Hi guys, I need your help typing my friend. I'm pretty sure she's an Introvert, but I'm not so sure about the rest.
She can look pretty calm, cool, and collected on the surface, but underneath it all she's full of energy and contradictions. She has a penchant for themes of absurdity/perversity/wildness/uninhibition. She loves to write as evinced by her verbose blog entries. She is also drawn to aesthetics and is very much a visual creature.
Below is a typical blog entry of hers; hope you guys can help me figure out my friend's type so I can understand her better...
x Right now it kinda feels like I am starring in The Shining, with no one around, and only snow falling. Red rum, red rum, red rum. Lol.
x I had no appetite today. I don't know why. The stomach is windy like anything. Sometimes I wonder if I get a tad paranoid, but then again. . well, tis the price you pay for anality. And so I keep hitting my stomach to ensure it is windy.
x And there are 7523738 people amused by my use of the word 'anal'. I mean, it is an anatomical feature.
x And then I hiccuped like mad today, which I am sure is part triggered by insane thoughts and then recurrent borborygmi. Which is really bad when you ate little (and hence your stomach growls), and then you are windy inside. And ah shit. Just what the fuck eh.
x I hope there will be a student stationed in the office so I can collect my parcels. AHHH. Apparently there is no such feature in Fitz but I saw one in St Ed's the other night. Fingers crossed. Because TM said they sent me something. Which got me a bit shocked.
x Well, it went like this. I told them to watch out for presents, on which I left special courier instructions to throw the packages into the gate if nobody is at home and NEVER to leave with the neighbours. And TM, as usual, scolded me for buying presents. So I told her, quite nicely, well, at least I am kind and sweet. I know they are stingy and won't buy me presents. It was only me who started the custom of presents at Christmas a few years back when I started having enough money (I like to give people things, but not all people). And she retorted saying "We sent you something". Ooooh.
x And TF asks me about the Lotto here. I told him, you know, C is not exactly Lotto town. Then an ad popped up on FB, saying I could play it online. .except you need to be a citizen here for all the convenience of electronic happiness. AHHH. It's okay, I do not wish to be a citizen here.
x My friends and family watch on the news that it is snowishly blizzardish here. And they get worried. "Are you okay, are you too cold?". Oh God, I love it. Except that I can no longer wear thin clothes out. I survived -4 degrees celsius! Woohoo. Not bad for a girl who would shiver when it was 24. Lol. For the record, I was shivering with two sweaters on at 24 degrees. Hohoho.
x It doesn't look like I'll be able to complete everything before the end of the year. AHHH. I am so horrid. AHHH. Okay, ferment, ferment, ferment (of which I really am fermenting, not procrastinating, unlike sumbardy's sneaky insinuations). I just grit my teeth and tell myself, 'Yesh, P. Do work. Think of caching!' And then I happily tabulate my scoreboard of earnings on my wall. I was reading PsychToday (short bits for convenient little excerpts, except that they sometimes are too pompous. .yer know, the Psych cocky bits) and it was saying that people paid by the hour are happier than those drawing salary. And I knew it! Yup! Every hour that I clock I get insanely happy. It was like in Singers. I remember back as a PI, I was offered two schemes. First would be a lump sum, second was an hourly rate. It was a risk. . but I chose the second. And I was happier. I mean, what if it was peak season and I worked so hard, and only were paid the lump sum.
x Soon I will be able to include in my portfolio -- Research Design. Those days of training, albeit supremely dull. Of course you need to have a quick, flexible and adventurous personality too. I kinda do like myself, ya know.
x Yesterday Lulu and I decided we were completely idiotic. Now we shop together on ebay. As she tells me I am completely sick for my ideas for her wedding gift (excuse me, I was being considerate there, you can only be so Freudian, but you need props). And eventually it developed into an awesome idea which.. . will require developing upon, and let's just say I have never been so passionate about any form of work before. Oh God, that would be one of my dreams come true. Anyhows, the ebaying started venturing into pornish territories, and now my entire watchlist is filled with obscene stuff. Ooh laa laa. Somehow Lulu is the only person who might pretend to blush but will never totally blush at these things. And she calls me repressed and hence I have all my ideas. I am not repressed, I retort. I am sure sumbardy knows that very well. I mean, really, just because I am not turned on by everything that moves is not a corollary with repression. Repressed people do not flash and more and more and more. For starters.
