firebird

2002-12-24T09:08:00.000-08:00

Moooooved to LJ.

I know, I'm a Judas.

http://www.livejournal.com/users/unclesollychere/
Come adore me anyway?

Much love,

Sol.

2002-12-17T02:56:00.000-08:00

It was Vilnius yesterday, in Lithuania. Beautiful architecture. The Museum of Applied Arts, and the Church of the Holy Spirit (Russian Orthodox) are sights I'll never forget. Paneriai, a World War II death camp, where more than 100,000 Lithuanians were murdered by the Nazis -- another awful, moving sight. I wish I could have spent more time there, especially in the Gariunai (did I spell that right?) market. Mum would have loved it.

It's Moscow today, in the Kremlin and various mosque-like Cathedrals and 15th-century churches. I adore this... incredible, there's no other word for it, gold cathedral at the Novodevichy Convent and St Basil's Cathedral, it looks adorable from a distance (it's got this funny top, like an onion *sniggers*) but is rather imposing up close. It's dangerous, though, many drug dealers and prostitutes and mafia -_____-. The clubs here don't close until sunrise! The Ministerstvo is incredible, the ultra-beautiful people there are just ...... I could go on and on about the things I've discovered in Moscow (I haven't slept since yesterday) -- I've seen Lenin's tomb, I've seen a church that was rebuilt after Stalin destroyed it (Christ the Saviour Cathedral), original art works by Repin and beautiful icons in a musem, and the former residence of the Czars.

I was originally in Moscow for Boris Smelov, a photographer, but he's only a small part of what I've seen here. It's been such a luxuriant experience!

Kiev was warm and special, and had many attractions too, but Moscow is the city of cities. Tonight I will be in Bucharest, and tomorrow I will be in Prague. I am looking forward to seeing my sister there.

I have not been as happy in a long time.

2002-12-15T01:40:00.000-08:00
It's been interesting.

I've gone to Mumbai, which is appallingly filthy and pitiably poor -- the caste system is terrible, the division between the jatis makes me ill and being in the Kshatriya jati (2nd highest caste, traditionally that of warriors and rulers) doesn't make things much better. India needs to introduce reforms now, because the Untouchables form the base of the industries, and they aren't happy.

I don't feel like talking about Mumbai just now. My relatives were lovely (thank you, Auntie Helen, Uncle Titus) and there was the usual prerequisite of family tension and the usual 'Oh, so this is Denise! Which Bollywood star does she look like?' game, but things in India are so dreadful that it makes me terribly sad.

I flew back to Singapore for my parents' god son's wedding. He must be the most, well, boring Chindian I've ever met (excepting his brother, perhaps) -- his Mandarin is abysmal, and so is his English. Both he and his brother are horrible public speakers. And his brother is so short that he came up to about my shoulder when I was in heels; God, thank you for sending Peter as a boyfriend to my sister Dawn and not someone like either of them.

I'm in Kiev (Kyiv, some places spell it), and I'm not enjoying freezing to death. It's 10:45 a.m. and it's the dead of winter and I am miserable. It is minus fourteen degrees Celsius, the windchill comes up to minus TWENTY and the wind blows east at 11.3km per hour. I am sitting bundled up so thickly I can barely move my arms to type, and I'm terrified that this laptop is going to freeze up any time now. I've been to see Grandad; he is, as expected, not nearly as sick as he was supposed to be, and he's going to drag me up at 5 tomorrow morning for service. My relatives here are terribly austere, but rather nice. The sun sets at around 3 p.m. here, they say; no going out late, only staying in the house for hours and hours of prayer. Nevertheless there is a comfortable, prayerful aspect to this life as I sit and read the Bible and watch the older women knitting and chatting in Rooskie.

Kiev makes me cry, and the tears freeze on my cheeks before they can slide down. The poverty, the abject poverty of so many and the different standards of living, and the misery of so many here, of oppressed spirits and despair and radiation -- yet I feel some bond to this place, even though they're not Asian or remotely similar to anything I usually sympathize with. I feel like using the stereotypical phrase 'my people' when talking about them. But there is something very different about these people, especially in the way they are confused about their identity, about being Russian or Ukrainian. At the same time they are very simple people, with simple desires and hopes and actions... This place makes me subdued. I suppose you can see that this post is rather less cheerful than usual, but really, this place makes me happy in an odd way. In a knitting-and-reading-as-hobbies sort of way.

For the first time, I'm really, truly glad I took up Russian as a language.

As expected, I can't access several websites. -____- Luckily I can access this handy Bible quotes website -- always useful to have this sort of comeback when you've got frenetically religious relatives who inquire mistrustfully as to what work I'm carrying on this 'Ìàøèí äüÿâîëà' (devil machine, I think, pronounced 'masheen dyyavola'). Did I mention that Papa's not with me? I'm all alone here; Papa's returned to Mumbai, where he intends to retire, and left me here. Today has been a good, peaceful day, surrounded by people who demonstrate their love for me in queer, undemonstrative ways and who appreciate family bonds, no matter how diluted and far-removed. Tomorrow is when MENSA starts. Ugh.

I'm afraid I've grown to love these people. And this country.

Even if it freezes me to death.

I hope Kendappa got those links I gave her last night? o.O

I can't play my MP3s here either. *snickers* Playing Suede and Lifehouse (hah, yes, Juju) got me terribly suspicious stares, so now, when I'm in a room with my relatives as I almost always am (like now), I play uplifting hymns from celebrant singers. Everyone's happy, and I rise a few notches in their estimation ^___^

Incidentally, I can't access Babble and I'm not sure I want to, really. Many of those who flame us are as cliquey as we are, and they call in their friends to flame us. It's odd; all of us left Babble long ago, really, and now we've only returned to argue with people who took over our places. I can't say that I liked Babble at any point, but I do object to fics that garner the same reviews (or better ones) as other, better fics. Am I to blame the reviewers or writers, then? Then again, I feel rather guilty about how we're all rather unbothered by these flames. These people are the ones who have taken Babble in hand after we left, and who will be oldies when we're long gone. *ponders* Well, Juju? Laree? Pastles, Ufuf Mon, where are you?

Well, I'm going to enjoy my time in Ukaine. *contented sigh* You know, I think I'm getting obsessed with the place.

It's the way you pick your clothes off the floor
It's the way you scratch your skin when you yawn
It's the t-shirts that you choose like you're in the Air Force
Yeah the language that you use reacts like chemicals

Obsessions in my head
Don't connect with my intellect
It's called obsession
Can you handle it

It's connected to the hip sounds
And it moves with the underground
It's called obsession
When you're around

It's the way you close the doors of my car
It's the stupid things you bought with my credit card
It's the way you don't read Camus or Brett Easton Ellis
Yeah the TCP you use, it stings when we kiss

Obsessions in my head
Don't connect with my intellect
It's called obsession
Can you handle it

It's connected to the hip sounds
And it moves with the underground
It's called obsession
When you're around

Obsessions is like sex
It's simple and complex
It's called obsession
Can you handle it

It's connected to the hip sounds
And it moves with the underground
It's called obsession
When you're around

-- Obsessions, by Suede. Check out the music video, it's fantastic. TCP is a liquid antiseptic, I think, in Britain. Care to verify, Ling, Starry?

2002-12-11T10:44:00.000-08:00

What Was Your PastLife?

*sniggers*

2002-12-08T12:41:00.000-08:00
i know it, it's a shame a
shame i can't show it i see it, i can see
it now but i'm so far below it

don't wanna talk about it i say why
not don't wanna think about it i say
there's got to be some good reason
for your little black backpack up,
smack, turnaround he's on his back

don't want to tango with you i'd rather
tangle with him i think i'm gonna bash
his head in and this shouldn't concern
you except just don't expect to get
your bloody black backpack back

i feel you, yes i can what about that
don't you understand and i sense you,
its something sensual but its less than i
planned

(CHORUS)

you're trying to find a reason for the way you feel
tonight you're mind is lined with layers of lead have
you heard one thing that i've said

-- little black backpack, stroke 9

2002-12-08T12:35:00.000-08:00
So right, I was slumbering not particularly peacefully -- I kept having these awful dreams, and tossing and turning, and all that.

My brain was just wilting at this dream about Laree doing something vaguely vulgar with Ufuf Mon (God, don't ask, I don't want to remember) when, thankfully or not, the horrible tones of a mobile phone ringtone resounded through the neighbourhood. I burrowed my face into my pillow (I tend sleep face down) and tried to ignore it, but it would NOT go away and it kept getting louder and more penetrating.

Eventually, I sat up and moaned, and ran my hand through my hair. I swung my legs off my bed and stumbled to the window, slipping my spectacles on, and looked about wildly for the sinner.

"Hello, Solly," floated Aidan's disembodied voice tauntingly.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

"Fuck you, Aidan," I hissed, terrified that my parents or sister would hear. "What are you doing here? And don't call me that."

Suddenly, he popped into view right under my windowsill and I rocked back with a startled cry. "You should be more careful with your keys," he said, ignoring my obvious horror, hoisting himself onto the windowsill and looking down at me drolly. "I've got a copy made. And don't look at me like I've just crawled out of an open grave, I'm quite safe."

"Fuck you, Maddy!" was all I could manage.

The same disconcertingly elegant eyebrow as Tessy's lifted up drolly. "Whatever happened to Aidan?"

We stared at each other in a veritable cocktail of feelings. Incongruously, Stroke 9's Little Black Backpack kept circling in my head.

don't want to tango with you i'd rather tangle with him i think i'm gonna bash his head in

"Aidan," I said eventually, "what are you doing here?"

