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7th August 2009
Remember the good old days when J-rock was still cool? Well, I guess it still is, but it's cool amongst a less desirable group, tainted by my not being in said group. For God knows what reason, I was curious as to what Hyde was up to these days. Thus, I did what anybody in my situation would do: I Wiki'd it. Apparently, he's doing a lot of solo shit with a back-up band called VAMPS. They have a video on Youtube, and it's piss bad. Well, with the exception of Hyde looking damned sexy in the beginning. So, seeing if he had anything good and new out was a failed experiment, but it led me back to his old L'arc~en~Ciel stuff. At least that was still good. Actually, that's an understatement; they fucking rape. Well, that's a hyperbole. I guess those two statements cancel out, then. Take the average of "pretty good" and "fucking rape," and you'll get the general idea. I can still see why I loved them so much, and for a while, I loved them again. But still, it wasn't the same; my love was only a weak reflection of what it once was. It happens to everything, really. You obsess and move on; tree-climbing, Jolly Ranchers, Runescape - you swear to yourself there are things that you'll never give up, that'll accompany you to the grave, but next thing you know, you're reminiscing about them. Years later, you wonder to yourself, : did I really like Pokemon
I guess loving something forever is just asking too much of yourself.
Speaking of "fucking rape" and childhood memories-- huh. I should rephrase that. Oh well. Anyway, speaking of those two things, I don't feel as intensely as I did when I was little. I remember Exciting Event Eves, where I'd stay up half the night... being excited. A birthday party would come up, and I'd struggle with myself, force myself not to think about it so I could rest. I never won. Obsession has also changed. Before, it was more like total immersion into a different world. I would dedicate myself to searching for details about Card Captor Sakura's every costume. I was a slave of trivial information about trivial things. My Harry Potter
phase could only be classified as dangerous, as I would be in physical pain after I finished a newly released book. Thankfully, it was slightly dulled by the Vicodin of my youth -- fanfiction. I still say that I'm obsessed with something when I like it a lot, but it's really not on the same level of intensity. I haven't religiously Googled something in a long time, at least. Sure, I like David Sedaris, but I haven't attempted to find writings from his childhood yet. And even if I could meet him tomorrow, I'd still sleep well tonight. And that really isn't fun at all. Happiness, sadness, boredom -- they're still there, but the passing years turned down the volume. Days pass in a dull haze, and you wonder why nothing is as great as it used to be. This is probably why people look for excitement in strange places. After you realise you'll never discover another world behind your mirror, realise your wishes to solve mysterious crimes in nineteenth-century England are in vain (but God knows you keep wishing,) you start thinking that jumping out of a small aeroplane is a great idea. For me, though, I'll just continue revisiting my childhood from time to time. I'll stop by a playground, read some Lewis Caroll, listen to Laruku. And for a short while, I'll feel like I'm in love again.
8th July 2009
We call each other Larry and Steve when we get nervous, and this was definately a Larry and Steve moment. We were sitting on his creaky bed, being watched by his hideous aeroplane wallpaper. Conversation came out in slow, painful drips like a leaky faucet. I looked at him, and he had the strangest smile on his face. It was wide, and his cheek was twitching as he looked at me intently. When you see something like that, you either smile back or run away in hopes of salvaging at least two of your limbs. I smiled back. He said something along the lines of "so I guess we're going to kiss now." I replied with a "very insightful observation, Larry." And then we did.
2nd July 2009
A while back, my mother asked me what I wanted in life. I knew she meant well by adding that she would be proud of me no matter what I decide to do, but her comment only made the question feel like a test - a probe to see if she could rely on me later in life. I replied, rather lamely, that I didn't really care what I did, as long as I wasn't miserable. I'm not the kind of person who strives to do something meaningful before she dies, so I suppose it was truthful enough. : Sub-par existence?
Well, no. Upgrade to mediocre?
A little more, please. Fine, satisfactory?
Good enough for me. Other than that, I didn't really know what to say. I've always tried to put the question out of my mind when it comes up. This time, however, its persistence was greater than my will to escape it. For the next couple of days, it haunted me, along with the embarrassment that lingers after giving the worse answer possible to a question. Silence would have given her more reassurance. No matter how hard I thought about it, I couldn't give myself a more satisfactory answer than the one I gave to my mother. Would I really be happy living out the rest of my existence doing nothing of significance? Fuck it,
I thought. I'll know when I die.
And so that was that. Like the unpleasantly bittersweet aftertaste of diet soda, the question faded away slowly, until it disappeared from my mind completely.***
Today was Canada day, and my father's former classmates invited us to their house for a barbeque. They were a couple in their forties who had come over to our house on an earlier occasion. They seemed nice enough, but because I have grown to harbour an inherent dislike for Chinese adults to whom I am not directly related, I couldn't fully appreciate their kindness. It was raining this afternoon, so we were hesitant to go. We didn't have anything better to do, though, so we piled into our foul-smelling Honda Civic and started driving. We first picked up some soda like thoughtful guests should. My mother also bought some liquorice in hopes of diminishing a cough that won't go away. We always end up buying shit we never even thought about when we go shopping; we're pretty cheap, so we avoid it whenever possible.
