ex-obese-fatty...

The thing I hate more than being an ex-obese-fatty-McFatterson are stretch marks. The problem with spontaneous shrinking over a three month time span by a clean third is that your skin doesn't shrink along with it.

I also hate that I'm too lazy to cook and go out to eat but too hungry not to.

And I hate that at least one of my lecturers is now a confirmed nut job. At least the two obscenely over-enthusiastic ones are funny. In a sense.

I also hate Friday lectures, especially in concurrence with empty Thursdays and the lectures being only the two morning hours I could spend NOT waking up, or at least working for dough to pay for indulgences I should not have taken but have succumbed to anyway.

I also hate that I miss Magic-king sessions more often than I should.

I hate that my room is cold and heaters are an excessive way of solving the problem.

first blood...

This semester will either be very interesting or a bleeding anus. Three quarters of my lecturers are insane, and the only one who isn't is some sort of over-enthusiastic weirdo. Wait. Make that two over-enthusiastic weirdos.

Heat and Mass Transfer lecturer is an over-enthusiastic balding guy with mutton chops and a drawling thick Chinese accent.

Material and Energy Balances lecturer told us to ignore our timetables and just go for classes at the random time they decided to schedule for us which leads into a fabulous clash of stuff.

Business Law lecturer is into taking liberties with students and student properties in illustrating points, which is very refreshing and at the same time disturbing, since he's a silver haired old man bouncing around in a manner best reserved for children and retards.

Introductory Marketing lecturer is a snooty middle aged fat guy, and his cohort is a bull dyke bent on offending every possible stereotype there is, as well as proving to be some sort of nut job.

Also, tutor for Business Law has a self-stated purpose of making us "bleed blood". Like, noooooo....

I'll probably drop out and pick up knitting.

ashes to ashes...

Got a reinstallation CD from the international corporation today in an attempt to revive a brain-dead machine. Doesn't work. Maybe now they'll send a surgeon to fix it.

Hardware failure is always more tragic than the death of the soft innards. I hope things get fixed before next week. I simply don't have the time or resources to get a replacement for now.

Damnation to hardware failures. Gargh.

crashing and burning...

My lappie died. Up and died. All my files. Gone. All my photos. Gone. All my savegames. Gone.

I blame a giant multinational computer corporation for providing me screwy XP reinstallation disks. But at the very least I learnt reformatting.

Some old people scare me. Scare me in the sense that they give me a preview of what I'll be when I'm an old doddering verdigris-covered fixture.

For the next week and a half, I reckon I will be the observer of human crashing and burning, if nothing else.

caught in headlights...

sandpaper underwear...

It's becoming progressively easier to annoy me recently. Only thing I can safely say is that I feel like I'm not getting the best use of my time, a large enough bang for my buck, the most snot for my tissue.

Irritable. Like wearing sandpaper underwear. I could kill someone.

limitations...

We are limited only by our own imaginations. But we allow ourselves to be limited by our expectations.


Sometimes the crowd knows best. Most of the time, they're just eating crap.


There are more windows than there are doors. Sometimes, when you can't find a door, you just have to climb through the window.


There are far more raindrops that will fall on the ground than will ever fall on you.