He smirked. "Aren't you glad to be graced by my dazzling presence?"

"Aidan," I said firmly. "Shut it. And go away. I've got to get up early tomorrow and you're ruined my sleep."

He opened his mouth, and I swung my fist at his jaw. He fell off my windowsill with a muffled cry, and I heard a most satisfactory thud as he fell onto my dad's balcony. Ahahaha.

For a fleeting moment I wondered which voice in my head I should listen to: Laree's, which was telling me "SNOG HIM! SHAG! HEEHEEHEE"? Or Fufu's, which was saying something along the lines of o.O, laughing and being sensible? Or Juju's, which was going "What a wanker"?

"Solly," came the disembodied voice. "I think I've broken something."

"Oh, wonderful, I've achieved my aim," I said grimly. "And don't call me that."

"You're ungracious, Solly. How unladylike."

"Thank you for the compliment. And don't call me that."

"Solly, if you don't help me out I'll have to go through your dad's bedroom."

I muttered something rude under my breath and hauled my aching body out the window. Aidan was lying flat on his back, staring up at the moon with a dreamy expression. He caught my eye and lifted one eyebrow drolly. My mouth went dry.

Bugger bugger bugger, what am I doing? This is Aidan bastard Amadus, your long-term enemy. You know. God, I'm really screwed. This is exactly the wrong thing to be happening.

don't want to tango with you i'd rather tangle with him i think i'm gonna bash his head in

"Aren't you going to say thank you, Solly?" Aidan was saying, stretching his arms out above his head. "I think I performed quite remarkably!"

"You're drunk with power," I said disapprovingly. "Don't get too carried away. You might rupture your ego or something."

He smirked, stuck out a hand to pull me down and snogged me.

... Whenever I'm talking to him, I keep having the oddest, most terrible feeling that I'm talking to Kendappa, Laree, Juju and Fufu all rolled into one. It is very frightening, especially when we snog.

God. What am I going to do about this?

O God... How am I going to tell Tessy that I'm snogging his dear cousin...

... I am such a bitch. O well.

*sighs* It's been a fucking awful night. Christ.

2002-12-08T11:40:00.000-08:00
That was yesterday.

To continue on with yesterday, yes, we had a lovely party, and no, I didn't get drunk so so there, Juju. And at about 2 this morning I got called out again, and we all know bars close at about 3. And as we were preparing to leave we noticed Natsuya and co. not far away, waiting for us -- for me, to be exact.

Kenneth and the rest blanched, and turned to me imploringly. I pondered my options. Calling a teacher, or any adult down to help me with the fight was out of the question, and I always, always spare a care for my reputation; a youth was the only help. Though bloody Kenneth and co. were too far gone to be of any good.

For some reason, Aidan fucking Amadus floated up in my mind. Oh, why the fuck not, I thought... He's got a better knowledge of Dim-Mak than anyone I know anyway, and he knows how to use the pressure points.

So we called and tried, incompetently, to communicate with his answering machine (bloody prat lives alone). And just as it hit 3:30, with no more stragglers and far beyond the barkeep's last call, Aidan Amadus emerged, heavy-lidded and foggy-eyed, from the gents' toilet. The bartender started when he saw him, but Aidan Amadus wafted past him with a waggle of his fingers to sprawl with utter ease beside me. He closed his eyes, smiled blissfully in my direction and quoted Lord Byron at me:

"So we'll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright."

"You reek of untold perversities," I said, ignoring his little oration. "And you're also drunk."

He cracked open one eye. "I had to slither through the bathroom window like a snake, darling," he informed me. "And the heart must pause to breathe,/And Love itself have rest. How many of them are there, twenty-seven?"

"I will not ask where thou liest low,/Nor gaze upon the spot," I quoted back tartly. "Four that I've noticed so far."

He shot upright, looking delighted. "Splendid!" I looked at him witheringly, thinking that he meant two against four a splendid fight. "No, I mean about the quotes, darling, splendid. Very good." He patted me on the shoulder in a salutory manner. "Cleverest of women, you do your father and mother proud with every word you speak."

"Don't plagiarise," I snapped. "Guy Gavriel Kay, The Lions of Al-Rassan."

"Darling!" He seemed on the verge of embracing me, and I leaned back slightly, rather terrified by this new-and-cheery Aidan Amadus.

To distract him, I said, "I'm flattered that our telepathic link is strong enough to summon you; you're the image of Decadence."

"Oh, indeed," Aidan Amadus drawled, (bonkers, I thought, driving me bonkers with that drawl), "I checked my answering machine and heard a muffled fumbling accompanied by the occasional paint-blistering curse. A vision emerged, of an incompetent Luddite techno-illiterate Russian attempting to communicate with my humble machine from the usual pub. Fascinating, darling, right up there with your allure."

I gave him my worst, up-on-my-high-horse glare. In retrospect I suppose I shouldn't have, seeing as he IS society and all, and it didn't work. He smirked insolently at me, and, spinning me around, slipped his arms around me. With grace and sure dexterity, he slid my knife out from its hidden sheath. I stepped on his foot as he closed my fingers around the blade, drawing blood.

"I wish I hadn't called you for help," I ground out through my teeth. He shouldn't know where I keep my blades.

He shrugged, still smiling. "You did, darling, and we'll go out the way we lived. Flailing, mostly."

"You're sick, Aidan, positively twisted." Fascinated, despite myself.

"Oooh, I'm Aidan now, am I?" He turned a coolly reflective gaze on me. "I could get used to you."

We were outside by now, Kenneth and co. skulking by the entrance as Natsuya made his way out. I felt stupid, overly dramatic, unreal. Surreal, really, how stupid I can be.

"Incidentally," Aidan murmured, "this was a very stupid thing to do. I should hope for you to have better sense."

I thought that he obviously enjoyed playing the knight in shining armour, and said as much. He snorted, but I caught sight of his cheeks flushing in the moonlight.

He's blushing! I made him blush! What a TRIUMPH!!!

Does anyone really want the details of the fight? *sighs* It was painful, and tiring, and I've got quite a few cuts and a whole lot of bruises. At one point near the end I was grappling with Natsuya (I am sublimely delighted that I managed to stab him in the thigh, I hope I severed a few tendons), when a tall figure loomed over us. Aidan watched us silently for a moment (I think that was when I kicked Natsuya's legs out from under him) and then reached out with his long, delicate fingers and pinched Natsuya at the nape of his neck. Natsuya collapsed, and I rolled aside hurriedly and stared up at the sky, breathing hard.

Aidan's face swam into view. "Say Uncle," he said peremptorily, a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Or I'll step on you."

I stared up at him. "Uncle?" I breathed, all sorts of images flickering in front of my eyes.

"Say Uncle, Denise," Aidan insisted, sounding distinctly petulant.

Uncle Solly flamed in my mind with alarming vividness, and I burst into laughter. God, Juju, look what you've done :P

I suppose I ought to thank him. But he's ruined my night tonight, and I'm just getting to that if you'll be patient.

2002-12-08T09:48:00.000-08:00
I've had such a bad night... *moans*

It is so fucking bad that if you are allergic to swear words, go away now. Really.

So, it's two hours since I toddled off to bed after getting d/c-ed (I'm awfully sorry -- did you get to see me saying baibai, Fufu? *huggles*) and I've had two hours of bloody awful sleep. I've woken up feeling itchy and vaguely nauseous and ill, and with a running nose, so I'm going to blog, blog and blog until the water heats up and I can go take a nice comforting bath, some nice honeyed hot milk and try to SNUGGLE in for a sleep. I've got to see Dawn and Fiona off tomorrow, damn it, so I've got to be up at five-bloody-thirty. Screw you, Amadus. Screw you to hell. I hate everyone, and I'm just as angry with all of you for not being online as I am thankful for you not being here.

So now, shut it and listen. This blog entry is going to drag out.

Yesterday was a bad day. It started out well, had all the promising signs of being a good one -- but no, it wasn't. It had tea at the Singapore Kendo Club, the promise of sushi, a visit to the library, a talk to JuJu mon and Laree mon and most out of an outing alone. It's nice to be alone. But no, it all had to screw up.

First, as I was in the bath, rinsing the conditioner from my hair, I realized I'd forgotten to turn on the waterfall at the koi pond and feed the fish, which die easily if they're over- or under-fed.. Throwing back my head for a howl of despair, the conditioner ran into my eyes, rendering it extremely difficult and painful to put the contacts in later.

Secondly, as I got out of the cab to the library, it started raining, a heavy downpour that splattered raindrops as big as plums. As I scrambled for shelter, my stylish, expensive and bloody friction-resistant slippers gave way and skidded on the wet pavement. I lost my equilibrium, made a public stumble and only kept from falling by my quick reflexes. Thank you for kendo training.

And then, as I charged into the library, blinking raindrops off my eyelashes, a little Malay woman looked me up and down with an expression of deepest disdain. It was the day after Hari Raya, and I'd naiively assumed that I'd be left alone for not dressing properly if I was mistaken for a Malay. Apparently not. The old woman turned to Exhibit A, little grandchildren all nicely togged up in Malay traditional outfits, and began lecturing on the evils of Exhibit B: me, the green-contacts-wearing 'Malay' youth in the low-slung dress revealing far too much skin, et cetera et cetera.

