (love those dried tomatoes), and Concerto, which was really ironic because I was reading through Brahms' Concerto then. It was awfully good though. Hmm.

Taught the sisters (the elder's getting better, although it took her 5 minutes to get 100 divided by 5... it's 20, idiot.)

Then something awfully weird happened.

You know how you're supposed to have two other people in the world who look just like you? (Well, maybe we only say that in Japan. Dunno.) Anyway, as I was coming out of Subway, I saw a guy in the shop next to Subway who looked EXACTLY like Billy. Even wore glasses like him.

My thought? "Wait a minute, he lives in freaking Surrey, and it's 5:00PM in the afternoon on a Sunday. Why the hell is he in Richmond?"

He walked behind me, followed me to the station, then disappeared.

Came home on the bus after grabbing Teriyaki Chicken in Subway after all, where I encountered another duo of Japanese females, who were saying something like "London is da place to live in, foshizzle!" (okay, maybe not the ghetto talk but something close). I pretended that I was too busy looking out the window.

Got home, and my other student wasn't there. My thought: what the?! Apparently I didn't "pick up the phone", so without waiting for five minutes she just went home. It's not like she's a busy woman, oh no! Then she blamed it on me. But since this is business, I was the one who apologized. Maybe I should quit my job with that retard. She's not paying me enough anyway.

Most likely the "Billy" I saw was a random dude who had fluffy hair like him and wore weird glasses like him.

But... it was pretty damn freaky.

Actually, Nicholas Cage never stepped on my foot. That was just to get your attention (cue in Pathetique Sonata). But if he did, I'd sue the ass out of him to get money and publicity. Ha (:P)

But actually, Nicholas Cage does make an appearance in my post today. Let me explain.

This week just plainly sucked. I went high on caffeine, overdosed on caffeine, went through hell trying to detox caffeine, did not sleep decently, did not eat decently (but then again, that's nothing new). I just had a really shitty week. Not only that, one of my students has failed to pay me for two weeks consecutively, and I'm about to fire (?) her if she fails to pay the coming Wednesday. People come to me for damn help while they go out drinking... and I have come to a discovery that I REALLY shouldn't be helping them anyway, I never needed their help in the first place (considering that I can just borrow one of the elder student's notes, for instance), and that quite frankly, with my excruciating schedule with 3 students, studying biochemistry, orgo, stats, and modern physics, studying for the exams, I just don't have the time or the energy to care about others anymore. There are some things that I've been wanting to do that I couldn't because I was so busy (like... visiting my guardian's house, for instance). But that's that.

On Friday night at precisely 3:41AM, just as I was dozing off after rolling around my bed in sheer agony and nausea, my phone trilled out the baroque ring tone that can become really annoying if it keeps ringing. I woke up just in time for the voice mail to switch on... so, after 30 seconds or so, I accessed my voice mail. Here is the message I received:

"Heeeeeeey! I'm at Paddington right now! Come pick me up, mate."

It was in a guy's voice. It sounded utterly drunk. My first thought was "Er, who the hell is this guy", since I couldn't place the voice. Or the number. So I had a random drunk guy calling me at 3:41 AM to pick him up from the Paddington station. (Note to readers: PLEASE check the number before you hit dial, please? Promise?)

My next thought was "Do trains even RUN this early in the morning around Paddington?" Considering that the tube does not, my logical deduction said no. So what the hell did this guy want?

Me, being quite uncharitable and frankly too tired to care, decided not to pick the mystery guy up from Paddington. Hell, he can be mugged and see if I care. It was his damn fault for dialing the wrong number. I went back to bed.

And could not go back to sleep.

How much does that suck?! A lot, let me tell you. So let's summarise - here was this idiot who called the wrong number at a ridiculous wee hour of the morning, asking for whoever it was meant to to pick him up from Paddington. And because he dialed the wrong number I got to be the poor victim who was woken up at 3:41AM, just as I was recovering from caffeine detox, to get a message that wasn't even for me! I'm pretty sure the guy was not Lady Macbeth but he sure did kill off my sleep.

