my chicas *heart*

'A picture is worth a thousands words'

Met lotsa old school friendlings in town today, for a good ol' (girly) catch-up. Jimmy Spices was - of course, and to some people's annoyance - the chosen restaurant, in accordance with our hundred-months tradition. I actually asked the waiter to take a photo of everyone, but it turned out blurry; clearly a novice *tut* No matter, I think this photo cute enough to suffice. The lunch lasted 3-hours, somehow... and we went cinema-ing afterwards.

Walking past Victoria Square, there was a commotion. It was Aston University's Graduation day. Lots of proud parents and smiling alumni... I wonder how many actually has jobs though... *cynical bitch*

And lastly, the building site I took a photo before. It has been 4 weeks since then, and this is what it looked like today. Think it's going to be a residential home...

Another boring post. It's like I'm spamming my own blog, blah!

bath, birdies and beef noodles

Shower's broken at home, so I had to take a bath - something I had last 'enjoyed' in Year 8. Sorry to disappoint you perverts, of course I wasn't going to put a photo of me in the bath on the bloody internet. For the bath itself... Honestly? I did not enjoy it much. My head was hurting after 10 minutes and I had to open the window to breath properly. And like Chandler aptly put it, it just felt like I was just 'sitting there, stewing in my own filth.'

It was pouring down with rain when I came out of the bathroom. Two pigeons outside my window were doing something really odd... it took me a good 5 seconds to realise what: they were both holding up one of their wings as a shield from the pelting rain! I was rather amazed, and impressed. Therefore the camera was out and click,click,click.

And below is what I had for dinner last night. The beef crockpot I smelt in the previous entry was half-eaten for breakfast yesterday morning, and the remainder made into noodle sauce. The true Chinese way, we reuse everything YAH! The A4 sheet of paper - which, coincidentally, is a short story I wrote for GCSE English that I found yesterday whilst looking for my charcoal pencils - is placed there for size comparison. Needless to say, I did not finish the entire bowl. In fact, this will be my lunch today. Now in fact... yum yum.

my life is boring

My life is boring. Please stop reading here.

Term has finished a week ago. I have not opened a single book - unless sketchbooks count. To make procrastination worse, I have started playing a game called 'FarmVille' on Facebook, because a goddamn BBC news article had called it 'obsessive'. It's crap, like a cheap rip-off of Zoo Tycoon (which is awesome), but I am still playing it - which frankly just proves how bored I am.

I'm also back in Homeland, arrived yesterday. I swear I told mother dearest that I was going to Manky's - a dear old friend - house for dinner on the first night; as it's the only time I'm going to see her this holiday. But, of course she forgot that. The musty smell of beef crockpot reached my nose before I even arrived at the door. Thank to that, and some other reasons, I set off to Manky's 5 minutes later plagued with gut-gnawing guilt.

And once I arrived there, it turned out Manky's mother had prepared a feast too. Wow...! Chinese people really do love their food. I was definitely pregnant with a sizeable and healthy food baby by the time we migrated to the sofa... where Manky herself offered me even more snacks and trifle. Thank god her dad was able to give me a ride home...

MANKY, IF YOU'RE READING THIS, I DO APPRECIATE IT ALL!! I'M JUST PLAYING IT 'COOL' FOR THE OTHERS.

Oh! Just to update my shingles crisis. My second appointment with another doctor retracted the former diagnosis. The doc couldn't tell me what the painful red rash was... but as it was fading away by then, she didn't seem to care much either; which, hey, was fine by me! I was just glad I didn't have to fork out for stupid damn expensive medicine *thumbs up*

...

Okay, I'm seriously struggling to think of anything to say. And I don't even have any interesting photos to put up either... this is a horrendously tedious and boring post. Will stop now. Bleugh.

"Izzy Sexy, SURPRISE."

Yes I realise this is my third post in one day... okay, 5 hours. But there has been an surprise incident which was too exciting to not jot down on paper(/net).

The gifts you see above (displayed by 3 beautiful girls) were hand-delivered to our door sometime around 3pm today, to a certain lucky (or unlucky in this case) 'Issy Sexy'. The name Isabelle/Isabella sounded familiar, and was probably a previous tenant who no longer lived here. We related this to the delivery man, who then phoned his boss and after much faffing about... We graciously took them in.

One teddy bear. One box of chocolates. One huge set of flowers. Two bottles of (very expensive) champagne.