I felt a deep blush focus under my skin as a large crowd gathered. Yes, I was in a dress, for once, and a very nice lavender Celia Loe one it was, floaty and with a low-slung neckline. A tea at SKC does --

BLOOOOOOOODY FUUUUUUUUUUUCKING HELL

My chair's just given way!!! It's just collapsed on me, throwing me off! FUCK YOU, O WHATEVER ITALIAN BRAND WE BOUGHT THIS FROM! BE FUCKING GLAD I DON'T HAVE A SPLINTER IN MY ARSE!

Right. A tea at SKC does command a certain style, and, in my rush to get everything done before the library closed, had settled for the virgin Lady Madonna look. I pulled it off quite well, with my hair gathered back and pearls in my ears and a careful elena in my manner. *smirks* Anyhow, the whispering around us as the old woman rambled on in Malay was getting louder, and I was getting steadily more mortified. I don't speak or understand Malay, but I do understand English and people were getting loud. I mustered my courage.

"My name," I said steadily, "is Denise Marie Fernandez Edmundovna." There. Suitably Eurasian, Russian even, that last bit. And I sailed off to the book shelves, where I collapsed in a cold sweat.

So after grabbing my books and getting the hell out of that place I took a bus to the SKC. It was all going very N-word-ly (I am so worked up I nearly TYPED the N-word, apologies, Ju Cee), a N-Word peaceful bus ride as I practised looking suitably ladylike and melancholy. And then as my stop drew closer I toddled to the back door, waiting for the bus to draw to a stop. I took my hand off the railing to brush back some stray tendrils wandering onto my neck and then and THEN and then, demurely downcast gaze widening, subtly painted lips parting to form vituperative curses and THEN

The bloody bus came to a jerky stop, so hard that I literally toppled off the steps and onto the ground.

Nevertheless, twenty minutes later, I was in the SKC office, having spent that twenty minutes repairing the damage in a lavatory. I put my best skills to use, widening demure eyes to look impressed, smiling inanely, making the appropriate noises and motions, parting my lips in breathless anticipation, et cetera, and very carefully ignoring Aidan Amadus.

Nevertheless, I could see and feel Aidan Amadus opposite me, long legs stretched out, crossing his ankles as I crossed my legs, smirking insufferably at me. The teachers, admin staff and a few other senior students were very careful not to bring us into obvious contact, because the animosity between us is far too well known. I do believe in some of the introductory lessons they point us out and go, "See him? He's Aidan Amadus, and he's very good. See her? She's Sol (they cannot seem to pronounce Denise properly, I've been Sol there for 10 years now), and she's very quick. They hate each other." Insert sage nods here from the speaker, and wide-eyed stares from the new kids.

I never ever call Aidan Amadus anything other than Maddy, and I hate the bastard, but I admire him too. He's a foe worthy of my steel, and, incidentally, he's also the one who, as JuJu put it so charmingly, challenged me to a 'duel'. He is also a cousin of our beloved Tessy.

At one point our gazes met, and my jaw stiffened as a thrill of sheer animosity ran up my spine. God, how I hate the bastard.

So, eventually, as they were serving the coffee, it turned out they want me to host introductory lessons, be a mentor, etc. Tutor the new kids, that sort of thing, show as I host the introductory lessons that Kendo Is Fun, Healthy And Maybe Even Glam!!!

"We've already mapped out a schedule," Mr Koh was saying, handing me a cup of black coffee. "You only have to start --"

I smiled brightly. "So it's a given that I'm doing this, then? Can I have some cream and sugar?"

Mr Koh was temporarily flummoxed, thrown off balance. He looked down at the tray, as if expecting the items to materialize. "Uh... I..."

"Never mind," I said, sipping composedly at the coffee. "I can drink it like this."

I heard soft laughter around me, and it annoyed me beyond expression that Aidan Amadus was one of those laughing, was one of those who understood that I always drank my coffee black and I was only requesting said items to needle Mr Koh and to get a little of my own back for springing this on me. Bloody Maddy. I felt my teacher's fingers prodding my neck, just below a certain Dim-Mak point. Get it over and done with, he was saying.

I made a very ingenuous, very sweet refusal, mainly by making myself far too ingenuous and hard-working to take it on. I suppose it's not very nice to manipulate people so, but really, it's so fun, and so easy. Christ, JuJu's Draco tendencies must be rubbing off on me or something.

As I made a hasty exit, sauntering towards the hall where a party was on, a hand seized my arm. Expecting it to be my teacher, I turned with a smile on my face. "HelLO, Sensei -- oh, fuck you, Maddy."

Aidan Amadus smirked at me, insufferable, gorgeous, fucking horrible.

"What is it now, Maddy?" I inquired pleasantly. "Do you possibly have a hard-on for a slug to the jaw? I'll be happy to oblige, you know."

He spoiled it by laughing at me. Laughing at me! "You know," he said, "that doesn't sound or look right on you."

Thrown off balance, I wondered nastily out loud what the poor child was babbling on about now. Never mind that he's four months younger than Tessy.

He had the audacity to laugh again. "You're all wrong, dear," he said. "You look like too much of a lady to be mouthing such things. Pearls on your ears and neck, your hair bound up, darling, you're much too precious to be rude." He eyed me lazily as he drawled his words. In fact, I thought, he doesn't actually drawl, he just elongates all his vowels because he knows it'll drive me bonkers.

I spat out some vituperative curse, making him laugh even more, and pivoted. He caught up with me as I stalked towards the hall, keeping pace with me easily. "You're a cream puff, darling," he said almost affectionately. That's right, Denise, he wants to drive you bonkers, by being civil, ignore him.

We continued on our way in this manner, with him laughing softly at almost everything I said (and practically without any malice, to my utter horror), until, right outside the hall, we met Natsuya and his cronies.

There are times when I hate Natsuya more than Aidan Amadus.

I really don't want to talk about how I got into a fight with them, because it was remarkably stupid. Suffice to say that a bargain was struck that later that day, a physical fight would commence.

Aidan Amadus smirked at me.

I hissed at him, and ran towards the hall. Fucking bastard, I thought.

2002-12-05T11:41:00.000-08:00
Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!
JERRY: Tonight on the Jerry Springer show we have a particularly interesting episode! Sol is here to finally confess something to a long-time friend of his Juju. So everyone please put your hands together for Sol!
Jerry: Okay, now Sol you're here to talk about someone aren't you?
You: Yes.
Jerry: And what is this other persons name?
You: Tessensohn.
The crowd SQUEALS with delight.
Jerry: Okay, okay, well Tessensohn, is actually here tonight -
The crowd SQUEALS.
Jerry: But first we have a surprise for you Sol, because as it happens there is someone else here to see YOU! So let's bring out... Laree!
You: What the HELL!!!
Out of nowhere you pull out a sword. Laree reaches for the chair. Out of the shadows Snape appears.
Snape: Wait everybody wait!
Jerry: Yes, everybody let's just calm down for a moment here. First tell us why you're here Laree.
Laree: Because I saw Sol and Snape making out at Orgasmic Paradise!
The crowd goes absolutely INSANE.
Snape: That's a lie! I was home watching The Eight Immortals!
Jerry: (raising his hands) Hold on, hold on, I'm missing the problem here...what exactly IS the problem Laree?
Laree: Because I've recently been taking part in a sexual relationship with Juju who has recently become engaged to Snape.
The crowd hollers, screams and whoops in an orchestra of orgasmic excitement.
Jerry: Okay, okay. Well why don't we bring Juju out here because Sol had something that they needed to tell them anyway about... Tessensohn that's right!
Juju: (enters onto stage and saunters over towards you) What's the deal? I saw you outside getting it on with Tessensohn! You know I'm how I feel about Tessensohn!.
Snape: (screams) What? Why the hell did you ask me to marry you if you're in love with Tessensohn!
Juju: Because I knew that I could never have Tessensohn. But Sol promised me that they'd never hook up out of respect for my feelings!
Snape: What about respect for MY feelings!
Laree walks suddenly across the stage, embracing Juju.
Laree: Don't worry baby, you don't need any of them now that you have me.
Again the crowd SQUEALS.
Snape: Oh my God! Are you SICK!
Snape runs across the room and wraps their arms around you tightly.
Snape: Sol take me away from all of this!
You: You see? That's the thing...I'm...well, I'm married...
The crowd does its bit.
Snape: Married?
You nod.
Snape: Who the hell are you married to? When...when did this happen? I don't understand!
You: The other day. In Vegas. I'm married to Tessensohn.
Juju: (screaming) WHAT!!!
Jerry: (grinning widely, makes an enquiry) So...did you have a nice wedding night?
Tessensohn: (stepping back out onto center stage) Well we had sex 789 times if that's what you mean.
The crowd squeals.
Jerry: Okay, okay. So let me get this all straight... Sol is married to Tessensohn who Juju has secretly been in love with for years and years. Now Juju has recently become engaged to Snape who was recently spotted kissing Sol in the Orgasmic Paradise. Now on top of this Laree has just admitted to being in a sexual relationship with Juju.
Tessensohn: That's right Jerry.
Jerry: (looking sternly into the camera) It is times like these that one has to wonder, whether or not these people are aware that they are quite clinically insane. Perhaps we should be spending more on psychiatric health funds in this country, perhaps we should just ban Vegas to cut down on impulse marriages. Perhaps I should get a new job. Thanks for watching folks it's been great but for now...it's goodnight.
Queue cheesy background music and fade to black.

... Since Laree and Juju did these and posted them I felt rather obliged to do one too. I'm becoming a conformist, God 'elp me.

Incidentally, I think mine makes the most sense.

2002-12-05T11:19:00.000-08:00
O, joy. I'm stuck at MENSA tomorrow for a lecture. Wonder if Dawnzeh and Fionzeh will come along?

