Fresh off the Boat

ARC-KEY-TECH-CHUR(N)

2009-11-17T23:16:00.000-05:00

I LOVE YOU, ART CLASS!!!

I intended to post about some trivial nonsense regarding playgrounds and territorial conquest (wtf?) but have decided that since sleep deprivation has reduced me to making grammatical errors on messenger conversations, the post will be put off for another day.

Cameras and Fish

2009-11-08T14:39:00.000-05:00

Why have I been absent for so long?

Instead of blogging, I've been reading up on concepts of photography and salt and freshwater aquariums!

I've decided to save up most of my paychecks for extravagant Christmas gifts, some photography equipment, and (eventually) a small aquarium of my own.

Let's just hope I don't take after my mother.

BAC

2009-10-18T14:27:00.002-04:00

Last night, I had a glass of raspberry cooler and was dead for the next thirteen hours. Either my alcohol tolerance has severely (and I mean severely) diminished or I just really, really needed some sleep. Either way, the cooler was a catalyst.

I am so hungry, but will not for the life of me bring myself to eat anything in the kitchen, as I'm going through one of those annoying, bitchy phases where I feel oppressed by my current familial situation. This oppression then translates into rage (versus grief, which is what Fatty tends to feel) and/or angst, which makes me feel as though my freedom of existence is threatened, which then (of course) brings me to spitefully refuse to eat food made by my mother.

And breaking curfew.

Which means I party all night long. (Enter omniscient truth, which regretfully contradicts my previous statement by concluding that Sophia does not ever party all night long and actually just pities her lonely self to the wee hours of the morning. On the rare occasion, she studies.)

And I become really hungry, like my stomach is going to eat itself, or is already in the process of self-consumption.

NO PAIN, NO GAIN!

Though truthfully, no one really gains, and I just starve.

Empress Theodora, you sly dancer, you!

2009-10-17T17:40:00.003-04:00

I just finished re-reading the letter of intent I wrote last year for my current college program, and all I can say is...LOL at all the LDS references.

Yesterday night was pretty eventful; I had dinner with Fatty, Eugenia, and Dickinson at this ridiculously ambienced restaurant (the lights were so dim I could hardly distinguish between my food and the table) which, much to my surprise, served a delicious vegetarian platter. Notwithstanding the waiter completely wrecking Dickinson's order, the dinner was a quite the pleasant experience. (Of course, the majority of the people attending were either former or current Arts and Science students at my college, which compelled all of us to share anecdotes.)

My life isn't really that interesting in this given state...other than the epic failure of numerous midterms (though I justify my western civ fail on the fact that I spent a good hour of the hour and twenty minutes allotted working on a brilliant essay somehow relating the Greek Theatre at Delphi to collective worship and individual expression) and regretful breakdowns during class, I've been living as simply and frugally as possible.

Though to be honest, I do sorely miss The Monkey. He and I were scheduled to a date (no, not the amorous kind) on Monday at the theaters, but I have since been forced to cancel it, as I have found myself completely and utterly unable to fully catch up on art this week. The art studio is open from noon to eight in the evening on Monday, meaning that I'll be at my college for over twelve hours of the school day and thus will be so pooped that staying awake during a movie would be an impossibility.

Off to read of the Byzantine Science and Medicine portion of my Civilisation studies!

Holy shit...

2009-10-06T17:05:00.004-04:00

Crisis averted. Though I've had four hours of sleep and my eyes resemble those of an alien, I think it's safe to say the worst part has passed.

I keep on trying to remind myself to study for some remaining midterms, but it's clear I can't concentrate.

Thank you, Wistful.

Shit...

2009-10-06T03:59:00.004-04:00

I feel like this is a scene from a cheesy romantic comedy (or tragedy, but let's not get ahead of ourselves), like the bad breakup aftermath. You know, since it's four in the morning, there's a box of Kleenex tissues beside my pillow, wads of used paper snot gathered to one side of my bed, my head's pounding and my breaths are coming out via spasms from my choked throat.

I feel cold, and numb, as though the appendages attached to the my central body are nothing more than what they are -- appendages. I feel as though it would take less than a slight pull to break off my toes, my calves, my purple-tipped fingernails...I've got a sweater and two layers of blankets on my, but the coldness, the numbness -- they won't go away.

My English prof says that crying is a sign of two things: self-service, and manipulation. Ironically, while fat, ugly, salty drops rolled down my face and the paramedics arrived, all I could think of were two things: the fact that I could now finally relate to people who have experienced death in the close family, and how I wish I could speak not to anyone, anywhere, but to that same prof, in his small, sheltered office with the box of Kleenex tissues to the one side of his desk.

What would he say?

The ambulance has long gone, though the remains of a heartbeat device and a gas pump are still scattered across the bedroom floor. Someone needs to clear them out, but it's not going to be me; I'm still trying to piece together my appendage nerves.

I feel cold, and numb, and my eyes sting, but it's nothing compared to the pain of loss, as self-serving and manipulative that may feel.

Just hold on, alright? Like, super tight. Hold on with your life.

Récréation.

2009-10-03T21:53:00.005-04:00

Taking a break from studying Bio 701 to tell you a bit about Aristotle's great-souled man and how he never stands down to apologize, never admits his faults, and though sympathetic, never has compassion.

Yes, he sounds like a complete asshole, but his archetype reflects the ideal kind of guy every male is looking for. I'm falling more and more into obsessive idolatry of my English prof because he embodies the great-souled man to such a degree that nearly everyone in my class disapproves of him. Of course, I don't care so much for the theatrics, but thanks to his guidance, I've realized to what extent many of my male counterparts are extremely non-masculine.

How disturbingly feminine the male gender has become.

How scary this woman-driven society is, now that mothers raise their sons.

Many lack self-reflection; they rely too much on the outward opinions of others. They enjoy talking about how they feel, discussing the repercussions of their feelings. Perhaps this is the result of our chick flick subculture, the brainwashing of manipulative-by-nature women into believing that deep, meaningful conversations foster loving relationships. And men buy it. They buy the raw, uninterpreted emotions that are deep within the soul, insecurities of significant others, passions for forgiveness, Grey's Anatomy concepts of romance...

I cry for the male generation, but at the same instance, I comprehend that my de facto femininity has altogether disappeared.

Now, back to the permeability of hydrophobic molecules!

La fin.

2009-09-29T00:33:00.005-04:00

Of this blog? No. (Even though Wistful has decided to formally close her blog, I shall triumph over this reckless period of in-between-ness that has developed -- who came up with the thoughtful idea of giving the transition period between child and adult a name?)

This will be convoluted, I warn you.

I am a heartless, bitchy, annoying, merciless teenager, and I desperately need to consume some of that raspberry alcohol my dad bought the other day. Illegal, underage drinking ftw.

There are some choices people make, choices like closing off a blog, like procrastinating for midterms (cough), like breaking hearts, spreading rumors, and playing people, (no?) strings attached.

I just hope I can make some good ones in the future.

Thetis weeps.

2009-09-23T11:38:00.004-04:00

I've come to the conclusion that college involves much more work at the present time than I had initially believed, the first extremely difficult task of the semester being that I have to write the first two paragraphs of an essay on The Iliad for tomorrow.

I have to remind myself every five or so minutes that despite the fact that this seems easy, I need only refer to an essay written by the genius (and my intellectual girl crush) who shall forever remain only slightly anonymous with the pseudonym Dickinson (like Emily Dickinson, the depressed yet talented writer who killed herself by sticking her head in an oven while her toddler son played with his toys in the other room -- yes, that one -- wait, no, not that one...that was Plath) to realize how clearly incompetent I am when it comes to writing. Even if I were to spend the next fifty years under the harsh training of my current English professor, every fibre of my being would hardly be able to compare to the writing talent of one iota of Dickinson. It's no wonder the girl is on her way to becoming this ridiculously successful modern-day Dickinson-like lawyer (minus the morbid suicide, of course).

The sad part of this whole story is that even though I should be working on the essay right now, I'm skipping class (right before midterms too, smart Sophia, you) and blogging about how miserably untalented I am when it comes to academic writing. However, on the bright side, I'm quite happy that I was able to catch Cloudy with A Chance of Meatbealls in 3-D with The Monkey last night.

That is all.

Stream of Consciousness

2009-09-17T09:17:00.003-04:00

It's time to buckle down and stop fooling around, Sophia. Time to pick yourself up, brush off the dust from your shoulders, and move on. Don't regret it.

Focus.

You've got to focus, because clearly, you're quite distracted.

Sage.

2009-09-10T19:44:00.004-04:00

Jerkface says (7:42 PM):

i find that premed
it like
changes people...
a lot
makes them like
obsessive over anything
that will increase their chances
by anything
i wonder if they're happy people

Party Like Sophia

2009-09-09T22:14:00.005-04:00

A summary of Sophia's life since seven days ago:

- slight food poisoning
- Forever 21 lineups
- pedophile jokes
- stolen sweaters
- HUGS
- binaries
- illegal tequila shots
- lesbian kisses
- non-lesbian kisses
- three inch heels
- blisters
- unintentional vagina portraits
- headaches
- awkward greetings
- PMS
- dental hygiene lectures
- shisha
- central vacuoles
- Jaebeom left 2PM

Yep.

I think I should post

2009-09-02T00:46:00.003-04:00

But I can't, because I need sleep, and my artistic abilities are so lacking that my own father could not find words to express his disappointment when I showed him my sketches (due tomorrow for art class, and only three quarters finished)!

Eff. My. LIFE!

Still awake, it seems!

2009-08-30T00:20:00.006-04:00

Sophia ﾐ☆ says (12:13 AM):
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7DePF1DCRlk
i was looking for music for you

Sophia ﾐ☆ says (12:14 AM):
i don't have much
since i don't really listen to music anymore

Jerkface says (12:14 AM):
aw really?
you're so sweet

Sophia ﾐ☆ says (12:14 AM):
thanks man
appreciate it

Jerkface says (12:14 AM):
you better
my affection is priceless

Later...

Jerkface says (12:24 AM):
dang you're not as popular as i thought you were!
just jokes just jokes

Sophia ﾐ☆ says (12:25 AM):
LOL
it's okay
i'm really not popular
i don't understand the misconception everyone is always getting about my popularity

Jerkface says (12:25 AM):
i think its because
you can be very very very popular
if you had more time
and gave more effort into it

This kid is extremely amusing.

H-Box

2009-08-29T02:33:00.005-04:00

How am I awake at this hour despite the gnawing hunger in my stomach and the dull pounding of my brain (clearly trying to tell me to go the fuck to sleep)?

Jerkface, you mo'fo, the lengths I go for our BFFL friendship.

On a completely different note, as I no longer have any romantic inclinations to JF...

Sometimes I wonder if I'm actually asexual. Or am I just too insecure and self-conscious to believe in romantic notions? Like the dating game is just a big cesspool of big Harvard-like universities and I'm too chickenshit to bother with diving in and going through the sink-or-swim methods of learning.

