bel

Went on a two and a half day whirlwind tour of Barcelona, just because it's an absolute tourist trap that everyone must see.

Highlights and lowlights:

- We were robbed of 50 euros before our very eyes by a cruel woman who thought she could gladly take advantage of three Asian girls travelling by themselves.

"You give me no 50, no 50!"
"For fuck's sake, we just GAVE you a 50 euro bill!"
"No 50, no 50!"

The protest goes on for a while until a girl in a Foo Fighters sweater snidely says "Go back to Singapore!", to which we replied, "Fuck you, we're not from Singapore! Damn bitch." I don't understand people who say "Go back to *insert respective Asian country here*". HOW do you bring yourself to say such things without feeling slightly guilty? I blame the parents. I do.

And just like that we had to cough up an extra 21 euros for the bus ride from Girona (the airport) to Barcelona because she took MY 50 and said I didn't give her any money. Not to say we weren't told to be careful because almost everyone who goes to Barcelona has some sort of theft/loss story to tell.

- Food was so-so. Paella was a disappointment. I've had better at La Bodega back home, sad to say. Churros, however, never fails. Patatas fritas, too, never ever fails. Oh, how I long for the glorious taste of the spicy saltiness of a carefully cubed deep fried potato that's been lightly smothered in garlic mayonnaise to be etched permanently on my tongue :(

- Camwhoring at Park Guell.

- The weather was fucking miserable. Kept pissing rain - like how it does in London.

- Buying 18 cents water.

- Lusting over the new S/S 09 Zara blazers. They had every colour of the rainbow!! I clapped my hands in glee when I saw them and drew some strange looks, but alas..there was no time to queue. C'est la vie. You can never have too many blazers.

Just been through one of those days. Feel like flopping on my bed and doing absolutely nothing but sifting through a intellectually debilitating fashion magazine that will fry my neurons so much so that I will just go to sleep immediately. It's getting cold again. FFS. It was a nice day yesterday, enough to go tramping up and down Oxford St in an electric blue micro-mini skirt sans tights and my precious 5 inch ASOS heels.

No work has been done tonight. Boo me. Have instead uncanned even greater desire for material things as an expensive but effective way to distract self from exponentially dwindling intelligence levels as I look upon my signal processing notes with a great sigh.

Now.

At the risk of sounding like a total and utter bimbs.....ah, what the fuck. I'm just a regular fashion victim! Where lah is my fairy godmother who will bring me all these goodies? (Notice how I didn't say Prince Charming as a sign of devotion to my independent feminist ideals mwahah)

Oh, what's a girl to do with herself in times of stress?

I'll tell you!

- karla's closet and that's chic...probably any fashion blog will do
- Reese's Pieces/Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and Hummingbird cupcakes (red velvet isn't that hot, seriously. vanilla >> red velvet any day)
- tom yum soup with chicken and broccoli.
- nail polish


- kopi-o/Americano. PLENTY of this stuff is good for you =)


fuckity fuck fuck shit. 379847594ksdjfoisd.

You know you're in trouble when you dreams entail buying Prada bags and platform shoes adorned with red soles and Chinese characters, and then the first thing that you do in the morning is make yourself a cup of coffee and log on to the Internet to find look at that pair of insane Balenciaga booties just to whittle your sense of being into a comfort zone because you know that, in reality, you'll never be able to afford it :(

Amid the loud, loud headbanging (hurray for old school '90s grunge) music playing in the background and my Artificial Intelligence coursework (I curse the day Prolog was invented) just lurking somewhere on my desktop, I thought I'd compile a list of a few things that add a little sparkle to my otherwise mundane life. These things that may not make me smile or laugh or show any outward emotion whatsoever, but they do elicit a nascent feeling of unadulterated warmth and satiation after. The concept is simple, really.

Not in any particular order.