Wow.

We went on the website site. And holy crapping mother of Jesus (apologies for blasphemy)... in total, they cost £150! Repeat, ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY POUNDS!!

And it was addressed to the wrong house.

Idiot boyfriend.

P.S. Nice as we are, we're giving them until Friday - or maybe next week if we're really generous - to claim this gift set before tucking in.

plague of the shingles

So I just found out that my housemate, Apple, has never had chickenpox. Therefore, my shingles could infect her. *Blank* Oh dear...

She has claimed a tea-towel, a knife, a fork and a mug to her cupboard, and I'm under strict instructions not to touch them. She also ate her cereal 5m away from me at the other side of the kitchen, and said she will not be around me for the next 3 days [when term finishes] *sadface*

Poo.

"shingles smell, shingles hell, shingles go away..."

Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. OW.

So I have apparently developed some kind of post-chickenpox-wannabee rash called (stupidious) shingles. Fantastic.

Friday night, a bizarre patch of red dots materialised on my chest, just above my *cough* left boob. I thought it was some allergy [perhaps due to irresponsible drinking (see previous post)], and thus ignored it. By Monday however, it has become very very sore. I could barely touch my boob without it hurting, and every so often a stinging sensation would decide to run wild and I would jolt. I couldn't wear my bra properly, I couldn't lie on my front, I couldn't lean over without 'ow'ing like a wolf; which, y'know if I was having sex, would be a serious hindrance. So I did what every lazy person would hate to do and phoned the GP.

Fast forward to today. I was told - sitting in the GP's office, without my cardie and shirt and blushing beetroot for my indecent bra - that I had a sneaky little devil condition shingles. Yes, SHINGLES. I thought she was yanking my leg for a good 5 seconds, until I realised she needn't: I was the one half naked. After leaving the surgery, I read the printouts she gave me about it and to my dismay, realised shingles commonly lasts for 2-4 weeks... and only becomes more painful along the way. How irritating.

She suggested some Paracetamol to ease the pain. But hell no. I'm a good little Chinese girl and I don't do drugs *fake smile* I think I've taken painkillers probably twice in my life, and they made no difference either time. Besides, I'm a tough cookie and a masochist at heart.

[I think everyone would graciously understand why I'm not enclosing a picture of my own shingles collection given the part of the body it has invaded.]

drunkard

I am not an alcoholic, but I am a student. And for the past few months I have been too sober, too sane for my personal liking - admittedly, this was mostly due to my last experience with alcohol during our Christmas Party, where I actually forgot a whole hour of my life; tears were cried and scary stuff were said... apparently.

But anyway, when boyfriend Mantis invited me to his Acapella social last night, I kind of jumped at the idea. And slightly overdid it. I only had 2/3 of a bottle of wine, but by 11:30pm my text message to Apple became this: 'I'm 3sume! Drumm! Xywx' - I assume it was supposed to say 'I'm drunk! Drunk!! x' which made little sense in itself.

Overall, it was a good night out and, of course, everything was made smoother by the alcohol. Met some Acapella peeps and they were all pretty cool; stories about drunken antics and porn (somehow) were exchanged. It was refreshing, as I always feel Limbo is a bit too stuck-up for the likes of commoners like me at times.

By 6am this morning however, I regretted drinking at all. Holding a hand to my mouth, I barely made it to the toilet bowl before my dinner reappeared before my eyes. Gross doesn't even begin to cover it... Looking up into the mirror, my teary eyes blinked back at me, looking surprisingly pretty - obviously I was still intoxicated.

Then, I proceeded to have one of (if not the) most realistic and vivid dreams I've ever had. A bit personal so I have reserved the honour to my emo-diary only.

So yeah, good night out, good time, good people. But I don't think I will be touching alcohol for a good while.

snogging in london, yoopdedoo!

Tonight, I tasted a long-lost-and-almost-forgotten burst of adventure. Along with two amies - Apple and Antler (yes, I have too many friends whose names start with A) - I finally stepped out of my lazy zone and explored the luminous hustle and bustle that is Central London. After a somewhat awkward half an hour at the Finance Society Committee Social [Apple and I didn't know this], the picture above shows us raring to start our journey from Limbo (*uni name*). And now, I'm going to let the pictures do most of the talking...