Ugh. Fuck that, and sorry for the profanities.

Sneeze!

2009-08-26T22:50:00.004-04:00

I dislike the weather in this city: it tends to be very warm and humid one day and quite cool and windy the next. Because of this, I've been sneezing non-stop and have become a freak when it comes to disinfecting my hands and eating utensils, which, I'll have you know (I really do abuse the commas in this blog, don't I?), has been made extremely convenient because of the fact that I am now in college, WHAT! I can officially say goodbye to the three minute break in between classes and hectic rushing now that I have at most three courses in a day, and large breaks in between, because college is just so much better than high school. The people are more mellow, the schedules are more flexible, and the building really reminds me of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Speaking of which, if I were to be the Harry Potter of Hogwarts, then I'd of course have to introduce you to my sidekick Ronald Weasley. Of course, since Ron also mentioned the fact that I am less like Harry Potter and more like Draco Malfoy, I may also refer to him as Crabbe don't-know-his-last-name interchangeably.

Ron is in also an Arts and Science student. He shares all his classes with me, save for physical education and art. He is also Asian. He is probably almost as crazy as me. He is a genius. He is my brother from another mother. Actually, his birthday is tomorrow, and he will be turning 17. He and I call ourselves the Dynamic Duo, but unfortunately, according to our math teacher, there was a Dynamic Duo that preceded us, and probably pwns (1337 ftw) us in every possible way. Therefore, in our Calculus class, we are referred to as the Terrible Two (not cool).

So here's to your birthday, Ron! In an hour and ten minutes, you will not feel any different, and will go to bed as if it were a normal night, unaware that your sister from another mister is blogging about you under the guise of someone much cooler than she really is.

Achoo!

I'm that doomed bag of sand from Indiana Jones

2009-08-20T23:12:00.003-04:00

It was as if the gods were giving me a sign when they gave me that science fair scholarship, despite my extreme doubts about the college.

Needless to say, I love it. From the cascading waves of Asians that are everywhere, the strange friends in my ridiculously-difficult-already program, to Wistful just being there, I can tell you right now that though I may regret it later on, I'd sure as hell like to thank whoever gave the green light for my scholarship.

You changed my life!

Summer is finished, my friends.

2009-08-18T14:49:00.003-04:00

My adventure starts tomorrow...

Freshman 15

2009-08-17T12:58:00.005-04:00

So here it is...the official action following my official resignation from anything related to the tremendously long (yet short?) five years of high school: I've joined my college network on Facebook.

(Of course, moments after doing so, many of the high school friends who virtually never converse with me on any occasion save for the ones in which they need something from me - this time not being an exception - messaged me a help on how to change networks as well.)

Yes, orientation is on Wednesday, and class starts on Thursday, and I'm really, really, really anxious about my program. Seeing how difficult and time consuming it is, I really don't know if I keep up while maintaining the #1 status at work (which, if you did not already know, consists for the most part of calling strangers and speaking in Mandarin if not broken Cantonese). In fact, when a friend of mine asked that I switch out into law with him, I actually contemplated the action. Except that over here, on the more Francophone side of the country, in order to be a lawyer, it is necessary to be perfectly bilingual in both written and oral English and French. Which of course leaves me stranded on the Anglophone island while that friend (who comes from a prestigious French all boys school) sails away on his lovely, perfectly-bilingual boat.

I am also quite distressed at the fact that after an argument between my mother and Fatty, I now have to come to terms with the fact that I will be packing my own lunches. Freshman 15, anyone? The only real tricks I know is that if the water base of your ramen is not warm enough to soften the noodles, then a good thing to do is add heated rice...BUT THAT WON'T REALLY HELP ME UNLESS WARM RICE IS AVAILABLE. So I fail.

Speaking of gaining weight -- what is with people nowadays? I understand that for a girl my age, weight gain and weight loss are extremely important subjects, but seriously...it's just scary how seriously some girls take this. Lamenting about a couple of pounds here and there, repeatedly asking whether or not something makes them fat -- I understand all these. I mean, I do a lot of stupid things because of my weight issues as well (if you don't believe me, just ask Fatty or Jerkface) but I don't starve myself, and I don't obsess over how other people manage to be thin.

So for that girl, or anyone, actually, who may be reading this and suffering from mild symptoms of pro-ana, here are some facts that may or may not be true, may or may not be tested, but are certainly vouched for by me. Remember when you were complaining about the dark undertone of your skin? Sure, that may be caused by genetics, but I believe it's enhanced by malnutrition, irregular and unhealthy dieting, bad sleeping habits, and lack of sunshine exposure. Same goes for dark, purple lips. Though I agree that these may not be the major contributing factors, they certainly aggravate the problem: not enough water, not enough sleep, not enough food.

Being thin takes restraint and proper dieting. Protein is not bad. In fact, though eating meat may not be the healthiest option, the enzymes contained in it help with the digestive process, and satisfy your appetite faster. Carbohydrates are not your worst enemy! Eat rice, bread, and pasta, but don't go overboard. When you feel like snacking, don't eat your lunch and then mooch off your friends come noon; instead, pack a variety of pre-cut fruits and vegetables. As long as you are not diabetic, you can handle the sugar, and the water content and fibre will do wonders for your digestive system.

Sleep! Don't stress out! Be happy! Eat well! You will surely lose fat. So the next time you say something as stupid as (and I'm quoting you on this) "your sister's legs look thinner than yours which is almost impossible because you're already too skinnyyyyy. what's her secret?", don't blame me for being aggravated and feeling as though you're cheating yourself of dignity and worth...because everyone else knows that you can do so much better than that. And besides, who really cares? A girl can be on the chubby side, but if her personality is great, her image won't falter. It's easy to hide a "ugly" body with the right clothes, but it's much harder to hit an ugly character. Personally, I'd rather talk about something with content when I'm around my friends, rather than the latest dieting tips or the most recent gossip. Maybe that's why most of my friends are guys.

And speaking of guys (I'm on a roll with the paragraph association here), I've recently reconnected with friend-not-friend-friend? Jerkface, who insists that he is more of my best guy friend than The Monkey because of a recently assembled honesty box between us. Jerkface hopes that the honesty box will now become a trend, something I doubt with every fibre of my being.

Essentially, the honesty box is a box of a conversation set up between two or more close friends. We then take turns voicing out our individual insecurities, and ask for each other for 100% honest opinions on a subject. Unfortunately, I am very insecure, and felt too insecure to set up an honesty box with the Monkey. However, because Jerkface is the person who chain-reaction'd my insecurities into place, I felt it only natural to have an honesty box with him. Thus, his need to be my best guy friend. Funny little guy.

End!

edit
I just realized that tomorrow will mark the one-year anniversary of my blogging about Jerkface! Hahaha, what are the chances?

Call Me A Prude...

2009-07-25T06:54:00.001-04:00

"Children exposed to sexual messages too young get a cheapened idea of what love is about, before they are old enough to form better ideas."

Uh, thank you?

Independent

2009-07-20T23:28:00.006-04:00

Just one question...

Why can't we be independent?

Personally, I find your behavior outrageous, humiliating and desperate. If I were to ever lower myself to that kind of conduct, I would probably shoot myself.

Be a little less weak, all of you.

Love,
Sophia

My mother is a fish killer

2009-07-20T03:43:00.003-04:00

True to the title, my mother really is a fish killer, and the only real pets I've ever had were rocks and fish, leaving me scarred possibly for life.

The trauma began in sixth grade, when we received a new computer and were in the process of setting it up. As all the members of my family crowded around the computer, in awe of the Cicero start up screen (is the company Cicero even still alive?), I went to the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. Lo and behold, I discovered that my mother left the hot water tap on while cleaning the fish bowl, and all of our beloved fish were dead, floating at the top, eyes wide open and screaming something along the lines of YOUR FREAKING MOTHER KILLED US.

After that dismal failure -- I think about seven fish died that afternoon -- my mother unsuccessfully tried to manage pet fish, though to no avail, as the only fish that survived the encounter went crazy and started eating the newly purchased replacement fish. Awkward turtle.

Flash forward a good four or five years later, and my mother decides she's going to buy some new fish, and she does, except she's a hardcore immigrant, and doesn't understand the need of an air pump to keep the fish happy, healthy, and - well - alive. So she made the very informed decision of keeping nine fish in a small fish bowl withing anything but a couple of pebbles and some water. Needless to say, they all started dying.

It was at this point that I stepped in and demanded that she purchase an air pump, clearly stating that fish also need oxygen to survive, and that the oxygen level in stagnant water is not infinite. She then took it upon herself to grab a straw and proceeded to blow bubbles into the tank. The next day, another fish died.

After purchasing the air pump (you wouldn't believe how relieved I was when she did so) and feeding the fish every four hours with proper gold fish food (and not leftover bread crumbs), I have to say that the fish were turning out pretty sexy, and they had grown quite a bit too. I genuinely believed that the fish killing days were over.

But, of course, I thought wrong.

This afternoon, my mother went to a local beach with LongJohn and Double Oh Seven to "catch some fish". They came back with two beer cups - yes, beer cups - each filled with two or three large, somewhat exotic freshwater fish. One of them had died during transport, much to the distress of LongJohn, but my mother was not perturbed.

Of course, I told my mother that the fish would probably die at any rate, as they were absolutely not adjusted to the aquarium life, and would probably be stressed out (yes, fish can be stressed out!) by the drastic change of environment.

Of course, she paid no attention to me, and placed the remaining four fish into a small fishbowl.

Half an hour ago, I discovered them. All. Dead. Probably due to a mix of stress and oxygen deprivation (the fishbowl had no air pump). I mourned their deaths for about ten seconds before realized that one of them was still slightly breathing! Quickly, I woke my mother up and demanded that she try to save that one last little guy by placing him in the larger tank, where the sexy goldfish would try to use their sexy charms and revive it. She begrudgingly did so, however, I feel as though that poor fellow is going to die anyway. It's just lying at the bottom of the aquarium, gills desperately pumping water while the other fish avoid it, and the algae eaters run their whiskers over it, not realizing that it isn't dead yet.

Now that I think about it, it could have easily been the goldfish food that killed it. It probably wasn't at all used to that kind of diet.

All this to say that my mother is a fish killer. And that I probably can't trust her with any pet's life.

But I still want a dog.

Go to sleep, already!

2009-07-17T04:20:00.003-04:00

I got my paycheck, and I'm now $300 richer, bitches.

Aside from that, it seems there's not much to say.

I am now off to take a shower and go to bed, as tomorrow I must attend a farewell pasta luncheon for a friend who is leaving to China for three weeks.

Lucky girl.

Hot DAMN.

2009-07-14T13:19:00.001-04:00

I'm aiming for this, bitches.

IOU = ILU ?