We had never driven to this particular house before, so my mother was busy giving directions while my father was busy ignoring them. I sat in the back, enjoying some David Sedaris and Canada Day radio programming. As far as I could tell, they were playing songs that reminded people of Canada. Of course, "The Good Old Hockey Game" came on, and I thought about how silly it must have sounded playing anywhere outside of Canadian borders, regardless of how much the audience loved hockey. But we were in Canada, and I grinned as the singer affirmed that "the good old hockey game is the best game you can name."
Just as I had started to drift back into reading, our car hit a massive pothole and jumped into the air. For a moment, the force of the jolt sent us in the opposite direction of gravity. It wasn't that strong, but it had caught us by surprise. As I landed back into my seat, I laughed and thought about how perfect a moment it was. The three of us, who rarely spent any time together, brought together by our mutual surprise. It was like a surprise roller-coaster ride that had been waiting for us to come along. You're welcome,
the pothole said. You folks enjoy the rest of your day.
And what could be more Canadian than listening to "The Good Old Hockey Game" while being disrupted by poor road conditions while driving to a barbeque? The moment didn't last, though. Unlike in movies, time does not slow while savour every second; memories are not forever frozen in cages of ice, waiting for you whenever you cared to look back upon them. We had missed a left turn and my father had accidentally cut someone off. The understandably vexed driver blared his horn as we sped pass him. My mother was telling my father off in what I perceived to be an unnecessarily loud voice. I tried to salvage the feeling of perfection that had slipped away so quickly, but it ended in futility. I finally gave up as my mother started to cough while the nauseating smell of liquorice filled the car as quickly and as thoroughly as cigarette smoke.***
About an hour ago, I tried to go to bed. It was 4:00, and as usual, the birds started chirping outside my window. It had never bothered me the way it seemed to bother people in sitcoms, and I found their chirping rather relaxing. I thought back to that perfect moment in the car, and how few and far between they occur (I know I shouldn't have used "few and far between" as an adverb, but it's one hour past my bedtime, so I deserve at least one slip-up). However, when I tried to recall the last time something made me feel so great, I realised that it was only yesterday. I put my arms around Justin and kissed him as we were standing in my room; it was great. The moment was allowed to run its course and scatter imperceptibly instead of being suddenly snatched away so I didn't realise just how great it was. Had we heard my parents approaching, or had their been and explosion in the kitchen, I would have felt the disappointment of an interrupted moment one day earlier. As I lay in bed contemplating this, I realised that I would be
content living a fairly mundane life. As long as there are times where I can be made to believe that life is extraordinary, I will be content.
And after that thought, I fell asleep. Contently.
P.S. Actually, the last sentence was not completely truthful. After all, I'm still awake. So I suppose that it is, in actuality, completely untruthful. The urge to write this all down was too strong to resist, so I am recklessly ignoring the fact that I have to get up relatively early tomorrow to pick strawberries. However, I felt that it was a nice note on which to end this, so there it is.
P.P.S I won't change it.
24th May 2009
After getting a bit (perhaps slightly more than a bit) drunk last night, I proceeded to climb outside my basement window. I live in one of those houses with the basement halfway underground, so it wasn't very difficult, but I scraped my elbow and bruised by hand and left buttock. And plus, what the fuck was I doing climbing outside of windows anyway? And why did I do it twice? There's a dirt patch that I fell into outside the window. It's not the best place to be, but apparently, I found it absolutely hilarious. At least I didn't climb through my neighbors window and punch him in the throat. The silver lining. :
I went to work a bit hung over today. It was pretty gross, since I had to shelf read (aka find books that misguidedly helpful patrons have re-shelved in the wrong place). I basically sat there zoned out for half an hour, though nobody really cares if you do anything anyway (it's a government job).
Anyway, I should probably get some sleep. I have to practise ribbon dancing with middle aged women tomorrow. I was conned into some dancing gig for Canada day by my mother. She said that I should participate in the Chinese society more. I was going to wittily comment that my mugging skills were subpar, but instead I said that I'd wave ribbons around while wearing traditional Chinese clothing. Typical mistake.
Saining out, homies.
18th May 2009
Ugh. I finished paper one and two of my chemistry exam today. Paper one wasn't too bad, but paper two was pretty brutal. I guess it was like that for all my higher level IB exams. IB exams are kind of like date rape, with paper one being the date, and paper two being the rape: :
Paper one: "Hey, this is kind of nice. Sure, he's not perfect, but it's not like he's raping me."
Paper two: "Holy shit, I'm getting raped. No, I mean, raeped."
Tomorrow's paper three. To continue this colourful analogy, paper three can be the aftermath. I suppose it comes down to two scenarios:
Paper three (possibility a): "Damn, he's not only a raepist, but a sadistic raepist. Now that he's done, he's dipping me in lemon juice after giving me a thousand paper cuts. Then he's going to kill me."
Paper three (possibility b): "Fuck, I'm dead."