- my grandparents
- listening to my song of the moment on repeat for 24 hours straight
- sipping on sugarless black coffee in the morning
- sun rays glimmering through a section of cloud in the evening sky before sunset
- nice texts from people you haven't heard from in a while
- nice texts
- late night conversations that seem to go on forever
- eating a very simple lunch with my family at home on a regular weekday
- being able to string together a sentence with English, Malay, Hokkien and Mandarin thrown in. sometimes even Cantonese.
- when a song I really like comes on radio (back home, that is)
- the smell of freshly baked bread wafting from a bakery
- the sight of iced cupcakes
- the knowledge that i've cleaned up and settled everything for the day so i can retire to bed peacefully
- watching my muffins rise in the oven
- buying cheap cocktail rings that engulf my fingers
- after running for two hours, i still am not panting my guts out. (but sadly, i reckon this is no longer the case)
- vacuuming
- rearranging my wardrobe
- getting a much needed hug
- cracking my knuckles until they pop
- stumbling upon a piece of inexpensive clothing or jewellery that you know you must have
- mosh pits
- getting up from the hairdresser's chair after five hours and then proceeding to admire newly blow dried hair
- brie cheese and crackers
- not fucking up my nails when i paint them
- handwritten letters
- adorning my entire wrist with ridiculous gewgaws

My hair is blue- and red-striped. Always been a sucker for hair dye. But I've been told I look like a Barcelona FC fan and my hair vaguely resembles the French flag/Malaysian flag without the yellow.

Ahluvvet.

Even though Amazon sells books for pretty darn cheap and offers free delivery, I'd still rather buy used books; the total price for used books including shipping totals up to more than buying it straight from Amazon. I adore poring through slightly yellowed paper knowing that somewhere someone else has shared the same emotions that I am about to experience while reading the same novel. I think it binds humanity in an odd sort of way.

Heart Attack Sandwich

Deep Fried Cupcake with Chocolate Sauce and Sprinkles

One word: OATMEAL.

So, my equally spastic friend and I decided to go on this 11 day diet. I was enthusiastic last night, almost scarily motivated. But, as you know, summoning willpower is no easy task. Don't even bother asking why I'm attempting to do this. I think I'm bored.

I feel like being re-born with musical aptitude just so I can play the guitar and sing and jump around like them. Awesomes.

Ripped from thestar.com.my as 2nd most viewed article of the day.

Sample question (out of a possible hundred) from a driver's license test in China.

If someone’s intestines are protruding from an open abdominal wound, should you:
A. Put them back in place.
B. Do nothing.
C. Cover them with some kind of container and fasten it around the body.

I would've picked A, but apparently the answer is C.

I'm surprised there wasn't a D:

D. Hastily slice away a good portion, stash it in a large black garbage bag so that no one can see what you're doing and then go make pig human intestine soup with pepper.

Reaaaalllyy cannnottt. 

Was reading an article. First line that pops up in front of my face was this: "What do women want?"

I pray for a blue sky for you, too.

- It snows. Pretty heavily. Like now. 

Watched 'Rachel Getting Married'. Anne Hathaway is winning that Oscar because she looks dead terrible (recall: Charlize Theron, Nicole Kidman and Halle Berry in Monster, The Hours and Monster's Ball respectively). Moreover, the movie is an incredibly low budget indie film that creeps out 3/5 senses. Kym (Anne Hathaway) in black Ray Ban Wayfarers, XXXL forest green hoodie and skinny jeans with blond tiger highlights? Check. The incessant shrill violin coupled with the twang of a badly played guitar to represent the cacophony of said character's mental torture playing in the background? Check. The verdant green and warmth of Kym's childhood home juxtaposed with said character's constant cigarette smoking? Check. The one tight bitchslap across the face every child deserves? Check.

I've been listening to plenty of Cher. Her songs are bloody awesome and nobody else can wear fishnet stockings the way she does. She's my new role model. She invented Reinvention waaay before Madonna did. 

2008 was by no means altogether shit; it was, in fact, a year of many unexpected surprises. Like a box of chocolates or whatever it is that Forrest Gump says. 

Want: new bags, new shoes, new kitchen sink, new coat, new American Apparel dress, new pet rabbit, new belt, new fur-trimmed bolero, new purple giraffe, new sneakers, snazzy Ralph Lauren blazer, Chanel earrings, new laptop, new Internet connection, new loaf tin, new leggings, new eyebrows, new Topshop accessories, new French Soles, new gym shoes, new dinosaur model, new ....me?