Tomorrow is one of the last outings with them for a week. -______- I'm overreacting, I am, but they're my best friends and just knowing that they're there for a chat every two days or so is reassuring. And really, there's no one else half as fun as them in their own way. T______T I'm not half so comfortable with anyone as I am with them, and I don't get along as well.

Except for Audrey. Thank GOD Audrey's not going to Japan -_- She'll make things almost normal.

Looks like I'm staying online, P and Dada are on. :D:D *delighted* Screw MENSA. I'll sleep in the auditorium.

2002-12-05T10:58:00.000-08:00
Dawn and Fiona leave for Japan on the 9th. *moans feebly* Abandoning me to the mercy of humdrum Singapore! And they won't be back for a good week, too. I suppose I'll have to do something constructive to occupy myself. Get a job, maybe, an interesting one; though I can't really think of one that will interest me since I've done most of the available ones.

And I'm huuuuuuuungry and rather sloshed and there's no more dried fruit. T___________________T

Had rather an interesting time today and yesterday online, being stupid. Juju is extremely bad at being stupid, really, but Laree and I seem to be rather adept at it. *sniggers* Was talking to George and co. about that today; apparently you have to be extremely clever to be intentionally stupid. Heavens, does that make Laree smarter than Juju?!

Good grief. Tiara, one of my dearest friends, has just howled "I'll teach you to be happy! I'll teach YOUR grandmother to suck eggs!!!"

...

vaguely disturbed

Oh, and Selamat Hari Raya to you all! I suppose it's the influence of living in SG; this religious festival (even though it's not mine) makes me immensely happy. In fact, it imbues me with a sense of relief. Now I can eat in the day and dress as I usually do without getting glared at. -______- I have nothing against Malays, my best friends are Malays, but I really dislike being disapproved of for no real reason. People mistake me all too often for a Malay, and during this holy period of Ramadan Muslims must fast from dawn to dusk and be as religious as possible. I'm a Catholic; I eat in the day, I wear sleeveless shirts and my hair is dyed. No; I don't look like a sweet Muslim girl at all.

In fact, unlike a good Muslim girl, I've been snogged today by more people than I care to count. @___@ It was a good day though. *imbued with mirth*

Gorsh (courtesy of Seph, that word), I am tired. Pastles has just come online, but I'm toddling off. I'm bloody sloshed, and I'm enervated.

Baibai.

2002-12-01T04:51:00.000-08:00
It has been an interesting day.

Not good, maybe, but interesting.

Today was the day when they decided on J's (J is my recently deceased cousin, shan't reveal his name here) official tombstone. They are wasting an awful lot of money on it, and the only thing I really approve of on the huge marble slab are my own words and the languages they are in. And the Bible quote, because I selected it.

The rest, I should think, are all figurative crap.

The burial, of course, has already taken place (they used an ordinary, cheap tombstone at the time) and the coffin was beautiful; polished mahogany, with lovely curling designs on the lid and the side, really too pretty to be confined to the earth. Rather like J, in that sense.

So we toddled down to Singapore Casket, my father and I, in this horrible sort of expectant silence, since we're not at all on good terms after the Melbourne spat, and gave our best furrowed-brow sympathetic smiles and soft murmurs and condolences. I must say that over the past two weeks I've become a much better public figure. This sort of thing does teach you.

Typically, J's parents wanted some sort of cherub angel hovering over the tombstone, and an inscription reading something about how he was their baby angel who left before his time was up, blatherblatherblather. Immensely tacky, really, and for once I was forced to agree with Daddy Dearest about how some people have no class. It's patently obvious that they're all on severe guilt trips, and I am Not Amused. J might be if he was here though.

Father pleaded a business lunch (Ha! On a Sunday!) and left. He must really have been frazzled; he'd stick it out and laugh at them later, usually, but all my relatives are oddly superstitious. 'S funny, really; I think it comes from all the different cultures and religions we have. J's father is Jewish, after all.

I have gotten better at subtle suggestions. The trick is to inquire gently, so that they'll think it's their own idea. In the end, though, they've settled for using a small poem I crafted (I do dislike writing poetry; I can appreciate it but writing it, really, let others do the work) painstakingly, and for translating it into all the languages he spoke. Which, of course, is no easy feat, since he spoke a good deal. I do believe they're having trouble with the Hebrew.

I manipulated them into suggesting that I do the Mandarin one, though. It's coming along quite well.

They would insist on a Bible quotation. So I flipped open my Bible, intending to turn to the Psalms, but it opened to a page a little before the beginning of the Psalms. The book of Job.

Answer me if you can. Prepare your arguments. You and I are the same in God's sight, both of us were formed from clay. So you have no reasons to fear me; I will not overpower you.

Job 33: 5 - 8

Perfect. Absolutely perfect. It was the only thing I really insisted on. J must be spinning in his grave now; rolling around in laughter.

It had worked out all very nicely, marble and a beautiful font, when, very unfortunately, one of the first lads I ever had a crush on appeared. I haven't had direct contact with him for ages, really. It wasn't very nice to be alone with him in a room, discussing the wording of the poem. I had forgotten that, a very long time ago, I had come here for Aunt Tessa's funeral, and fallen madly in love with the funeral director's son's good looks. I had seen him around, this Tessensohn boy, around the Eurasian community, as one is prone to, but never really bothered to speak to him. I very rarely speak to anyone there, and he is a prat.

"Denise, if you don't stop staring you're going to go cross-eyed," he said. I suspected him of wanting to smile.

"I wasn't - I was staring?" I inquired with an innocence of which only the very guilty are capable. He grinned at me, cheerily.

"You've got jam on your mouth," I offered, almost sourly. He has white teeth. I like white teeth, but I haven't had a real crush on anyone for a good long time and I do not like crushes being resuscitated. He arched an eyebrow, and my mouth felt a bit parched. Crushes should not have elegant eyebrows (does he pluck them, you think?) - it is off-putting.

"You've been staring at me for the last quarter hour because I've got blackberry jam on my mouth?" he replied, his voice slightly dry. I thought, with glimmerings of vague horror at my own inanity, that if I looked up 'droll' in the dictionary his photograph would be there - with his left eyebrow arched. I hate people who do that, because I can't. I should hate him. "Would you'd care to get rid of it for me, Denise? Lick it off, perhaps?"

In my mind, crushes are not supposed to direct good ideas to me. They can have good ideas, of course, they have to, or they wouldn't be worthy of being a crush. I have never licked one of my crushes in my life, but really, that isn't a reason not to start. When I leaned over and licked the corner of his mouth I wasn't expecting it to taste of anything other than jam. Unfortunately he also tasted of cinnamon and toffee -- toffee, which I really like. So when my tongue was back where it belonged, and he had put his eyes back in his head and stopped clutching at his chair in apoplectic shock, I stood up and prepared to leave. Possibly to procure some toffee.

I was not prepared for him to yank me back down (rudely, I thought!) in a rage. "What the hell are you playing at, Fernandez?" he snapped. "D'you think this is funny?"

"Do I think what is funny?" I inquired, slightly off-balance with the sugar rush and the licking bit and the loud, incessant 'this is not what crushes do' record going round in his brain. And the fact that he had called me Fernandez. I hate being called Fernandez. And he had acquired a lovely accent.

"You - you licking me," Tessensohn hissed. "Is this - this is about that rumour about me fancying you, isn't it? I'm not laughing here. I'm not expecting you to feel the same... that's no reason to go round licking me." And at that moment I paused and had to reconsider quite a few things I had set in stone some time ago, because apparently crushes are supposed to be called something else when they are reciprocated.

Aren't they?

2002-11-25T11:28:00.000-08:00

Which ArchAngel are you most like?
brought to you by Quizilla
I *keep* getting him. I do feel so oversized now.

2002-11-25T11:24:00.000-08:00

Which woman of Shakespeare are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Since I'm planning this illicit trip to Oz, I suppose I do qualify.

2002-11-25T11:21:00.000-08:00

Which Wanda Polak girl are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
I *do* so like this!

2002-11-25T11:19:00.000-08:00

Which gawth type camgirl are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
But this *is* nice ^^

2002-11-25T11:17:00.000-08:00

What type of vampire are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
Was hoping to avoid this -________-

2002-11-25T11:13:00.000-08:00

Which high class ho are you?
brought to you by Quizilla
I like. Minus the broken Angleesky.

2002-11-25T11:10:00.000-08:00

What's your sexual appeal?
brought to you by Quizilla
Really. *snickers*

Pondering a solo trip to Melbourne. Hohum. Need Ju's help.

Advice, anyone?

2002-11-12T04:32:00.000-08:00
Today was a really, really, really bad day.

I shall not be posting on this blog anymore, or any other blog for that matter.

A few last sentiments:

I found a perfect card for Juju, which drudges up a bit of joy in a sore day. I hope it's still there when I go to post her letter tomorrow. Sorry I didn't post it earlier.

Deepest apologies to Hanase about the AnMit issue, deepest, deepest, deepest apologies. I am sorry. Awfully, dreadfully so.

I shan't be online so much, I think, and some of you are going to receive a notice about that. I shall come online in (my) mornings, in order to be able to have a good chat with Juju (sorry I wasn't online today, Ju, missed you dreadfully), and other random times, but really a lot less.

Is Ken around? I'm concerned about her.