2009-07-11T12:56:00.001-04:00

Ah, so here we are again, it seems. Another month has gone by (more than a month, actually), and no word from Sophia. Then I pop up, give my excuses, rant a little more about some insignificant drivel, deliver my best regards, and disappear to Neverland once again. (Rest in peace, Michael Jackson, though I feel that I cannot completely drown myself in sorrow, as I have no idea who you are beyond the plastic covers of magazines and pale pixeled images of entertainment websites and shows.)

I should say that this is due to three main things -- one: I had finals for three weeks; two: I had prom; and three: I now work at a calling centre that demands inconvenient hours, disappointing surveys, and provides dismal pay. Though I have to admit, ringing up farmers from Nebraska and bringing up the good old times from my hometown (which is a state away from Nebraska, I'll have you know) while inputting figures for a 62-56 VT3 seed plant from Dekalb Corp. really does play with the heart strings a little.

I miss the United States, I really do, and I didn't realize this until I phoned up a man from the state of New York on July 3 regarding a recent visit to a TD Banknorth branch, a survey which consisted of ranking fifteen phrases on a scale of 1 to 7, where 1 is poor and 7 is excellent. He concluded our friendly conversation while inflating my already-high productivity level with, "Happy Fourth to you, my dear!"

Any other employee in the drab cubicled office space would have scoffed and brushed the comment aside, perhaps not quite even aware of what the 'Fourth' actually means. It was different for me, of course.

To me, the 4th represents all the glorified battles and memories that I've experienced in the land of the free. The adventures and prom dresses and hair removal products of Colorado, the museum laughter in DC, the great freeways of California, the tear-like snow of the Big Apple...how appropriate for all these to be celebrated with fireworks, ribs, and large, loud gatherings.

And though I truly do regret my actions of Denver 2007, and am not particularly fond of the tests my friendships were forced to endure (whether this was by my doing or not, I am not sure) in NYC 09, I can't help but say I miss the damned place. I miss the lazy warmth of my hometown, and I miss the odd sense of misplacement on top of the Empire State Building.

Even as I sit here, cap on head without any sunscreen, exposed to the dangers of the morning sun after an all-nighter filled with lurking, boredom, and self-reflection, insects crawling everywhere, I wish I was back in Colorado, pissed off at some infinitesimally trivial matter involving a cousin, or exploring the suburbs of Washington state, or biking through the paths of structured but undecorated houses, the crunch of dung beetles giving me a rush of rebellion as I ride on my bicycle, wheels continuously rotating, skin sizzling under the rays, unprotected after five hours with only a glob of SPF 50 sunblock...

Damn, this shit is making me feel nostalgic, and since I have unlimited calls on weeknights and weekends, my father has seized the golden opportunity of depriving me of my phone for today. I feel like accusing him of being a mooch, but then I realize that he footed the bill for my birth at University Hospital, provided the groceries for the past 16 years of my life, and is one of three financial supporters for my education (the other two being myself, and Fatty; my mother absolves herself of any duty under the pretense that she has LongJohn and Double Oh Seven to empty her wallets on, though I must not forget her ten-dollar investment for a watch to give me so that I can stop being late to my appointments and classes, and look slick while being at them).

I assume that with my luck, the Monkey will call to do something today (AND I AM ALMOST COMPLETELY FREE TODAY) only to have my father answer. Yikes. Of course, my father will absolutely freak out and assume that my brother from another mother is a tall, handsome genius, and not actually a brown Hong Kong native who is both broke and short.

Now with my train of thought and knack for association, I'd like to declare that yours truly, Sophia the FOB and/or FOBabee, has officially grown approximately two centimetres! CHEEEER! Now, most of you are either scoffing, laughing, applauding, or all three (something I think is highly unlikely, as from personal experience, I know it is quite difficult to scoff while laughing and in the midst of applauding a change in height), but two centimetres is quite the achievement for a girl who participates in absolutely no physical activity, sits in a cubicle and makes phone calls all day, and has a disastrous diet that consists of chocolate milk and potato chips...and is Asian (because I bring up stereotypes like it's the freaking weather, guys).

Well this is positive. My original intention for this post was to be a well-crafted rant on the shallowness of friendships within many Asian circles that I am familiar with, but instead has become the safe haven for short Asians and racist jokes, probably.

Please don't flame me, and please expect to see more of me.

Pause Part II

2009-06-06T23:46:00.016-04:00

Because everyone knows that anything good is usually followed by a bad sequel or (as in the case of the Terminator or Mummy franchises) many, many bad sequels.

Congratulations to those who half-heartedly requested that I maintain this sad, lifeless blog of mine despite the announced deaths of Senor's and Wistful's respective blogs - ah! to be as accurate as possible, allow me to correct myself - despite the announced death of Senor's blog (you bitch, you broke the triangle) and the prolonged periods of absence in which I was truly too lazy to think of anything remotely witty to say on the blog. You have (half-heartedly) convinced me to persevere in the face of such procrastinating challenges!

Allow me to first digress in this post, and give a shout-out to virtually any male presence in the audience: PLEASE, SOMEBODY, DRESS MORE LIKE THIS GUY. Ever since joining a dragon boat team, I've been exposed to the extreme conditions of joining the ranks of over-pubescent and bulky twenty-something men, and have since developed
and odd affinity for designer tees and sneaker collections. I've also been scoping out well-dressed guys and actualizing my self-coined term fashion crush at a rate of five per day. I'd also like to cut my hair, despite my self-made promise to wait at least until prom, and have been trying to convince my friends that shaving a fraction of my eyebrow off (see picture) is a good idea.

NO, SOPHIA, NO.

Actually, Fatty has been recounting numerous anecdotes of a recently friended 6'4 fashonista who she met at a nerd quiz club. Her frequent compliments on his Lacoste polos, suits, and Burberry tie piqued my interest, naturally. So I met the guy, and let me tell you - I was extremely disappointed. Yes, he is freakishly tall, and made a 6' friend of ours look like a dwarf when next to him, but he slouches, is hyperopic, and was decked from head to toe in Tommy Hilfiger. Don't get me wrong here, guys who have the noble ability to spend ridiculous amounts on a brand that seems to be the GAP for mid-thirties really bring a warm sensation to my heart, but to wear nothing but Hilfiger? Hm. Hmmm. No, Sophia (or should I say 6'4 hyperopic friend of Fatty's), no.

Digressions aside, congratulations to all those grads of 2009! It's finally fucking over! To refer to the spark of inspiration by Wistful at her blog:

Which brings me to the slate I intend to wipe with the closing of high school's old, old doors. It's been a long journey. I've made friendships, destroyed them, harbored secrets, revealed them, started drama, been the centre of drama, and much, much more. The thing that I'd like to impress upon you, dear readers, is that during the past five years, I've made memories, and upgraded my wardrobe (though the term upgraded is extremely relative).

It would seem appropriate to simply retire this blog, as its birth was the start of my high school transformation, therefore its death should only logically be at the end of high school. All I can give at the end of such an awe-inspiring adventure is a new look and the retiring of a couple of characters.

So please, say good-bye to Changmin, SFFL, and Orange Soda from the Asian Triads, as I will no longer be associating them to the group. Senor and Wistful shall still remain as a label, but will now be known as Wistful on my posts. A friendly farewell to the entire Gentlemen section of my characters Monsieur Beau, Riceboy, Sandman , and Mr. Mystery. I am no longer at all interested in being uninterested in being single, therefore you are at my mind's disposal. Eugenia will, however, remain, as he often accompanies me to bubble tea excursions.

Au revoir, mes profs! Actually, I've been caught in the middle of a huge scandal within the halls, as many girls are extremely envious of the heart that was left in my yearbook, penned by the one and only Hemingway. He must have realized my obvious obsession with him in third year...ah, haha. Good times.

So. Here it is. To the end of high school, and the beginning of something so brand spankin' new that I'm not sure how whether to hold it at the top or bottom. To the end of some beautiful friendships, and the beginning of some beautiful-er ones. To the end of all those regrets and shameful, bitter, and spiteful emotions, and the beginning of...more regrets and shameful, bitter, and spiteful emotions, probably.

To you, my dear reader! for being able to stick to this blog (or find it somewhat interesting, if you're just passing by) through the thick and thin.

More importantly, to FOB, the blog itself, for withstanding numerous rants, sob stories, and unimportant anecdotes.

Ah, this summer, though not yet begun (thank you, RWA, for giving me two-and-a-half week's worth of exams for which I have not even started studying), feels refreshing, don't you agree?

Pause.

2009-05-10T19:50:00.005-04:00

OH MY GAWD, I CAN'T FIND MY CHEMISTRY LAB NOTEBOOK. AND SOMEONE BORROWED MY RULER WITHOUT RETURNING IT. AND I HAVE A MATH TEST TOMORROW. AND I HAVE A PHYSICS TEST SOMETIME THIS WEEK. AND I HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW TOO.

However, on the bright side, Tuesday is a pedagogical. Thus, I am going to see Star Trek on big screen. Exciting? You bet it.

To fill you in on the long absence I seem to constantly be taking, I got a job! That's right! Sophia is now legally receiving money to annoy the eff out of you by calling you at extremely inconvenient times to ask redundant, word-for-word questions on behalf of company X represented by calling centre Y.

Mm, fun.

More fun than that was the paid 2-night training session I had to endure. As usual, I was the youngest, and the only anglophone.

Starving Artist creeped me out, and left halfway through the second night of training. SKETCH MUCH?!
Ghetto Man turned out to not be as ghetto as initially believed, just a man with some sort of attention complex.
The Jocks were extremely annoying. I could tell they and I weren't going to get along.
The Professional was extremely pretty, but also left halfway through the second night of training. Apparently, she had family issues she needed to solve.
Mom ended up being my age?! What. I know. Anyway, she's my mom.
The Kenyan was a sick bird, and is a giant.
I see the Veteran all the freaking time. For the most part, he looks as though he's going through crack rehab, but he always meets the target for phone calls...damn him.
The Flamboyant wears clothes for women, is nice albeit quirky.

Sorry for the extremely ugly post, my creative juices are focusing on figuring out where my chemistry lab notebook went...ugh.

200+ Posts Already!

2009-03-18T21:44:00.003-04:00

For those who have not been following my Tumblelog, spring has finally reached this dismal city! The birds are chirping, the sun is shining, the sky is clear, and - best of all - the air is filled with the stench of defrosting dog manure (thanks ever so much, neighbours!).

Since much of the snow within our city has melted, my father has decided that it is high time to take my driving lessons to the next level. This means that I actually have to confirm a time for my "class" with him at least 2 days in advance.

Let's just say that after last month's lesson, my father spent four days locked in his room, praying for the patience and perseverance necessary to properly teach me how to drive without imploding.

So after arriving home this afternoon (as usual, I fell asleep on the metro and forgot to visit the library for an important French project..Predicament is going to KILL ME), I changed into a T and sweatpants, slipped Fatty's brown All-Stars on, and headed out to the car.