Then today just sucked. To start off, I had an awful dream in which I was the 11-year-old offspring of Mr. and Mrs. Smith from the film Mr. and Mrs. Smith. What does that mean? It meant that Brad Pitt was my father and Angelina Jolie my mother. That was quite traumatising in itself. As if that wasn't enough, Orlando Bloom was my idiot brother who seemed to revel in the fact that he was pretty. Never mind that I think he's one of the ugliest creatures seen on the 6 ft screen these days. His utter gayness was bordering insanity.

Mummy Smith, AKA Angelina Jolie, asked me to go down to the pantry to get some bananas because she was baking banana muffins. (I have no idea what Daddy Pitt was doing... don't want to know, in all seriousness.) So I went down to the pantry, which was in the basement for some reason (I personally think that pantry in the basement is a dumb idea...), and opened the door.

And there were three shelves on each side of the wall, lined with bananas after bananas after bananas...

The room looked yellow, although the wall was white.

You know how scary that is? I found it quite frightening. After daring myself to go into the banana room and grabbing a few bananas, I went upstairs to hand them over to Mummy Jolie, who peeled them, broken them in 1/2 inch pieces, and then proceeded to mush them.

What this means in psychoanalysis, I don't even want to know. I'd leave the analysis up to you.

I left the dorm at 11:00AM to go to work, hoping to get to Richmond at 12:30 PM, grab something to eat, then go off to teach. Usually it takes an hour to get from London Bridge to Richmond, but today the District Line only ran to West Kensington. "Fine," I thought, after seeing the notice at Westminster, "I'll just get off at Earl's Court, switch to Piccadilly, get to Hammersmith, and catch the replacement bus from there." Because IT CLEARLY SAID that the bus ran from Hammersmith via Gunnersbury and Kew Gardens to Richmond.

The first misery occurred while I was ON the train. There was this Chinese lady who seemed to be intent on trying to get to Richmond. However, all she did was point at the Richmond Station on the mini tube map, point at West Kensington, and say, "West Kensington". Don't know about you, dear reader, but to me that conveys not much. I had no idea if she was asking if she needed to get off at West Ken, could switch at West Ken, or what. I slowly explained to her how to get to Richmond - quite slowly - twice, but after that she smiled at me, nodded, and said, "West Kensington?" all the while pointing at the location on the map. Was she listening? No. Of course not. Because it's the thing to do after asking a complete stranger a question. Gah!

I got off at Earl's Court - the lady certainly didn't - and switched to Piccadilly. Got to Hammersmith. Got off the tube. And then was promptly notified that apparently every SINGLE poster indicating engineering works was different in all of London, because actually, no, there was no replacement bus. And yes, it did say so on the stupid poster by the assistance window, but it also said that it only ran from 9:00 PM and beyond on Sunday evening. And yes, they did put up a huge sign saying "REPLACEMENT BUS C TO RICHMOND" with a HUGE arrow under the sign. The replacement bus just simply wasn't running. Why for? I have no idea.

Now, here, two questions pop into my mind. Number one, why run it from 9:00PM, when there's hardly anyone using it? That's just inefficient, and it wastes petrol. Number two, why put up a sign that is no longer valid? This just baffles me.

So I caught the 391 bus from Hammersmith to Richmond. Now, usually it takes about 20 minutes by the Underground to get from Hammersmith to Richmond. On the bus, 40. This time, it took a full hour and a half, which means that I got to the Richmond station approximately at 1:00PM. When my class was about to begin. So that made me 10 minutes late.

During the bus ride, several things happened. First, they tried to squish approximately 40 people on a single bus, which just isn't plausible on Sunday afternoons. Second, this brat decided that it'd be awesome fun to touch my back and my hair while I was standing, earning a severe death glare from me. She then promptly began to cry. The mother became hysterical. I pretended that I couldn't hear her due to my earphones, and ignored her. Much screaming and hysteria ensued.

