Happy Birthday, *start of ramble*I am probably one of the worst friends ever, because I am shit at remembering birthdays. And I totally forgot that it was the birthday of my longest lasting friend. (Omg the grammar is really bad.) I remembered remembering it a few days ago, but the day came and passed without me remembering. The birthday boy actually had to call to remind me. After a while of innocent catching up, he very casually said, almost like in brackets if it were in text, "Hey, it's my birthday today, y'know."And he mentioned in passing that in the six years of our acquaintance, I only remembered his birthday once. Or twice, or something like that. Oh god I am a shitty friend. But I think we've already established that I am a terrible person. I really should blame no one but myself that I have shitty birthdays too.I had some warped kind of way to try to make up for it, so I sort of invited myself to his family gathering. Even if I didn't remember his birthday, at least I spent time with him. I did a quick walk-through in Orchard to look out for gifts - and did a bit of shoe browsing as well. In the hour that I spent at Orchard, I went to all the shoe shops at Wisma's basement: Charles & Keith, Pazzion, Prettyfit, Schu, and the newer shoe shops that have run-of-the-mill stuff. Also went to Nine West. Then at Taka, I looked at the shoes in the department store, and Guess. (I think Singaporean women go crazy over shoes.) I finally picked up a couple of gifts at the department store. And all this in under an hour! I actually had the time to pick shoes up and put them on my feet, you know. They key to this is to walk really fast and to know exactly what you're looking for. Once you get used to weaving in and out of crowds, you'll be more aware of your bodily dimensions, so you'll know the narrowest width your frame can squeeze through. I once groaned quite loudly at a crowded supermarket at a couple pushing a pram. When I managed to squeeze past them, I think the man swore at me, but I didn't look back and I couldn't care less. (Leave your babies at home during the weekends.)I am currently looking for some fierce looking heels that look like they are shackling my feet in wicked looking leather straps and buckles. Kind of BDSM-like, yet appropriate for summer. Not patent leather, because patent leather scuffs easily, and it'd make a strappy sandal look way too hooker-ish. We all have a little bit of whore in us, but we don't wanna take it over the top, do we? Like this, but with a chunkier heel. I don't know why the urge, but it's there, definitely.Christian Louboutin Neuron! Looks kind of trampy, but it definitely could work.It does seem like things were in my favour though, because we had chilli crab with fried mantous and chocolate cake and Kinder Bueno and Famous Amos cookies and random stuff. I honestly didn't go for the sumptuous feast, really. (Though it is true that I hardly eat crabs at home - not because my family doesn't eat them, but because somehow, I used to insist on being lazy about eating them, so my family gradually learnt to stop asking me to join them. I've missed out on most crab-eating sessions since.)We played mahjong and bridge and daidee - and I generally suck at strategic games. Somehow losing game after game doesn't detract from my enjoyment of it.Oh man I was so bloated I could puke. But I didn't and his mother was so nice to send me home anyway.Gotta love nice people. (Must. Make. Reminder. For. Birthdays.) Whine - let's hope it doesn't get too frequent. I am plagued by the horror that is INERTIA. And I have a mad urge to yell at the next person who tells me to think from other people's perspective because IT IS TIME PEOPLE THOUGHT FROM MINE. Doesn't it occur to people that when I am complaining about a certain somebody or a certain something, what I am seeking is sympathy and not reason? If I wanted to be reasonable I wouldn't be complaining in the first place. And people need to stop asking me if I have started revision. I will never tell you because (a)what if you get kiasu and supercede me and (b)I am not going to allay your fears/strengthen your hopes and (c)you will make me freak out.NEVER!Thank GOD CIP at that horrible place is over. The kids are TYRANTS. They are the reason why corporal punishment should not be banned.I am immensely pissed off with everybody and everything. I really want to watch The Dark Knight tomorrow but nooo I can't. And I hate all these baking bloggers who are tempting me with cream cheese brownies. And I really want to try these Irish cream recipes. That's why I want Irish cream, of course. Not for drinking but for baking. Once that promised bottle (though people never mean what they say and they're usually just full of empty promises) comes my way, rest assured that you can have a share of my goodies. (Ciara: looking for the goodies, keep on looking cos they stay in the jar...)This is a picture of my... third loaf of bread.It was delicious. Wholemeal bread. With flour on top for authentic "country bread" feel. It wasn't deliberate though. "Any remaining flour is part of the baking process." Loves Gardenia Walnut Country Loaf. 'Tis three bucks though. I shall bake my own! I am determined to not buy whatever I can make myself in a rational effort to eat less, and as a result, I am only allowed to buy chips and chocolate, seeing how I can make cakes, cookies and bread now. Rationale is that if I can have homemade goodness, why buy mass-produced? (I have placed an embargo on all baking supplies like flour and butter and chocolate, so I can't bake too, actually.)I don't even like to eat chips so I'm left with chocolate, and you don't know how hard a time I had at the supermarket, staring and staring at the bars. Really want to try the Cadbury Old Gold liqueur cream stuff though. I managed to tear myself away by promising to treat myself to some better chocolates at a better shop, but seeing how I've already orchestrated my concession bus pass so that it only resumes on Monday, I'll be more inclined to stay at home during the weekend.I know! I even manipulate myself. The grade you got was just probability working for/against you. I find the JC grading system a little unfair. Firstly, the mark ranges are unequal, which means that probability speaking, we are most likely to get Us, followed by As.I decided to do the math, and see what is the probability of each possible grade. I assumed a bell curve, which means that most people will get middle range grades and fewer get the lower-tail and upper-tail grades.Unfortunately, I don't know what's the equation for a bell curve. I probably need to use e somewhere, but I've no idea how to tweak that into a bell curve so I used the best equation I had on hand: a sine curve. I used 700sin((pi x)/100) and integrated that with respect to the mark ranges, and found the area of each section as a percentage of the whole area under the curve. 700, because I approximated my year to have 700 students, and I multipled x by pi/100 because I needed to widen the period so that it peaks at 50 and reaches the axis at 100.And these are my calculations!Click clickIn descending probability:UABDECSAssumptions made:- That no one can get 0 or 100. That's because I don't know how to tweak the equation to JUST include 0 and 100.- That the bell curve peaks at the mid-range marks. I should take into account that NJ is a better school, so maybe the bell curve peaks slightly more to the right? Or we have harder papers, so the curve peaks slightly more to the left?Therefore, you really shouldn't feel bad if you got a U, but neither should you be overjoyed if you got an A, because it's just probability working in your favour. Hodge podge, mish-mash. With regards to the post about niceness, I think the whole problem arises when you start to question what it means to be nicer. Yes, that's it. Once you try to weigh niceness, you need to use measuring devices, and the most straightforward one would be time/effort/money. You can't detect intent clearly anyway, so no point trying to measure that. So on a scale of 1 to 10, 1 would be niceness that only has intent, and 10 would be niceness that has intent AND oodles of time/effort money.I am clearly procrastinating from doing what I need to do, but nobody likes to hear insecure whining so let's move on!I've been baking like crazy, and if I posted up everything I made you'd be bored to death. I've made:9-inch cheesecake6 plain cheesecake cupcakes12 carrotcake cheesecake cupcakes6 chocolate swirl cheesecake cupcakes4 cappucino cheesecake cupcakes9x5-inch cheesecake swirl brownie24 cheesecake-filled thumbprints2 loaves of cream cheese breadThe problem with cream cheese is that once opened, it needs to be used within a week to prevent spoilage. So far people have nothing but rave reviews for what I've made ('cept for my mum - "Aiyo, can you don't make so sweet?"), so that's a relief. I apparently should be a patissier. But I don't invent recipes; I'm just a rather meticulous and somewhat diligent follower.Carrotcake cheesecake. It's very good.It was also the first time I tried making bread, and it's a very tedious process actually, which I shall not bother to delve into. But look!The carbon dioxide that the yeast produces is enough to cause such a bulge in the clingwrap! Quite cool. It's like conducting a home science experiment. On that note, here's a site: Cooking for Engineers.I was rifling through an old notebook and saw this.It SEEMS like I jotted it down from some self-help book. I may have came up with it myself, but I doubt it. Either way, it's definitely about socialising. I can't remember who I was trying to evaluate with those little ticks and crosses, but it does seem as if that particular someone had probably made me feel like shit, because he enlightens me about my suckiness (de-elevates). The step-by-step conversation thing is quite comprehensive. (Only because it's so duh.) But online conversations usually don't allow for discussing surroundings, because that would probably fall into no.2 of bad talking-at styles.I realise that I rarely talk AT people. I hardly ever lecture/tell stories/sermonise/relate jokes, except for people I'm really comfortable with, and even then I don't lecture/sermonise unless I think the other person wants a wake-up call. Maybe that's why I'm always a victim of these conversation-killers. Ah well.Random inspiration pictures:Dior Couture F/W 2008: Gorgeous! It's like a combination of my favourite things: translucence, figure-huggingness, lingerie-inspired, and the 50's silhouette. I can never wear that shade of dusty blue... Or whatever it's called.Love the ballet/lingerie look going on. Combination of textures. Soft, silky, etc.Leggy and lingerie-inspired again.This makes me think I need a motorcyle jacket.karlascloset.com, lookbook.nu, facehunter.blogspot.com, style.comAnother random favourite website: garancedore.fr. Can't read French but pictures transcend language.DramaFest was great - I think I shall support school productions as much as possible, because it's so affordable. I think the best plays are those that feature things that can ONLY happen in plays; like Sure Thing. It's sort of the same concept of why I think graphic tees aren't very intelligent, because you can put the same design on a, say, tote bag, and it'll still be as effective. If a particular design can be replicated in several incarnations, then I don't think it's very clever. It's as good as drawing on a flat canvas. Whereas really great designs and ideas take into account the medium used and everything.Take for example this Martin Margiela tee. The graphics is actually some famous painting that I can't be arsed to find out. This is a bad design. Not only because it's blatantly copied, but because it doesn't take into account its medium. Pays no attention to the female form, etc.These are what I call good designs.shikisai alternative t-shirtsIf you were to print the same thing somewhere else, the design wouldn't work anymore. It's a tee-exclusive design. And that's what I think distinguishes good designs/concepts and bad ones. Sheesh, should I even bother explaining my design aesthetic?Maybe that's why I