An hour and a half later, and my dad isn't as angry as I thought he would be! Why? It seems that I can successfully make turns, pinpoint specific errors within my techniques, and remain a naturally relaxed driver!

SUCK THAT, FATTY!

I believe my father decreases his yelling potential by at least 90% when I'm behind the wheel simply because I have the mentality of a four year-old. I don't get nervous because I am aware that I will probably fail miserably anyway, and I also enjoy knocking things over with large machines.

I am dead excited to continue learning how to drive, and am crossing my fingers for a job so that I may start saving up for a car on my own.

Mr. and Mrs. Birkley

2009-03-16T21:18:00.000-04:00

For you, Trebuchet.

It was a Saturday afternoon. The ceramics store was brimming with heat, despite the lack of shoppers. Employees idled by their stations. They didn’t expect very much; it wasn’t dinner party season, and the range of item prices wasn’t one for the middle class.

The strategy behind the broken circulation vents was that those consumed by heat are more likely to collapse under sales pressure, like a castle of playing cards. Commission would probably be higher as well, as many customers were too preoccupied by the pervasive heat to really care for bargaining.

In spite of the thick humidity within the small building, two people crowded over a display of water-painted teacups. Only one of them was aware of the time that had elapsed since entering; he was the one paying for parking.

The sharp forks and glittering knives gleamed from their plastic enclosures, the glazed plates and painted bowls casting a pale almost ugly glow from their shelves. Only Mrs. Birkley remained cheerful as she ran her hands over choice items, tapping her lacquered nails lightly against teapots and sandwich trays.

“We’ll take this one,” she gestured to a set of plates, bowls, and matching napkins.

TRIPLE POST.

2009-03-01T22:07:00.001-05:00

JERKFACE, STOP STALKING ME.

It is creepy and uncool.

I am seriously doubting my college applications because of you.

Stay. Away.

Love,
Sophia

IT'S A DOUBLE POST WHAT

2009-03-01T12:41:00.002-05:00

To make up for the lack of posts last month? Sure, why not.

Though the truth is that I have a pretty big secret, and I feel it necessary de l'avouer. So here is a WARNING: the following post contains information not safe for work, home, babies, children, police officers, romanticists, peaceful people, family, friends, those who suffer from acne, those who do not, and those who enjoy badminton to some degree.

Remember that extremely angry post about Jerkface? Remember me promising not to ever speak to him again? Then breaking that promise? Then renewing that promise?

HA. As if Sophia's promises are ever kept!

I feel it is important that you, the reader, understand my current feelings for him. Contrary to the beliefs of his badminton friend (who randomly added me on Messenger in order to ask me if I had feelings for JF five minutes into the conversation) as well as Changmin, Orange Soda, and others, I really don't talk to Jerkface anymore. In fact, most of the short conversations we have are initiated by him, not me, and they usually revolve around college admissions and recommended movies.

Though at the same time, I am aware of the fact that he still believes that I am madly in love with him, and that he would be doing me a favour if he sympathetically became my friend.

To that I say as. if.

Because I still haven't gotten over the aforementioned angry post. Nor have I gotten over this post, in which I declare my utter stupidity for having ever recognised my feelings for him.

Which brings me to my premature conclusion: all of my insecurities have been concentrated in him. Therefore, in order to truly move past him, I believe that I must first overcome my insecurities.

Insert anecdote pertaining to last night's SMS conversation with The Monkey (from which some some strange details of his romantic life were revealed and promptly shut in my mental drawer of things that should never be repeated lest I burn in hell...or something).

In my second and third year of high school, my mother took the liberty of spending copious amounts of our already limited family funds in order to invest in three (count 'em, three!) possible dresses for my graduating ball. Unfortunately, since these times, my body has drastically changed; though my upper torso remains the same, my hips are wider, and my stomach has developed a cute little muffin top.

It was therefore necessary to lose weight in order to fit into the dresses. The Monkey was very aware of this, and asked for a picture of proof when I admitted to him that I have lost enough weight to finally fit into the gowns. After great difficulty of getting a nice shot (I was, after all, using my cell phone), I managed to get a decent snapshot and sent it to him.

His reply to my picture message was: You have a body! Assuming that he was being sarcastic, I defended my inability to take a good picture with the fact that I am not a fan of taking self-pictures, and I am not quite that familiar with my phone's camera function. He then explained that he was not being sarcastic, and that he was unaware that I actually had a proportional body.

In other words, he had led his life believing that I was flat. However, he did admit that if I genuinely tried to look hot, it was very possible. Changmin eventually joined in by insisting that if I were to wear contact lenses and grow out my hair, I would be so much more attractive.

Needless to say...I was completely unaware of this until yesterday evening. I was, however, already in the process of changing things in order to look mighty fine for college next year. This would include growing out my hair, revamping my wardrobe, and investing in accessories and nail polish. Unfortunately, these changes do not reflect most of the suggestions that Monkey gave me. He believes that I should be more feminine; I have instead opted for the street look.

This is all to say that if I lose weight, change my style, grow out my hair, and purchase contact lenses, I will be that much prettier. Which is good, because I am mainly doing all this to show up Jerkface. (Oh, what a spiteful bitch I am!) Also because I find it extremely unfair that the sister of someone so vile could be so much prettier than me (yes, I am aware that shallow envy is my downfall).

In fact, I am itching for spring and summer to come so that I can finally reveal the new Sophia. The raging, progesterone-filled Sophia deep down is itching to rencontrer Jerkface and having him realise how much a large mistake it was to be such a jerk to someone so awesome (and so obviously not interested in a relationship with him).

So please do not expect that many posts on this main blog. It has too much emotional baggage. I am telling you readers now that most of my thoughts will be transferred to the Tumblelog -- yes, more shameless plugging, I know.

On the bright side, here's to March!

Who would have guessed..

2009-03-01T11:28:00.005-05:00

Unsurprisingly, because of hectic amounts of schoolwork and nonsense, I have only managed to post twice on this blog within the span of the twenty-eight days of February. I am nonplussed as to why I did not think of posting yesterday to make the count three. I guess that would be one of the many things in my life that is mystifying and slightly redundant.

At any rate, here is the first post of this month. I have just come back from cleaning my room, and am becoming increasingly frustrated with Fatty. You might remember the post I had made setting guidelines with what she could and could not do in our room since I would be studying in it. Exactly two months later, and she still has not gotten the general gist of it.

Rule number one has been rendered redundant, as recent family conflicts have made it awkward for either of us to eat anywhere except in our room, so there is nothing I can say about that. Except, of course, the time Fatty decided to eat toast on the floor (right beside my bed, mind you). I had reminded her to sweep the floor for any dead-bread crumbs, but alas, she simply burped and continued her rampant Facebook Tetris craze.

She always flosses her teeth here. She also frequently brushes her teeth in the room. After being kindly reminded by yours truly, Fatty usually throws a small hissy fit and commences her internal monologue about how much of a ruthless, nagging bitch I am.

Rule number three: keep the floor clear of objects.
This is the rule that gets me the most. Instead of keeping the floor clear of objects, Fatty insists that she use her laptop at the foot of my bed, drink orange juice at the foot of my bed, and at the end of the day, all objects that should be removed and rearranged in her study room usually end up underneath her bed.

All I have to say is that the notion of putting books, electronics, and other objects underneath something you shed your skin on daily is disgusting. Everything beneath her bed is covered with a thick layer of dust, and I can no longer tolerate anything she brings in here.

Fatty has also been suffering from a small dose of awful foot odor. The fact that she enters the room in her filthy socks and contemplates what to do for five minutes before realizing that she needs to wash her feet (and burn her socks...but she never does that) means that while I was collecting the garbage beneath her bed, I could not help but crinkle my nose at the awful smell that was emanating from the floor boards.

Ugh.

This is such an incomplete rant, but I must bid thee farewell. I have to post about my shopping experience yesterday on my Tumblelog. Shameless plugging? Why yes, you have caught me red-handed.

SOS

2009-02-15T19:58:00.008-05:00

Ah yes, I am back from my amazing grad vacation in the Big Apple. Needless to say, much money was spent, and even more shopping was done (regardless of whether or not it was done in front of a window or with my credit card in hand).

New York had its ups and downs, its highs and lows, but it was such a beautiful, whimsical, typical city. I loved it. I recall an instance in which a friend and I were discussing the overall nonexistent unity of the class of '09. All I have to say now is that NYC has done nothing but strengthen our year; many of us were ditched by friends and forced to chill with people who we would usually never associate ourselves with. Most of us found the opportunity enlightening and enjoyable. I happen to be one of them.

I will never forget my battle cries in the dark alleys of the city that never sleeps, the significance of SOS, or the fluffy New York cheesecake. It doesn't really matter that my friends left me for less-than-optimal shopping, or that I ended up sitting alone on the 6-hour ride home (an appropriate time to catch up on sleep). What matters is that though NYC could have been better, I wouldn't ever want to change the experience of it.

However, now that I am back as mundane, studious Sophia in this Francophone city within Canada, I've been leading an uneventful, typical Sophia-like life. I've adopted a small Tumblelog (definition), to which the link can be found on my central navigation. Whenever I feel the need to add little tidbits of my uninteresting and simplistically plain life, I post it there. So if ever a reader feels that my long absences from Fresh off the Boat are uncalled for, unjust and uncool, I say: just visit my tumblelog, where redundant anecdotes, quotes, and self-shot pictures are posted on a tri-daily basis!

Speaking of routine (I am actually just trying to fit a good six blog posts in one while I can; thanks for the nudge, Trebuchet!), since my parents are discussing moving my studies to the L of A, my dad has been revving his engines and testing his patience teaching me how to drive.

I returned from the library this afternoon, hungry after skipping lunch and ravished after cleaning out my filthy physics binder only to face my father's small figure, (pointing to the door, declaring that it was time, "to learn how to be independent" (from what, Father, from what?!). So I grabbed my RWA hoodie - what a comfortable, ugly thing it is! - rolled my jeans up, and drove around my neighbourhood in circles looking like an idiot.

Needless to say, my dad insists I need to work on turning. He also dislikes how I giggle hysterically after we endure a near-death experience due to my inability to brake properly.

At least I'm doing better than Fatty did.

Checklist.

2009-02-01T20:27:00.006-05:00

Basic courtesies:

1. Citizenship card + birth certificate duo
2. Wallet
3. Addresses for postcards
4. Digital camera
5. Glasses

Toiletries:

1. Toothbrush
2. Dental floss
3. Hair pins
4. Elastic bands
5. Bio-Oil
6. Makeup case
7. Facial cleanser
8. Chapstick
9. Facial and body cream

Clothes:

1. Jeans
2. 3 shirts
3. Dress and tights
4. Socks
5. Sweater
6. Under garments
7. Towels
8. Pajamas

Avoiding boredom:

1. Chewing gum
2. A good book to read
3. UNO deck

Food:

1. Chips
2. Grapes
3. Water
4. Ramen

Monday will be the longest day ever.