Third, another brat decided that he absolutely had to stand in the coolest way possible, never mind that no one was paying attention, and took up the space that could have accommodated three. He then proceeded to stand without holding onto the rails or anything, and when the bus came to a screeching halt he promptly crashed into me without further ado. For heaven and hell's sake HOLD ONTO SOMETHING unless you have a balance of a tightrope walker. But oh no. This kid could hardly stand straight every time the bus braked.

Fourth, this guy (and this is where the title comes in) decided to step on my foot. Really hard. For some reason. And then he decided to KEEP HIS FOOT ON MY FOOT the entire time. With full weight on it. Needless to say, I was beyond vexation. I asked him to please remove his foot from my foot. He ignored me, because he was too busy talking to his girlfriend who looked about 17. I kicked him with my left heel of my boot. It left a smudge on his grey slacks.

Fifth, another guy who was with his girlfriend kept staring at me the entire bus ride. That was very disconcerting and unnerving. Doesn't the guy know that it's rude to stare?

Sixth, and lastly, it took my 4th grade pupil AN HOUR to understand the concept of "base times width equals area of a parallelogram" today. I had to cut tiny bits of paper and demonstrate. I was NOT that slow when I was in 4th grade.

So after that, I am quite ready to give up on mankind, curl up in my bed only to be never seen again. I now understand the enchanting attraction of living as a hermit. I might even be one very soon...

ってお前馬鹿か！

そうっス、とうとう見つけたんス、高橋秀樹の桃太郎侍。

って言っても最初の三エピソードだけだけどね～。

って言っても探し回っていたわけじゃありません。たまたま見つけたんス。

やっぱ統計で疲れた時は桃太郎侍に限る！ってか？（さみしー）

でもやっぱ不思議なことがあるのは認めざる得ない。

大体あの数え歌はなんじゃい。数えてないじゃないか！

九九じゃあるまいし、　１に対して２０人斬るのはずるいぞ。

おまけにあんな血糊がべっとりついた絹の着物なんてどこで洗ってんだ？まさか名前にちなんで桃太郎のおばあさんみたいに川でざぶざぶ洗ってんじゃないだろうな。

おまけにあんな般若の面かぶってあんな派手な着物を着たやつが夜中に走っていたら絶対妖しい！つか妖しすぎ！

思い切り「ヤバイやつ」じゃん。

と言って朝の４時にけたたましく笑っている声が海を越えて聞こえてきたらそれは多分アタシっス。（笑）

とある人から質問のメールが来たのでそれに答える意味もあってこのエントリーを書いているのだが考えてみるとよくわけがわからないことばかりである。

…

まあ、それはいいとして…

Ｑ１．ロンドン大学って何校あるの？
Ａ１：僕ちゃんもさっぱり知りません。有名な学校は約三校しかないので。

Ｑ２．どうやってはいったの？
Ａ２：適当に入りました。はい、すんません。

Ｑ３．どの学校？
Ａ３：王校だす。正式名称は自分で調べちくり。

Ｑ４．何学部？
Ａ４：恥ずかしながら医学部です、はい。

Ｑ５．英語力はどれくらい？
Ａ５：そこら辺の現地人顔負けだと高校時代言われましたがこれは訓練の賜物です。討論部よ、私の土曜日、返しておくれ！

Ｑ６．費用は？
Ａ６：さっぱり見当つきません。いささか適当です。

Ｑ７．友達とか彼女いる？
Ａ７：レズじゃないので彼女はいません。友達は二人っす。

Ｑ８．やっとけばよかったと思うことは？
Ａ８：一日３６時間にする方法学んどきゃよかった。

他にも質問があったらメールくでー。（統計学に戻っていく）

If you know me well enough, I'm quite interested in DID's. In fact, I plan to go into neuropsychiatry ( a mix between neurology and psychiatry). Well, at least that's one of the options.

Anyway.

NEWS FLASH NEWS FLASH! BILLY MILLIGAN'S FILM IS FINALLY BEING PRODUCED! (insert incoherent screams of utter joy).

Ever since I read the book I wanted to see a film about it... and Milligan's selecting the actor to play himself, apparently.