I would appreciate it if everyone left me alone for a bit. I'll approach you on MSN. Otherwise, please bugger off for a while.

has nasty niggling feeling that Fufu, as Fufu always does regardless of whether Sol uses a nick that reads 'GO AWAY' or not, will probably still come up and huggle Sol, and/or go (K)

reflects that she rather adores Fufu, partly because of that

I'm tired, and I'm angry, and I'm depressed and I'm hurting and I desperately want to be left alone with some understanding. Please respect that, as well as my decision to become a subjective online recluse.

This
Blog
Is
Hereafter

Dead.

2002-11-10T22:39:00.000-08:00
Plus, I had a wet dream yesterday. Those are always good.

I always, always, always have fantastic wet dreams. Really, I do. They always, always involve women with me, and they always, always turn kinky... Heeheehee...

really happy now, thinking about it

2002-11-10T22:35:00.000-08:00
I saw Juju's picture.

She looks rather like a girl who used to bully me, and that's quite terrifying. The thing is, I've always been one of those twee, pro-active kids who generally makes sucking up to the teacher look perfectly normal and good. -_- I've gotten quite good at it.

People like Juju tend to see right thru that... -______-

2002-11-10T22:30:00.000-08:00
Once again!

Back. I couldn't sleep last night, and woke up feeling thoroughly awake and enervated several times through the night. The worst thing was that when I first dozed off I spent some time occupied in a dream with Laree and Tentacled!Juju in it. Oh, the horror! The dream ended when my mother, in the dream, commented that Laree seemed like a nice girl; the sheer shock of hearing 'Laree' and 'nice' in the same sentence shattered any semblance of slumber.

Then, just as I was about to doze off again, Uncle Solly needs you! popped up with alarming clarity, floating on a lurid rainbow banner streaked with elongated smirking Juju (? I don't know what she looks like) faces and goofily grinning Laree faces... Ergh...

I did NOT need that picture at 3 bloody a.m.... Burst out with a howl of laughter and buried my face in my pillow to stifle it. Drooled all over while I was at it too. Probably going to break out.

I need to buy new bras... You see the things we think of at 3 bloody am? Bras. Of all things. Bras. -_-

Anyway, I was thinking of what certain people would recommend by way of bras.

Laree: Padded ones... They're the only things that can make my chest look like anything other than a washboard with two peas on top...
Jucee: You're such a wank, not being able to buy your bras quickly.
Tiara: Edible underwear, because you never know when you need a snack. (Tiara would prolly wink at this point and do that 'Asha Gill' gun thingy she picked up from Zaki.) And even better, if that noisy kid beside you in the supermarket is wailing, just break off a piece and pop it in his mouth and everyone will be grateful to you!

Heeheehee... I ponned school today, and it occurs to me that I really really miss Huseinah, Tiara, Hannah and co... Not to mention Dawn, Nana and Audrey; generally all the sweetheart school friends. T.T

Which reminds me, I rang Audrey and Dawn at about 6:20 this morning to inform them I wasn't coming, so no point in waiting around for me like we all usually do for each other. (I'm quite terrified of Fiona's mother, I think she thinks I'm a Bad Influence on her daughter.)

You'd think that when having to be at school by 7:30, people like Dawn and Audrey who live about half an hour away (minimum) would be awake by 6:20. No, instead Dawn's brother projected a long slow yawn through the phone and muttered something unintelligible before slamming it down, and Audrey, who picked up the phone, told me that "Audrey was still sleeping" and slammed it down promptly.

20 minutes later, Audrey called back.

"Hey, you crazy woman, what are you doing calling me so early?" she snarled in usually slightly petulant but permanently venomous Audrey tones. She's rather like Juju, now I think about it.

I explained.

"Huh." She snorted, and went on a long tirade about how she'd been the only one awake, bah bah bah. I fell off my bed laughing.

At length, she said she had Mr Connor's class first and hung up. I don't understand why everyone is so afraid of Mr Connor. Alright, I do, but he actually knows me so I'm more or less safe. ^____^ (Vice President! Vice President!)

*cheers*

2002-11-09T01:51:00.000-08:00
My last entry is obsolete!

Well, back to blogging again ^^;; It occurs to me that I don't really like blogging, I don't really like broadcasting my thoughts to all out there (though I don't mind doing it to some of you on a personal basis) but whenever I do start on it I can't stop. And I yamble, ramble and amble through my various grouches and biases.

Yesterday was a good day -- well, sort of! I was so horribly busy yesterday that I couldn't come online and send Kendappa an e-mail, which I've done today. I do hope she won't be too upset... Though, looking at your blog, Dada, you do seem rather unhappy. :( Check your e-mail.

And it turned out that another kakak (sister in Malay) had her birthday not long ago -- Kazumi! (I rather like that, Kaka the Kakak. ^^) Her birthday was on November 7th and I, ignorant brat that I am, missed it. Totally.

Missing the birthdays of these two kakaks is a feeling akin to being plunged into a vat of cold pie, like having a table of my favourite food (a Singaporean dish called laksa) being overrun by dozens of monkeys (little Larees), like a game of netball. I shall console myself with spending a great deal of time on their presents; hopefully, in half a week I can get them all done. Dada's is almost done ^^ But Juju's birthday is also coming up, and I must start too...

But I digress. Yesterday was a good day, ironically -- I got green highlights in my hair that the hairstylist said will fade to blue after about ten washes, and then after some time to white. I rather like that idea! They spent an awful lot of time on my hair, though; I was in the salon for about five hours. It was worth it, though, just for the comfortable feeling inside that comes from knowing that my hair is in places alternately green, red, yellow, orange, brown but mainly black. It's a very comfortable feeling indeed.

The hairstylist had hair that was entirely coloured -- it had clumps of blue, pink, white, yellow and green. His name was Sky (Sky!), he was gay and his date dropped by the salon once to inquire if he was free. Sky, who happened to be covering my scalp with bleach at the moment, dropped his brush and leaked bleach all down my blue Mango shirt when he saw the man. -_- I'd find it sweet, if only I hadn't paid so much for that shirt. But Sky was very nice ^^ And he gave me plenty of advice, and was very kind. And sweet. And very obviously gay.

He had that rather abstract, forlorn look in his eyes that is typical of some homosexuals, the look summarized by: 'when am I ever going to find a true partner?!' My cousin has that look... -____-

And then later, I went for tuition with Dawn. Dawn came late and assumed that I'd gone on ahead because she was late when in reality I was even later, and went off to tuition first. And I, who thought the tuition was being held in block 4-something-7 (Dawn had originally told me 417, but I couldn't recall), blundered off to 407, went up to the 22nd floor, found that it wasn't the right one and repeated the same process with blocks 417, 427, 437 and 447. None of those were the right ones -- no, not even 417.

All this involved walking around for about 45 minutes.

So eventually I blundered back to 417, and spent a bit of time glaring resentfully at it. When I was sure that no one was looking, I shouted "DAWN! You arse, where are you?"

No response.

Then, as I turned, I spotted this wrinkled old man staring at me, with this highly intent, focussed stare, the kind that when used everyone else goes quiet. And, joy of joys, I recognized him as the security guard of the block that tuition is held in!

I could have kissed him.

But I didn't, and I toddled up to tuition, and hissed at Dawn and settled down quite amicably to work. Dawn went to fetch water for both of us, after a great deal of argument over who would do it next time, and I, being quite dehydrated after all that depressing walking, finished mine quite quickly. Thinking that Dawn wouldn't notice until it was too late, I poured the water from the cup next to mine (Dawn was on my left) and drank it down.

Dawn looked up, gave me an incredulous look and started laughing.

"What?" I said suspiciously. "Did you spit in it, Dawn?"

She shook her head, chortling gleefully.

"Did you slip something in it then?"

Another shake.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing," she managed.

"What's wrong, then?" I gave her best Evil Eye and gulped the rest down.

"Er, that's not her water," said a voice beside my right ear.

Enter the .................

Turns out that it belonged to the boy next to me... Stupid arse... Didn't help that Dawn and I had been laughing at him earlier because he had been talking into this mini-recorder about equations, or so we thought -- later we found out that the funny device was his handphone, and that he'd been complaining about the over-tall girl with the funny hair who looks more like a teacher than a student to his friend...

Death to all bastards!

Have decided to officially claim post of AnMit no Miko; official seishis have turned out to be Laree (as if that wasn't the most duh thing possible!) and Kazumi. Possible candidates include JuJu (whom I had a very meaningful conversation with regarding AnMit yesterday!), Fufu and Dada... I rather think Hanase's not going to want to take up the post. After all, she did say that she would take up, er, violent measures if I tried to further convert her...

Generally the entire circle of friends is welcome to apply ;-) There isn't much to do at all, I don't expect much fics since I myself will at most venture a co-fic, and all they really have to do is promote the pairing whenever the topic is brought up...

I wonder if I really should take up flame_sol@hotmail.com?

2002-10-22T06:39:00.000-07:00
Tea tastes disgusting with bubblegum.

Sausages are good. But sodium causes water retention.

Three of the guys that make up Romanian band Sistem are beautiful. *dribbles* And I am glad that I got into contact with one of them!

*dribbles some more*

To elaborate more on that, I went to the Esplanade with Dawn and Audrey. There was this Romanian band called Sistem there (see www.sistem.rol.ro ); they use industrial steel canisters and sparks to put up a thoroughly fabulous show. At one point two of them threw off their shirts; Dawn and Audrey cowered as I whooped.

They were very very good-looking! ^______^ I think I remain a bit too bedazzled to really digest that. I am very glad I went up to Florin (one of the best-looking, with the reddest hair I've ever seen and a goatee -- pity he was shorter than me) at the end and gave him an admittedly moderately expensive Mother Mary pendant that I've had all my life. It dates back to 1830; something of a very cheapskate family heirloom, which is why I didn't mind giving it away. He was very charming... Heeheehee... I'm delighted to be able to announce that he proclaimed both the pendant and I beautiful... *snerks*

(Watch the ego blooming!)