Confessions of a Teenaged Shop-a-Holic

2009-01-31T22:32:00.004-05:00

I am thoroughly convinced that the gods have planned my life out in such a way that by the age of twenty-five, I shall own seven credit cards and be over sixteen thousand dollars in debt.

I have come to this conclusion because I, quite frankly, cannot stop myself from spending money. Be it chocolates for Pudge Pudgitty, pajamas for Fatty, or luxuries for myself, in the face of purchasing power, I cannot in any possible way resist taking out a) my wallet b) an IOU to a friend c) my debit card, or d) Fatty's "misplaced" credit card. It's quite awful, because all these tendencies are compulsive and in no way optional.

Which is precisely why I should not have went out yesterday evening. It was a mistake to have agreed to pay off Fatty's December credit card bill, because I should have known that I would forget my wallet (containing Fatty's bank card) in my desk drawer, thus resulting in my returning home after school, changing clothes, and heading to the downtown bank, which was the quickest to get to.

If there is any place one should never bring me, it's downtown. I don't do well in the crowded streets of the central city because it forces me to match my stride with other pedestrians (who are not quick-paced, mind you) and sandwiches me between boutiques upon boutiques of sinfully attractive sales and artfully coordinated mannequin outfits.

Normally, I would simply shrink away from the sales pressure and looming possibility of being broke for the fifth time since the start of 2009, but since Fatty herself decided to tag along (so that she could withdraw some American cash for my visit to New York; she is expecting shoes, sweaters, hair accessories, and Japanese treats when I return) and was well equipped with an Esprit gift card, I was not unwillingly dragged into the city's only Esprit boutique for the first time in my life.

Now, I do not ever enter such places for the basic fact that the cardigans they carry start at about $40, which is nothing short of excessively pricey for my poor, student bank account. It doesn't take an idiot to realise how ridiculously priced clothing can be in a store as meticulously organized, basic, and trendy as Esprit. So every time I pass Mango, Esprit, DKNY, and other polished shopping malls, I pick up my pace, pray for a chance at winning the lottery, and divert my gaze to places like H&M, Dynamite, American Eagle Outfitters, and Winners (where else?).

However, the day I enter all those moderately high-end boutiques is the day I file for bankruptcy protection. Esprit was beautiful. So, so beautiful. Words cannot describe how naively enthralled I was upon entering the boutique. The hardwood floors, basic colors, and overall sense of purification made me feel as if Esprit would be the source of all my shopping catharses.

The best part of the three quarters of an hour Fatty and I spent in the store consisted of me gasping at the shocking selection of clearance items. Shirts for nine dollars and ninety-nine cents?! Blouses for nineteen dollars and ninety-nine cents?! Sweaters for twenty-four dollars and ninety-nine cents?! Pullovers for thirty-four dollars and ninety-nine cents?!

It was bliss. Fatty did not find anything to her style of liking in the store, and so agreed to use her gift card in exchange for cash, meaning I saved twenty dollars on the original fifty-three that I was supposed to spend that evening. After having completed the transaction, I promptly realised that I had spent quite a bit of money the weekend before heading to New York City, the capital of fashion.

Woe is me; I am destined to be depressed and short of money for the rest of my life.

Speaking of depressed, my parents and I have begun serious discussions of my near future after high school. As most of you know, this year is my fifth year of secondary education, marking the year of my graduation, NYC trip (THIS TUESDAY, WHUT) and prom. Normally, I would pursue education after high school by preparing applications for a two-year college program, after which I would apply to a regional three-year university program, finishing off with a bachelor's degree in a given subject.

However, our discussions generally revolve around my somewhat final decision to study abroad for the next couple of years.

The funny thing about the statement I just made is that, truthfully, I have been studying abroad. Having been born in the United States of America, studying for the past twelve years in Canada essentially means that I am actually studying abroad right now. Though if returning home means returning to my hometown, I suppose that next year will create a slight alteration of what "returning home" really means.

I will likely finish the twelfth grade in Los Angeles, California with the same relatives that I spent a week with last March during spring break, and then apply to a university within the region.

These serious discussion do not necessarily mean that I will be packing my bags with a plane ticket in hand come the end of June; however, I will be looking into high schools, SAT's, and university applications very, very soon.

Woe is me; I am destined to spend over three hours hunched over and typing laboriously at my laptop in order to produce a substantially sustaining blog post. I hope you are happy that you have received such a privilege; I normally never spend this much time on any sort of work.

Hmph.

2009-01-26T21:02:00.005-05:00

In light of recent events resulting in a three-hour consultation with my favourite guidance councilor, I have decided that I'm long overdue for some substantial change in my life.

I could go on with a list of things that I'd like to change, but the real nitty gritty parts of it include enhancements of exterior image, and improvements in overall quality of friendships.

These branches can and will likely directly or indirectly affect the relationship I have with the following people:

Fatty
Changmin
The Monkey
French teacher
Guy who sent me a birthday gift semi-anonymously
Jerkface
Mr. Mystery
Guy who sits in front of me in economics class
SFFL
Eugenia
Piano dude whose heart I unknowingly broke
Sandman
Girl whose Facebook I stalk
Wistful

And others.

Cheers, and here's to the year of the Ox!

May your year be filled with rain, fish, and/or prosperity!

2009-01-25T21:13:00.005-05:00

As I type this, I am chewing on pieces of Peking Duck, having finished off an entire case of New Year candies. While this is happening, I longingly gaze at the banana, oranges, and more New Year candies packaged by my father for tomorrow's school day. In fact, I was interrupted countless times during this blogging process in order to help my mother prepare New Year cakes for tonight and tomorrow. This is terrible for my waist band, but as it is traditional to eat much, get fat, and be merry on the three-day Spring festival, I can only do so much in maintaining my weight. The rest will come in due time (I suspect the awful realization will come on Thursday).

I am also on my menstrual period. Blood-free New York week, here I come!

Melons, Menstruation, Men and Poo.

2009-01-21T11:01:00.006-05:00

I am currently eating honeydew melons that are so stale and overripe they are no longer green.

I am also hoping that this year, I will not be on my menstruation cycle while I sight-see in NYC.

(That is unlikely.)

And instead of being productive and studying for tests and quizzes, I have been working on a model of my perfect man:

He should not play badminton excessively.
He cannot be victim to Yellow Fever. Ever.
He should be interested in mundane things like studying, cooking, and filial piety.
He must not aspire to be a doctor.
He must be willing to withstand my random antics involving bowel movements.
He will not be FOBulous, a Riceboy, a FOBster, or a FOB.

II: CHEMICAL REACTION PROCESS

2009-01-07T20:01:00.004-05:00

COLLISION THEORY

           Chemical reactions proceed when reacting molecules collide with enough energy to result in the rearrangement to atoms. Not all collisions result in a chemical reaction. An effective collision (one that leads to the formation of products) occurs only if the molecules collide with the correct orientation and sufficient force to break the existing bonds and form new ones.

ACTIVATION ENERGY (E[a])

           The minimum amount of energy required for a reaction to take place when particles are colliding. This is also called the energy barrier. Only a fraction of colliding particles have this much energy.

ACTIVATION COMPLEX

           Also known as the transition state, the activation complex is temporary. It is the point where old bonds are weakened and new bonds are beginning to form. Particles are present at the highest potential energy point in the chemical reaction state.

So, essentially, these molecules are students in a dorm. They party, of course, everyday. They drink alcoholic beverages. With a certain amount of alcohol, they reach a level of intoxication, at which point it becomes clear that bonds between two (or more) students can easily be formed. This is because they have entered a surreal and transitory state that is only temporary to the lendemain, at which point they wake up with a ridiculous headache and a realisation that the bonds they formed are pretty permanent (at least for the moment). Catalysts, also known as the sophomore frat boys, often promote the consumption and availability of alcohol. As everyone knows, the more alcohol available, the more likely that point of intoxication will be reached. Inhibitors are frowned upon, as they are the geeky dorm officers who make sure those cases of alcoholic beverages are removed at once, thus lowering the chances of students getting drunk and forming bonds.

Now if only my chemistry teacher could explain it like that.

Q'ty vs. Ql'ty

2009-01-03T08:12:00.001-05:00

It has come to my attention, dear readers, that the quality of each of my posts has decreased in accordance to their quantity and frequency. Which essentially means that you, as the much appreciated and very valued readers, can either brace yourselves for the one-month intervals between one-thousand word posts, or you can rejoice at the fact that within these intervals will probably be something of sustenance in the form of increased vocabulary and excellent punctuation, two things that are very rarely found next to each other.

I would also like to add that another possible reason for my prolonged absences from FOB is that in two days, at approximately this time, instead of lying with my laptop on my bed, I will be dragging my sorry carcass through the halls of school.

That's right, folks. Monday marks the end of this bittersweet vacation, and the beginning of eight straight weeks of hellish torture in the form of quizzes, assignments, tests, and essays. Thankfully, by the end of this period (and the beginning of March break, something I would probably commit suicide without) I will have finished my math exam, been to New York, and gotten the science fair done and over with. And if there is anything I want to be done and over with the most, it is the science fair (one doesn't spend a straight month in the lab working with pipettes and pipettors under the stern and disapproving glare of a proteins-department professor without wanting, to some degree, to jump through the beautiful scenery that can be seen through the large, rather expensive windows and never again enter the university biochemistry lab).

Rest assured, dear readers. Once the science fair is done and over with (which will be in a while, seeing as how I have been unable to bring myself past the abstract portion of the report), Sophia will return with a force exceeding that of the microcentrifuge, used to evenly distribute substances. (Relative centrifugal force: 20,000 g.)

House Rules

2009-01-01T15:01:00.003-05:00

Dear Fatty,

Though I will forever be grateful that you found a little place in your heart to allow me to switch desks with you, seeing as how you study until the cracks of dawn while I cry tears of anguish as I attempt to sleep while you scribble, highlight, shuffle papers, and pack you bag (nothing is more annoying than zippers), I must lay down a few house rules. After all, our room is no longer mainly your room; it is mine. Your room is in Dad's room...cold, bitter, and awkward.

Rule number one: there is absolutely no eating in our room.
I justify this with one question: WHY WOULD YOU EAT IN THE SAME ROOM THAT YOU SLEEP, STUDY, AND PRETTY MUCH LIVE IN?!

Rule number two: please, please, do not floss or brush your teeth in here.
You've taken physics, haven't you? I am sure, then, that you understand how far floss projectiles can fly. I would also like to note that, because you have braces, you floss in front of the mirror. My bed is next to the mirror. Are you drawing a link between those two sentences? You should be. Drawing a link, that is. Not flossing in our room.

Brushing your teeth is worse, seeing as how you use an electric tooth brush that spurts out streaks of spit, toothpaste, and projectiles not removed by floss.