x I also told Lulu that I might build up a huge bag collection she might just receive loads of bags when I start having too many. And I think she is quite happy about that. The Bag Whore that she is. And she tells me that once she is married she will acquire an entire wardrobe full of costumes, whilst we are happily sending each other links on gorgeous costumes-- that which I am starting to acquire. Ladidadida.
x The other day-- long before the snow hit-- I realised that when you open the window you can practically freeze to death. Which is actually quite nice. Instant ice! Instant showgirl! Now I have also realised that it is completely unnecessary (paranoia at work again) to open the window when you boil water. I swear the manufacturers cheat on printer ink here. I have the exact same model at home, and I print loadsloadsloads (plus TB too!) and the ink finishes fucking slowly. Here, I scrimp like mad and print fucken little-- forcing myself to squint at the screen and read e-journals, and to tolerate my bloody lack of attention-- and in the lightest ink ever. . and. .. the ink finishes fucken fast. As long as I don't do the Lulu thang and print one slide per page. . which I ended up giving my maid to wrap up rabbit poo. Because, trust me, it is awful to have about 80 pages per lecture. Psychologically awful, for starters. Then ergonomically as well. And I also don't understand why they don't have enough cow sense to set the .pdf of slide handouts to a white background. Seriously. We don't haemorrhage printer ink.
x There is something almost idiotic about the staplers here. Besides the fact that your stapler bullets cost two pounds (!?!?!!?!I have never spent more than S$0.30 previously), there is a separate staplet remover. I really don't mean to be rude, but their staplers border on idiocy here. If you came from a place where it was smart, you'd feel. . the banality. But if you came from a place where you had two bulky things, and saw it reduced to one sleek(er) thing that is smarter and more efficient, then you'd be happy.
x My friend is badly influenced by the good way I live my life here. With premium foods, and luxurious armagnac brandy creams. So she went to the supermarket and said, "I decided, I need cream". And then she got half-fat ones! Much to my horror. I mean, you don't have cream and buy it half-fat. You buy double creams! And triple or quadruple! Then later she told me, "You know the half-fat cream? It tastes like yoghurt". And she thinks I am crazy for buying (cheap) yoghurt to use as body masks. "That's like brides preparing themselves", she exclaims. "No, you must take good care of your body". I mean, every ass and every leg and every other body part loves yoghurt. Seriously. This is Cleopatra 2.0
x Why is it that whenever people realise I am Chinese, it is automatically assumed that I cannot speak the language. AHHH.
x Apparently, back home, TB has taken over my place. He got the double bed and the room (which really were his to begin with lol), is bathing fucken late, eating damn late into the night, and waking up late. Haahahah. It is damn funny. Somehow, I hear little quips from my mother that make me aware that he feels he walks in my shadows. Which is quite depressing, as I see from his standpoint. So, I really shouldn't go back to Singers. . I think he really can shine with me gone. Sometimes I feel sorry that I set such high standards. Even if my folks do not compare, somehow the juxtaposition is there. Although he keeps asking me to buy a million things for him. AHHH. What a brother I have. Oh, and he told TM that I sent him those text messages, he had to reply, and he won't pay for them. Oh God, why is my brother so calculative.
x Two weeks back (oh God, time has passed by so quickly, it's like three weeks ago when I felt like a complete idiot when the convenor said, "I am sure none of you have read the readings since you are all busy doing up your assignment, who has read it?" and I was the only idiot who raised my hand, plus I hadn't written half a word of my assignment yet and felt no stress. God I am nuts.) I felt like a real student for the first time when I went to hand in my assignment. Dressed in nothing but jeans, a jacket and flats, I walked to school in a backpack. Leather, of course. Feeling so happy that I could put my backpack to use (Lulu laughed like mad at me), and realising. . oh wow all the 7 books feel weightless in my backpack. . Oh what have I been mutilating my poor shoulders with, seriously after all the insane groceries and books. . I am quite worried for my back. So I happily walked in my black-and-gold flats, which I bought to channel Garance Dore, and also for the supermarket. Oh God. It was the most painful walk I ever had in my life. Now the only other ballet flats I've ever worn or owned were given to me. They were Primavera, meaning quite expensive. And so they were rather comfortable-- I even walked to Grantchester and back in it, and mind you it was like a 3.5 hour walk in total, even if I am not too sure whether painful burning balls of your feet (from prolonged high heels) or painful ankles and calves (from prolonged flats) are worse. I suspect the latter. It can hurt like the devil. The Primark flats (fine, only £4.78) were awfully painful-- like TF says, you pay peanuts you get monkey. By the time I reached home, I was hobbling in absolute pain. Then I started ebaying for more supplies. Ahhh, orthopaedic insoles, I love you.