Possibility b is the more pleasant of the two, as it does not involve extensive torture. However, since I have yet to start looking over the options for paper three, I'm pretty sure that possibility a will play out.
Well, I'll like, start studying now.
13th May 2009
Your mom plus chemistry.
Your mom's so slow that she's the rate determining step. :
I can remove your mom's clothes more easily than a strong oxidising agent can remove the first electron of a transition metal.
Yeah, I'm that good.
4th February 2009
Okay, so it's been February for a couple of days now. And I am, indeed, alive, as you can see. Either that, or I can currently updating from the afterlife. But that's just impossible now, isn't it? Actually, there are other possibilities, like an imposter updating as myself, but that would require an elaborate story filled with other outrageous claims. Uh, yes. :
This point of this update is to tell you that I have finished by extended essay which is on the connection between Richard Wagner and Hitler. Yay! IB was quite right when they said that it would take around fouty hours to complete. I've gone past fourty already, and I still have a few paragraphs to do. I'm at 3500 words, which means I still have 500 to work with, which is less than ideal, as I still have to comment of the nature of Wagner's nationalism and evaluate the reliability of my sources. Huh. But at least it won't take fouty hours. At this point, I have no will to read anything else about either Wagner nor Hitler. The bastards. Well, Wagner was pretty cool, I guess. If you ignore the fact that he was an egomaniacal, vain, and anti-Semitic guy who loved silk underwear and lavender bedsheets, that is. Plus, he was besties with Nietzsche for a while. But then Nietzsche realised it wasn't meant to be, and fled from the first Bayreuth festival. Even so, Nietszche was like, "I really did love him" before he died. Lol, that sounded totally slashy.
There is one good thing that has come out of this whole ordeal. I was never that fond of Wagner's music before, but I have now realised his genius. Granted, I still have not bothered with the actual singing in his operas, and have only listened to the overtures, but they are wonderful! "Die Meistersinger" is absolutely lovely. I looked for it on Youtube and found a video conducted by Furtwangler, whom I love. It turned out to be from a Nuremberg rally, though, which was kind of a shock. Still, Furtwangler was good. He was so awkwardly tall and skinny, though. When he got excited, it looked like he was going to topple over or something. That does not detract from his awesome awesomeness.
Well, that's that. I cannot believe I finished that essay in four sittings, but I did. Whoo! I can have free time now. Like real
free time instead of periods during which I have nothing to do but feel guilty about not doing Extended Essay.
31st December 2008
This is kind of a re-post from Facebook (yes, can you imagine), and I thought it would be appropriate to put it here instead. I mean, I hardly use LJ anymore, but it's still <33x1000^infinity. Plus, FB is for creepers, something I am trying not to be, albeit unsuccessfully. Anyway, here is a semi-rant-post about my ex-favourite radio station, CBC Radio 2. Actually, it was the only radio station that I listened to regularly, and it was only for this one program - Music and Company with Tom Allen. :
I'm not sure who else here enjoys their classical music coupled with humour and trivia from an exceptional host, but I sure do. Music and Company was absolutely perfect; there was something interesting every morning. The selection of music was superb, ranging from early baroque to 20th century classical (none of that extreme atonal stuff, though), and the recordings were all done by wonderfully talented groups. Not to mention the terrific segments, like Cage Match, where pieces of music are metaphorically pit against each other so they could battle violently and spill each other's metaphorical blood. I can say with confidence that Tom Allen hosted the best radio program on the air. And he did it so well, too. Where else would I find out that Le Chavalier de Saint-Georges (the Black Mozart) skated a warning to Marie Antoinette onto the ice in front of the palace of Versailles during the Revolution? Wikipedia? Well, maybe, but I sure would rather hear it coming from Tom's babely voice.
And now it's all gone. CBC Radio 2 underwent some changes. And by "changes", I mean a revolution that purged its best and implemented puppet programs to try to deceive its small but loyal audience. Radio 2 has been raped, and now it is left crying, mourning its degradation and broken pelvis. But instead of howls of pain, it screams music that makes me want to slit my wrists. Or abandon Radio 2 in its weak and forlorn state, even as its feeble hand clutches onto my trouser leg, begging me to stay.
But I don't think I can. Not even for Tom Allen.
7th August 2008
Ahh, it's this time of the year again. This may be a statement rather obscure in meaning for those of you who don't live in Saint John, which is to say, all of you. But to those who do, though you certainly don't, you'll certainly know what I'm talking about. Though certainly nobody knows what I'm talking about, because nobody lives here. But let's not dwell on that any further. I hope that one day I can quell my terrible habit of digressing when I haven't even finished making one point yet. Anyway, I'm not entirely sure that my wandering off topic has drawn out your curiosity regarding my first statement, but I'll continue anyway, because this is my journal, and I sure as hell can write whatever the fuck I want. Ahem. All this is to say, the tourists have arrived. :
Now, I've never had a problem with tourists before today, but now I can see why they're regarded as such... bad people. That is, horrible, loud, screeching/laughing, picture-taking, despicable bastards from hell. I went uptown today only to discover that the place was overcrowded by people, well, sad enough to come here. It was rather alarming to see so many people where there usually is none, and, to be truthful, it irritated the piss out of me for a slight moment. I don't know what there is that disturbs me about tourists. Maybe it's fear that eventually, I'll become one of them: large, unruly, T-shirted, tourist-like in general. But I found myself slowly forgiving them - I certainly have the authority to do so - as I walked through the City Market, from which wafted the scent of fresh bread, ripe fruit, and obscene quantities of meat not covered by any cling wrap. By the time I found myself nearing the library, to which I was ultimately headed, I forgot about them altogether. That is, until I saw a pregnant woman.