Rule number three: keep the floor clear of objects.
This includes this your $60 leather bag that I occasionally borrow when I want to look nice, your why-are-we-paying-two-thousand-dollars-a-semester college agenda, the bubble tea Eugenia gave you on your birthday, your scrap booking materials, and your sketchbook. I am all for looking nice, being organised, and staying creative -- but please. Not on the floor.

Rule number four: please keep in mind the three different trash bins I have organised in our room when throwing out different forms of garbage.
The warped bin is ONLY for recyclable papers. The plastic bag is ONLY for recyclable plastic. The blue bin is ONLY for garbage from beauty products and Q-tips. Anything else needs to be sent to the kitchen's trash bins.

Rule number five: DO YOUR LAUNDRY.
It's bad when I don't do it; it's worse when you don't. The sad part is that you have another four weeks of vacation...and there are still heaps and heaps of clothing sitting to the left side of your bed. It is gross. And strange. And obviously getting in the way when I sweep.

Rule number six: respect my need for fresh air.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with opening our window a fraction of a centimetre in order to clear out some of the dust floating around. If you are cold, wear a sweater. If you are aggravated, scrap book at your own desk.

Rule number seven: there is only room for water in our room.
I swear, the next time you bring your cups of coffee and orange juice into here, I am going to throw a tantrum worse than Double Oh-Seven when you turn off his Curious George television program. There is nothing more revolting than cups with coffee rings left next to my jewelry box, or sticky puddles of spilled orange juice at the foot of my bed.

So there it is, Fatty. You might think I am being anal...and I am. But it is all for the greater good.

Of course, by the greater good, I actually mean the Super Junior M poster I received for my birthday, and the Salvador Dali poster Sir Hippie gave me, both posted on the wall above my desk. The greater good also includes the photos of SFFL, our cousin Brenda (rest in peace, memories of Los Angeles, my motherland), and our newlywed parents. Oh, and the giant poster Changmin and friend helped me decorate on my birthday:

Good times...for the greater good, of course.

Love,
Sophia

Two double oh eight, au revoir!

2008-12-31T16:00:00.003-05:00

This is so cliché, I can't believe I'm actually doing it.

But here's to the year 2008, which, in approximately eight hours, will cease to exist in anything but nostalgic memorabilia and history books. It's hard to believe that this blog has existed since the winter of 2005...actually, it's hard to believe that, being the lazy bum that I am, I haven't been able to stop blogging since then.

And I know, you're probably drifting off in a haze right now, since it seems that, as of late, my posts have become increasingly emotional and ridiculously tacky, but I suppose that's what 2008 has been to me.

I've learned a lot this past year, the most important of which is that 3, 4, and 5 make a rational triangle (thanks, SFFL!) and that sleep is the best cure to acne (thanks, winter holiday!).

I've been through a lot, too...I mean, if you follow the blog as religiously as some of the stalkers who have approached me on the internet bearing lawls and less than three's, then you probably know of the characters Eugenia Dexter Maximilian Ta-Kim Joie, Sandman, and Mr. Mystery, who have appeared on numerous occasions within the boundaries of one word: emo. Or, in Eugenia's case, TEEHEE!

Honestly speaking, I believe that one of the most emotionally changing experiences I've ever had to deal with as of yet is likely Jerkface. And I know, I know; I had promised myself that I would never bring him up again, but this is one of those closure posts...you know, one of those posts where I write with a clear head and an obvious objective in mind. (This is also one of those posts that are extremely long, because it is summing up an entire year's worth of exploits, which is also the complete opposite of 2007's summary.)

The truth is, however, that Jerkface has inspired me. His mere existence has brought me a realisation of just how emotionally fragile I am, despite the general air I give off when with friends. The bouts of anger and frustration have brought me closer to people I would likely have rarely talked to (hello, Orange Soda!) and have made me comprehend the intertwining bonds that are shared between two people, regardless of their relationship. A lot has come out of Jerkface's involvement in my life, though I have yet to determine whether or not it was for better or worse.

So there it is. Probably not as long as I had anticipated, but my general summary of 2008: uplifting and refreshing. To face 2009 level-headed and optimistic...that's what I intend to do.

...

Well, that was definitely a cliché ending...

(Yesterday was also Fatty's birthday; instead of receiving a giant candle from Eugenia, she received four packs of instant bubble tea formula, a clear reminiscing of the days when the two of them would boba out with me in Chinatown.

Very proud of you, Eugenia. You have surpassed my expectations.)

Chain of Events

2008-12-27T01:44:00.002-05:00

Check it out:

1. Sophia takes shower.

2. Sophia forgets tooth brush.

3. Sophia can't find tooth brush.

4. Sophia does not brush teeth.

5. Sophia eats!

6. Sophia feels sick.

7. Sophia does not sleep.

8. Sophia thinks.

9. Sophia gets headache.

10. Sophia whines to her Monkey about being broke.

End!

Winter holidays

2008-12-24T02:58:00.003-05:00

It is three o'clock in the morning.

I am watching what is quite possibly the worst television drama of life right now.

I AM NOT WEARING ANY PANTS.

...

Yes, my dear readers. This is how Sophia spends her winter holidays.

Edit: Merry Christmas!

Snow? Snow!

2008-12-21T12:38:00.003-05:00

Since yesterday's breakdown resulted in reduced sleeping time, zero studying time, and swollen, puffy eyes, I am glad to say that the snow day in Chinese school could not have some at a better time.

Of course, by snow day, I simply mean my dad woke me up at 8:30 and was exploding with SOPHIA YOU GO TO CHINESE SCHOOL WRITE YOUR FINAL EXAM, and I just brushed him off with SNOOOOOOW CANCELLED while rolling over and commencing to drool on the other side of my pillow.

Now I am off to go shopping! I am sick with food, and since boys have shamefully depleted the multiple reasons for my little existence, I shall have a much thinner wallet by the end of the day.

If anyone would like to join me on this extravaganza (the Monkey has already phoned me) then by all means, text me, don't phone me. I will have no more minutes until Christmas.

Catharsis

2008-12-21T01:01:00.002-05:00

Stupid.

An adjective that clearly describes someone with enough lack of wit, ingenuity, and common sense to do, say, or think things that are utterly ridiculous and, I'm assuming, very unintelligent.

Stupid.

What Sophia happens to be, because she decided to cling onto an ideal (yes, you heard right, folks, an ideal) that was symbolically represented in what became a boy.

Now I am sure that all of you are aware of who this boy is -- probably just as aware as you are aware of his many pseudonyms, the most notorious of which is Jerkface.

Stupid.

Not Jerkface, no. Sophia. The whole point of this email is to reinforce the fact that Jerkface is by all means possessive of enough wit, ingenuity, and common sense to not be branded stupid while Sophia is not. She is stupid.

Digressing, I would like to now direct you to the arguments of said stupidity.

Jerkface is not stupid for "liking" Sophia and never asking her out. The fact of the matter is - and this is what Sophia gathers from the information given to her directly from him - that though he is not stupid, he is manipulative. Even though Sophia insisted Jerkface was a mean, cold-hearted, and egoist bastard, it is definite that somewhere, deep down, she had given him the benefit of the doubt. This benefit was reinforced by her friends, who insisted that he was probably this way because of shyness, or lack of esteem in himself -- they implored for her to give second chances. This benefit was completely uncalled for, because he took Sophia's stupid moments of weakness and welded them into a pedestal onto which he situated himself.

And Sophia is stupid. She is stupid for believing that he was a good guy. That he would show up. That the two of them would mean something.
She is stupid for blindly following her friend's advice, eyes closed to the fact that they barely knew much of him.
Sophia is also stupid for not realizing that guys like Jerkface are the biggest assholes. Ever. From a constructive point of view, of course.

Because when push came to shove and she confronted him about everything, he simply stated that

Sophia is worthless.
Sophia is clueless.
Sophia is ridiculous.
Sophia is dramatic.
Sophia is clingy.
Sophia is blind.
Sophia is socially unfit.

Sophia has fallen for a guy who lead her on for the sake of leading her on.

And when she mulled over it, Sophia realized that all of this was true.
It was true in the sense that she allowed herself to be like this in his presence.

She allowed herself to trust him completely.

And in doing so, when push really did come to shove, and tears were shed, she opened the way for him to insult her.
To take the very little dignity that was left in her.
To make her feel, quite frankly, like shit.

Which is why Sophia is clearly stupid.

But rest assured, dear readers.

Some resolve will come of this.
Because one doesn't allow their own dignity to be stripped away by someone as unworthy and insignificant as Jerkface and not come away with a disgusting, emotional scar -- one doesn't go through this and not come out having learned a lesson.

Seriously though, what a stupid girl.

8 hours later...

2008-12-20T10:04:00.002-05:00

I write so well when I'm sleep deprived and depressed.

How depressing.

This is not supposed to be published

2008-12-20T01:53:00.004-05:00

Dear Jerkface,

We are not meant to be.

Why?

You are a jerk.

(I cannot stand jerks.)

You have no CONSCIENCE.

(Neither do I.)

You think objectively.

(I never think objectively.)

You are demeaning.

(I am self-conscious.)

You make very sexually suggestive comments.

(I do not appreciate sexually suggestive comments.)

You are emotionally uninterested in a relationship.

(I am emotionally uninterested in playing games.)

You are obsessed with badminton.

(I have begun to hate badminton.)

You have a large ego.

(I hate people who are too self-conscious to admit they are self-conscious by inflating their non-self-consciousness personalities.)

You believe in school over girls, because girls can give you babies.

(I do not.)

You keep me waiting.

And I wait, I'm not going to lie. Even when you tell me that the chances of you actually showing up to functions like tonight are low, I still grudgingly go. I manage to drag my exhausted, exam-week-eaten corpse to a party I am obviously not really interested in, thinking that somehow, in some miraculous way, you will be there, because I think that a part of me is clinging on to this ridiculous hope. This hope that maybe you will be there.

Since, you know, tonight was the night. Tonight was all about us. No more exams, no more school, no more dreaming up excuses. Tonight was it.

But you ruined it.

You made it about you. You made it about your need to stay at home, your non-existent interest in social functions, your obsession with badminton.

If you managed to summon the courage to serenade me with Backstreet Boy tunes on the phone, you surely would have been capable of dragging your own half-consumed body to see me.

Or not.

Because even though tonight was supposed to be about us, it ended up being about you. And me.

You, the one who brushes things off, and me, the one who dwells on them.

You, the one who tells me to grow up and stop being dramatic, and me, who spends the whole night wondering if I've driven you away.

You, the one who accuses me of not being good enough, and me, the one who believes you.

You, the one who calls me to ask about badminton, and me, the one who holds the phone to her ear long after you've hung up, expecting more.

You, the jerk, and me, the one who thinks that deep down, you really aren't that bad of a guy.

You, the one who leaves me waiting, and me, the one who waits like a foolish child waiting for Santa.