don't get music, because the musical equivalent for medium would probably be different instruments, and sometimes, a certain melody can sound good in different renditions.Oh, I think it is extremely useful to be as knowledgable as possible, because it makes talking to new acquaintances much easier. I think my knowledge is quite deficient in... tech stuff. Perhaps I need to do some reading up, in the event I meet a tech geek. Friday, 11:14, Bytz I wasn't aware that there is no PE this week, so I was fully prepared to go for a lesson that I didn't want to. However, the grandstand looked suspiciously underpopulated, so I asked a PE classmate whose name I have yet to find out whether there is PE today. He said no, there's no PE this week.I had been intending to skip PE today, because I'm dead tired from getting only three hours of sleep (because I didn't "feel" like sleeping) and I think the games that we learn are a waste of time. The last game we were taught was softball, and I still don't have much of a clue about how it works. In any case, I didn't physically exert myself much last lesson, and I think it's a waste of 50 minutes that could've been better spent doing proper exercise. Then I remembered that we wouldn't be playing softball today, because two weeks ago, my teacher said we'd be playing softball next week, and I didn't turn up last week because I didn't feel like going to school. Which means we'd be playing a different game.Then I spent the entire morning convincing myself to go for PE, which is actually an inconvenience on my part because it means I can't wear matching undies and I have to wear a sports bra which doesn't have a matching panty. Therefore, by putting on a sports bra, I have already mentally prepared myself to go for PE, despite my reluctance. Wearing matching undies is very important to me. You don't know how much of a compromise it is on my part.I also imagined how I would smugly tell my teacher, "Miss Koh, can I not play today's game? I really want to train for the Standard Chartered marathon." And she'll be so impressed by my enthusiasm that she'll let me run round and round the field while I watch them play some slack game like frisbee or whatever. (In all honesty, frisbee is only slack because I don't know how to play it. Well.)And guess what? PE had to be cancelled just when I was prepared to (1) skip it; (2) look grouchy while playing some dumbass team game; (3) go run by myself. (I wasn't aware of this week's cancellation, because it was raining on my first PE session of the week and I actually had the conscience to feel guilty about not bothering to check if there was PE or not) Isn't it annoying? And right now, the sun is way too hot for me to go run. What does it mean to be nice? It rained when I left my tutor's house, and fortunately I had my umbrella with me. (A short digression here [wow, a digression and I've only barely started]; my umbrella is exceedingly cute and it has gotten me lots of compliments, and thanks to the recent rainy weather I've been able to maximise the 50 bucks I paid for it; it's a one-person umbrella, black, with white trim edged with crocheted lace which I purchased at Fie Japan) I felt refreshed by the night shower, and started crooning Jay Chou songs that were popular four years ago. It was night time and I was the only pedestrian within sight; the only audience privy to my warblings were probably the speeding motorcyclists along the road.After I boarded the bus, I continued singing, only in a more muted tone lest the three other passengers dispersed within the bus think I was mad. I checked my phone, more out of habit than expecting contact from anybody, and I had a message from my tutor."Good thing u brought your umbrella. Got on the bus already?"I thought it was very nice of her. Not only is she concerned, she is attentive to details too. After a mometary period of basking in the glow of warmth and concern, I was reminded of the pretentiousness of guys telling girls to SMS them when they reach home in one piece. What if I said to my tutor, "No, the bus isn't here yet, and my tiny umbrella got turned inside out by a gust of wind"? Is she going to rush out of her house with an umbrella for me? We shouldn't exclude that possibility, but the chances are low. Perhaps she was only showing concern because there wouldn't be any sacrifice on her part. After all, I DID bring an umbrella, so what could possibly happen to me? Perhaps it was only calculated concern on her part.I seemed to have developed the notion that being nice entails some compromise on the nice person's part. If it were so easy to be nice, how nice is it really? I think that a wealthy person who donates a million dollars to a charity is not as nice a poor person donating his remaining dollar, assuming that their actions were governed by similarly altruistic intentions. (Altruism is another dodgy issue, which I think I've already expounded upon several times.) Niceness accompanied by a little bit of inconvenience appears to me to have greater value, though it's certainly debatable whether niceness can be quantified. (Which reminds me; one of the hardest questions to answer is "what's the sweetest thing your boyfriend has done for you?" It's hard to answer because everything he does is, and should be equally sweet IF governed by similar intent. Notice that people's responses tend to emphasise actions that require an immense amount of time/effort/money.)Is niceness really all about intent? Let's say I am burdened by school work. My friend consoles me and frequently inquires about the state of my body/mind/soul; i.e. shows her concern for me. But pragmatically speaking, her concern doesn't reduce the amount of homework I have. Perhaps it will motivate me to develop better self-discipline, but strictly speaking, her niceness does nothing for the state of my homework. Has niceness been reduced to a show of concern? (Perhaps I shouldn't be using the word "show", because it implies putting on an act.) Is niceness nothing more than a communication of awareness about some other person's condition? It does seem so to me. People seem to be satisfied enough by the very act of someone noticing their current condition, nevermind if the concerned person actually improves their situation or not.Perhaps you can say that the concerned person is already inconveniencing herself when she inquires about someone else's condition, and hence she should be credited for that as being nice. But that seems to undermine the concept of niceness. If niceness is so pervasive and convenient, then niceness isn't really worth shouting about.Perhaps I should rethink my concept of niceness, and not think of it in terms of value and/or worth. Yes, I should try to think of it in terms of intent. (Then again, people lie.) Man-hunting. My sister is very good at dishing out relationship advice; just not so good at justifying them.Advice #1: Always remember that you deserve the best!Query: How do I know when I have gotten the best? There could always be better out there.Justification: Haiya... you will just know when you have the best.Advice #2: He must always love you a little bit more than you love him.Her: "James and I share the same values, and he is a very good man, yada yada."Me: "So why does James love you more than you love him?"Her, her husband within earshot: "Because I am HAWT!"Should I really be expecting a man to love me more than I love him? What makes me think that I am more worthy of his love than he is of mine? It's not exactly a self-esteem issue I have, I think. It just doesn't seem quite right to me. After all, if he is the "best", surely he's got to be quite attractive himself? The only way I can see this working out is if both partners think that their other half love them more than they do - both equally delusional. And even then, I don't foresee such a relationship lasting for a very long time. If they are both so confident about their staying power, neither of them will back down if a fight were to occur, because they'll both think "Ah, he/she can't get enough of me anyway."Unless a fight never occurs, then both of them will live in delusional bliss, inwardly smug about having snagged someone who appreciates them more than they think they themselves do.Look, someone has to explain to me this "love me more than I love him" thing to me.Friday got Dramafest wor! I went to last year's and I really liked it. Drama is probably the only performance art I can appreciate. Besides, Leung Yan's gonna be innit! Speaking of him, I should link to this rather ancient post of his. From what I comprehended of that Chinese sentence, I asked him if he "made it up or got it from somewhere else". I think I am so used to relying on memorising idioms for Chinese essays that it didn't occur to me that you can be as creative with Chinese as with English. Damn the Singaporean education system, huh? You must be tired of this fat talk by now. I regularly stalk the "Hot Bods" section in The Sunday Times. I like to see what is the general perception of "hot", or at least, the paper's opinion of what is hot. But really, my main intention is to see how someone with the exact same proportions as me would look like. You see, I am aware that I could possibly have a warped body image, so my own opinions would not be an accurate judgement. Asking people for their opinion may not be useful, as they could (a) wish to deceive me, so they can look better than me, so I may expand indefinitely, (b) wish to console me, because they don't want me to feel too bad about myself.After all these months of stalking that particular section, they've finally found someone who has the exact same height and weight as me, down to the last centimetre.And this is how she looks like.Goodness. This... this... is how I look like? *hyperventilates*Comparison of torsos:I know I am not wearing a bikini, which is one of the least forgiving things to wear, but let's look at the arms. Maybe she has slightly muscular arms than I do from all her volleyballing at the beach.Comparison of legs:I have an unfair advantage because I am wearing heels, and you can't see my thighs either, but I don't quite remember my legs ever achieving such... such... porcine proportions.I am doomed. It doesn't help that I spent THREE hours in Suki Sushi eating and eating. We were kiasu Singaporeans trying to get our money's worth, at the expense of our figures. I must go run now.P.S. I went to a lingerie warehouse sale. Saw an ad in the papers and thought I should go, since it's just two bus stops away. There were lots of pretty g-strings and thongs, but there was a catch: they came in humongous sizes, like 14, 16, 18 or even 20. (XL, XXL, XXXL, and 4XL respecctively). I held one up and observed the two triangles of lace: one larger piece for the front, one smaller piece for the back, joined at the sides by two elastic bands that would sit on the hips. And I imagined the red and black elastic bands disappearing into fat rolls, consuming them voraciously, till only a smidgen of a belaced crotch is indication of some semblance of underwear. And I was horrified. Best cheesecake of my life! 