Maybe pregnant women like cruising. Maybe that's why so many of them are here. I spotted three today. It had a strangely disturbing effect on me, as I discovered something I have not before: I am afraid of pregnant women. When I approached the first one, I caught myself staring intently at her belly. It was a bulbous protuberance that looked slightly unnatural, as if she had swallowed a large yoga ball. She wore a T-shirt obviously not made for pregnancy, as it was prostitutishly tight, revealing her midriff as the bottom of her shirt slowly and inconspicuously climbed up her round belly towards her navel while she walked. There was something about her belly that reminded me of a over-sized water balloon, one that you purposely overfill so that it would most definitely burst when you throw it at your target. It wobbled, covered in pink stretch-marks and downed with light brow hair. She scratched it, and pulled down her shirt for what I guessed to be the thousandth time today, while laughing and talking to her companions as if she wasn't pregnant.
I gulped, and, in short, I was afraid.
I shivered, feeling my heart beat slightly quickening, distributing epinephrine throughout my body, telling me to get the fuck out of there. I resisted, and calmly walked past her, another shiver running down my spine as I did so. I walked into the library, grabbed Yes Minister
and sat down on one of the little blue couches that smell faintly of sweat, my bottom collapsing farther into the old broken chair than it was supposed to. I was alright.
The two other pregnant women that I saw later today were much more decent, wearing baggier shirts, and not being that far in their respective terms. But I still couldn't help picturing what I had seen earlier, and I felt highly uncomfortable, as if I was witnessing the progress of some devastating disease, and fearing that it was contagious. Very unpleasant.
I have an irrational fear/hatred of pregnancy in humans. Pregnancy-phobic. Oh God.
22nd January 2008
Have I ever recounted that dream I had? The dream in which I had no feet? Oh, quite possibly, as I vaguely remember it. Or maybe I'm just making that up, as I seem to do quite often. Or not, and this post will be completely useless and redundant and lacking in : Good Stuff
. Did I ruin the surprise? I was just about to tell you about the dream in which
I had no feet
there was a lacking of attachments to my lower extremities. Aha. Well, enough of this, I say! On to the story.
I woke up in dimly lit room, and was immediately aware that something was amiss. I pushed aside the covers to discover that my ankles were not sprouting feet, but instead a red, fleshy mess. I don't remember any bone. But then again, I may be mistaken. Feeling more bewildered and slightly angry than horrified and aware of imminent death, I slowly wriggled into an uncomfortably comfortable sitting position. As in all situations akin to this, I was sure that I had somewhere to be, and that I was most definetly late. How inconvenient, and utterly inconsiderate
of my feet to separate themselves from the rest of themselves. If I ever got married, and breed and raise wonderful potted plants, but later discover that my husband/wife -maybe "spouse" would have done the trick here. But certainly not if I was writing in french, though- never loved me at all, resulting in a divorce 30 years too late, I would feel a preliminary sense of abandonment upon which the pain of losing my feet could be built. But not really. I'm just exaggerating. I really wasn't that worried. I looked to the set of drawers by my bed, in which I knew contained my feet, a large sewing needle, and some unusually thick thread. I pulled out the first drawer and reached inside. I felt around and as I expected, my feet and sewing equipment lay at my disposal. I started sewing, feeling more than annoyed, as the feeling of needing-to-be-somewhere had grown substantially. The needle impatiently working its way through my jagged flesh (they were surely hacked off by an incompetent Feet Remover) didn't really bother me, and I worked diligently until my task had been completed. But a complication arose. It seemed as if the flesh on my sternum had fallen off while I was working. It vexed me slightly, but I quickly sewed myself back together. Ahhh, triumph! I could finally go to the Place Where I Thought I Needed to Be. But as I stood up, I realised-Oh motherfucker! How could I have been so foolish, so blundering in my ways to make such a juvenile mistake? It appeared as if I had sewn each foot to the wrong ankle. Surely I'd be able to reattach my feet properly after putting my shoes on the right feet for year years, decades, centuries, millennia. But I soon recovered from my disapointment. Or maybe I didn't. Either way, I woke up.
It might not be completely faithful to my actual dream. It might have been sensationalised to satisfy your appetites for Unusual Anecdotes. It might even be a fiction/complete fucking bullshit. But it isn't. I think. If you have the patience, perseverence, posh accent, you may consider finding the original entry for this dream, as I have just now assured/convinced myself of its existence.
Much love from me (who else?)