Need: Absolutely nothing - except maybe washboard abs and Bundchenian legs.

The true spirit of Christmas is in the giving, kids. Santa knows it when you try to earn brownie points. Heigh ho!

Fairly eventful weekend. Am not particularly fond of blogging about what I've done because I don't believe my life is worth going into excessive detail about- but, well, this weekend was slightly different.

Saturday morning - went to Borough Market to eat more food. I have a newfound love for wild boar sausages. I delight in its remarkable crunchy chewiness. So much better than regular pork sausages, to be honest.

One steps foot into the Dorchester expecting nothing less than the sycophantic doorman and an all-too-keen bellboy. Not that I would know; it was all in the imagination from reading novels about dining at the Ritz and watching Bond films. Well, it really is like that in reality. One asks for Alain Ducasse at the Dorchester and is politely shown to a restaurant at the end of the corridor, past The Promenade, The Grill and The Bar. The room is spacious and alight with a soft glow that lulls the senses into a dreamy state. Yet, one can't help but talk about the finer things in life when dining in this place. Call it a lack of exposure on my part - a jakun if you will - but it's true :-)

The pompous maître d' greets us, asks us whether we'd like champagne with lunch. Bubbly in the afternoon? Thanks, but that would be far too decadent, sir. He then brings us a cute bowl of bread and cheese balls, each one dotted carefully with either paprika or black pepper.

These little babies are quite delectable. I am a carb junkie; what can I say?

Thereafter, we are presented with the chef's first delectable delight: the amuse-bouche - literally translated from the French as 'mouth amuser'. The chef knows no bounds with the amuse-bouche, as it is meant to whet the guest's appetite in anticipation of the coming meal. Well, it works! Today's amuse-bouche comes to us in the form of creamed broccoli with black olives garnished sparingly with slices of various raw vegetable. I gush at the taste of black olive combined with the broccoli cream and scoop every last drop pitifully. My bouche is now tres amused.



For starters, I order the 'Slightly Sauteed Shrimp'. It is an esoteric palette of tastes. The shrimp, together with some regular broccoli, peppers and finely cut carrot, is sitting on a bed of seemingly solidified (and quite salty) stock. It tickles my curious tastebuds and I am actually quite confused as what to make of it, so I dismiss it as 'fairly forgettable', if not a little overwhelming in texture and saltiness. The solidified salty jelly stuff does not do the shrimp justice.

By this point, the three of us are pleasantly surprised. We have satisfied our Tesco saturated tastebuds! But, oh, what's zis? More food! Ze other snotty French maître d' (hereafter known simply as Pompous) trots along and presents us with our main courses. I picked the 'Roast Veal with Creamy Spinach' because, you know, gym rats like me need my daily hit of protein and fat all at once.

One of us remarked that, yes, it does indeed resemble 'siew yoke'. It even tastes a bit like it, but after five mouthfuls, I am up to my neck in richness. The meat is delightfully plump and tender and when eaten with the correct sliver of fat, it can actually cause shivers of sheer pleasure. What I do not fancy, though, is how much the sauce tastes like it has a lot of Knorr's Beef Stock Concentrate in it i.e. the stuff I use for my gravy. Either the chef had a slip-up or Knorr really know their stuff.

And then comes the most favouritest part of the meal: dessert! After a rich main, I look forward to calming myself down with a tangy dessert. I get exactly that in this wonderful and most awesomest Vacherin served in the most cutest dessert bowl (I gotta get me one of these).


The colours are far more exciting than they look; it really resembles a mini Hawaiian luau. Underneath the mini meringue crusts, mango sorbet and coconut, lime and banana sorbet (which Pompous snidely dismisses as vanilla when I ask him what flavour it is and then comes back apologetically telling me it really is coconut, banana and lime. Tous est, eh, what you call it...c'est stupide??) is a titillatingly zingy passion fruit compote. I adore passion fruit with a zealous passion - no pun intended :) This is, by far, the pièce de résistance of the meal. We are not exactly stuffed, but it's okay. Food makes people happy. Food makes me happy, anyway.

'To the good life that we shall afford next time'.