'You should almost never ask me to "take a break", because I'm really good at it. I baked a Junior's Cheesecake!Looks fairly nondescript from the top. Probably slightly underbaked, because it doesn't look as tanned as it should. But it's the most level and even cheesecake that I've ever baked.I used a shortbread crust instead of their recommended sponge cake crust. I tried a funky method, which screwed everything up. Here's where I start getting a bit technical. I read somewhere that for easy transportation, a cardboard tray should be used instead of the base of the springform pan. So I don't have to wait for the cheesecake to be eaten up before I can bake another cheesecake. Turns out that the cardboard doesn't conduct heat as well, so the sponge cake crust turned out really singed at the sides and undercooked in the middle. It was a failure. I was clearly stupid. How could I not know that cardboard OBVIOUSLY doesn't conduct heat as well as steel? So in my frustration, I threw the sponge cake crust out to the dogs, and proceeded to make the shortbread crust. Take note that I had already started mixing the cheesecake mixture, so I had to stop that halfway to work on a new crust. I actually got so flustered that I broke an egg just out of the circumference of the mixing bowl, so the egg just splattered onto the table, next to the bowl. Ugh. Okay end rant.And tada!!!!Have you ever seen anything like that?! The corner is a bit mushed up, because the centre was a little soft from underbaking. Still! Omg it's so smoooth. It's like... heavenly. It's a cross between denseness and fluffiness. I think the cornflour in it gives it a more silky as opposed to creamy texture. If I were to liken it to a texture it'd be like velvet. Smooth, luxurious, yet not as "flat" as how silk satin would feel. It's not just slick and smooth, but like... baby's skin smooth.No wonder Junior's Cheesecake is supposed to be like THE New York cheesecake. Downside to baking this is that it's more time-consuming than other ones I've made. Still... it's truly restaurant quality, though I find that description a bit misleading because not all restaurant cakes are good.Whee! Recipe here for those who wish to tackle this cheesecake themselves. Psst... If you want some just ask!This is for my sister... Please bring me to all the cheesecake places in NYC when I am there!Btw... if you're really weird, you can click here to see what I've been eating. Hahaha! Opening up. I was so emotionally distraught that I entered my tutor's house looking suitably distressed, which incited a "is there something wrong with you" from her. I prefixed my outburst with a "I know this sounds so silly but-". I was early, and none of the other students were there yet. Somehow, I can tell that having chosen her as a confidante has changed her perspective of me. It's that intimacy of having spilt your innermost concern that develops between two individuals. Once you've decided to pour your soul out to someone, it automatically draws a sacred connection between you two, whether you like it or not. I was also the last to leave, and unlike the previous times, she sent me to the door this time. It was nice of her. She did give me an encouraging pat on the back, which I really appreciate. (The power of physical intimacy cannot be underestimated. I shall speak about this some other time.)In normal circumstances I probably wouldn't have chosen to confide in her, though. She's a very nice, sympathetic lady, but her sympathy doesn't have seem to have complexity to it, if you get what I mean. I suppose it's that generic concern that you develop from being a teacher. Obligatory, so to speak.In fact, in normal circumstances I probably wouldn't even confide in anyone. I was just desperate and agitated, I guess. My logic in not needing to confide in anyone is that I have all the answers, and it's not like people can tell me what I don't already know (or won't be able to figure out with sufficient time). However, I have since realised that people CAN tell me things I don't know, and also, the very act of just transferring that pent-up emotion can be gratifying in ways that logic isn't quite able to explain.I broke down at some remarks that were made: not because those remarks were hurtful (I've gotten used to them) - more annoying, but more because it was the final straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. In my emotional catharsis, I realised that all along, I've been so good at making excuses for other people's and even my own behaviour that I've denied myself the sadistic pleasure of getting hurt. Oh, his mother was diagnosed with cancer when he was in Secondary Two; surely he'd have detachment/commitment issues. Oh, he was abandoned by his parents when he was brought up; surely he'd have self-esteem issues.Who cares if they had shitty childhoods or dead parents? They make ME feel like crap and that should be all that matters. Let's take for example the girl whose boyfriend dumped her for another girl. She can logically convince herself that HE is the one with issues, the one who can't make up his mind, the one who is a commitment-phobe. But all these justifications count for naught when it comes to alleviating her own wounded feelings. It makes her feel mentally superior, but it doesn't change the fact that she has been hurt.On a lighter note, I had lunch at Out of The Pan at Raffles City today. Erica and I shared a sun-dried tomato crepe with Peking Duck, and a Tutti Frutti salad. The salad was nondescript, but the crepe was good. Yes. The duck meat was tender and tasty, but not just salty-MSG-tasty. Like marinated-with-lots-of-herbs-tasty. The crepe was fragrant and sort of like *sniff*-ahhh-earthy-scent. My vocab fails me at describing culinary nuances. I could try but you really should just go eat there yourself. $20++ set meal, which includes one salad, one savoury crepe, and one drink. I will definitely go there again to sample their other crepes.Then we bought two-bite brownies from The Marketplace. I was asking Erica about the possibility of them lying; what if I can eat the brownie in a single bite? Turns out that it is not quite small enough to chow down in a single bite unless I want to risk choking, so yes, they weren't lying.We had dessert at Canele Patisserie, which was quite heavenly. She had the Profiterole Violette. Almond tart perfumed with violet flower, violet chantilly, violet profiterole, blackcurrent jelly and fresh berries. Sounds beautiful, doesn't it? Okay it's essentially three cream puffs atop some thick cream atop a tart crust, with berries adorning the entire structure. It does have a very complex floral taste that I've never sampled before, but somehow... it's not really something that you'd die to eat again. I had the Caraibe, which is like decadence in a dark chocolate-coated package. It comprises of 66% dark chocolate with a hazelnut nougat filling. It sort of reminded me of Ferrero Rocher and Kinder Bueno, though of course it's way better.Well, these are expensive cakes, coming at $8 per slice, but well. We are foodies, what to do. We saved a bit by taking away, so we didn't have to pay service charge and GST. So we sat at the fountain, people-watching and chatting about shoes and ships and sealing wax and cabbages and kings. Needless to say I probably exceeded my recommended calorie intake by an excessive amount.OH FUCK I AM A MOTHERFUCKING SLACKER.Please let the 'A' Levels be over. :( An announcement. I've been editing my archives, deleting chunks and sometimes entire posts. Erasing history, so to speak. I think I sound like a complete retard, and it's embarrassing for the current me to read. I seriously don't see why people read my blog, save for the occasional intellectual musing, that is becoming increasingly rare due to my increasing stress. I talk about entirely stupid things, and all I do is emote, emote, emote with exclamation marks all over the place.I don't think I can ever sleep with the knowledge that my IS is still a work in progress. I should've just been a GP student and taken something mundane like H1 Chemistry or something. It's actually very very very worrying, the IS. The worst part is that the worry is crippling: I can't get started at all. And this is in full knowledge that getting it over and done with is the only way to return a peaceful slumber to me.Hey, these are my results, because you're all busybodies.KI - CMath - EEcons- ALit - CI'm quite proud of my Econs results. I got something like 96th percentile okay! That's probably the best thing academically-wise that happened to me this year. I guess I still can study, even if the subject I aced is one that doesn't get any respect from both the Arts and Science stream. I guess I'm Jack of all trades enough to excel in something that nobody cares for. If I got average grades for everything, I'll probably just whine to myself: "I'm not cut out for any subject. I'm not cut out for socialising. Heck, I'm not cut out for life."I used to experience very distinct 'burned out' phases. Now, I just feel burned out perpetually. I'm not even working that hard (yet).What are the odds that this post will be deleted when I next review my archives? How To Make Your Own Strawberry Jam I used this recipe from Allrecipes as a reference, because it was one of the few that didn't require pectin (a naturally-occurring substance in fruits that helps it to gel faster). I had an irresistable urge to make jam... I just had to do it.Ingredients:1 lb (454g) of strawberries, diced7 heaping tablespoons of white sugar2 tablespoons of lemon juiceSteps:1. Mash up strawberries in a large bowl with a fork, till it looks somewhat like this.Feel free to mash it up further if you don't like lumps in your jam.2. In a saucepan, add sugar, lemon juice to strawberries, and stir over low heat till sugar dissolves.Increase heat to high, and bring to a full rolling boil like in the picture. Stir often. When ten minutes has passed, take a small dollop of jam and place it on a cold plate that has been in the freezer for ten minutes. Leave it in there for a minute, and run your finger through the jam. If the track that your finger has made remains there, it's done.3. Leave overnight in the fridge.4. Spread on toast.And munch munch munch on the best homemade jam ever. I love cheesecake! I placed a reservation for the Junior's Cheesecake Cookbook: 50 To-Die-For Recipes for New York-Style Cheesecake. Despite having 16 copies, the library never seemed to have it on loan wherever I happened to be.Junior's Cheesecake is supposed to be really really popular, and I am just damn hungry for it. I almost bought it, but I was afraid that their recipes wouldn't be to my liking. After $1.55 and about two weeks of anxious waiting, the book was ready for collection. And boy, was it tempting! The pictures were awesome, it's easy to read, the recipes are meticulously detailed... what's not to like?The Brownie Swirl Cheesecake. Speaking of which, there's a new Ben & Jerry's flavour, Cheesecake Brownie. I'm dying to try it. Ohmigawd. Damn gian.This is the Skyscraper Carrotcake Cheesecake. Sandwiched between two layers of carrot cake is a cheesecake, and it's coated with cream cheese frosting. I bet they'll go really well together. After all, carrot cake is typically coated with cream cheese, and cheesecake is made out of cream cheese!I am dying to try one of these recipes out. DYING! Problems:1. If it is placed at home I am going to eat it all up. And that's one of the last things I should do.2. Cheesecakes are somewhat hard to transport, so I can't exactly bring them to school to distribute, like cookies.Dammit lah! Life sucks. Why can't I just be born skinny?! Silent sea. Weight in early 2007: 47kgFat percentage: 23%Weight of fat: 10.81kgWeight in early 2008: 47kgFat percentage: 17.3%Weight of fat: 8.13kgWeight as of 27/6/2008: 49kgFat percentage: 16%Weight of fat: 7.84kgI have a bad feeling that there isn't much more fat I can lose now. This... is very pesky.I recommend this, The Daily Plate as a resource for tracking your daily caloric intake and exercise. It's more motivating when you get into the habit of tracking down what you eat. Speaking of which I overate by 600 calories today. It was my cousin's 21st birthday party and we HAD to go. Extended family gatherings are always slightly awkward. My cousins and I are more or less estranged, and we don't talk, at all. I was thinking about my eventual wedding. I don't think I've many people to invite. Maybe I should save myself the embarrassment of empty tables and just elope instead.My mum's been into this redecorating-the-house-schtick and she asked me if I wanted anything done to my room. I'm very happy with my orange/pink/purple polka-dotted Ikea duvet cover. (I have really tacky taste in bedlinen, don't trust me with it. Little twee blossoms just don't cut it for me.) So I decided to disturb her and say, "No need lah! Few years time also going to chu jia (move out and get married) already." Must be somewhat heartbreaking, the little girl you raised up marrying into somebody else's family, huh? That's if I don't end up left on the shelf. If I don't get married, I'll move out and take the polka-dotted duvet cover with me. And the Mickey Mouse print bean bag. I'll build a little spinster's pad around the items of my youth and pretend to be forever eighteen.