He really was very nice about it, very romantic and very gentlemanly. For the first time in my life I begin to think that it's a pity I find it absolutely impossible to play the blushing young maiden; possibly if I hadn't been quite so confident and smooth he would have been a bit more, er, mush-worthy? I wonder ^_^

Nevertheless; Sistem is an extremely talented band which makes beautiful, head-banging music and if possible you should try and obtain the CD. I'm glad I've got it. Check out their site -- it seems to be entirely in Romanian (I don't think it's Romansh, is it?). If anyone will be able to translate the site for me, I will be infinitely grateful because I know, well, one or two words of Romanian and that is it.

I've been picking up the bones of the Malay language -- let me show off a bit of what I've learnt. Of course, it may not be perfect but it's close enough ^^ I suspect Lali wlil be delighted by this.

[May you get stuck in a lift] translates as [Harap-harap awak terperang kap di dalam lif.]

[May you trip and fall down an escalator] translates as [Moga awak jatuh tersung kar di atas tangga bergerak.]

[You watch porn on TV] roughly translates as [Tonton gambaran lucah di televisyen]. I'm not very sure about this, about whether it's 'watching porn on tv' or 'you watch porn on tv'.

[You have a banana] translates as [Awak ada pisang].

^________________^

Aren't you proud of me?

I'm not going to delve deeper into Malay; it's a little too close to home to interest me very much. I will not remain in Singapore for any longer than I have to (any guess as to where I may end up will be warmly welcomed and entirely ignored). I think that since I have a little free time, I will take up German. French is gargling, Spanish is beyond me as of yet and no one will teach me Latin (and I do need a teacher for Latin). And Romanian, well, will be taken up after German. With luck.

*laughs*

2002-10-15T06:44:00.000-07:00
And I hate liquorice. Or is it licorice? Erk. Never mind. -__-

2002-10-15T06:42:00.000-07:00
It occurred to me that I haven't been taking the L/L issue seriously at all. Right, I was aware that Lali wasn't happy with Liete, but I never actually realized that Lali disliked her.

That idea makes me thoroughly
o.O
O.o
o.O
O.o

(Fufu, you are perfectly entitled to sue me on the grounds of plagiarism, but I'm telling you, I have no money!)

I love Laree dearly, but Lali is awfully pig-headed. It's one of her endearing qualities, I suppose, but Kazumi was absolutely right, Laree is pigheaded and she does need to sort things out.

Liete is a dear, too; I haven't been seeing her that much recently, but she has a characteristic care for others that endears her to me very thoroughly. I should like to see her getting along with Laree. *sighs* I suppose both of them are at fault? I wonder.

I'm not going to sit on the fence -- I'm going to prod both of them along into agreeing!

*laughs*

Anyhow; Kaka was asking for the brothel entry? Right, you see the link that you click on to comment on this stuff? You see the [+] sign beside it? Click on that and you get to the archives. Brothel entry is swimming about there.

^_______^

2002-10-15T05:57:00.000-07:00
And why do individual thanks to reviewers take up half of the bloody fic?!

2002-10-15T05:55:00.000-07:00
Oh God, I've started say 'yesh'. How twee. How Lali!

Yech.

*snerks*

*waddles*

2002-10-15T05:53:00.000-07:00
Just looking at the summaries of some pieces of fanfiction nowadays gives me a headache.

-_____- Faelyn and Raylee. Oh, good grief. Who in their right mind would give their kids such names? Certainly not Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. -______________- ERGH.

And spare me from all the ooh harry luvs his lil drakey poo so sweet R/R nonsense. Drives me up the wall.

-___________-

*goes back to feeling content*

Oh, yesh, Dada, about using Snape on that awful boy... *snerks* I think we would rather keep Snape for ourselves.

2002-10-15T05:48:00.000-07:00
*mutters*

Well, finally I have all the free time I want. Almost. ^_____^

The Esplanade is up! (For non-Singaporeans, the Esplanade is a durian-like structure housing the centre of Singapore's arts scene.) I regret not attending the opening, especially since we got invited. -___- It looked very very impressive. Shall have to visit soon.

I've been sent for counselling. Can you believe that?! That arse of a kid Michael dug into my stuff and found one of my NC-17 Harry/Draco fics and of course he had to stick the NC-17 part up on the board and label it as mine. I'm not very angry anymore, I've gone resigned. I think I just burst out in fits of curses occasionally and hit things.

The bloody bastard of a kid! Counselling!

Speaking of which, I had better keep this blog private. -_____- Having friends like Laree and Pastles will probably land me up in worse crap.

*snerkles*

Too content to blog much today ^ __________^

2002-10-10T05:17:00.000-07:00
And an ode in honour of the odious little arse!

It's taken from http://www.gthhh.com/hymnal/gthymnal.htm -- a fabulous site, with all the weirdest songs you can imagine. Go take a look at the 'Hitler Only Had One Ball' song and the other, er, fascinating songs.

He Ought to Be Publically Pissed Upon

(Done to humble a hasher,

usually after a down down song,
but sometimes as the down down song.)

He (she) ought to be publicly pissed upon.
He (she) ought to be publicly shot (Bang Bang!)
He (she) ought to be tied to a urinal
And kept there to fester and rot.
(Sometimes mooning the recipient)
(If used as a down down song:)
Drinking down, down, down, down,
Down, down, down, down,
Down, down, down, down,
Down, down, down, down.
(Continue until down down is finished,
or go into "Why are you waiting".)

2002-10-10T05:06:00.000-07:00
Horrors! Laree, the evil hag, has accused me of being dirty-minded! Loud-mouthed! And opinionated!

Well, opinionated I can't deny, but dirty-minded? Loud-mouthed? A genetical impossibility, since all my relatives and I are gentle, mild-mannered people who occasionally manage to get through a few hours without howling at someone. There. Gentle, mild-mannered and sweet. To a tee.

*snerkles*

Everyone should follow Fufu's example and d/l Fatal Relations! It's huge fun, and it's hardly likely to make you lot blush. In any case, few things are likely to make you people blush. -_-

Well, if I didn't know this before I am dead certain now: teaching is definitely not a good career choice for me. MENSA has been making me mentor this group of four-to-ten-year-old little brats for the past few months; basically I sit down and talk to them about literature and linguistic, bla bla bla, help with with their homework if I can, etc.. It's quite easy, if they're willing to listen; one can babble on about transliteration and the effect of post-modernism bla bla bla. Ho, I realize it sounds wonderfully intellectual and all but the fact is that I'm almost entirely ignorant of the subjects myself. Unfortunately one kid has realized this.

He is an absolute brat, this kid! Everyone cannot stand him; he hits you with spitballs, turns your notes into airplanes, asks the most inane (and occasionally insightful) questions and generally drives you up the wall. Today he asked me 'what size and colour my brassiere was? For large-breasted women like you I hear Wacoal is good' -- the little ASS! The utter, absolute little BASTARD had the audacity to prod the left side of my chest and remark on its texture! And he's got some crap Striptease song that he sings everytime he sees me, and he looks up my skirt! God, I hate that boy!

Right. Rant done. I suppose I'm lucky, in a sense; whenever Emma (a fellow mentor) comes in to tutor them, he prods her arse and advises her to wear a girdle. And makes nasty comments about her assets.

Where does the kid get all this knowledge?! Is he a closet gay, or worse, a closet transvestite? He is filthy rich, and I bet his allowance would be more than enough to purchase huge amounts of lingerie... Doesn't matter that he's ten, he's a real arse...

-_____- His name is Michael. What an arse of a kid; amazingly enough, Emma and I discovered that another mentor, Ann, actually likes him. She announced this to us quite proudly today.

We stared at her.

"Really," said Emma eventually. "He flicks spitballs and gum into my hair."
"He lifts my skirts when I'm not looking," I said flatly. "And he snipped the back off Emily's skirt the other day."

Ann beamed. "Yes," she said. "Isn't he a precocious sweetheart?"

I absolutely cannot account for the taste of some people. It's disgusting. If I ever adopt a kid, I will snip out his or her tongue if I ever catch him/her spitting. ERGH.

I wonder if I could plead self-defence if I did that to him?

2002-10-09T03:50:00.000-07:00
Hmm once again. In case anyone wants to view my past entries (as of today there have been about three past entries that you can't see here) you have to hit the [+] sign beside the comments link. I like having it that way; it's beautifully discreet, and fits in perfectly with the layout.

More about the blogs I was poking around: a lot of them are really expressive of the owner's personality, like Hanase's for example, with that wide face stretched across the top and even the 'shut your trap you bitch' (go take a look yourself, the link's at the side). Afuna's is classy and modernist, and Kendappa's, well, Kendappa's is beautiful. It's soft, feminine and very very pretty. Highly recommended.

As for me, well, I like my blog even if I didn't design it. ^^;;

Speaking of Kendappa and Hanase; thanks to Hanase's comments I rather suspect that Kendappa and Hanase would make excellent porn stars... *blinks* Don't you think so? Hanase is exactly the kind of person who would make a great bondage freak, and Kendappa has the come-hither personality exactly suitable for it.

Not to mention Kendappa's lovely bosom ^^;

And Liete's, too, of course. *laughs* Even if I haven't spoken to Liete for ages I retain my claim of loving her bosom.

I wonder how the rest of you would qualify as porn stars?