29th December 2007
Holy shit, my userinfo says I'm still 14. No, it was not done intentionally to attract pedophiles, which I believe that Dia believes to be the reason. But it couldn't hurt, eh?... I think I'll change it now, and all that other out of date information. :
My Anglophilia has reached a new level, as I started watching various British television programmes. The best of which being anything and everything however remotely connected to Stephen Fry, who is whom I believe to be the greatest man on television, if not off television as well. If that didn't make sense, it's because of my inability to articulate anything but "He's super-fantastic!" when talking about the greatness that is Stephen Fry. So, you may (or, more likely, may not) be wondering, "Who is this fellow, Stephen Fry?" Well, I'll tells youse whos hes is (I don't know why I did that, so there's no point in asking). He's an acting, script and book writing, directing, super-fantastic Renaissanse man. Maybe I'll elaborate a bit more. Stephen is often compared to Oscar Wilde, but (hopefully) not only because of their brilliance and homosexuality. Stephen Fry is like Oscar Wilde because he really has a way with words. I know that some of you right now must be gaping, slightly frowning, with your brows furrowed, sporting a look of confusion and loathing, thinking, "Why, Saining, that's the most disgusting thing I have ever heard you say". But what can I say? If such a cliche phrase as "a way with words" has to be used, it might as well be used here, because it's quite true; you really have to hear him talk, I suppose. The English language may as well be his slave (or lover if you prefer, but I hope you do not). If it weren't for him, I'd still be using "none" as a plural noun. In fact, it's singular and just means "not one", and one wouldn't say "Not one were good", so one shouldn't say "None were good" either. Anyway, and most importantly, he is absolutely hilarious. I appluad him for brining nonesense (and sexy) back, humerous nonsense like the stuff that Lewis Caroll used to write. His awesomeness is not easy to describe without going on too much (which I fear I have already done), but look him up on Youtube, and you'll get hours worth of entertainment.
Well, I'm off to not livejournal. Bye =D
24th April 2007
Alex took me to see my first concert tonight. It was in a tiny venue in a shady basement, and I haven't heard of the bands before. But. It was fucking awesome. It was as if everyone was angry, and people were shoving each other. I think I got bruised several times, and got elbowed in the head. There's a big bump there now. But it was fucking awesome. It was like fight club, and I was feeling very violent. The book was right, you do feel awesome after beating people up and getting beat up. All the burdens of IB seem so far away. Hell, I'm even looking forward to doing my : Canterbury Tales
presentation tonight. I had to leave early because Alex's mom is very punctual and came to pick us up at exactly ten, but still, it was well worth my twelve dollars. I'm a bit dizzy. And I don't like my English right now. Pft, fuck it.
Current Mood: fucking great
22nd April 2007
Yesterday, I went to the birthday party of someone I barely knew. Her name is Megan Nicol, and I referred to her as "Other Megan" (Meghan Graham is "Meghan"). She booked a room in a community centre, so I though it would be fun. And it was pretty fun. I ended up playing a lot of pool. When I couldn't find anyone to play with me, I played by myself. I'm going to be one of those creepy people that have no life other than hanging out in bars that have pool tables. I showed off my mad dancing skillz, too. That gave people quite a laugh XD. :
After a while, me and a few friends went to the playground outside, and encountered some kids that looked quite a few years younger than us (about nine, I'd say). One of them asked us if we would "like to jerk his wormie". I kindly replied, "that's a very generous offer, but I"m afraid I'll have to decline." I don't think he understood. More awkward questions from kids, some swinging, and a game of "grounders" later, we went back inside and had some cake. Cake is disgusting. It's just the frosting, actually, but without the frosting, the cake component is quite bland. Anyways, that's the abrupt ending to that story.
I also had a piano recital earlier that day. I had to play two pieces and a duet. The first piece (Beethoven's "Bagatelle") was pretty much a disaster. Actually, it was okay until the very end. I was so relieved that it was ending that I skrewed up near the seventh last measure. It was fucking brutal. I didn't have my music with me, and I completely blanked out, so I resorted to played three tonic chords and making it sound like it ended XD. There was pity clapping. The second piece (Prokofiev's "March of the Grasshoppers") I did okay on. I missed a few noted, but didn't stop so nobody noticed. I even made the big jump at the end. The duet was pretty good. I was less nervous because someone was up there with me. Then everyone who played was owned by this Korean girl. Pft. Whatever.
I found out the most horrible piece of information yesterday. My biology field trip, it appears, is on the same day as the music festival. I'll be going to the music festival because I've already paid sixty dollars to compete. This is quite a predicament, though. The biology trip is pretty important, and data for a planning lab will be taken there. Fuck. Maybe I can go with another group.