******I have had some Faux Oreos. Technically speaking, I did not bake them; my maid did all the legwork. All I did was essentially use eye power. And print the recipe out. And make wise judgments about certain changes that had to be made. And do random taste tests by dipping my finger into the mixtures.They don't taste exactly like Oreos, neither do they exactly resemble them, but you can definitely taste where it's coming from. It's got that home-made flavour that mass-produced cookie factories can't compare to. They are chewier than Oreos, but crunchier than Mrs Fields cookies. They taste really good with a glass of cold milk. Here's a link to the recipe.I chatted with the principal. I was queuing up at the yong tau foo stall, where the principal was talking to the stallholder about the her husband (the stallholder's, not the principal's) in dialect. The auntie's husband is ill, that's why he can't help her out at the stall. Thinking that I didn't understand Teochew and that I had a burning desire to be filled in on their conversation, the principal turned towards me and explained in her slick and oily voice: "You see, her husband has all sorts of illnesses and I'm trying to help her solve her problem. He has got diabetes and heart problems and all kinds of things, so I told her to send him to a daycare centre."I just went, "mmmkay". Then the auntie asked me if I wanted beehoon with my yong tau foo. I said I didn't want it. The principal said, "Are you sure you don't want mifen? Are you on a diet? Why are you eating so little? Look at me, I'm eating a lot! You need more energy!"I couldn't answer all her questions, and I doubt she really wanted to know my answers anyway, so I said, "Of course you need to eat more, you need a lot of mental energy for work."And then she chuckled and strutted off. Ok cool. Does she think I'm an interesting person now? Have I left an indelible impression? Will she write me amazing recommendation letters? Well, I think she was at the very least amused by my remark, perhaps even flattered.I see my SAT scores I damn pekcek. Potential my arse. I think I've just received complete confirmation that I am a complete failure!!! My SAT scores.... SUCK! RARHH The glaring reality of my suckiness stares back at me in numerical form. OMG MY WRITING IS SUPPOSED TO SUCK! Either all the compliments/past grades/affirmation I've gotten were lies lies LIES or I seriously fucked up that day or the markers were seriously mistakened. Or all three at once.AGH! This underperforming shit is getting to me! Today Miss Chua returned us a section of our Literature papers. While I was forlornly contemplating my mediocrity she said to me: "Hejin, you are underperforming. This is not your full potential.""How do you know what's my full potential?" I was trying to imply that maybe whatever grade I got is the maximum that I can do, i.e. that I suck through and through."Well, I judge your potential to be based on the quality of your written work, your behaviour in class, and your interest in the subject."WELL OK. I hate the word "potential", especially when used to describe me. I first came across the word in a Primary Four report card. "Hejin has a lot of potential." I was a distracted kid in class, always either reading something under the desk, or getting amused by my deskmate who was incessantly chatty. That was when I (probably) asked my sister whatever that meant; "potential" could've been adult lingo for "idiocy", and ten-year-old kids like me would be none the wiser. These primary school teachers can be very sneaky, you know.What I interpreted during that time was that "potential" essentially meant that I was lazy. That I hadn't any willpower. That I'm just all talk no action. No results. Just lots of hot air. So, I decided to change that. I don't think I worked harder in Primary Five; I think I just payed more attention in class, and my chatty deskmate went to the EM2 class while I went to EM1.Perhaps I am an underperforming overachiever. Do I really have to get used to it? Aww shucks. Life sucks.I ran 20 rounds in school yesterday = 8km and fuck does my butt hurt. Transexuals, wisdom teeth, etc. I've been thinking about transexuals. There's this transwoman, Calpernia Addams, who talked about bad questions to ask a transexual. I've had the (somewhat) good fortune of meeting a transexual in the flesh, and it was a pretty interesting experience. Hey... how many pampered, sheltered and naive seventeen-year-olds have the opportunity to meet transexuals? She was really nice, and quite attractive, actually. Tall, slender, long hair, and a natural-looking boob job. Anyway, the impression I get is that transwomen who've managed to transgress the gender barrier may actually be more feminine than actual women.They've probably struggled all their childhood, coming to terms with their identity and who they are as people. By identifiying themselves with being female, there's actually a lot more than having to just battle their inner demons. By identifying oneself as female, a transwoman is no longer a son, but a daughter; no longer a brother, but a sister; no longer a father, but a mother.(A mini digression here. Grace was telling me about this show where a male-to-female transexual and a female-to-male transexual got married. I was like, "To each other? That would've been ironic." I wonder if there ARE such cases though.)When one has to battle so many challenges, surely they emerge stronger and better than the rest, if they manage to. It's human nature to cherish the things we slave for, yet be more or less nonchalant to what has been bestowed upon us. When transwomen are well-adjusted to their new gender identities, they will probably have developed an immense amount of self-confidence, which perhaps regular women don't even possess.I watched Edward Scissorhands (Awesome movie. Must watch! Edward is so... sad. My heart goes out to him.) and there was this phrase, "perversion of nature". I don't think transexuals are perversions of nature, or freaks, or anything like that. I think they are just quite unfortunate. It's just sheer luck, or the lack of it. Some people just aren't born in rich families, some people just aren't born good-looking. And some people just aren't born the gender they are meant to be.On another note, what does it honestly mean to be a perversion of nature? Let's take a look at nature. Flowers are mostly bisexual, containing both male and female reproductive parts. Aphids can reproduce without males. Bonobos engage in non-reproductive sexual activity such as masturbation, oral sex and genital-rubbing with the same sex. Perversion of nature, you say? Nature's pretty darned perverted, I think. (Not to mention that this fella in the Bible committed incest with his daughters just to further the species... If we're descendants of them [I should think the world had a really small population then, so the likelihood would be quite high], we probably have like crazy inbred genes or something, like that awful man whose daughter bore him seven children.)Anyway, you know how people with unconventional sexual preferences (I'm being extremely euphemistic here) are typically grouped under the category GLBT, or Gays Lesbians Bisexuals Transexuals? I always wondered if there were members under a certain category who don't appreciate being lumped together with members of another category. Like, maybe gays think that transexuals should just forego the trouble of changing their sex and just date guys. Or something like that.******I'll be meeting with the dentist to check on my wisdom teeth, which have been giving me trouble. Vivien said when she had all four of her wisdom teeth removed, she had neglected to eat the painkillers and spent the rest of the day lying in bed, fist pounding upon the window beside her. Apparently, the pain was THAT bad. Hmmm, if my wisdom teeth need to be removed, maybe I'll decline the painkillers too. I can't possibly take her word for it, can I?What's the worst that could happen? Pain doesn't kill - not unless I have a weak heart, which I don't think I have. At the very worst, I'll probably just lose consciousness from pain. Doesn't seem like there's a lot to lose. Actually, losing consciousness is probably the best alternative to writhing in bed. Hmmm. How painful can it be, huh. Removing four wisdom teeth is just like having four gaping, toothless holes in your gums. Hur. Maybe it'll be like four very intense ulcers. *ouch*Mrs Ong managed to make me feel quite bad about my pitiful math grade. When she handed me my script, she gently tapped my shoulder and said that she expected better. You see, most of the time, the only person I disappoint is myself, seeing how I probably set the highest expectations for myself. For this particular paper, I somehow didn't feel the need to put in as much as effort as I should have: I probably was counting on some kind of latent genius to take over. Which didn't happen, of course. So well, it's somewhat different to have other people be disappointed by me. Which is... a feeling I'm not quite used to. I don't mean to say that I usually exceed other people's expectations. It's just that people don't usually set higher expectations of me than me.****"... as being subject to forces larger than themselves."Whatever does that mean, forces larger than ourselves? Larger in terms of what? Like, newtons? Pesky Literature questions. About Me I was born in 1990, currently studying in a junior college in Singapore. When I'm not pathologically suspecting everyone's intentions, I enjoy doing introverted things like reading and shopping by myself. I sporadically create things with my hands, both edible and wearable. My mind is similarly capable of producing wild ideas, which are frequently documented in this humble little blog of mine, where I make psuedo self-effacing remarks.I am also unique, just like everyone else, but I think that's a statement probably said on everyone's blog. I am a fairly liberal person. Well, at the very least, I try not to behave as if I'm shocked if people tell me about the startling things they do. I think I possess a relatively high degree of self-awareness, but you probably figured that out already.Oh, before I forget, I'm also a featherless biped. Some analysis. I stumbled upon a startling discovery! Thought process went like this.I was first thinking of something someone had said, that older guys are nicer to talk to. But wait! Nicer relative to what? Older guys are nicer to talk to than younger guys? Older guys are nicer to talk to than older women? Taking into account context and everything, it was quite clearly the former. Yes, I agree that older guys are more interesting to talk to than younger guys, generally speaking. They are more mature, aren't they? Yea. So that got me thinking some more. What's the difference between immature girls and immature guys?Then I saw the light. Naive girls think that the world is a nice place, where no one could possibly conceive to harm them. Naive boys are the opposite. Unlike girls who romanticise the world, naive boys think the world is full of bad guys -- but they think they are superheroes and can defeat them all.I don't know how true that is, but it sounds good, so yea, that's my new theory. Hahaha.Apparently these are the four basic motivations for people to want to affiliate, i.e. why they want to interact with others.1. Positive stimulationWhen people want to be with others to have interesting, lively interactions.e.g. After several hours of studying in the library, just being around others and finding out about them is one of the most interesting things I can think of doing.2. Emotional supportTo have companionship when problems arise.e.g. After receiving a very low grade on an exam.3. Social comparisonThe desire to reduce uncomfortable feelings of uncertainty about what is going on.e.g. When class papers are returned to students, and I'm not very certain about how well I am doing at something, so I like to be around others in order to compare myself to them.4. AttentionTo