2002-10-08T20:11:00.000-07:00
Have been poking around people's blogs. Hmm.

Why doesn't Star have a comment system?!?! All of the rest of us do!

And Ling's blog is fairly empty. As Fufu would say,

o.O
O.o
o.O
O.o

Right. *determinedly* Back to studying.

2002-10-08T19:38:00.000-07:00
Actually, come to think of it... The reason that I get to be the bloody Miko is that no one else wants to be it... *laughs*

Should set up an e-mail address for flames. flame_sol@hotmail.com or something like that.

2002-10-08T19:37:00.000-07:00
Right. I've done it. I've stepped into the world of porn.

Of course, this will seem tame compared to what Laree and co. do, isn't it? *laughs* Alright. Tiara was telling me about this game called Fatal Relations that she 'accidentally' downloaded (wahahaha, of course, Wawa, how accidentally could it have been?) that was extremely hentai. It involves this young man who is the adopted son of this bondage-freak woman with five daughters. Basically you choose which room to go into and, er, you get the picture.

Naturally, Tiara having piqued my interest, I went off and downloaded it.

It's good fun! You can download it on KaZaA, or any such network. *laughs* Well, for a (currently) more-or-less straight girl like me it is good fun... Can't speak for the rest of you...

It just, er, changed my mind about becoming a porn star.

And speaking of which -- if Laree, Star and co. (all the absolute sweethearts who have put up with me for so long) will still have me, I would adore being AnMit no Miko. Unfortunately, I think I'm really undeserving -- they have put in so much more work that they should get the post.

O well. *laughs* Will talk to them about it. What do you think?

2002-10-05T14:35:00.000-07:00
Another thing I realized I forgot to mention.

Yes; I am in the midst of planning to become a nun. In fact, I've already started receiving lessons.

What a shock, I realize!

But please; it doesn't change me a bit, not really, I'm still stuck-up and horribly sarcastic and a real arrogant prick, and I'm still lovable. I'm still sincere with you.

How did this come about?

I saw a lot of churches in England. I had a lot of religious experiences, where I knew -- oh, Lord, I knew so clearly -- that God was touching me, and more than once it moved me to my knees and to tears. In such old churches, in the face of such ancient, powerful belief held by so many before you -- how can you not believe? That set the foundation for it, and then I believed.

Sometimes it seems so odd. I suppose I don't really worship God respectfully. I don't automatically add a capital G or L when saying God or Lord. It may be just a phase.

For now, though, it's got a pretty strong hold on me, and it's strong enough to scare me and break my heart. I wonder if this is what you felt, Kendappa? Do you know, Ken, that I always remembered that conversation we had so early on when I asked you how you kept believing and you said laughingly that it was so deeply rooted in you that you left it and you came back?

Never quite forgot that. Thought about it a good deal.

Is it inevitable? It's more comfortable, at least, and more secure. Isn't that what we all gun for in the end, anyway, security.

And as for the nunhood thing, well, it is very appealing to me now. It gives me strength. Ideals. It's a good way to take out this devotion I have in me right now, it's something that's being somehow pressured on me by myself. It is just... the answer for now.

Talk to you more about this later. I'm just as disturbed.

What do you think, really? Oh, I shan't change about the hentainess and all that, and I shall never be virtuous in the least. I wonder how I'll manage. I'm not saying I _will_ become a nun, you know, just that it's settled as quite likely. They're teaching me too.

Hell, it'll get me out of marrying Akira Cezanne!

*laughs*

I *still* love you lot. What do you make of that? And after a few hours, too! Isn't it amazing how I find it easy to do what others obviously don't?

I'm kidding, I'm kidding -- everyone loves you guys!

*waddles off*

2002-10-05T14:18:00.000-07:00
Well, this blog is fairly obsolete now, isn't it? I haven't updated it in aaaaaages (oooh, how lovely it is to drag it out) and I don't suppose I will again for a good deal of time. Might as well blab pretentiously for a bit to satisfy my own ego.

I visited Babble today, and, as has become the norm for me, could just about count the number of posters I personally knew on one hand. *laughs* Doesn't that sound awfully self-pitying? There's nothing much to say, I think, because I've said most of this already at one time or another. I'm just sorry that I haven't been around to respond to the posts that have been made by people I do know. I feel dreadful about having missed out on so much... I felt so out of place, even with Laree and Jaayx and all. Am I really out of place with you guys? It felt strange.

In contrast to what you people know what I feel about Babble now, it has had its good points. I've met real friends like Athena, Kendappa (when will I find out your real name, Ken?!), Hanase, Laree (grudging admission here!), Shiro, even Jaayx and, blahblahblah. Babble would certainly be more comfortable if I bothered to make friends with the 'newbies' -- have I ever mentioned that I absolutely, absolutely detest this term? -- but for one thing, they've already got their own circles and for another, it doesn't seem fair to them when I know that I'll always put my minute circle above them somehow.

That actually sounds rather kind of me. I'm getting soft.

Wasn't that the comment that someone made recently? Dawn, I think it was. She chortled for a good while over it. Hannah, on the other hand, would never believe anything of the sort. She is most unreasonably, pointlessly convinced that I am manipulative, hard-hearted and calculating. In fact, she probably thinks that if I were to get Sorted, I'd most unquestionably be a Slytherin.

How awful!

*laughs* O well. There may be the smallest, tiniest, most minute grain of truth in that, and Hannah is one of my best friends and she does know me pretty well. To a certain extent (quote courtesy of Chiang Ky). Charming way to describe me, but she loves me anyway. Don't you all?

Speaking of which -- I think being loved is being gradually less important to me. Of course, I do still conside it important, and I do still want to be loved; but it wouldn't bother me that much if, for some reason (presuming that the reason doesn't reflect badly on me and yes, I know, Hannah, that this is evidence of me being an arrogant arse), less people loved me. Not that that's likely to happen, is it? *laughs* My inestimable ego surfaces. I haven't seen it for a good while; you lot ought to plump it up for me and give it a good boosting. Sometimes, though, I do go so far as to wonder what it might be like to be modest.

What, and be like you, Fufu, or Dada, or worst of all -- like Hannah herself? Horrors!

(Notice that neither Laree or you, Tiara, qualify as 'modest'. *entirely unapologetic*)

I went to a brothel, recently, for some research on that two-year-old MENSA project which I have unashamedly dragged (oh, come on, I make excellent excuses). It's not anyway near Geylang, not really, but it is _very_ discreet, and _very_ expensive. I suppose I'm lucky that the Madam is a friend.

"We have a new Specialty," the Madam murmured smoothly to me as we wound through the corridors. I could hear moans of ecstasy mingling with the more expert simulated sighs. Aural stimulation, I thought, and snerked. I might prefer these intimate sounds more than the act itself, when push comes to shove -- shall we have a debate about this, Kendappa, Afuna, Hanase, Laree?

"Really?" I said, thoroughly distracted. Waves of subtle, smoky perfume tangled with the salty tang of sex drafted through the beaded curtains, intimating to me just as closely (as if I didn't already know) what was going on. No, I decided; I didn't like the aroma, if you could call it that, half as much as the sounds.

God, I really am turning twisted, aren't I?

(Did I just say "God"? No use backspacing on that, I know I thought it. Sorry, God. Will talk more later about my new ambition to be a nun.

Control your screams of horror! I'm serious, you know.)

"Yes, we do," said Madam, in her low, enigmatic voice that never fails to get my attention -- be it platonic or otherwise. "My second male whore, after Jo left. You remember Jo, of course." The words 'male whore' might sound discordant on someone as discreet and subtle as her, I suppose, but that is a very well-shadowed part of Madam's personality as a brothel-owner.

"Unfortunately, yes," I said dryly. Jo, with dyed platinum hair and a capacity for getting screwed into the ground that amazed even Madam, once made a pass at me -- as he does at anything that walks on two legs. I very rarely appreciate being groped under my clothes by way of a greeting. And that was when he was so sore from the abovementioned screwing he could barely walk.

What an ass. Take that with or without the double meaning.

More accurately, what a whore.

*laughs* O well. Back to my anecdote.

"My newest acquisition isn't very bright," continued Madam gently as we entered a cool double suite with cold fumes filling the air. That perfume again. "Do go easy on him. Lazy, too, I think. Jo was a better worker, by far."

I smiled.

(I've come to realize that quite often when I smile, especially when I'm being lazy or private, it's lopsided; the left side of my mouth arches much more than the right, and my chin comes up with the middle of my lips as if I were pouting. It's a smirk, I suppose. So correct that last statement...)

... I smirked.

"Denise," Madam chided reprovingly, but I saw her smile. "Drake," she added a little more loudly, almost as an afterthought. "Come out. He likes his pseudonym to be Drake," she said to me, rather apologetically. "His real name is Robert."

I made a small noise in my throat, stifling laughter. What was the boy doing, playing at being Draco Malfoy?

Then again, if he made a decent one and he found a decent Harry, I wouldn't half mind. Provided, of course, I didn't grab him myself; but that 'stupid' thing made a big impression on me. I value a good mind very highly.

The door adjoining the two rooms burst open, and in sidled the most beautiful Chinese man I have ever seen face to face. Really, Laree would die of glee and blood loss (nosebleeds, what else) if she ever saw him, if she didn't first think she'd died and gone to heaven. Dreadfully good-looking, pretty on a masculine level, but there was a dullness in the shining, wide eyes that irked me. On the plus side, though, he wasn't wearing much more than a tiny toga robe thing -- but aren't those supposed to cover more than a few inches?