One day you'll realise that there's a limit to all this. One day, you'll realise that you can't keep me dwelling, thinking, believing, expecting, assuming -- you'll realise that you can't keep me waiting for as long as you want. The day will come when you lose me, and not because I am a spiteful bitch (though some would argue that I am), but simply because I got tired about it not being about us.

I am tired of you, and me. All I wanted was an us.

Instead, I spent the night dwelling, thinking, believing, expecting, assuming, and waiting -- and I'm not going to lie, it really, really sucked.

I phoned you, your sister answered, asked me to wait for two seconds while she got you, and then it cracked.

How simple it is to wait two seconds, but can you believe how long two seconds can last?

An agonizing eternity. Not of us, but of you. And me, I suppose.

A fucking monstrous, agonizing eternity.

(Sorry for cursing.)

Love,
Sophia

Oh the weather outside is frightening

2008-12-12T19:05:00.002-05:00

I wish it would keep snowing.

Maybe then I'd be able to skip out on some exams.

I also wish that the wind would stop being so mind-blowingly strong.

While I'm at it (and while my toes are defrosting), I also wish for someone to call me and sing me a song.

It better be a good song too, dammit.

Eh toi.

2008-12-09T20:54:00.003-05:00

I have very conflicting emotions here.

But thank you anyway.

SNOW, COME HITHER

2008-12-08T20:36:00.013-05:00

If there is anything I love more than waking up at 6:30 in the morning on a day of provincial elections (no school, hoorah!), it is doing so in order to go to a protein biochemistry lab.

Fortunately for me, the waking up at 6:30 was a chance for me to skip the long badminton lines and win THREE MATCHES against Daddykins, the man who still harbours his loss by refusing to teach me how to drive, despite his initial happy, albeit disbelieving reaction to the fact that I had enough common sense to pass the theory test (which consisted of questions such as You are driving a car and approach an intersection, a pedestrian is crossing the road, what do you do -- a) honk and proceed b) yield the right of way c) run the pedestrian over).

While we played badminton, I noticed that there were two Laura Cadieux look-a-likes on the court adjacent to ours. (This is for all of you French langue maternelle fifty-six-oh-oners out there; Wistful, Predicament.) They even had the accent down pat. I wouldn't have been surprised (though I would have certainly been amused) if one of them had dropped her racket and exclaimed, "Maudite folle, ces chinoyses la, comme ils puyent!"

However, on another note, my day at the lab was exciting and eventful. I learned many things, including how to make the best buffer solution for the PAGE process: five parts water, three parts 30% acrymalide mix, two parts Tris-Cl pH 8.8, a pinch of 10% SDS, 10% APS, a sprinkle of TEMED, and lots of love! The discovery process of these recipes totally made up for the excruciating pain of having to walk up a mountain under bizarre and freezing conditions in order to reach the lab. (My lab professor appreciated the cookies I purchased for him...and laughed at my inability to distinguish counter from clockwise. Random, I know, but these need to be stated nevertheless.)

Though the recipes did not help when I walked up the stairs from the subway station to watch the only bus that takes me home drive away. The bus driver is probably a distant relative of Laura Cadieux, I am sure.

How quickly the half-hour of waiting passed (buses do not come often when you finish up everything at the lab well into the night) when thoughts of the upcoming back-to-back dances Break Ice and Ice Fever come to mind!

I am quite excited, and hope that while I am there, I will meet very cute Asian boys who thoroughly enjoy hook ups.

Just kidding. I'll be waiting for you in the depths of the crowd. Please be there.

WOW, cheesy moment. Please disregard that.

Le Secret fut dévoilé AGAIN!

2008-12-07T14:33:00.006-05:00

Dear reader,

I know what's going on in your mind. You're wondering if it is humanly possible for someone as fickle as me to write THIRTY-FIVE posts that somehow pertain to Jerkface -- a number of posts that outdoes the total blogs of my second year.

The truth of the matter is that despite all the horrible things I say about him, think about him, or do to him, JF is actually one of my closest friends.

Which doesn't mean that I think he is more important than my other friends (Changmin, Orange Soda, The Monkey, SFFL, Trebuchet, Predicament, Senor and Wistful), because the relationship I have with them can hardly be described in words.

It does mean, however, that after recent events involving him asking me out numerous times (at the third instance, I failed to even notice he was asking me out) and the increasing frustration between the two of us (no, it is not of a sexual nature), we haven't really been talking to each other.

And I won't lie.

I miss him.

A lot.

Probably more than I should.

I've come to realise that my life is pretty dull without Jerkface-y nemeses to fight with.

I know you're asking yourself if it possible for me to miss him after the amount of drama that has been happening between us lately, but the bare-faced truth is that I honestly don't care.

I don't care why he has a large ego. I don't care about the game he either was or is trying to pull. Frankly, I don't really even care what possessed him to pursue me as romantic interest, because it doesn't matter anymore.

If given another chance, I would say yes. I would totally hang out with him drinking strawberry milk flavoured bubble tea. I would definitely watch terrible movies based on novels whose characters are pale, god-like and beautiful with him. I would absolutely spend an afternoon with him, while we poke fun at each other.

I just want to salvage that hate-friendship of ours, no questions asked, no comments expected (except the snide, Jerkface-y ones).

Unfortunately, I think those chances are long gone, and will probably be etched in the wall of things that I could have had, but was too proud to accept.

Lesson learned, ye gods. Lesson learned.

Love,
Sophia

Dear JF,

2008-12-06T20:30:00.004-05:00

Your sister, though she shares similarities with you, is very, very pretty.

I am quite envious!

Of course, I cannot ever reveal this to you.

If I did, that would make me a self-proclaimed lurker.

I DO NOT LURK!

Drama.

2008-12-05T21:41:00.008-05:00

WARNING: The following post is incoherent, angry, and full of English errors. Reader discretion is advised.

I'm sick of this -- honestly, I'm really sick of this.

Maybe it was my fault to begin with. Back in the badminton-enthusiast stage of life I had gone through, I assumed that everything would be perfectly fine if I made one more eccentric badminton friend.

That was the first mistake.

Had I known that all this ridiculous amount of drama would ensue, I would not have even taken half a second to consider befriending him. Had I known things would get this far, I would have probably dropped my racket (Travis) and ran a good three kilometres away from the area.

And I get that the majority of this drama is of no one's fault but my own. I totally understand that. I take full responsibility of it -- but I would have really liked to know what goes on in his mind.

I would have liked to know why he has such a large ego.

Ever since I met him, he has done nothing but claim that he is better than me. He has described to me nothing of his life other than his "amazing" marks and the unbelievable crowds of girls chasing after him, showering him with phone numbers and flirts. Some may say that his ego is a result of insecurity; others say it was only to elicit my sense of jealousy.

If the reader would please observe Exhibit A: the thick incident.

He has very clearly expressed his dislike for lifestyle, as well as my eating habits. I was okay with that, really, because it seems that with society being as careless at it is, his comments would have likely been tagged with the words "freedom", "of", and "speech".

I absolutely respect freedom of speech.

However, I would have liked to know the game he was trying to pull.

I would have liked to know why he had decided that out of all the other miraculously prettier girls that he has fawning over him, he would choose me, the thick prude, the drama-addict, the annoying little fangirl -- I would honestly have liked to know why in the world someone as precocious and picky as he could have even thought of me.

I would have liked to know what changed his mind. I would have liked to know what made it possible for him to drop his ridiculously stereotypical ideals of school over all else. I would have liked to know if he honestly believed he could flip a coin with both sides either head or tails and expect not to get caught. I would have liked to know if he had even the slightest intention of making whatever he thought could have been made worth it.

...I would have liked to know a lot of things.

Unfortunately, I just don't care any longer.

Le Secret fut dévoilé!

2008-12-04T21:02:00.002-05:00

Dear Jerkface,

I am officially going to toy with your heart.

Love,
Sophia

Happy Birfday.

2008-12-03T20:25:00.004-05:00

Happy belated birthday to Predicament, whose party was actually the coolest, geekiest, best birthday party I have been to since now. Nothing beats the nine years I've known you. 生日快乐！

However, on another note, it seems Jerkface has become consumed with the competition that Trebuchet has become for his Facebook Tetris score.

That kid just never lets it go.

(Trebuchet, if you ever even think about mentioning anything about whatever I have said, implied or even thought to you -- I will harm thee in ways unimaginable.)

Love!

Romantic

2008-11-29T21:02:00.002-05:00

Romantic --
I became so similar to you that I copied even your habits

Double-post, people, because I am independent and efficient machine-woman.

Sometimes life throws the rottenest tomatoes at you.

Rough Landing Holly

2008-11-29T20:04:00.004-05:00

Rough Landing Holly --
We came down to watch the world walk by

I've been revisiting my intense second-year emo phase lately, where the majority of my posts were labeled as regrettable and then replaced with an ALL CAPITAL LETTERS WARNING OF INCOHERENT AND DESPICALY THOUGHTS, and what can I say?

Yellowcard is not that bad.

I will now attempt to download all their albums and stick them onto my portable music player. Then, when I think about Jerkface and feel depressed, I can just switch to that playlist.

I'll let you decide why I would feel depressed. (:

River Flows in You

2008-11-27T23:28:00.004-05:00

River Flows in You ---
first love.

WHY DO I PUT UP WITH YOUUUUUU?!

Of course, you are amusing.
And funny...looking.
And obviously in love with girls who have cute pictures on Facebook.

BUT WHYYYYY.

P.S. I find it difficult to believe that piece you sent me was genuinely yours, as the one I am editing right now has so many errors, I want to sob.

P.P.S. This is for all those Jerkface fans right now:

Conversation between Jerkface and his childhood friend

jerkface: you know im charming

her: not charming enough as the boys over here
jerkface: im all about the inside

her: i prefer european guys

jerkface: im 1/4 european [...] you dont know what you could be missing out on

her: then you just made me lose my taste for european guys

jerkface: i know you're a naughty girl ^^^

her: wtf are you a pervert [...] you sound like a creepy guy whos had no physical contact with a girl in his whole life and is looking for some action online

HELLZ YES.

One World, One Dream

2008-11-25T19:55:00.004-05:00

One World, One Dream --
I used to dream that I could soar beyond the clouds

SFFL, I swear, if you don't start pulling your weight, I will never talk to you again.

I'm seriously sick and tired of doing your work for you while you take the credit and tell me ridiculous stories about how much better you are than other people.

Get over yourself.

You get depressed when I'm upset at you, but my feelings are justified; you never do what you're supposed to do and expect me to complacently blame someone or something else.

Ugh.

Won't Stop

2008-11-23T21:18:00.006-05:00

Won't Stop --
I don't really want to dance with you.

jerkface says (9:13 PM):

sophia

jerkface says (9:14 PM):

you're a really niec girl

and i'd ask you out if you weren't so gigglyish and i wasn't dealing with school

jerkface says (9:14 PM):

dont forget

to screenshot

this moment

NICE.