receive praise or attentione.g. When the opportunity arises to make the class laughSo I thought about it, and came up with this.If the average person's motivations for interacting with others are fairly equal, mine's probably like as depicted above. And my pie is smaller, because I don't seek to interact with people all that much, anyway.Yea. Since we're on the psychology note, why don't I come up with an introduction to myself? When people are asked to answer the question "Who am I?", their answers usually fit into these following components, all of which fall under this large heading called the self-schema.1. Interpersonal attributesI'm a studentI'm a sisterI'm a football player2. Ascribed charcteristicsI'm a manI'm a nineteen-year-oldI'm Irish3. Interests and activitiesI'm into philosophyI like cookingI have a stamp collection4. Existential aspectsI'm a unique individualI'm attractive5. Self-determinationI'm CatholicI can attain my educational goals6. Internalised beliefsI'm opposed to abortionI like modern artI'm a Democrat7. Self-awarenessMy beliefs are well-integratedI am a good person8. Social differentiationI'm from a poor familyI'm a human beingI'm gayI'm Singaporean ChineseI personally disagree with number 7, self-awareness, because I think being able to list down the other traits already implies some form of self-awareness, but yea, that's what it says in the book, so who's to argue? Using this template, perhaps I can come up with some kind of introduction of myself, which I've always been grappling with. Which you will see in the next post! Photo post! These are the running shoes I got.They cost $182. Airy. Feel like bouncing. Good.On a whim, decided to watch Penelope today. I saw it in the papers and thought it looked interesting. It stars Christina Ricci and Chris James McAvoy, and it's about a girl who was born with a pig snout. I had quite intended to watch it alone, but I met Vivien earlier before that and then we headed off together. I baked cookies at 2 this morning. I passed some to her. I felt a little bit bad that the cookies I baked for her on Wednesday were wiped out by the ungrateful kids that we took out for an excursion for CIP.BTW today on the MRT was super funny. I was at Toa Payoh. Then the announcer said, "next stop, Choa Chu Kang Terminal". I was like WTF?! Kena teleported there meh?! Yea it was really amusing. Then the announcer kept going, next stop, Yew Tee, Kranji,etc. Probably some technical glitch.We had cake at Cedele. Verdict? Their cheesecakes aren't all that good. I've tried ruby strawberry, blueberry, and orange macadamia. The orange macadamia is especially bad. Macadamias have a very high fat content, and after a while it just feels really oily on the palate. The orange flavour of the cheesecake made it taste sour and curdled. I couldn't quite stomach it halfway through, but I forced myself to finish it because it cost bloody $6.50. I had their moist devil's chocolate fudge cake or something. It's by far the best cake I've had there. (I also tried their carrot cake and eggless chocolate truffle cake. So-so lah.)As promised this is the skirt I made.You can barely see it because it is, by nature, a very short skirt. It's made out of a sturdy cotton twill with 10% stretch, so it's VPL-proof, and stretchy enough to pull on and off without the need for fasteners. It cost about $3. Awesome, huh. I just love DIY-ing. That's also my new hair, which is vaguely 90's-ish, because it flicks out to the sides. My hair has never had more freedom. It's usually in a tangled mess, but now that it's heavily layered, the strands are too short to tangle. Low maintenance rocks.Lol I know what I want from US liao! THIS! I tried it on at Aldo and it was daaaamn hot. My legs looked awesome. And it cost S$235 in the store! Pleaseee? :)Oh. Sorry for not being more elaborate and exciting in this post. I had terribly little sleep. Ugh! Existential crisis. IndecisionI had initially intended to stop blogging for a month for reasons that I've only disclosed to Vivien and a very neglected journal of-sorts (add Adrian to the list), but I changed my mind. I'm becoming terribly fickle-minded and indecisive, it seems, and I've lost all attempt at retaining any kind of resolve, but somehow all this nitty-gritty fades when you consider the big picture. Whatever is the big picture, anyway?Random ObservationI've also been appearing offline on MSN for the past few days, just for kicks. Somehow, I felt like a sneaky spy, surreptitiously stalking other people as secretively as possible. Hmmm, words to do with being sneaky frequently start with 's', doesn't it? Kind of like how words to do with looking frequently start with 'g'. Gaze, glare, glance, glimpse, etc.News FlashMy sister offered a tempting proposition: she's coming back at the end of this year, and from now till then, I am free to make any kind of orders I like. What I immediately thought of was cheesecake, because, hello, she lives in New York, and when you think cheesecake you think New York cheesecake, don't you? But that's not a very practical request, really. I really don't know what to ask for. What should I ask for, you think?Social CommentaryDon't you hate obliging people? These are the people who never disagree with you, never say a mean word, never rebel outwardly. Oh, they are very nice people indeed. They'll never hurt anybody's feelings, but they'll never compliment anyone either. What's worse about these obliging people is that they are extremely tiresome. You can even go so far to ask them straight in the face, "Are you just obliging me?" and they'll say, "No, I'm not!" - just to oblige you. Can't figure these people out, ever. I really should stop trying to figure anybody out.VanityMy mum and I went for a haircut at Toni & Guy. We don't commonly get haircuts at boutique salons. She frequents the $10 haircut at the neighbourhood salon because of its affordability and proximity, whereas the last time I went for a haircut was in December, at Next salon in Holland Village. The only reason why we went to Toni & Guy was because there was a 1-for-1 credit card offer, so effectively we got two haircuts at the price of one. It cost $85.25 for a supposedly senior stylist, I think. Well, service is impeccable, and the hairstylist definitely knows his stuff. Well, I guess it evens out if I cut my hair on a biennial basis.Cute ShitFrom Urban Outfitters. I KNOW. I shall ask my sister to buy this for me! Hahaha. Like hell she'll pay $50 for a 1GB thumbdrive. But omg it's so cute! There's a slightly uglier and pricier version here. I can't help but think that this ikura fixation is some kind of symbol of being unable to let go of the past, which is patently untrue.Oh, regarding the title, I am going through some kind of crazy existential crisis. Not to worry, this happens often enough. I just tend to think a lot more about the eventual termination of my life but I still behave the same on the outside, even if a bit stiff and awkward. Massage adventure. I've been battling with a stiff neck/shoulder for quite some time already. It's probably due to poor posture, excessive crouching over hardcover books, running a lot, and a general propensity to be tense.Sooo I decided to get a massage! My conscience felt a slight twang, because I am a mere child who is still offloading her parents and then there are all these poor starving children in underdeveloped countries. But yea, aching muscles trumped guilty conscience, so off I went to Bliss Massage! I trawled the local forums for a bit, and some people recommended this place. It's supposed to be cheaper than average, $45 an hour for a whole body massage? It's at Ann Siang Road, which is really close to Maxwell Market.I've never had a full body massage before. I've only had a leg massage in Bangkok, and that was when I was 15 or something - entirely too young and sedentary to appreciate my youthful and sturdy, pain-free muscles.I was instructed to remove everything and put on a black thong - unisex, she deliberately mentioned. Yea, just in case I was a post-op tranny, huh. While I was being rubbed down, I was quite conscious of my naked ass: and also glad that I am not morbidly obese. If I were a masseuse I wouldn't want to massage an obese person. But neither would I want to massage a stick-thin person too. I'll feel like I'm smashing her bones in.So she asked me if she could massage my chest. My immediate thought was: Of course you are massaging my chest! I MUST get my money's worth! I didn't respond with such rabid enthusiasm lest she thought I was hungry for some boob-groping (which wasn't the case, of course. She basically just rubbed my decolletage), so I just responded, "Ke yi ah, ke yi." (Can, can.)She then asked me, "Ni you mei you shi ba sui?" The tone of the question lay somewhere between the increduilty of "Are you even eighteen?!" and the neutrality of "Are you eighteen?""Wo jin nian shi ba sui." (I'm eighteen this year.)"Wa, zen me nian qing ah!" (So young!)At least I can be assured that I have a young nubile body that looks my age. Ha! Her reaction was almost identical as that time when I first went Brazillian waxing. My waxer must have thought I was a really kinky sixteen year old, when really, I was (and still am) just a chaste teenager with too much money, subjugated by the onslaught of female magazines propogating the merits of a hairless nether region.Well, it was good. My shoulder muscle (the one connecting the neck and the shoulder) has never felt more pliable. Val used to conduct the shoulder muscle tension test: press and feel. The harder it is, the more tense you are. The last time she did that to me, she was like, "Whoa, why is your shoulder so stiff? Is it because you are exercising or what?" Yea, I have rock-hard shoulder muscles, hohoho.Anyway I slaved till about 2 am in the morning and I made a skirt.It looks somewhat like this, only of a slightly more modest length. I was inspired by the Topshop bandage skirt. It's probably outmoded by now, seeing how I last saw it on sale in Suntec, but I figured it's a pretty good basic that can be paired with all manners of white tops, of which I have recently accrued four.Pictures of it when I feel skinnier/am prepared to wear a girdle!Random insertions:1. 10km timing 52:23, woot! It will only get better!2. My mum lost my pedometer. She lost it the day I lent it to her. I had only used the thing for a day lor. Meh.3. I think I like my beef dry and overdone as in burger patties, because bloody red meat makes me feel like a cannibal. Why I Am So Shy (in the vein of Why I Am So Wise) In a fit of semi-desperation, I asked Erica if she thought I was shy. I've been mulling over it for a while. It occurred to me that people may think I'm shy, when the impression I've been trying to give is distant and aloof. Well, her answer was, "Reserved and aloof at first, maybe, but definitely not shy."I like to live, er, lexically, so the definition of shy is: "nervous and embarrassed about meeting and speaking to other people, especially people you do not know". Well. Not all the time, no. Nervous, at times. Fear of embarrassment (the fear of it is different from it), sometimes. Though this is more like a perpetual undercurrent governing all my interactions. To be considered as aloof and reserved I can abide, but not shy. Shy has this implicit meaning of insecurity, in my opinion. And of COURSE I wouldn't want to come off as insecure. Though I suppose, if you were to dig really deep, reserved people could be insecure too. (Everyone is fucking insecure if you dig really deep.)However, "shy" and "reserved" seem to go hand in hand. Reserved: "unwilling to express your emotions or talk about your problems." This is actually debatable. I guess I am by nature sort of emotionally withdrawn, so I'm not a very emotive person. But just because I don't outwardly emote does not mean that I don't feel. I think this is a common misconception. People seem to disregard that I could have feelings just because I tend to have a clear head infrequently unwarped by impassioned feeling. Just because I am capable of rationalising everything I do does not mean that I don't have feelings. The post about why