I admit, rather shamefully, that I am quite a romantic at heart. And seeing this group of teenage exchange students dance to a busker's rendition of 'Killing Me Softly' in Covent Garden had painted a rather infeasibly romantic scene in my head; of a young ( (and obviously) poor couple dancing in the dim streetlight, swaying to a busker's slow song...

Piccadilly Circus. Bright lights. Red buses. People and foreign languages. True London-esque.

We poked at loads of stuffed toys at the Rainforest Cafe. Most of them were either friggin' scary (huge snake) or just not awesome enough. This is Apple and Antler looking unimpressed at this weird Mother Plushie and her 'children' - looking at their different colourings, she must've gotten really around.

Our final destination. For this, we travelled across LSE, Covent Garden, Piccadilly Circus to arrive at Soho. And it is under those bulbous rainbow lights that Apple, Antler and I shared our first mutual snog-fest together - of strawberries, mochi(? Japanese rice cakes) and Oreos. Muchos yum.

So, London is pretty cool. I'm starting to come around more and more to it. 24hour buses are the most FTW things ever. My geographical knowledge is also improving, slowly and bit by bit. And I love my pocket-sized Central London map, it's also made of WIN.

Adventure over, my bed is calling. Goodnight, asleep ones.

still a kid inside... no, outside.

So, I'm 13 again. Apparently.

Ask anyone who is short what is the most annoying item to shop for, and 9.5 out of 10 midgets will say trousers. I, being only 5'2", am no exception. I have cut hems off jeans, and sewed up bottoms of trousers... but laziness is inherent in my genes so really I consider such actions laborious and, let's face it, very wasteful.

Then it struck me today - as I stood, once again frustrated, in one particular branch of H&M on Oxford Street - that I could easily waddle my vertically challenged legs into the kids section! There were some strange looks from parents, and even weirder glances from the shop assistants. But hey, I was right - the 13 year-old jeans fitted me perfectly, and was comfortable. It felt like I was born again.

So, reeling in this revelation, I flitted around more shops - Next, Gap, Debenhams... you name it, anywhere that had a kids section. My eyes were greedy with hunger as my potential wardrobe has essentially just doubled in size. And for cheaper price tags too [children's clothes are VAT-free; double, triple, quadruple score].

I'm a fussy shopper though, and after walking around for goddamn near 3 hours, I finally settled on a simple pair of straight-legged jeans from Bhs. The price tag says, plain as day, '13 year-olds, 158cm'... but hey, it was £12! I'm a genius!

Strange to think now as I didn't even mean to buy jeans in the first place [although I do need them], I originally simply wanted to check out Uniqlo. I can't believe there are 3 branches on Oxford Street and I'd never heard of it before last weekend... Shows how much of a shopaholic I am. Meh.

Oh and I got a new haircut. My fringe was in dire need of sorting out and some hair decided to do splits on me... Vanity isn't my strong point but even I was not impressed, so they got the chop. I took Apple's advice and braved Mr Toppers on Tottenham Court Road. The cut was okay, I wasn't expecting much for £20 and just needed a change. I still hate the fringe, but as I didn't give her much to work with, it's tolerable. Even though my clothes might say I'm 13, times have gone by since I used to cry about hair...

On a random note, I hate Facebook. It's ruining my life.

natural history museum. and something not so natural.

Apple (with minimal effort from me) organised a trip to the Natural Science Museum yesterday. Despite having lived in London for over one and a half year now, I still feel like such a newbie when we go to places or talk about places. My geography is simply abysmal, and frankly, I don't really care either.

We got a jolly group together. From left to right :AA (replacing Adam, as his name has 'Aa' within it), Yo-yo, Apple and (Kare) Krishna. This photo was taken with the great Charles Darwin, and I do lol at the fact it's boys vs girls, black vs red. How stereotypical...

It was a good trip. Probably my favourite museum in London so far - although, really, that's not saying much as I've only been to three. The stuffed animals did freak me out from time to time, and I realise I do much much prefer live things... memories of our Zoo trip last year kept flagging up in my head. I must admit I really admired the craftsmanship that must've gone into this handbag, despite it being undeniably cruel.

*

On a completely separate note, this piece of news on the BBC website majorly freaked me out for the most part of 5 minutes on Friday night.

"The body of a 16-year-old girl has been discovered near a block of flats in North London. Jessie Wright's body was found near a yard in Outram Place, just north of King's Cross railway station."