David Cook's new album (creatively called 'David Cook' in true manufactured pop style) is thoroughly dissatisfactory. It was akin to expecting margarine to taste like butter - but in truth, it still tastes like margarine. My ears are upset. I expected more from this man! What happened lah. I think he dated that skank and as a result, his musical abilities just went down the drain. His old album ('Analog Heart' - released before he got famous) is ten times better than this trashtastic trainwreck of an album. Guitar riffs do not always make songs sound good! Yes, it may seem sexy at first, but too much of it is a no-no. Why did us bimbotic fangirls expect so much of you, Mr Cook? Why can't we hear any more "Always Be My Baby"-type renditions? I played that song not less than 180 times (I have proof on my iTunes play count. Holy crap - it's 209!!!!) during exam season. WHY, MR COOK, WHY?! There is more variation in a box of sand than on your album. Dear, oh dear, as my old PE teacher would say. Every song sounds like "Light On" with the exception of a gut-wrenching "Permanent". There is nothing repeat-worthy on your album except this song. Now, "Permanent" is the kind of shit I want to hear from you, Mr Cook. Emo piano? Check. Surly romantic lyrics? Check. The resonant deep throated voice? Check. Will-make-girls-scream-uncontrollably-at-gig factor? Check. Now if only the other 13 tracks made me feel.


And what's with the eyeliner on your CD cover? Or was that photoshopped in to make you appeal to the My Chemical Romance crowd? Anyway, I'm too soft-hearted. I'm going to forgive this man for producing a bad first album. There's always a bad first album for everyone, with the exception of Britney Spears and Christina Aguilera perhaps.

David Archuleta (who has put on a bit of weight, incidentally) is a different story altogether. I never liked his sweet dulcet voice, but ... oh dear, I never thought I'd say this but his teenybopper "Hey, girl, I'm gonna getcha" tunes are quite addictive. Maybe it's a good thing he lost in the end because at this rate, he's going to be so much more famous than Mr Cook. I could just be thirteen in terms of musical taste, but whatever. I couldn't stop listening to "Crush" when it was first released; it is such a Water Fountain Romance song that will either make you smile or die a little inside from remembering the good ol' simple days. Sure, his songs have simple melodic beats that don't require very much talent to produce, but it's fine. To be honest, this album sounds a bit like Clay Aiken's first album which was irreprehensibly melodic and poppy in all its gayness.

Whatever it is, I don't think either of these albums have very much staying power. Sucks to be in the music industry these days!

Yay for Beyonce's 'Single Ladies'. Now that is catchy.

Hopping onto the teenybopper bandwagon, I've sort of been flipping out quietly about how Twilight is being released way before Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince. HP6 was meant to be released yesterday, but somehow got pushed all the bloody way back to summer 2009. Let's just say I'm a traditional girl and have always been a Harry Potter fangirl for as long as I can remember (Book Ronald Weasley <3!). Converting to the dark side (har har har) is not acceptable. Although Ms Rowling's plot-weaving skills may have deteriorated somewhat over the years and my level of cynicism gone up exponentially, Ms Meyer is just no match for the woman who has more money than the Queen. Ms Meyer begins her book in pretty much the same way Ms Rowling did with Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, using IGCSE English techniques to paint a dull, dreary (alliteration !!!) picture and all that, but it didn't reel me in. Perhaps I was young and fool enough to be drawn into the magical world of Harry and Ronald and Hermione, but those were good times! Writers will never run out of an audience so long as there is misery in this world and a willingness to escape into another dimension. I did - in all earnest - attempt to read the book. I took it down gingerly from my sixteen-year-old sister's dusty shelf and turned to the back. Isabella "Bella" Swan? Does anything scream more "I'm a 17th century harlot wearing white lace and red lipstick" than that? Fine. So Ms Meyer picked a bad name. I didn't let Harry James Potter or Frodo Baggins deter me from reading Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings. But really. 2 pages and counting, I just put it down and went to have my cosy after-lunch nap. Why? I give you the following:

In the Olympic Peninsula of the northwest Washington state, a small town named Forks exists under a near constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old.

...

It was to Forks that I now exiled myself - an action that I took with great horror. I detested Forks.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city.