you shouldn't tell people you like them? People don't seem to realise that I had emotional investment in it: as much as it was an entertaining post, it was also somewhat an attempt to convince myself why I should never let emotions take the lead. I actually had that post in my archives for a month or so before I finally could bear to let it go. Thankfully it was well-received; otherwise my struggle would have been in vain.Aloof: "unfriendly and deliberately not talking to other people". Yes, I guess this is true as well. The definition of friendly is "to behave in a helpful and kind way". To BEHAVE, mind you. Friendliness is, by definition, a mere pretence! Ugh. No wonder I've always had an aversion to it.And you know what? There is a mighty good reason why I am shy/reserved/aloof/whatever term you want to use. The times I venture out of my comfort zone, the shit hits the fan, I get snubbed like nobody's business. This is why it's so crucial to rationalise everything I do beforehand. Actions borne out of irrational thought, heck, even rational thought, are prone to screwing up. I guess this annoying combination of hypersensitivity and need to rationalise things means I don't end up opening up very often. Oh, plus that inconvenient, occasional setback when I DO try, I guess.It's sort of like a vicious cycle. The more I think, the more I avoid opening up. Wait, it's not even a vicious cycle. It's a one way road to seclusion and self-imposed exile. The more I think, the more I avoid opening up, the more socially awkward I get, the more I screw up, the more I start destroying any faint notion of my capability to develop connections with anyone, and then I just shrivel up into this pathetic insecure mess.Fuck that shit. Once bitten, twice shy.Maybe I shouldn't be thinking in the first place. First it was feeling that sucks. Now thinking sucks. Guess what. Life sucks. FOUL MOOD. Think I can clock 15 minutes for 5.5km this time? Quite cheena post. Lolerskates the dude in the previous post is infuriated. I was right; he doesn't read my blog. But somebody went to da xiao bao gao (translate: tattle). I asked why he wanted the post removed. Was it because he was embarrassed by what he said? Nope, it wasn't. Ha! Of course it wasn't. He wanted it removed because I said he was arrogant, or something. I don't think I explicitly said he was arrogant, though. Well. I'm sorry he felt bad, then. I'm such a bitch hor. Why am I not remorseful ah? Times like these I feel like a conscience-less sociopath. Someday karma is going to punch me in the face. *giggles*It'd be such a pity to remove it, though. It was a good piece of writing. Even my sister said so. Now, my sister is not someone stingy with compliments. She's very generous with them - but she's equally liberal with her critique. So it came as a surprise, I guess.Anyway this thing has been on my mind. I just want to release it.A: Gu zar arh-B: Gu zar gu zar! Gu zar arh, ma tah cehng der kor!And also the cheng yu "si bu ming mu". It has a nice ring to it, hor.Was talking about Pride and Prejudice and I realised that my copy is MISSING. It was last seen in the hands of my aunt before she left for Germany. HMMM!I feel like I have chu chou-ed. :( Detect a rich boy anywhere! I sat patiently, feeling the chill settle on my goose bumpy skin. An attempt to people-watch did not succeed. The people in my scope of vision were dorky, nerdy, and plainly uninteresting. A new batch of test-takers walked in. I hoped there’d be at least one interesting character to see. One of them wore a crisp white shirt tucked into his jeans, with the sleeves folded (folded, not pushed up: pushing them up would have been an obvious attempt at looking effortless) to just above his elbows, revealing a set of well-defined forearms. Despite his diminutive stature, he sauntered in confidently with wide strides. Napoleon complex, maybe? Intuitively, I knew he was rich. Few guys my age wear white shirts, and fewer still wear them with such casual flair. If they do, they’d either: (a) leave it untucked, which automatically renders the crisp white shirt undone and sloppy, or (b) wear it half-tucked, revealing a tacky belt buckle that is usually emblazoned with something like a blinged-out dollar sign perched right above his groin. It’s so untypical of a teenage guy to wear his shirt tucked in. Not many have the physique to accomplish it with aplomb; fewer still have the guts to venture into potentially dad territory. Even if guys my age wear long sleeved shirts on a regular basis, it’d most probably be of a gaudy print —either floral or geometric patterns— its costumey effect meant to make up for the scarcity of such clothing on peers. However, this guy looked totally at ease in his white shirt. He carried it off perfectly, as if he lived and breathed white shirts ever since he was a wee tot. Unlike t-shirts, shirts require ironing, rendering them relatively high-maintenance. Let’s ponder the process of a regular guy putting on a white shirt. If this guy doesn’t have a maid, he probably wouldn’t be extremely well-off – which also means the occasions for him to put on a white shirt would be few and far between. (Several assumptions made here, which I shall attempt to explain away later) Therefore, the only time he’ll iron his shirt is when he is prepared to wear it. Now, it seems fairly ridiculous that anyone would spend the previous night contemplating wearing a white shirt for a SAT test, much less a guy. Therefore, he wouldn’t have thought of ironing it the night before. It’s even more ridiculous to think of a guy waking up especially early just to iron his shirt, and for something as inconsequential as an SAT test. This leads us to two things. Either he has an ironed shirt hanging in his wardrobe due to neglect, or due to a maid. But having assumed that the average guy doesn’t generally own a plain white shirt (and that the average guy doesn’t wear a white shirt for a SAT test), he must have a maid. Therefore, you can at least be sure that his family is NOT poor. Then there was also the fact that this guy was wearing an analogue watch. Even though he was about five meters away, I could tell from the solid glossy black face of his watch that it wasn’t a digital one. Again, teenage boys don’t frequently wear analogue watches. Digital watches are still de rigueur for teenage boys. Furthermore, any decent looking analogue watch has got to be expensive. And his, with its overly large face that spanned his entire visible wrist, was flashy enough to look expensive. Perhaps if he had just worn a white shirt, he would have looked merely poseur, a wannabe. Perhaps if he had just worn a big shiny watch, it would have just looked like a cheapskate pasar malam affair. But it’s the combination of these things, plus his cocky swagger that put him squarely in the “rich brat” category. The assumptions I had made earlier, such as not having a maid = not rich, or having a maid = rich, are assumptions that can be aptly eradicated with the simple thing called intuition. Intuitively, you just know a person is rich by looking at him. Attempting to justify intuitive knowledge by means of rational logic results in gaping loopholes. Perhaps he caught my eye simply because he was a reflection of how I was dressed. Case in point: I was wearing both a white shirt and an analogue watch. Perhaps it would be useful to examine why I wore a white shirt? Nah, my reasons are irrelevant to his. Perhaps save for the obvious reason that we just wanted to distinguish ourselves from the pack. Aside from the fact that he was oozing rich boy vibes, this guy looked seriously familiar. I know him. I think I know him. Isn’t he J? (J for Jackass, which I shall explain later.) Yes, he must be. The J I knew was a rich bastard. Fucking rich bastard. Yet wait, he looks different. Hmm. I’ll see what happens after the test. Either I gather the guts to ask him if he truly is J, or see if he approaches me. The test started, and for most of the three hours or so, my mind was frantically grappling with substandard paragraphs riddled with grammatical mistakes and tricky algebraic questions. I forgot about the (presumably) rich boy for a while. When it was over, all intentions of approaching him had vanished. I remembered the last time I approached someone because I thought he was someone I knew. I was horribly wrong, and I was deadly embarrassed. So, I was down to my only option: be passive and hope he recognises me. If he recognises me, but doesn’t approach me, it wouldn’t matter anyway. He’s just an acquaintance. If he doesn’t know me, then certainly he wouldn’t approach me. Unless he thought that the glances we exchanged earlier when he entered the room were worth extending, he definitely wouldn’t approach me. And guess what? He WAS J, and he DID approach me! I was right, after all. I wouldn’t say that recognising him went sequentially like: 1) Rich boys look a certain way2) This boy looks rich3) I know a rich boy, J4) J looks like the boy5) Therefore, the rich-looking boy is J It was more of a commingling of inherent knowledge (1, 3) and intuitive perceptiveness (2, 4) that led to an awakening in that brief few seconds when I had my eyes locked inquisitively on him. We then made the customary small talk: how did you find the test, how's school, how's your holidays. Wanting to break out of the monotony and insincerity of small talk, I spontaneously mentioned, "Well, I noticed you because you were wearing a shirt."He made some psuedo self-effacing remark, like "Oh, you only noticed me because I looked like a freak, right?" -- a remark meant to reduce his level to one of the common folk, to one of normalcy, but only served to throw his concealed arrogance into sharper relief. I made an indistinct grunt, or a distracted sort of false reassurance that he didn't look like a freak; oh no, not at all. He then volunteered a reciprocal response. "Well, I noticed you because I walked into the room and I was like, 'Is that cleavage I see?'" I emanated an "uh." He went on, "I pity the guy sitting next to you. He must have had one hell of a distraction. No, two distractions to be precise."The wanton rudeness of his remark stunned me into silence. With such blatantly lewd comments, one can either choose to get angry, or delicately sidestep the situation. I was shocked by his inappropriateness (and possibly frankness? he could have just been trying to tick me off), yet --though I probably shouldn't admit it, in the very depths of my soul I was-- mildly flattered, so I chose the latter option instead. I was a bit too bewildered by the situation at hand to even realise that I should take offense.I have never found myself in such an obviously stereotypical situation before. This is a such a primal case of the female attracted to the male because of his perceived ability to provide security, and the male attracted to the female because of her perceived fertility. He is rich, and wealth = power, and power = security. I had attractive boobs, and boobs = fertile = able to produce descendants. We were shamelessly sniffing each other out for biological compatibility! During the onset of the conversation, he had tried to offhandedly ask about my relationship status. How obvious can he get? All this is somewhat surprising. The latent instinctual urges in us had been stripped of its social veneer, and it was enlightening to see how one behaves devoid of restraint. I don’t mean to say that we were completely unaware of what we were doing. We were conscious, every action perfectly deliberate, and that is what makes things so surprising. We were consciously being unself-conscious.Still doesn't change the fact that he acted behaved like an obnoxious twat. Cleavage! These things are better hinted at than verbalised. Leave something for me and my imagination. You know those girls who wear the tiniest of shorts, yet bundle up with heavy sweaters or windbreakers on top? Specimens can be frequently spotted in libraries studying, or polytechnic/university lecture halls. It makes you wonder if they have such an abundance of leg hair that their legs are nice and toasty, but their upper bodies are freezing. It's the same