I'm personally voting for Marko Malic or Christian Bale, but considering that Christian Bale already played a madman from American Psycho (awesome movie by the way), I'm not sure if he's willing to do this one. Marko Malic would be good as well; he has that vulnerable look. Milligan himself seems to be keen on Christian Slater (ew) or Johnny Depp (no, he's too sexy and he does NOT look vulnerable).

PLEASE PICK CHRISTIAN BALE OR MARKO MALIC! For my sake! (laughter)

Actually, I just realized... Christian Bale does sort of look like Billy Milligan... it's God's WILL!

友達と話していたらこんな話が出た。

私：「結婚？する気無い。」
Ｊ：　「なんで？」
私：「性格見てると出来そうにないし。探す気無いし。忙しいし。彼氏とかウザそう。」
Ｊ：　「寂しくないの？」
私：「全然。仕事と結婚してそれでいいんじゃないかな、私は。」
Ｊ：　「そうなの？私が頑張っているのは結構結婚のためもあるけど。」
私：「首席は一人でなればいいから。つーか首席が他にいたら本当に腹が立つ！」

勿論最後のは私の密かな考えであるが多分これは本当だと思う。

全然関係ないことであるが脊椎動物学の教授がなぜヒトデの話ばかりするのか私にはわからないのだがとりあえずレポートを書かなければいけないので調べていてわかったこと：

ヒトデって気持ちワリー！

悪すぎ！

肉食だし！千切ってもそこからもうひとつのヒトデになるし！なんかはっつくし！いやに獰猛だし！

おまけにあのハリセンボンみたいなヒトデとかやめてほしい！

しかしなぜあの教授が気持ち悪い動物ばっかり嬉々として話すのかわけがわからない。今までに講義されたこと：ミミズ、ヒトデ、ホヤ、蛙、トカゲ、なまず、ドジョウ、などと私が絶対知りたくもないし、知らなくていいし、見たくない、聞きたくないものばかりである。あの教授は私のことが嫌いなのか？！？！それともゲテモノ好き？

とりあえずヒトデのレポートを仕上げなければいけないのでちょっと失礼。

ママが焼いたクリスマスケーキでごわす。ちなみに私は食べただけ。


あと「花より男子」が評判になっていたので見てみた。そして一言：

「ありえねーっつーの！」

これぞ少女漫画の王道。何もない子がすべてある男子に見初められてちゃんちゃん。

でも世の中そんな上手くいかないんだよね～。

私：ねえ、ママ、仮に天変地異が起きたとして私が仮面ノリダーの見すぎで試験落としたらどうする？
母：ええ？仮面ノリダーの水着を着て試験落とすの？

．．．？

とんでもない親子である。

Happy belated New Years! Hopefully I'll be a little more productive than 2007... but since that's my new year's resolution, it's highly unlikely that I'd keep that promise. Eh.

My parents trashed my idea of volunteering in Africa. Apparently they still believe that Africa is a dark, wild continent filled with lions and other zoological animals.

Well, no. That's not the case. But they do think that the entire continent consists of Sudan. So, they trashed it.

They also prohibited me from joining Médecins Sans Frontières. Their reasoning? "You're going to get killed".

Okay...

Whatever.

I also hunted down Kevin Kalisz to... STALK HIM! No, I'm just kidding. The fact is, throughout the three years in which I shared my high school life with that insane genius, I talked to him the grand total of... three times. That's averaging once per year. Sad, isn't it?

Then all of a sudden I get propelled into medical school and all of a sudden I'm left behind thinking "Crap, I don't know anyone around my age who's in med school!" Except, surprise surprise, Kevin. That genius, in my opinion, should have went to CalTech to major in engineering, but for some reason he gave up is high school dream to become a doctor (cue in about thirty bazillion question marks, on your mark, get set, go!).

So, Facebook it is.

I'm going back tomorrow. Then it's exam time. And then I have to finish the papers, since I left my Physics paper on my disc on my desk in my room and I basically screwed everything up (CRAP).

Ew.