There was something about the first two pages that turned me right off. I shouldn't judge so easily, but I DID make it beyond the cover. I think it was the size of the words too. They were the size of my face. Made me feel a bit dumb :-( I don't like books making me feel dumb, especially in the condescending sort of way; I'm too much of an egotistical girl for that. The clumsily stacked sentences don't appeal to me very much either. But anyway, I've read about this novel enough online to tell you what it's about. And by this point, you are wondering: why the hell is she going on about a book she doesn't believe in? I'm just procrastinating - I'm sorry there's no sexier answer.

In a nutshell:

Bella Swan is the new girl in school. Bella meets Hot 4eva-18 Vampyre Boy named Edward Cullen. Ed is drawn to scent of her flavourful blood. He falls in love with her. BUT THEN he avoids her because he's a fucking vegetarian vampire and doesn't want to suck her lifeless. She goes "ZOMG have I done something wrong? Is it me? Am I too fat?!! Does he want to have SEX with me???" etc. Enter Jake, a 4eva-16 vampire. He doesn't really care about being vegetarian, because Bella sure smells hella good to give up. He wants to suck on Bella's blood but Ed clearly can't let him do that because deep down underneath all that lust, Ed really is a *good* guy. Fight fight run run. Happy ending 4eva n eva with a PROM thrown in.

To quote Lily from HIMYM, "WOOOO!!!!!" (subtitle: "This book clearly sounds dead in all its undead glory")

If you want a really good vampire story, I suggest reading The Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice. Homoeroticism, sexy writing and the baring of fangs! What more do you want?!

And you know what, Robert Pattinson and Kristin Stewart are NO match for Dan Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson. Seriously.

To be frank, I don't care that much anymore about clothes. Is it being slovenly or being slightly less superficial? I throw on a pair of jeans, some crinkly old t-shirt and ratty leopard print Converses on and walk out the door with my diarrhoea green Eastpak every morning these days. Flats just don't do my poor feet good anymore, no matter how cute or bouncy they make my gait look. It's function and form >>> looks these days. My inbox is chock full with emails about the latest styles and clothes from ASOS, American Apparel, Urban Outfitters, even net-a-porter. But, I don't know. Some weird 'Ooohh I must have X from X brand' fuse has blown in my head. All I want right now is to have a functioning Matlab code - as horrifically geeky as that sounds - and to finish running 42km come 07/12. I am suffering from an uncomfortable calf cramp as I write this post; all that training had better not be in vain!

Yes, I am vain in the sense that I want to attain maximum fitness and maximum success in whatever I do. I am vain when I say "No, thanks" to eating out 90% of the time for fear I might will ingest food doused in recycled grease. No, I'm not trying to be a size 8. I have come to terms with the fact that I never will be a bloody size 8 because that's the way I was made, but eating healthy most of the time (except for those times in school where those glorious bars of crunchy Kit Kats just call my name) keeps my sanity and self-esteem intact. A sense of control, if you will. No, I don't support starving yourself. That's just wrong. Food is far too good to give up. I mean, seriously:

People at PETA just irritate the hell out of me. So, Obama has just won the elections. How do the people at PETA put their spin on it? Read on to find out.

President-Elect Barack Obama has said, “I think how we treat our animals reflects how we treat each other. And it’s very important that we have a president who is mindful of the cruelty that is perpetrated on animals.” Because PETA is devoted to fighting animal abuse and recognizes the link between cruelty to animals and violence directed against human beings, the organization is very encouraged by this statement.

PETA is also pleased that Obama and his wife Michelle have announced that they will adopt a rescued dog for their daughters instead of patronizing a pet store or breeder. PETA opposes large-scale breeding facilities, known as “puppy mills,” as well as private breeders who bring puppies and kittens into the world while nearly 4 millions cats and dogs must be euthanized at the nation’s overcrowded animal shelters every year. PETA supports animal shelters and encourages all prospective companion animal guardians to visit their local animal shelter.

PETA was also encouraged to see that, unlike other Democratic and Republican presidential candidates in the past, Obama did not pander to the National Rifle Association and other pro-hunting organizations by heading into the woods and shooting defenceless animals.