concept as the vest.In this episode of The Simpsons, The Haw-Hawed Couple, Bart befriends the neighbourhood bully, Nelson. Nelson then offers Bart his trademark vests. Bart's best friend, Milhouse, asks Bart why he wears a vest. Bart then retorts, "Because my chest is cold and my arms aren't!"I realised that real life people (i.e. my acquaintances) actually do have very active imaginations. And it's of the very stylized variety, where they imagine they are superheroes or cartoon characters. Speaking of which, I don't understand why people develop crushes on cartoon characters. It's so weird. I can't develop a crush on a two-dimensional drawing.I think I have a fairly active imagination, but I've never really put myself in the shoes of some larger-than-life character. Most of the time, my imaginings are limited to the people I interact with. For example, I tend to imagine what could have happened if I said something different - maybe that would alter the entire course of the relationship? I also frequently imagine a variety of responses to a fixed scenario. Recently I was thinking about flirting - flirting with strangers, to be specific. Let's say I attempt to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger by acting like a complete klutz and saying, "Sorry, but do you know how to go the the blood donation centre?" (Let's assume that I'm already at Outram Park MRT station.)Here are three possible scenarios I've came up with.A) Er, no. Sorry.B) Yes, I do. This is how you go there. (recites verbal instructions)C) Yes, I do. I'm actually heading there as well, why not we go together?D) Yes, I do. I don't have anything on now, so I might as well walk you there.I would say that B is the most likely scenario, and D the least likely. In fact, if D happened, you'd he's either super nice or super desperate. Or maybe both.Of all situations, clearly C is optimum for further flirting. There's so much to talk about! How often you two have been donating blood, why did you get started on donating blood, etc. You've already got a conversation planned out for you. But seeing how C is quite an unlikely scenario as well, one has to contemplate a response in the event of scenario B.1) Thanks for your help! (go separate ways)2) *open eyes wide* Hmm... *tilts head to side* Okay... *blinks hard* (in the hope that by acting like a damsel in distress, he will offer to walk you there)3) I still don't get it. Can you take me there, pretty please? *grins brightly*In order of likeliness, it's 1, 2 and 3.Despite having imagined all this, I still haven't really figured out a fool-proof way of talking to a stranger. Sucks, huh. Despite having gained nothing, I haven't actually lost anything. At least I'm saved the potential embarrassment of screwing up in front of a stranger. Thought experiments are so usefully useless.I've been imagining ways to start talking to people without actually succumbing to small talk like the weather, or school. It's insanely difficult.Anyway I've decided that I could be a sociopath."It should be no surprise that the sociopath typically feels no qualms of lost integrity when he violates some generally accepted moral dictum."That must make me a sociopath! Hmm. Sociopaths are supposed to be characterised by their lack of conscience. But do they really? I'm thinking that it's just really really suppressed, and at extreme times such as when they are teetering on the edge of death, they experience a moment of lucidity and their conscience hits them like a brick. I'm just thinking the Cardinal in Duchess of Malfi.But it seems like sociopathy is a relative concept. How does one ever know if another person lacks a conscience? Just because he behaves as if he doesn't doesn't mean that he doesn't think badly of his actions. Attitude doesn't always correlate to actions. But that's non-falsifiable, so we'll never know. It's simpler to assume that how one behaves or how one claims to think is how he really is. Parsimonious, even. Behaviourist approach to studying human psychology, huh.Read more about sociopaths here.I've also been thinking about proms and my birthday, both of which will only occur much later in the year. What Erica said about prom made sense. Prom isn't about the food. Nobody goes to prom for the food. What makes prom prom is the pre-prom preparations (rolling and unvoiced plosive alliteration, woot): scouting for dresses, shoes, accessories; the hairdressing and make-up sessions, the camwhoring, the people. However, the people that I hang out with in school don't seem like those who care too much about clothes, and may not even turn up at all.So what is the point of going for prom? For me, at least. There isn't much of a point for me. I suggested to Erica, maybe we should crash other JC's proms together. That sounds like a fun prospect in theory.So yes. My thoughts on prom.As for my birthday, I am somewhat glad that one of my papers fall on that day. That certainly saves me the trouble of having to think of how to celebrate it. And hopefully I'll be so preoccupied that I don't even remember it. Nah, that's not gonna happen. I always wish that I'll forget when my birthday is, but when the day comes, I will remember it, and with such an agonising acuteness. Turning 18 is supposed to be monumental, isn't it? I wish I could sleep through the day, though.Earlier this year I made Jason promise to wish me happy birthday. On retrospect I really shouldn't have done that. It's only going to be further disappointment if he forgets. And even if he does remember, he could be doing it purely out of obligation. Damn. Never make people make promises. There's nothing good to be gained out of it. Only disappointment from having your hopes dashed, or at the very best, a false, empty, contrived contentment.I know it's a bit premature to be talking about my birthday, but I figured it's safer to air my grievances about it now when it's still a comfortable distance away, as opposed to later in the year when the glaring reality of the impending day hits home.Why must birthdays happen so often? Can't it be bieannial, or even better, once every decade?*********I braided my hair.And Raquelle's, too. Remember Raquelle? Hurhur.Random picture of body types. I think I'm an hourglass. Battery-powered walking that speeds up. You know what's fucked up? The batteries in my calculator are running out, so I need to get replacements. However, I wasn't sure what size batteries were needed. I didn't check before leaving the house, and therefore had to depend on my classmates for the answer. I asked Huifang, and she said she thinks it's AAA. "I could be wrong, why don't you double-check with the rest?"I then asked Yi Bo whether it was double or triple A. Yi Bo confidently asserted herself: "Double A, isn't it? Triple A is so small!" Huifang then laughed, presumably at herself.So I went and bought AA batteries.And guess what. It's actually AAA. Lesson learnt? Trust the klutz - or at least the one who gives off the impression that she thinks she's a klutz.I bought a pedometer, which is in the name of a healthy lifestyle. To be considered active, one should take at least 10000 steps a day. Sounds daunting, doesn't it? But it's currently 5.50pm (and I've been seated in front of the computer for 20 minutes) and I've already taken 10460 steps! That's easier than I thought! And I haven't even went running yet. Waste my money lah. The damn thing costs $19. I don't think I walked around a lot today. Basically I just went for CIP, went to Toa Payoh Central to browse a bit, entered Popular, the library, Watsons, Phoon Huat, World of Sports, etc. Then went to this Royal Sporting House outlet near my place.So kuku. I think my mum would benefit from the pedometer more.Oh I am looking to buy a new pair of running shoes, see. But I don't want to spend a fortune on it. I'm actually clueless what kind of shoes to get. My knowledge of running shoe technology is pitifully non-existent. I usually just pick the best-looking one, and best-looking in my opinion would make it pink or purple, or possibly red. What's annoying about running shoes is that each model usually only comes in one colour. And they are always so ugly! I'm not a yellow/orange/green person - too perky for me. I think blue is an awful colour, especially the kind of sky blue or navy blue shades that are commonly used. So I'm left with pink and purple.If nobody says anything then I'm setting my sights on this $102 pair from adidas. I don't even know if it's good for me or not. I just know it's pink(ish purple). And I can use a hundred dollar Capitaland Mall voucher to buy it.Mr Woody Ooi, have you got any recommendations this time? Let's hear an opinion when it's actually wanted. Absolutely mundane. ROARR I ran my first ever 10km!!!!I don't feel particularly tired though. I think I took maybe an hour and ten minutes - I'm not sure because I didn't time myself. This is a personal milestone I've reached, so, whoopee! Tomorrow when I resume running 5.5km, I'll probably end it feeling like I had only just warmed up. The thing about scaling new heights is that you find yourself unable to settle for less. The things that once pleased you or annoyed you just don't have the same effect anymore. It's the same for a lot of things. Eating quality food, wearing quality clothes, dating quality boys. You just don't settle for less: the only way is up!Let me remind you that I am still not a jock. My excessive running is all in the name of vanity. I don't derive shiokness from running, per se. I derive shiokness from inwardly knowing that I am fitter than the average person. It's an ego thing, I think.Despite the over-inflated ego I am still SOCIALLY HANDICAPPED. I know, I know: How hard is it to say hi? I tell you, it's mighty easy to say hi. But what happens after that?! I am at a complete loss. I'm a lot more used to having people wanting to get to know me, then I actually getting to know people. Sure, there are plenty of people I want to get to know, but I usually just sit around pining away until my passion fades. (Which doesn't usually. My infamous Scorpion passion only strengthens with longing.) 'Tis a sad life. For all my perceived arrogance, perhaps I am just incorrigibly shy. Maybe my paralysis in actually initiating a conversation is because of my tendency to snub people who want to get to know me. Sigh! Socialising is one skill I'll never develop.I felt like wasting my parents' money so I did a manicure and pedicure.In less than five days this is what happened. Was peeling an orange and the thing just peeled off. I think I'm not destinied to be a kept woman. Manicures are so debilitating.I baked some cookies. These are really chewy, but they are stiff enough to remain whole in your fingers.This is the recipe I used. I can recommend it.Also made S'more Cookie Bars.I don't really like it. I'm not a fan of marshmallow anyway.I've just about baked everything that I wanted to bake. What is a woman to do now?I've been watching '50s silver screen flicks. Breakfast at Tiffany's was one of them.To be completely objective, the plot was a bit shakey. Characters fell in love with each other too quickly, Holly Golightly appeared to be mildly manic depressive, etc. But still, Audrey Hepburn is a dream to look at. She's so slender and graceful and pretty. It's really funny how the screen fogs up when a soppy scene is coming up. Cinematographic techniques then are very predictable now.I also watched Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.I don't think it was a very good movie either. The plot was too surreal to be remotely realistic. (Yes yes, and aren't all movies?) I don't particularly like Marilyn Monroe's appeal. It's too blatant. She doesn't possess that air of je ne sais quoi that other enigmatic film stars have. She's just a sex kitten. Still, I liked looking at the clothes. Ah, the times when men wore suits, and helped women put on their coats! Here's a bit of a scene in the movie."Dorothy, did you ever hear of a rich pole vaulter?""Maybe not, but who cares. I like a man who can run faster than I can."Like, duh. Men are SUPPOSED to run faster than women. For male superiority to be worth its while, they should at the