x Okay, another reason why I got those flats was. . I am too lazy to wear socks sometimes. You wear them, you hafta wash them. And so I wear as little as possible. If I can afford it. Lol. Plus the innards of my pink ones are badly spoilt courtesy of the long marshy walk from G. Which I am sure that orthopaedic insoles would fix. Hohoho.
x I remember that when I started here, I bought everything fucken dirt cheap. Now I kinda regret it. If I knew just how how how how very important your living conditions are, I would have bought myself premium pillows, nicer pillowcases, and big fluffy towels. I know, I know. it's not too late. Which would leave me with overload of pillows, cases and towels. AHHH.
x So I was walking home and started craving TF's noodles. He cooks the BEST noodles in the world, and so quickly, there's some magic in it. And the best fried rice in the world. Ahhhh, sometimes I think, I miss being scared of him. Hahaha. Masochist, eh. I mean, he's so fierce sometimes, and the moment you are a bit slow (and trust me, he hasn't seen real people, otherwise he'd weep with appreciation for me), change your mind a teeny weeny wee bit and you'll get scolded. Unless he's in a fucken good mood (which, to be fair, is quite often). And then TM mailed me, "We have extra space in the box, is it okay if we ship Myojo noodles over?" I leapt up in happiness. Of course it is okay. Oh God, since when is it not okay to ship food over to me.
x Well, the story of the box goes like this. For all the things I love about the UK (I mean, it produced sumbardy, for starters lol; the snow; being in Intellectual Snobbery Land. .it is a good 'label' because we know how superficial the world is; herbs and spices everywhere. .in Singapore one bloody bottle was about S$8 and TM only allowed me to buy like two bottles, here I have about twelve; teas teas teas!!; land of awesome vintage finds; affordable leather; having my own space; being able to wear trenchcoats, [faux] furs and boots; etcetera== see I am a grateful girl), it can be massively idiotic. Bourjois blush (which reminds me, I have yet to use it! See, whatever happened to Buying Blush To Counteract Pallid Winter Complexion!? Oh, thank God for Postcards!) is cheaper than saline! Saline for your bloody contact lenses (4 bottles for S$6 back home)! Mascara (and we're talking rather good Maybelline vibrating ones) is cheaper than multipurpose solution for your contacts!!! The world is upside down! I mean, I am clearly happy about cheap makeup, but the price of contact lens essentials is madness. Plus, I was walking around Boots and nobody knew what chlorhexidine was until a very senior pharmacist came along. That preceded me nearly fainting when the teeeeeniest bottle was . . £5. And I had to describe, "It's a blue solution, for cleaning wounds". I mean, seriously, yes, I use it. It's awesome for cleaning off face makeup (sometimes) and closing up acne wounds. Take it as a tip you get from being friendly to your doctor's nurses. So what is a girl to do when she has family in Singers. Tell them to buy bottles of above stuff, and ship them over (only about S$45)! Which will turn out way cheaper than purchasing these stuff here.
x It still feels rather odd that your rabbit is dead.
x You know you really miss your cat when you start playing Petville, making that cat resemble your real cat -- at least in demeanour-- and smiling idiotically at Virtual Cat, who looks alot like The Cutest Student In The World (seriously, I used to think he looks like a cat). AHH, and then you have so much fun decorating your Virtual Pet's home.. Oh God, I am going bonkers.
x I should stop touching my scalp, I know.. . but sometimes I hands are fucken itchy. AHhh, the perils of overactive fingers.
x British food portions can be tiny, I now fully comprehend why they called American sizes large. Which I always felt was. .just right. Lol.
x Sometimes I wonder why I deliberately make my text size tiny, only to have to supersize it all. Maybe I am truly really idiotic.
x You realise that when you dislike someone even their cough sounds annoying to you. But. . they're gone! They're gone! Sometimes I hope they will never come back. Ladidadida.