Well, that's my long update. Maybe I'll write again soon XD
25th March 2007
Yesterday was the Reach for the Top tournament, and my school hosted it. I know that whoever is reading it has probably not heard of Reach, other than whatever I had previously said about it, nor particularly care about it. But. ME ROVE REACH ROOOOONG TIMEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! :
But seriously, the tournament yesterday was awesomely fun. I was put, to be completely truthful, on a pretty crappy team. We were short one player, and we were pretty unsure. But, amazingly, we won the first game. We went on to play Fredericton and we tied against them. We did tie breakers, and they got the first one, but we got the last three. For some ungodly reason, they ended up winning because supposedly, only the first tie breaker counts. Why would there be two sets of tie breakers, with four questions in each set if only the first counted? Fucktards. I declared us the winner of that match. Then we went on to play Minto, or rather the blond guy on the Minto team. I think the other members only answered two questions. In the end, the blond guy owned my team like cheap hookers. We lost another one after that, but we won the last one. Anyways, it was fun.
After that, the whole Reach team and Alex went out for dinner. Then, we went to Andrew's house to celebrate his birthday. His mother made the best cheesecake in the world, and I licked someones tattoo that tasted like vanilla cupcakes.
Yeah, that was pretty much how I spent my Saturday.
Sorry for the lack of witty humour that is usually present in my entries. Haha, there's one.
4th March 2007
Gahhhhh. -mouth froths- :
Oh God! The horrible withdrawl symptoms of not updating LJ.
Well, it's been a month or two... or three. But I'm back.
It's been pretty depressing lately. This semester makes me want to slowly kill someone with a million paper cuts. There's a lot of work, and I rarely get more than six hours of sleep at night. Sometimes, I'd come home and collapse on my bed and sleep until eight. Yes, my friends, I'm slowly dying. IB is like an old hag sucking out my soul and livelihood ever so slowly.
But alas, March break is here to rescue me from my dark abyss of misery. Hmmm. Why so many comparisons today? I haven't a clue. Anyways, I just want to rest. You know that nice feeling you get on occasional Sunday night where you're just anticipating the fresh start of a new week? Well, that naive schoolgirl part of me is crushed. Mercilessly crushed without warning in a meatgrinder and being consumed by hungry African children. All I've wanted these past faw Sundays was for school to be canceled. Or be struck down by God. Either was perfectly fine with me. But school commenced every Monday morning as usual, and I'm still alive. Hopefully, March break will restore some of my youth. Yes, my youth. However, my spawn of the devil of a physics teacher that's filled with spite and ill intent may very well foil my week of leisure. He assigned two and a half pages of problems. I have two biology labs, too. But I like that class, so my bio teacher will not have to feel the wrath of my half-assed insults.
I think I've gotten a bit off track. Wasn't I just mentioning how nice March break will be? Actually, despite everything I said earlier (yes, you may disregard it, for everything I say is pretty much meaningless rambling), I think this week will turn out to be quite enjoyable. I'm going with my mother to her workplace at Fundy National Park. There's hours and hours worth of trails with niceness and shizz. Yes, very creative in my descriptions, am I not? Anyways, if it's not too cold, I'll get to have some fun =D
Well, that's it for now. Byeeeee.
24th November 2006
Ugh, I have so much homework this weekend. At least I get Friday off for parent/teacher. :
I have this crazy SS project where we have to do research on a Greek god or goddess and dress up as them while doing the presentation. It should be pretty fun, but there's poem-writing involved, too. How the hell am I supposed to think up a poem? Oh well, I'll probably just make it humourous. I don't even think I'm capable of writing a non-humourous poem. Bleh. Anyways, I think I'll do Apollo so I can spend like, half the presentation time talking about his homosexual lovers. I just love making people uncomfortable =D
Man, I forgot how much fun it was to update this thing XD
I've been spending quite a bit of time watching Chinese television online lately. Their programs are pretty horrible, cliche, unimaginative, overly dramatic, unrealistic, and make me feel happy inside. No, it's not just the fact that the actors are Asian (well, maybe a little). I guess I just miss this kind of crappy television programming (only a little bit >_<).
My father has found a new joy in his life. Watching car accidents caught on video. He showed me a few today. It was quite horrific, but rather amusing. This SUV was trying to pass another car, but didn't succeed and somehow flipped on it's side. It flipped a couple more times, all the way to the lanes going the opposite way. When it flipped across the lane divider, the driver was thrown right out of the car and was subsequently ran over by another SUV. There was another one where an SUV hit a man on a motorcycle and the man somehow managed to land on his feet. He was pretty pissed, and was shouting at the driver. He walked away, then came back for his back pack and yelled at the driver some more. The last one was probably the most amusing. There was this random person crossing the street and an SUV (they're horribly unsafe, despite what those damn commercials say) loses control and flips on its side. It lands right on that poor pedestrian and squashes him. My father couldn't find this last video so I told him to try looking in his History folder. He did, and what do I see? About twenty different video links all contaning the words "car accident". Geez, and that was just yesterday, too.
I have finally gotten my hands on the eleventh and twelfth books of A Series of Unfortunate Events
. Yessssssssssssssssssss. They're so fun to read. If you haven't read them, you should. I guess they're children's books, but they're good, and quite witty.
Well, that was another update. Good for me.