I live in North London. I live near Kings Cross. I have a map of 'Outram Place' on the side of my house. I've probably seen the poor girl. Gawd, I live not even 200m away from the crime scene!

Freaking out justified? I think so.

the blind side

Yesterday, I managed to ingest 3 chocolate éclairs, 2 diary creams, 2 packets of Wotsits and 1 pack of McCoys. I felt bad, so I also bought a bowel of salad in an attempt to justify them. However, gluttony is gluttony. And delicious gluttony is still delicious regardless. (Sainsbury's are idiots. Packs of 2 éclairs were priced at £1.10, and the pack of 4, placed right next to them, were reduced to £1.00. The most FAIL pricing strategy I've ever seen.)

I also saw The Blind Side (keep thinking it as The Blind Spot) last night, Apple - replacing AA, which far more suits another friend - had free tickets, the clever gal. It was very good, I like feel-good films and it certainly lived up in that sense. However, the whole movie was definitely too 'Hollywood'. It was obvious that certain lines were intended purely for effect, and no one - not even real gangstas - would speak as stereotypically as they did. I swear, most mainstream, blockbuster films nowadays are way OTT with what they're trying to depict - Twilight is the ultimate example of a shit story blown up by killer one-liners that only naive (and stupid) teen girls would swoon over (sadly, I have too many such friends).

No, I'm not being harsh. Dramatising is all very good and well, after all it is acting, however don't film-makers understand that subtle hints and fleeting glances are far more powerful than blatant (and grossly drawn-out) tear-jerker scenes? This is why I so much prefer British films. We are grey and ugly and pompously adept at chewing on cardboard to spit out humour.

There was also a scene in The Blind Side when I did actually wish I was blind. Tim McGraw initiating sex with Sandra Bullock... seriously, no.

no more blow-ups.

I am most proud of myself! I have discovered (ie. followed a tutorial) how to remove hyperlinks from images on these posts - now my personal photos won't be blown up to mammoth proportions that... well, a mammoth could even see.

Through my own ingenuity, I also figured out (by myself!) how one can gratefully link and credit proper website/artists for their awesome images or art. So be prepared for a lot of deviantArt stuff. I used to live on that site... Even at my worst, drawing had a strange calming effect on me.

within the pages are the memories.

Opposite my normal bus-stop, there used to be a pub. Due to the declining business (I assume as the industry's going down pretty fast), they tore it down last year. There was nothing but a blocked off wasteland the last time I saw it; but now, merely 7 weeks later - so much has been built! I was really surprised, and therefore took a picture just before I left. The pub was literally 5 minutes from my house, and yet I never set a foot inside it.

I was painfully hyper and happy when I arrived in London last night. Just before I left Homeland, I met up with Nutmeg, one of my bestest best friends. I hadn't seen her since last summer so I was quite keen (/desperate) to meet up. Starbucks sucked donkey's ass though... We had to push our faces against 4 bloody window panes before we spotted one which had free seats. She told me a story which could be the definition of 'innocence', and nodded along and listened to loads of my crap. Good friends are so rare to come by and this girl most fittingly adorns the label I have subconsciously pegged her over the years. She is my most 'precious' friend and I absolutely adore her.

I also revisited my teenage journals from Year 10-13 the night before I left, which meant my lamp was burning until 3:30am. Reading back now, I am really glad I'd written them; no matter how cringe-worthy they are, or how painful it was. I know, for me, putting pen to paper doesn't relieve sad feelings. Especially for things I deeply care about, if anything writing just reminds me how hopeless things are. But these diary pages do document my entire teenage life. And whilst I can't understand or at all remember my feelings for some of the memories, it is still evidence that things did happen, and that was how I thought I'd felt (I definitely went OTT with some emotions). My only regret now is not writing enough about some of the other important things in my life, which at the time I stupidly overlooked and took for granted.

I'm determined not to repeat the same mistake though, which is the principle reason as to why I'm writing this blog. I really do struggle to write (/vent/ramble) about other things beside what I already do in my personal diary. It's like a mind-dump and the two topics I write about in privacy appear to forever consume my mind and make it incapable of thinking about anything else. However, there are so many important other aspects of my life which I desperately wish to remember and by having this 'public' blog - I will definitely not stray. After all, everyday life is in many greater senses, far more representative of who we truly are, and how we feel.

And of course, another big clincher. This blog is just too pretty... *hearts*