very least be physically superior to women! It's a given! Men who run slower than women are... not worth talking about. Bad in bed, maybe? Though I'm not sure if physical stamina has anything to do with sexual stamina. Yahoo! Answers isn't telling me anything, dammit!I wanted to register for Shape Run, but by the time I found out about it, it was too late. Then there is Orchard Mile, but it's 1.6km only. So kuku. No kick leh. You see, my older brother had just ran the adidas Sundown Marathon. It's very inspiring.I AM STILL NOT A JOCK HOR! Arrogance, stupidity, and foood. Is arrogance ever justified? I'm inclined to think so, yet the evidence seems to be contrary to my opinion. Well, I think people who think that arrogance is never justified are people who having nothing to be arrogant about. Just being sour grape-y, you know.Most of us would think that spoilt brats who are arrogant about their inherited riches have no right to be arrogant. After all, they weren't the ones who slogged for the money that they flaunt in your faces - what right do they have to be arrogant? However, we cut the arrogant intelligentsia a little slack. Their intelligence is surely a cultivated effort, and it's worth giving them some credit for it. Therefore, it's okay for them to be arrogant: they have a right to be.Yet intelligence could be inherited too. Intelligent people could just be naturally gifted; they just happened to be lucky when God was giving out brains, that's all. So why should they have a right to be arrogant? They are as lucky as the next spoilt brat you meet, that's all.So it seems like nobody has the right to be arrogant, because any edge that one possesses is out of sheer luck. But that's only if you adopt the philosophy that we can do nothing to alter our fates.Whether people have the right to be arrogant or not, that doesn't stop people, right or no right, from being arrogant.******I was recalling a hilarious incident. Let's call this somebody X. X was sitting with me, and after an extended period of awkward silence, he took out an asthmatic inhaler, and started toying with it. Clearly, the socially accurate thing to do was to inquire about it. Unless I had wanted to be all mind-gamey and pretend to be oblivious to it.Me: "Hmmm, I didn't know you were asthmatic."X: "I'm not really asthmatic. If people asked me whether I was asthmatic, I'd say no."Me: "So why do you still carry around an inhaler?"X: "Because I am prone to bouts of asthmatic attacks."Me: "So you are asthmatic."X: "Well, technically, yes, but if people ask, I usually say no. I don't like people to think that I'm asthmatic. It's something I don't usually mention about myself."It makes me wonder, so what the fuck was he taking out his inhaler for? OBVIOUSLY he wanted to be asked about his supposed asthmatic condition! Yet he claims that it's a weakness that's best kept under covers. Can anybody shoot himself in the foot deeper? Has there ever been a worse attempt made at seeking attention? I simply cannot endure such stupidity.******I went running at 2pm. It was blazing hot. Why did I risk heatstroke? I wanted to get a tan that's from genuine sporting activity, not lying languorously on some deck chair in skimpy things. I don't know if it was because I hadn't been running for four days running, or because of the heat, but my legs felt awfully leadened. In any case, I still finished 5.5km so yes, whether I ran like a sedated grandma or not, I still finished 5.5km. That was yesterday. Today while I was running, I was trying to think of how to run 10km, with only a 350m and a 550m loop on hand. Can any one of you ingenious people come up with some combinations for me? The closest I could come up with was 10.05km, with 17 rounds of 550m and 2 rounds of 350m. Meh. I'll probably lose count. I don't have enough fingers.There must be a way... Of course, I could always draw up a new route with Gmaps Pedometer, but... but... I like familiarity!******I baked a carrot cake. Sometime ago I had made some kind of a promise to try baking a carrot cake, so I did.The frosting is so fugly; but at least it tasted good. I used this recipe. Despite using cooking oil once again, the taste wasn't as pronounced as it was in the vegan white chocolate macadamia cookies I made. I also substituted about two tablespoons of wholemeal flour, because I thought it may complement the earthy taste of carrot cake. But it was really because there wasn't enough all-purpose flour left, and I desperately wanted to try out the wholemeal flour I bought. No pecans on hand, so I left them out.I finally tried the brownie thingy at Taka's basement. It was good. I got their top-selling brownie.I also tried the diseased-looking potato-encrusted sausage from Seoul Street Snacks. It was bad. Do not get it. I recommend the barbequed pork sausage though. That one is deliciously greasy.I tried the Ruby Strawberry Cheesecake from Cedele. It was good. I shall try every single one of their cakes eventually.The reason why I'm trying out all these foods is because I figured life is too short to keep hankering after foods that I keep saying I'll try, but never get around to trying. I will stop short at trying out the new yogurt dessert things though. Like The Yogurt Place. It's a fad that I'll gladly sit out. Come on lor. Why don't I get a tub of plain yoghurt and mix it up with strawberry preserves and muesli and sell it to you at half the price that whatever that place is charging?Sigh, this is what happens when one's a DIY-er. I hope you guys see that this baking thing is a fad, just like how I was obsessed over sewing a while ago. Not that I dislike sewing now; it's just that the clothes I hanker after require too much skill. And I don't exactly have state-of-the-art equipment as well. I hope this baking fad will pass. It's getting me fat. Bah. I am a story teller. My feelings had been excruciatingly mishandled, more likely due to a combination of hypersensitivity on my part and the inability to concoct self-comforting excuses for others than genuine malice on the other's part, so I went running, in the hopes that my salty tears would blend into dripping perspiration. Never mind that I still had eyeliner and mascara on, never mind that I was probably rape bait with so much skin on display, never mind that I wasn't carrying anything with me except for the clothes on my back. I could get panda eyes for all I care (which I didn't, amazingly); I could be raped and left ravaged in a back alley (I actually emerged unscathed); I could suffer a cardiac arrest and not be able to contact anyone (didn't happen, too).I pounded the road, each footstep placed in front of the other in quickening succession. I was breathing so hard I could barely let out a choked gasp, let alone sob my heart out. I channelled my grievous hurt into running as fast as I could, and guess what? I probably ran my fastest, at under 25 minutes for 5.5km. I'm not sure of the exact time, but I clearly remember the clock striking 9 at my house when I finished one 550m loop, and when I had stepped into the house again, it was 9:25pm. Taking into account the time I take to walk out of the door, put on my shoes, walk through the driveway, exit the gate, enter the gate, walk through the driveway, remove my shoes, and enter the door, I probably achieved an unprecedented speed.Yes, I must learn to be:1. Less sensitive and/or2. Better at coming up with excuses for other people's behaviourI wish I knew how. You know, the more you push people away, you'll live to rue the day when people stop trying to get to know you.*********I saw a missed call on my phone. That's strange, I thought. It's been a long time since anybody called me, much less a missed call. I dialled the number back, thinking to myself how unlikely someone will respond: it's always like that. People never answer their phones when you call them back. Makes you wonder how badly they wanted to speak to you in the first place, huh? A voice sounded, and I awoke from my cynical reverie."Err, who's this?""It's Kay!""Kay?" My exclamatory echo wasn't one of puzzlement; it was one of bewilderment. I meant it as a "Kay?!" but it probably came out as a "Kay?", which led her to respond:"Ya, Kay from Dunman High?"I knew who Kay was, I know who Kay is. Kay? When was the last time I spoke to her? Probably in 2005? Kay, the girl who very sweetly wrote a thank-you note to express her gratitude for borrowing my nail varnish remover? (which I didn't respond to in kind, 'cos I found these things awkward and vaguely pretentious, but in retrospect, I really should have just to be polite - but then she would've responded out of politeness too, and we'd develop a friendship purely out of politeness - how sad) And didn't her number just recently join the ranks of the deleted, thinking her to be one of those people I'll never contact again, ever? (It's surprisingly easy to delete numbers/MSN contacts. There are so many random people who I never talk to. I tell myself I'm waiting for them to talk to me.) Kay?!Well, she didn't call to just "catch up", or some such phoney nonsense. Apparently she's doing a project on interesting bloggers, and decided to call on me. One of my first thoughts was: "Shit, my secondary schoolmates still read my blog." Well, isn't it flattering? At least ONE person thinks I'm an interesting blogger, that I can be sure of. Hah. When a blogger starts to write sentimental poetry... you know she's scraping the bottom of the barrel. Ok I've just spent the last ten minutes writing a lengthy tirade about my poem's form, but I have decided against it. STOP ME BEFORE I ANALYSE MY OWN POETRY.So I agreed to help her out, and yep. That's that. The main purpose of me relating this incident is just to show how engaging a story-teller I can be. Hah.********I got my cousin to come over to bake today, and this is our loot!I'm proudest of the cheesecake. It's so pretty! But no pictures of it, because a whole cheesecake looks boring. She took it home, so yea, none of those. You should ask me to make cheesecakes for you. I'm getting good at it. :DBlack Bottom Cupcakes! Cream cheese filling atop a chocolate cupcake. Good stuff. Moist cupcake. I like cream cheese.White Chocolate Chip Macadamia Nut Cookie! Good stuff. Crispy on the edges, chewy in the centre. Light, not cloyingly buttery/oily/sweet. I decided to toast the macadamias before baking to give it an extra crunch, but they got charred in the toaster. -.-Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Cheesecake Bars! Not so good stuff. Too much chocolate chips. Sweet until want to puke. And the cookie dough isn't meant to be like that. But the texture of the cookie dough was strangely off. Meh. Shall not attempt this again.Whoopie Pie! Mini moist chocolate cakes with filling in between. I was too lazy to make the filling, so I just used whipped cream.We also made strawberry shortcakes, as per my cousin's request, but I thought they weren't photogenic, and I don't love strawberry shortcake anyway, so yea, no pics of that. Speaking of strawberries, I saw a box of 24 strawberries being sold for 19 bucks at Taka's Cold Storage. That's insane. But they looked so delectably red and juicy. I was quite tempted, even though I don't love strawberries. Some other day, perhaps. Here's a random tip I picked up about buying strawberries: if you can't smell them, they're not worth buying.End of food talk!*********This is the cutest thing I've seen in a long time.An elephant paperclip. It's so adorable. And so pointless.This is another cute and pointless thing I own; one of the rare cute and pointless things I own. It's no higher than my thumb, and it's a bu dao weng. I suddenly forgot the English name for it. Dammit. Pretty as a Picture Every detail contrived to enhanceWhatever remains of her sorrowed glanceA smudge here, a brush there,Flourish of hair; much needed flairVarnished perfection, a dazzling sightWho knew those glazed eyes beheld such blight?Concealed by painted faceComposure and grace - cracking, but brace!A thousand words she conveys:Expression, expressiveElusive to the insensitiveA public cry for unconditional empathy.Please reduce her private hurt and reinstateHer sanity.