PETA looks forward to working with President-Elect Obama and the new administration to help make change happen for the millions of animals who suffer unnecessarily in this country. What’s next? If his stance on other animal issues is any indication, perhaps the next president will put a tofu chicken in every pot.”

a) Putting a tofu chicken in every pot?! Do they THINK that going vegetarian is so easy for most people? Vegetables are expensive! Even as an upper middle class kid I feel the pinch buying vegetables every other day. Buying meat is infinitely cheaper than buying vegetables and certainly a lot more filling! For instance, you can buy 8 satisfying meatballs at your local Tesco's for a quid as opposed to a tiny bag of broccoli and carrots for a £1.50. Bloody hell. Organic schmorganic! You wouldn't know if it's organic unless it came from your own garden!

b) Not everyone has the money to buy fur. Not even if they wanted to. Srsly.

c) Mr Obama has better things to care about other than animals. For instance, how's about stopping people from killing one another in countries farrrr farr awaaay.

d) Mr Obama also - I'm quite sure - has better things to do than to go hunting with the National Rifle Association. How's about saving America from the next Great Depression and putting the damn country back on track politically and financially?

A bit out of context, but I've seen Paul McCartney, who is an avid supporter of PETA, do the following:

e) Wearing trainers with a suit as opposed to wearing leather shoes with a full suit. That's just moronic. Hall mirrors are there for a reason.

I don't mind vegetarians, really. Hell, I love vegetables as much as I love meat, but really, when you spout bullshit publicly and force your stupid beliefs on poor innocent meat-eaters, I'd say it's definitely time to pursue a balanced diet. For your own sake.

I barely clocked a four hour nap before waking up again to see "Obama wins elections in historic win" on my laptop screen. Needless to say, I am elated. Tired, aching and very sleepy, but very happy for Mr. Obama and that much more optimistic about the future of the world. It touches me to know that I actually witnessed history happening and that America was willing to let change happen. I always said that the world was going to end if Mr. McCain won, but now that I think about it..a black man just became the president of the United States. 143 years ago, he could very well have been a slave on the plantation of some wealthy cotton farmer in Atlanta. Well, Change has come. If a black man can be the president of the United States, now anything is truly possible.

Mr. Obama won out of sheer tenacity, of extraordinary focus and pure guts. He never once strayed from his goal in his two year campaign. He didn't do what Mr. McCain did - Mr. McCain childishly played taunting games on international television with Mr. Obama, calling him all manner of names. Mr. Obama played on the absence of feeling of hope for the Americans and gave it back to them. Mr. Obama is playing Richard Nixon's role to Harry Truman, Dwight Eisenhower, John Kennedy and Lyndon B Johnson's Vietnam. The paranoia that the Domino Theory would come true as communism swept its way through South East Asia perhaps is more palpable and believable than these so-called weapons of mass destruction that - funnily enough - nobody has found yet. Mr. Obama knows the catastrophe that the Bush administration has left him in and he certainly won't have a ball cleaning up. His administration will have to be transparent, fair and well thought out - everything the Bush administration was not.

I am not typically a fan of politics and I do not talk politics, but this time the little idealistic historian in me believed that something different would go down in history. And it has.

It's the 4th of November tomorrow. Shame on you if you think it's just another day. It's not.

I know I'm not American, not even close, but I'd be a fool to say I didn't care about the future of America because let's face it - the future of America affects every damn country on this planet, however loath we are to admit it. Having said that, I admit that I am fairly apathetic about Malaysian politics, simply because I've not seen someone worth caring about anywhere on the political arena. We have politicians getting stabbed in front of their clinics, for crying out loud. We have politicians being charged for sodomy. You know, buttsxe. I don't know if you've noticed, but other countries are laughing at us. We look like a gang of schoolchildren at a black and white affair.

Ooh, I digress.

This year, however, in January 2008, the fight between Senator Obama and Senator Clinton grabbed my attention. Could it be time for a Change? I wasn't old enough to be angry about politics when George W came into power twice, but naturally, as time progresses one observes the repercussions of George W's actions and fights the urge to throw a very sharp stick right into his chest. Perhaps through his unsightly ears. Mr Obama understands the need for Americans and the world to see some sort of change in foreign policy.