x I have a problem with my eyes. I cannot see if an alphabet that has been repeated a few times, has been repeated thrice or four times.
x I am starting to show TM a few more of my coats. Lol. I mean, seriously the vintage ones were cheap! We all know it is essential to be wrapped up nicely for winter, although I know sumbardy thinks I am a bit mad for welcoming him in only one layer. I mean, that's why you wear (faux) furs right. And that's why you have obi belts right. If only all women thought like me. Seriously.
x But speaking of sumbardy, I ran into a few people who asked what I am doing for Christmas (some weeks ago, that is), looking a little sad for me when I said I wasn't flying back (well, the implications of flying back and the personal symbolism would be drastic, but anyhows the point is it's blood under my bloody bridge). . and I say, the sumbardy in my life is coming over (after we made plans, that is). "That's sweet!" their faces change, and they look happy. Which makes me kinda assume that they think he is Singaporean, and quite possibly the same age. And quite possibly, I met him in school. (Which is what I get from *other* people who immediately assume the same things). Oh God, why are most people so. . .unimaginative. I have never seen myself with anyone I met in school, even before starting any school.
x Oh God, my dreams/OBEs are getting so weird. Some recurrent ones (I mean, I am no longer in Land of Dirty Toilets) feature me walking and asking along a complex of public toilets. .of different sorts, and they are all so dirty. It's like fields of toilets, fields of bathtubs that are soiled with cleaners cleaning, and different grades of 'rooms' of toilets. .it is complete madness. Oh God. Those are the eeriest dreams ever, you can even smell it. Oh God. But last night one of them was even scarier. I was in some kinda Hong Kong upper-class family and we'd moved to a sprawling mansion. . and I looked at the flowers, thinking they were gorgeous, only to realise, those were flowers in a graveyard. We lived in the centre of a graveyard. My character (well, it feels more like a character because I only watch HK shows, and don't marry into upper-class over-wealthy HK families, God forbid) was pregnant (which is an impossibility in reality) and all around my wing of the house was .. the graveyard of babies. Oh God. Creeptastic. Fast forward to another OBE, it was another graveyard-cum-priest's house, there was a priest who was all pious and holy and looked disturbingly like what'shisname. . ahh RS, and was talking all about sacrifice. There was a strange looking mausoleum that people opened and walked into, touching EVERYWHERE. Then RS-lookalike-priest. .he lay atop this kinda stove-like coffin (with a gentle flame below it) saying. . it was his time to go. He was young, mind you. And spoke of . . dying. .and people were touching his body as he lay there over the slow fire, as though it was normal and he was some sorta saint that you touched to get healed. I was shrieking and going "OH GOD That is not the way to die! That is not sacrifice! Are you mad or what?". Basically I think that is why I lost all appetite today. Like I said, since I got to the UK, somehow, graveyards and anything to do with the dead scare me. I have no idea just why, I have never been like that, if you know me well enough, I liked graveyards and found them peaceful. I actually shuddered when a hearse drove past me during my third or fourth week here. Basically even though my stomach is still growling, I have no appetite. Tomorrow I will wake up with a nice flat stomach again, the way it always happens when I sleep late. I actually might be too disturbed to go to sleep tonight. We'll see. Those were only 2 out of about 10 dreams that I remembered.
x Okay P, you've purged those dreams out. Forget them. Forget them. Forget them. Oh yesh, never have I been so disturbed by my dreams I am unwilling to go to sleep.
x So I sit here sipping Christmas Tea (there is such a thing. . thick and malty with hints of some cranberries), topped with dark muscovado sugar, propped up with loads of armagnac brandy cream mmm. Basically I have given up on myself. First I started to buy double cream. 79p. Okay, into the basket you go (well, I know Sains is cheaper, but cream is like religion. Must be taken seriously.) And then my beloved madagascan vanilla cream. £1.49. Okay, you're just a weekly indulgence. And then I found the Christmas version. Okay okay okay, it's just 50p more. So I closed my eyes and put it into the basket. I mean, heaven for 50p more weekly. .will not kill me. Dear Universe, when my current clients graduate, please find me new work. Or ensure that The Sexy Scheme works out. Seriously. Although I'd still like to continue writing. I enjoy it seriously. Do something you really love. .something that you do regularly, the article that Shing tagged said. And I thought, what do I churn out the most? Words! AHHH. ALthough I am sure that my mad musings and erotic selections do not fit mass-market tastes.