16th September 2006
Well, I guess it's about time I updated again >_> :
School started a while ago, and it's been okay, I guess. I chose to go in full IB, so no specialty courses for me u_u
A typical day goes like this:
A Block - Social Studies. This class isn't bad, pretty interesting, actually. We're doing Mesopotamia and Ancient Egypt and all that shizz.
B Block - Math. This is probably the most-looked-forward-to class of each day. My math teacher's hilarious, and tells us these crazy math stories. Plus, he's probably the tallest person I'd ever met.
C Block - English. Ahhhh, how I loath this class. The teacher isn't interesting and witty and... horrible like all English teachers should be. And plus, we have to do poetry analysis right now, which is probably my least favourite part of the curriculum.
Lunch. Those horrible fuckers only give us 50 minutes.
D Block - Chemistry. The love I feel for chemistry cannot be expressed. But how unlucky I am -cries-. I probably have the dullest chemistry teacher in the whole school. The four times I gave him my full attention, I ended up falling asleep. Not asleep
asleep, but the kind where you nod off, but catch yourself. It's so horrible. I found out that I could draw a bit and listen to him at the same time, though, so I guess that'll have to work.
E Block - French. It's a pretty easy class (thanks to French camp =D), but there's a lot of work. I think I've used 30 sheets of lined paper already T_T
I guess it's not that bad, but it's pretty mundane. That's why I joined a few clubs to lighten up my week. So far, I've got art club and Reach for the Top (... no, that does not make me a loser), but I think I'll join improv, too.
I also auditioned for the play As You Like It
, but haven't gotten the results back yet. When I auditioned, they made me read a diologue with someone between Rosalind and Orlando (I got Rosalind because I had no penis), and for every one of Orlando's lines, I had three. It was amusing, though.
And that's about it, I guess. Wow, this is actually an update with a decent length O_O
13th September 2006
"Hey Foreman! Yo momma so fat, when her beeper goes off, people think she's backin' up!" :
8th August 2006
From Dee-Dee (just to spite her) :
1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.
6. Tag three people
The glitter lady wheeled on a box.
The box was tall: grown-up-person-sized and black.
She opened up the front.
Truthfully, the nearest that wasn't the nearest book, but I didn't think it would be very interesting posting something from a dictionary, especially if it's in Chinese.
A Brief Recount of the Past Month
As you all know, I was at French Camp for the better part of July. Despite all the French, it was actually quite fun. I'd write more about it, but it would take too much time and I'm a lazy bastard. Yeah. :
Right after camp, I had to go to Ottawa to get a new passport. Apparently, my old one expired about a year ago. It'll take about a month for the new passport to be ready, which means I'll have to wait until Christmas to go back to China.
I stopped by Montreal and went to China Town. They had some pretty cool stuff there. It was actually kind of like being back in China. Crowded, dirty, impatient people, questionable smells (though mixed with good ones of food). I didn't have much time to look around, but it was still fun.
When I arrived in Ottawa, one of the first large buildings I saw was the Museum of Civilization. The architecture was quite stunning, really, and the scenery around it just made it better. So I decide to go and it turned out to be an unimaginably huge disapointment. There was nothing interesting at all (except maybe the Canadian history part). It's a waste of a nice building. If you ever go to Ottawa, don't go to the Museum of Civilization. There were three expansive stories, but all I saw was an okay Canadian history exhibit, a crappy first nations exhibit, a crappy postal exhibit, a crappy unfinished exhibit, and a few other crappy (as you can see, I'm horribly uncreative today) exhibits that were so crappy, all memories of them have been erased.
I also went to Parliament Hill, which proved to be a bit more interesting, even if I didn't go in. The buildings were so beautiful, adorned with intricate designs. Love me. I touched them.
Today, my mother read us one of her compositions for work. At some point in the beginning, where she wanted to exclaim how stunned she was at the beauty of Fundy National Park (where she is currently working), she decided to use the phrase "to blow one away", but instead, she used "to blow one off". I almost choked trying not to laugh when she read, "When I first saw the park, it blew me off". She said she wasn't sure what the phrase was, but it contained the word "blow". I told her it was best just to leave that word alone, but she thought it was too good a phrase, so I corrected it and moved on (rather quickly). I hope to God
she doesn't make a mistake when she's reading it.
Speaking of blow jobs, it reminds me of this video I saw a while ago. There was a scene where this guy walks in on another guy dressed in a bear suit performing fellatio on someone that was apparently himself. Very entertaining.
18th June 2006
Yesterday was quite pleasant. I went to Fredericton for my piano exams because Saint John's piano exams were only held last Monday to Friday, which conflicted with my school exams. I practiced feverishly for about two hours before I left for Fredericton. I tried hard not to fall asleep in the car because I can't play as well after a nap, but I didn't succeed, and slept almost the whole way there. I didn't eat much that morning (a piece of toast and juice), so I was quite happy when my parents informed me that we shall be stopping at Dairy Queen. I was so ecstatic about the ice cream that I didn't think about the dire consequences that would follow eating a small sundae and also a portion of a small Blizzard. Luckily, I didn't feel the effects until after my exam. Anyways, we arrived at the church the exams were being held in and the old lady at the front desk checked me in. The church was a small and simple one, and I waited in the basement for my turn. I found a small electronic keyboard that wasn't plugged in and practiced for a little while. When it was my turn, the old lady led me into the main room (forgot what's it called) of the church, which was small and smelt of Christians (or something like that). The adjudicator was an old man in his fifties whose tone of voice was on the feminine side, and thanked me every time I finished playing something. Surprisingly enough, I wasn't very nervous at all, and managed to complete the examination without any major mistakes (although I totally butchered the sight-reading, despite how simple a piece it was). It only took about 20 minutes, and the old lady gave me a sticker when I was done. It was nice. :
I'm cold and I forgot to take my Centrum this morning (for an unknown reason, I decided that I would combine two irrelevant things into one sentence >_>).