And what does the John McCain camp know? How to hire a woman like Sarah Palin to become your running mate? A right hand? To do WHAT exactly? Seriously, darling, what does Sarah Palin know? She doesn't even know the current Prime Minister of Canada. A DJ from a Canadian radio station prank called her this morning and claimed to be Nicolas Sarkozy wanting to interview her allll the way from France. Being the genius with the 180 IQ, she gleefully picked up the phone and said "Oh hiiii how are youuuuu" in that ingratiating pimply-kid-trying-to-oomph-her-grades-up-by-being-uber-nice-to-her-PE-teacher tone and proceeded to answer the fellow's questions with all sorts of amusing answers. How anyone can respect her or vote for her after that is absolutely beyond me. For a celebrity, it's fine to look like a moron, because, hey, that's your fucking job, no? Entertain, be slutty and prosper! For a vice-presidential candidate, however...well, perhaps not. It's one thing to blow $150,000 on "campaign accessories", but another to look like a total fool in front of 250 million people. Actually, I'm not sure which way round that sentence is meant to be.

Then you have Barack Obama and Joe Biden. Both academically sound, both incredibly intelligent people who have proven to focus on practical and sound policies. Obama wants to stop all this warmongering by reducing nuclear stockpile, not "weaponizing" space and would probably engage in presidential diplomatic negotiations before actually whacking the crap out of people, unlike some American presidents we so know and love. Biden, unlike Ms Palin, has been a member of the US Senate Committee on Foreign Relations for the longest time. I assume he would know who the current Prime Minster of Canada is and what Nicolas Sarkozy would do in his free time. 'Nuff said.

Having said all that, I can only hope that there are people out there taking this election seriously and that it is certainly NOT funny voting for a party with that woman on the team. McCain is an old man. His name is a brand of frozen potato chips in this country and one of those bags of chips will certainly outfreeze him, trust me.

This is the first time I'm giving a rat's ass about the political conditions of the world - it'd better turn out good.

I've forgotten how easy it is to love the taste of butter and blueberry jam slathered generously over a fluffy scotch pancake.

- I miss Incubus. I would kill to see them live again, not the horror that is Fall Out Boy. They really can't play live. God bless Brandon Boyd.

- My body is rather unhappy; I am in much pain from running long distances in the autumn cold. I have been eating like an unhappy swine to comfort said body. Simple white processed carbohydrates will always make a girl happy.

I am extremely upset at the fact that despite being a supposed engineer with programming knowledge and having dealt with computers since the age of eight, I am still unable to guide myself around the convoluted world of Hyper Text Markup Language otherwise known as HTML. I can only change the colours of my blog without Blogger going all pissy at me. Good God.

New piercing in the rook region of the ear (the smaller ring, not the large one). It doesn't look too nasty there in the photo, but it is actually bleeding like a bitch as I type up this post. TMI? Yeah, thought so. As if there weren't already enough holes in my heart, right. Haha.

I don't know why I've always been so drawn to piercings. I've had two piercings in my ear since the age of ten or something. Really young. I really am one of those people whom "normal" people will ask, "Man, I can't understand you" or "WHY do you do that to yourself?". There really is no answer to that question - I just DO.

A long rehabilitative summer is over. Fun in the Malaysian, Singaporean and Grecian sun. I am several shades darker and no longer held by flimsy emotional tape - although some people who know me may beg to differ. To quote Bridget Jones, queen of floundering middle-aged women in both the non-fictional and fictional world, "it is a known fact that when one area of your life goes well, another falls spectacularly apart".

The time has come to return to poring through scientific papers from Nature and the same old shiteous routine. I wander around college looking at these first years and think to myself, "Oh, those were the days when I didn't have to think about finding internships and think of group projects and all these other not-so-little so-called pleasantries that life springs upon us". I often gaze at them with a spoonful of envy; I know that they will eventually morph into one of us old cronies who spends more time in the computer lab than at home. Well, I suppose every nerdling has its day.

But you know, getting older isn't such a bad thing. Sure, you'd spend quite a lot of time looking at old photos and thinking to yourself, "What the fuck have I done with my teenage years??" Still. That's okay. Because this is where the rest of your life begins.