x And you know, the way we laugh at Z and how hopeless he is at food, I wonder if I should be kind and really introduce him to The Finer Things In Life. Frankly, they are all loaded with cash. Free cash. I am. .well, I cannot complain.
x Oh, fresh cranberries taste so vile. I am sure sumbardy will find something to do with them. Like cook them with sumthang.
x My glasses are loosening! Oh how will I tighten them up! My opticians in Singers would do it for free. .but here? Hmm, maybe I should hope to smile to a guy optician in some optical shop and hope it does the trick (the only thing I make use of is my smile, seriously, so it ain't remotely bad). Plastic frames are tricky, you need to put them into some machine to readjust. I don't think I want to pay about £10 just to get them readjusted every three months. Warcrime. Think of all the brandy cream you can buy with that!
x I am convinced that C cheats us (well, kinda, not that I complain lol). We only have 8-week terms compared to the standard 10-weeks. And, next term, I only have 1.5 hours of compulsory classes! Tadah! Madness. In the Easter term, no classes at all! Now I hafta be paranoid and hope and pray that EVERY marker will like my style. For perpetuity.
x The other day I was looking into Farmville (this is the consequence of having too much time) and I thought I was the only mad idiot who would harvest my stuff everyday. And then I peeked at my friends' farms. Oh God. Nope, I am way from mad. That is all I can say. I mean, there are people who watch videos to learn how to level up. There are guidebooks on that! Oh God, that is considered madness.
x I notice a fundamental difference between the working style of sumbardy and myself. He sits there, brows furrowed, intently concentrating, which I find extremely sexy and distracting. I alternate between short periods of intense concentration and the shifting of position, swivelling on my chair non-stop. And of course, we all love The Swivel.
x It is when I hear his bitchiness pertaining to certain unsavoury characters that I know. .all is fine when I ranted and bitched about the unsavoury characters in my life. It's like how Lulu and I shudder at ChristinaTheZebra (okay fine, CTZ lol) and what a sicko she is. Although she might be our first client. Oh God, we are sick.
x There are days when I wake up realising my hamstring is fucken painful. . before realising, that's what you get for playing and bumping up and down the chair non-stop. Sometimes, the way I sit on the handles and the backrest of the chair, I wonder why I am still alive and intact. Although I should not speak too fast, I know. It's good to be smallish, even if I really ain't "a foot shorter" and "look tall sitting up". I think I am completely nuts, but I find it fucken sexy to have a man who is double my weight. And is fucken huge. The thought itself makes me smile and giggle madly. I mean, it's not like I am midget-ish and deliberately like tall people. It's the fact that I ain't *that* short (well, realistically speaking, no matter how much I moan) and the juxtaposition is . . . sexy.
x Although I do find it quite disturbing when he starts to call me Lilly Thai (of which I have a few reasons in mind to attribute that name to). It becomes amusing to see him excited when I educate him about the presence of the four letters 'porn' in Thai names. Sometimes I do wonder why his friends mistakenly think he must go Thai. I mean, he is far from a non-catch (frankly, if he can get my heart racing [and more] he has to be . .oohsoofuckenawesome); so. . I wonder, do they think/know his libido is too high and hence needed to go Thai? But then again, if it wasn't high I would be worried. Around me, that is. Sometimes I wonder what did I land-- a crazy man who launches into an entire story of clones to convince me that it would be cool if he had my clone and myself (to which I decide to give him a technical t=0 nature/nurture rebuttal lol) and tells me stupid talk is verbal foreplay. AHHH. Mad mad mad. Oh, and I also remotely remember him thinking that me licking my knives is slightly retarded yet sexy and he is worried why he finds retardadness sexy. And then I also realise, he really likes pots a lot- Pot, Vainpot, Sexpot. Just not potties, I hope.
x I also think he is now convinced about my convictions towards spanks.
x Now I feel like having a Wine, Cheese and Butter night. I would serve loads of butter on a platter! Mmmmm.
x Oh, and sumbardy is a lil shocked when I say I have found my way around his keyboard. Of course I am a proper geek. Tsk tsk. I am sure that makes him sexcited.
x Ahhhh, I hafta hit Coco de Mer!!!!! Yay!!