The (rather generously-proportioned, I thought) tool of his trade rose to a reasonable angle as he looked me up and down. "This one?" he asked Madam, pointing at me.

"That one," Madam confirmed.

"Here?" he asked.

"Here," said Madam.

"Would you like me to undress you?" Drake asked me in exhausted tones, obviously expecting a negative answer.

"Don't be so goddamn lazy," said Madam. "Go on and do it. I'm sorry," she added apologetically to me. "He's only slow until he gets started."

I brushed away Drake's resigned, limp hands and grinned at Madam. "He takes casual sex to a new level," I said wryly.

Drake blinked at me.

I suppose Lali wouldn't have resisted him, but I draw the line at a certain level. I wouldn't have minded had he been fairly articulate (and preferably female) but, well, he wasn't. The interview was a real bore; he's really monotonous, and his jaw is most annoyingly slack! Alright, so I'm critical and nasty and judgmental. As well as an arrogant prat. *laughs* I'm quite happy with that, because if I wasn't I wouldn't love myself half as much (would you?!), but I think I annoyed AND puzzled the poor boy. O well.

As I exited the brothel, it occurred to me once again how much it annoys me to see these beautiful girls (I don't care so much for the the beautiful young man) being fondled and possessed by ugly, stupid men who don't appreciate their inner or outer beauty that much. It really gets to me. I'm not a lesbian, but the reason I am a bi is that I appreciate beautiful things. I love beautiful things. I try to look for beauty, and to keep it by me, and to absorb its effect on me. And I hate to see a beautiful thing despoiled, whether by its own will or not.

Can you imagine yourself as a prostitue?

Would you become one, for some important reason?

I suppose we all are moral prostitutes, in one way or another.

Anyhow... The number of bad fics has seriously been annoying me. I must really be a perfectionist -- after reading the first few sentences I note the careless errors and my eyes water. It's bad enough when it's cliched, but the writer's fiction is so bad you can predict the next sentence, but then there's grammar and punctuation (PLEASE, punctuation; don't these people bother?) and spelling (spell-checkers, damn you!). Gives me a reaaaaaal headache.

You know, I love you lot. I love you, Shiro (someone PLEASE tell Shiro about my new blog addie! PLEASE spread this news around for me to as many people as possible, because I cannot e-mail), Afuna, Laree, etc. and I'm sorry I can't leave you a message each. I'll speak to you personally when I come back, I really will.

Remember me, will you? One day I'll come back, and I'll still love you.

I think of you.

I love you.

So|/Denise.

Below is a message for Hanase.

Hanase,

Your blog quite scares me! I really like the colours and the, er, funny pic, but what's with the 'shut your trap, you bitch'?! AIYOH. Really rather frightening.

Haven't seen you in Babble -- I haven't been in either and I won't be for some time. You know how I feel about it.

And yes, like Ken, I say that I miss you. I do.

Hanase, I have some things to tell you best said in person -- in person as in in a real conversation! (You know that my HP is now with someone else? Don't SMS or call me!) I had an awful experience with the Hungry Ghost Festival recently... Scared me out of my wits, and for a good time too. It's night; shall shut up about it.

I'll leave the rest for when we really do meet, then. Check my blog and comment; I will check back, but might not respond.

I love you.

Sol.

2002-08-07T00:41:00.000-07:00
It feels right to be back. Not good, because my chest is still bunching below my collarbone, but right.

I don't like hospitals. I don't like the number of old people in them, I don't like the impersonal air of the doctors and nurses and I don't like being shunted around without regard. Most of all, I don't like the hospice-like air that Singaporean hospitals invariably hold.

But what a way to inaugurate my new blog. Isn't it beautiful? I'm very fond of it and yes, do comment as I've installed Yaccs already. Comment! Comment! Just click on the link below and a little box will pop up, ready for your flames and/or cries of adoration. Yolande was the very kind, sweet person who basically helped put up all the HTML and piccies on this site, since I'm a dunce at all that and she's spent tireless hours just trying to perfect the look of this site. I have to say that she's done a good job :-) Do check out her sites -- I've linked to her main one, which has _gorgeous_ art work and even better layouts.

How do you people manage to figure out HTML? The concept deserts me. o.O It's not so much hard, as entirely alien.

You know, or perhaps you _do_ know, I'm babbling. That's because I'm on 40mg of steroids and loads of other medicine, as well as being so charged on Ventolin that I can't think straight. I can't walk straight, that's for certain; I wobble and my steps trace a slithering line across the parquet floor.

There's a lot to explain, isn't there? I've been in the hospital for the past three days, and, as I've mentioned above, I did not enjoy it. I especially hated this little trip because the threat of mortality seemed so imminent, so dire, that there were times when I could feel my chest clench from some black feeling besides the asthma that afflicted me and choke. Do you know what asthma is like? I'm living with the hollow shadow of tightness inside my chest, and I can't breathe. Imagine that your lungs, your arteries, everything around the area of your nipples turning to dough; imagine that they twist and knot together before hardening irrevocably and that whole lump has only the slightest pores for you to breathe through and you heave and heave and heave but never breathe.

Everything from my collarbone to my chest is clenched, and you know, that's scary. It's not even just asthma; it's become asthma with complications, because a fractured rib from last year has never quite healed properly and it cracks and wobbles slightly even now. As I struggled for miniscule portions of oxygen I could feel the flutter of that hard lump of dough in my chest against that unsteady rib, and you know, that's scary.

Last night I looked through the window of my ward, and saw the lights of the city some distance off. I thought, "I want to return to civilization." Singapore General Hospital was -- and is -- full of ancient, wrinkled people who intimidate me with their glazed stares and clawing hands. It feels like a hospice, not a hospital, though the nurses and doctors are unfailing kind (if austere and professional).

Later, as I lay in bed heaving through narrowed lungs, I looked out at the blurring lights of the city and I thought, "I don't want to die." It's not that I'm afraid to die for sentimental reasons; I've made my peace with everyone whom I care to -- I've given Shanta my sincere apology, I've told most my close relatives and friends how much I love them (Athena, Laree, hear hear!), I've settled my scores fairly with James.
(No, Hana, no, not your James. -_-)
I don't want to die -- that is, I didn't want to die then for any specific reason as I have in the past. There's a lot I still want to do, but hey, if I'm going to pass I kind of suppose my life is a little too bland right now for me to rage and scream and beg. *laughing* Very little people can make me miserable enough to want to die, and right now there isn't anybody simply good enough.

The thing is, I don't know what lies behind death. *blinks* What do you think lies behind the Great Reaper? Do comment on that; I honestly want to see what pictures are conjured up.

But I think yesterday I confronted the shadow of dying about three times, and there's something peculiarly deterrent about it. The body seems to want to cling on to life, even if it's hopeless and even less useful. As my breath hissed rawly and thinly through my bruised throat, a blurry plastic mask was jammed over my face and I felt the cold white fumes cascade over my face. I heaved, but nothing seemed to fit through my hoarse windpipe. I felt like my chest was jammed. I wanted to vomit, but I couldn't draw sufficient breath to even retch.

It seems extraordinarily easy to write this; I don't have to choose and gabble over my adjectives, my words, simply because they flow naturally and easily this time. I remember thinking something along these lines:

I don't want to die I don't want to die I don't know what's going to happen if I die oh God I'll go to church no I won't actually I don't think I'll go to church that much if I live but God I'm telling you honestly that right now I don't think it's worth dying just to meet you.

I didn't think it was worth dying just to meet God at that time. And when that realization bloomed, I think something in me clicked into a slot marked 'breathe' and I sucked in a marginal amount of those white fumes and choked as my roughened throat protested, but I breathed, I think, and I didn't stop. It's not very nice, God, I thought fuzzily.

I don't think I know what 'it' referred to as I said that. Life? The nebulizer? My sore throat? Geez. I don't know.

This morning, I woke up and tugged the mask off my face. "You know," I said to no one in particular, "I think I would like to go home."

The pink curtains were pushed aside, their rings jangling, and the nurse bustled in. "How are you feeling?" she asked with official kindness. "You have to be a lot more careful, you know, and we're going to be watching you much more now. If you can't breathe you _must_ press the button to call the nurse, you know, or you could nearly die like last night. The doctors were up for so long making you breathe. Don't you want to go home?"

"I want to go home," I said with utter conviction, attempting to push myself up and failing miserably as my shaking arms (presumably from the massive overdoses of Ventolin) gave way under my weight. "No. I really want to go home."

The nurse stared at me as if I was stupid. "You can't," she said patiently. "You're sick."

I started to laugh, realizing how absurd the situation was, and then saw how miserable and utterly abysmal this swamp of mine was, and heard how pitifully my laughter trickled out in a croak. I started to cry.

The nurse looked appalled, but I couldn't stop. The raw, croaks of laughter continued to gurgle from my blistered lips, even as the tears streamed down my lips and converted the chortles into half-howls of misery. My trembling fingers clenched, and clawed at the sheets impotently. I raised one hand to my face and watched it shake. I felt like I had Parkinson's Disease, instead of being near-chronically overdosed on Ventolin and Prednisolon.

Whatever they thought of my little fit, they let me come home today. I'm glad. I have to go stay at the Asthma Clinic tomorrow, but I wanted so badly to post this. I don't know. I feel exhausted. I think I may need a rest, and my fingers are shaking again.

Comment, I entreat you, comment!

So|

2002-08-03T02:24:00.000-07:00
testing testing one two three

quote from gackt: 'i'm stuck in an abmysal swamp!'

bwahahha. gomen sol chere, i'll delete this later