I love Dia for that fan-fiction link. It provided much amusement. And damn her too, because I though I finally
managed to stop reading slash fan-fiction. Augh. Now I need more. What a vicious cycle.
Frutopia's kiwi lychee curiosity is very good. Since I live in Saint John and have no source of fresh lychees, I shall just be happy that I have the juice. Joy.
Oh wow, what a long update! And surprisingly, I haven't sworn yet. And how can we let that happen?
14th June 2006
I played Risk for the first time today, it was pretty great. It's the game of world domination =D :
I found out my theory exam results online, and I got a 97. I believe I did quite well.
My practical exam is this Saturday, and I don't know how well I'll do. Wish me luck >_<
This week was exam week, so it was pretty awesome. Last exam tomorrow and no more school D=
It's French tomorrow, so I'd better study a bit -frown-
18th May 2006
The most interesting subject in school is now English. How, : how
, is that possible? Gah. It must be because it's the only class that even worth going to other than French (which isn't very interesting at all).
There is nothing else worth mentioning.
Geez. I'd be happy with a guy slipping on a fucking banana peel. There's nothing
17th May 2006
I have the oddest dreams. :
I wad playing tag/hide and seek (a game often played in China) with some boy, and he was an incredibly fast runner. As I wasn't "it", I got to run first and I could hear him counting to ten. I was determined not to be caught, so I ran, so fast that I flew a bit. I arrived at a floating tree, but it's roots and trunk weren't large enough to hide me, so I run to the house beside it. I waited. I was sure he'd find me, but he wasn't anywhere close by, so I came out of my hiding place to look for him. After walking a bit, I see him, holding a large garbage bag, with a slight frown on his face. I asked him what was wrong. "I can't play anymore. My mother told me to dispose of this dead body," He answered, holding the black plastic bag a bit higher so I can see the imprint of a face in it, "But you could come with me if you want." I said, a bit startled at the corps' rather horrible expression, "No thank you. It's a bit late and I should go home to eat dinner soon. Bye bye." "Goodbye," he replied.
15th May 2006
So I had my piano theory exam last Saturday, and it was pretty easy. I think I did well. Oh yes. :
There's this kid in my class who smells bad. It's so horrible, I can't even accurately describe what is is I smell. It's like... fertilizer (the not-so-bad smelling soil kind), shit, and decaying animal carcass. You can smell him sitting two seats away, which is, unfortunately, where I sit. He's incredibly fat, too, and surprisingly ignorant about his abnormally putrid smell. Me and the poor kid who sits behind him have come to the conclusion that he's secreting half eaten food from his pores. Not pretty. And somehow, somehow
, he still manages to be a little more than a bit conceited. Fucking loser. Eveytime my glance falls upon him, my very soul fills with hatred and loathing. Augh.
On a lighter note, I had a very strange dream. I think I was back in China with the really strict homework schedule, but strangely, with my current teachers. I had a lot of homework to do that day. For some reason, maybe a day before, I decided to cut of my feet and sew them on to the wrong sides, and I got tired of being a freak, so I wanted to switch them back. And you all know how much work that takes. So I sit on by bed and cut the threads holding my feet to my legs out, and started sewing them back on. Because I had no anaesthetic, I tried ridiculously hard to get the needle in the holes that were in my feet already, which wasn't so easy, even though the holes seemed unusually large. But finally, my feet were on the right sides. For some unknown reason, my chest had fallen apart (I think I accidentally cut it when I was cutting apart the stitchings in my feet, but I'm not sure), so I had to sew that back together as well. It took a while, oh yes. And that meant that I didn't get any homework done when I went to school. I was quite disconcerted when Mr Reppert (my current English teacher) came around to check the homework. But he said that I could have another day, so I was content. Strange enough, he didn't make a witty comment like he usually does in reality. Interesting dream, no?
You know how you're dreaming and this person tells a joke and you think that it's really, really funny? But then you wake up and think about it and it's just really, really stupid. Like this:
Man: What's orange and round?
Me: Huh? I dunno.
Man: AN ORANGE!
Me: OMG! BWAHAHAHAHA!
I went to the park an hour ago with my scooter. There was a really sharp turn and I fell on my knees and hands. It hurt like a bitch. Now my hand's half skinned and half bloody, and worst of all, not quite skinned, but rippled. It feels like the face of a 70 year old woman.