I guess Orange Soda semi-won the now-void bet.

For the record: If Jerkface ever asked me out, I would laugh. Very hard.

That is all.

Day By Day

2008-11-22T23:39:00.004-05:00

Day By Day--
(in a conspiratorial voice)
If we pass by each other on the street, act like you didn’t see me and keep on going in that direction

...because if the muffin man catches me eating his heavenly muffins, I would fear for my life.

Fatty says (11:37 PM):

people used to be smarter and more polite

now they're just rude, stupid and lazy

Fatty says (11:38 PM):

and totally ungrateful

man, society's so materialistic that people would actually spend money on things that don't even matter in real life

like MAPLESTORY

WTF?!?!?!

seriously, get a life

Story of my life, Fatty, story of my life.

Forever

2008-11-19T19:16:00.002-05:00

Forever --
it's like I waited my whole life for this one night

That one night the song is referring to is clearly void of RWA-related things, including the fifteen pages that need to be completed for French, the ridiculously tedious math homework, the history test tomorrow, and that awful thing called the Annual RWA Science Fair.

Urgh -- I would escape to Hess's Law, but we moved onto some strange H = m x C x (insert triangle)T formula.

So...allow me to bury myself underneath the beauty that is tel/telle/telles/tels. Mmm...impératif présent never seemed more appetizing.

Sunset Glow

2008-11-17T18:01:00.007-05:00

Sunset Glow --
but I have no regret, simply burn bright so I can just gaze at you.

I've decided that for the remaining two weeks of November, I shall file each blog post under a lovesick song. Here's to Sunset Glow, something I don't see much of these days thanks to the depressing weather happening lately.

Speaking of depressing, remember that bet I was talking about the other day? You know, the one with my intense (dis?)like for Jerkface, and Orange Soda's refusal to believe in the fact...yeah, well, apparently, on some occasion of sympathy and graceful pity, I called the unwinnable-for-sodas bet off, worrying for the personal health someone might have after having their trunk of patience snapped in two. (That someone, of course, is not me.)

Which was quite unbelievably stupid on my part, because I really want some shirts now, and unfortunately do not at all have the funds to purchase them.

Sadly, I only realized my need for shirts and the definite fact that, had I not called the bet off, Orange Soda would be an ample provider of them today. By today, I actually mean this morning, when Orange Soda confessed that she had yet again gotten into a fight with Jerkface. The whole thing escalated into a who can block who first when she insisted Jerkface was a heartless fugly little wannabe-nerd who thinks that every girl who looks his way is physically attracted to him - fugly hair, eyes, and all.

Of course, he somehow managed to drag me into it when he declared with equal insistence that whatever opinion Orange Soda had of him could be contradicted by the fact that I (apparently) believe he is a very nice, very attractive person.

In economy class today, Wistful laughed quietly to herself while Orange Soda ranted. Clearly, she does not possess a ruler long enough to measure the depth of the problem.

Urgh. Allow me to distract myself with Hess's Law, good night.

I can legally run you over with my father's car.

2008-11-16T19:21:00.002-05:00

The title says it all. After wandering aimlessly for a good half hour before boarding a bus I fell asleep on, making me miss the stop that I was supposed to get off on, thus hindering my ability to make it to my theory test on time, which didn't matter anyway, because I ended up waiting nearly three hours for the tiny slip of paper that declared me fit to drive alongside a holder of a 14-point driver's license of at least 24 months -- I CAN LEGALLY RUN YOU OVER WITH MY FATHER'S CAR!

...

My father has also just arrived home, and is complaining about the onions my mother is cooking. They are burning my eyes.

A nice little point of the finger to a new blog I am partaking in: Confessions of a Fan, a Fob, and a Stalker.

Things will be quite interesting after tonight.

This is painful

2008-11-10T00:43:00.002-05:00

It's quite painful, the predicaments I allow myself to get into.

My procrastination will lead to my eventual downfall, as it is now nearly one in the morning, and I am still struggling to maintain consciousness underneath a pile of homework, assignments, deadlines, and tests.

I wish I had as much organisational skills as Predicament.

Funny play on words, har har, and good night (or good morning?) to you too.

Trente-deux

2008-11-08T22:21:00.008-05:00

So there I was, standing in the dark, rainy, wet night, waiting for a bus that was running late -- just outside the gym adjacent to the library I was studying physics at -- when I realized that I had forgotten what Jerkface looks like.

When I did remember, I laughed hysterically, leaving the other people waiting in line to believe that I was possibly as crazy as the four-person family singing out loud to Spanish songs on their iPods. Or maybe they thought I had discovered a rude outlet for my disapproval of foreign music expression.

Good times.

Edit: Oh no! Jerkface discovered the horrible notion of someone as angelic as me (yes, me!) whispering gossips about how hysterically funny he looks. This is bad. I'M SORRY JERKFACE. Please, accept my condolences. You are...very...um - it's the inside that counts.

Edit II: Wow, I am a bitch.

Life is Good

2008-11-07T23:03:00.005-05:00

Dear readers,

For the first time in my high school career, I am sure that my grade average will not exceed the cut-off for honour roll, thus ending my social life and beginning the new era of my life that is non-stop work and absolute zero (-273 degrees Celsius, thank you, chemistry class) play.

Do you know what Jerkface told me? He told me he doesn't date stupid girls. So, Orange Soda, looks like you probably won't be able to win that bet.

The fact that he isn't interested in girls who do not do well in school does not interest me, and is certainly not the reason as to why I am determined to get an average above 90 for the next term. It can and will happen, so long as I stick to the short-term goals that will eventually lead me to the long-term goal.

On the other hand, my lovely readers, I shall let you in a little secret: Sophia is getting fat! That's right; because of the excess amounts of sugary, fried, and fatty foods she has been consuming, as well as her extremely sedentary lifestyle, the pounds have been packing! Therefore Sophia is determined to lose weight, and will try to amass enough funds for a membership to the gym.

If all else fails, there is always the Orange Soda's house, or the fully-equipped gym at SFFL's apartment.

Life's good, people. Life is good.

Sidenote: CHRISTMAS IS COMING YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA.

Mmm...

2008-11-05T22:22:00.003-05:00

Bitter soup and cold noodles never tasted so delicious.

I had a ninety-minute nap at Orange Soda's house before going to my RFTPEFI lecture.

Let's just say I'll never laugh about a colonoscopy the same ever again.

I am SO screwed!

2008-11-03T22:46:00.006-05:00

We are fast approaching the last few hours of the last day of my three-day weekend, and I am ashamed to admit that I have done absolutely no work at all!

This is why I blog.

This is also why I introduce a friend I've on-and-off known since third grade. She is a little Asian ball of fury, and we've made a cute little wager on Jerkface.

The whole situation is simple. She believes I am madly in like with him, and that he is madly in like with me. The problem is that this is not so, despite the many times I haphazardly joke about it. (An exemplary example would be on the social networking site Facebook, where the wall-to-wall conversation between Jerkface and I consists of him caps-locking the words INFATUATION over and over again, as a sort of accusation, and me replying with smiley faces in agreement.)

While I laugh at her extreme enthusiasm in trying to convince me of the mutual like-not-like feelings that I share with Jerkface, I commend her for assuming that she will somehow manage to convince him to ask me out by Christmas.

That's right, my dear reader. I have entered a bet with (drum roll for introduction of new blog character, if you please) Orange Soda. If she can somehow convince Jerkface to ask me out before Christmas, then I will be forced to feed her cheap clothes collection; if she fails, she will be forced to start my cheap clothes collection.

This is assuming that he won't find out about the bet. Because if someone as devious as Jerkface were to ever discover that he was a major factor in a wager that I am destined to win, he would do anything possible to make sure that I didn't. (Such spite!)

The great thing is that Orange Soda can't even recognise Jerkface by face; she's never met him or seen a photo of him. There are, to date, only four people I know who have seen him, and that is only because they were at the open house of the college he attends (the college I hope to attend next fall as well, though not because Jerkface). Changmin can attest to the accurate depiction of him that I drew in math class, as well as laugh at the 'hawt!' that the Monkey labeled it as.

But I'd like to declare my neutrality in judging Jerkface's attractiveness. (Cough.)

So welcome, Belle, to the blog. I know you're reading this, and secretly cursing the fact that you're having the hardest time persuading Jerkface. In fact, he thinks you're a stalker for sending him that message on Facebook! I am, of course, saying this without even thinking about the somewhat worrying fact that he actually added you on a friend (CURSE THESE SOCIAL NETWORKING SITES!)...but yes. I am so winning this.

(Good times.)

Edit: I would like to point out that if you search the blog for posts with the label of 'Jerkface', you will find that there is a twenty-eight day period between two posts. I have overcome the Jerkface-fast. (We shall overcome~~~)

Myam Myam

2008-10-30T21:27:00.003-04:00

Hey there little blog,

My math teacher is on her honeymoon this week, but the four free periods we have are more or less spent studying for numerous tests this week...or working on math.

BUMMER.

Here's a little something to cheer up you Fobster-Jerkface worshippers
(the 'hawt' was from the Monkey, not me):

i love calculus
with good music
and a calculus partner
it makes me feel just as happy
as i do when i play badminton

I'LL BE YOUR CALCULUS PARTNER.
we could do it all day long.

whoa!

You're welcome, Wistful.

Assistant (to the) Regional Manager

2008-10-21T22:02:00.004-04:00

I find it hard to believe that it has been over five months since my mother's return from the United States, where she had the enlightening experience of discovering countless discount shops. It was at these marked-down-by-75% outlets that she found relatively nice clothing priced, on average, at $3.

I find it extremely hard to believe that it has been over five months since my mother returned from the United States with a $2 The Office T-shirt, and I only noticed it tonight.

What. THE. FUCK!

Needless to say, I spent a good minute mulling over what I could suggest as means of barter (thank you, economics class!) before offering a huge goodie bag filled with chocolate, candy, and cheese-flavoured heart crackers to LongJohn (who no longer wears Long Johns, and now walks around usually wearing the Dunder Mifflin Paper Company shirt and a pair of bleached briefs). In the face of chocolate, candy, and cheese-flavoured heart crackers, I wonder who in their right minds could possibly resist.

Thank you, Dwight Shrute.

(I intend to wear this shirt everywhere I go now.)

(Special shout-out to Senor, who was nice enough to kindly remind me that I needed to blog. It cheered me up, especially after discovering I failed my history test. Yay!)

Uuuurgh...

2008-10-18T16:10:00.001-04:00

I miss too much school for my own good.

Therefore no new blog posts until something crazy-amazing happens, sorry.

Though in six days, I expect you to wish me a thoughtful happy birthday.

You've been here too long.

2008-10-09T21:40:00.003-04:00

Dear SFFL,

Remember how we met? I do...sort of. It was a cold, wintry day. I was at a friend's locker on the first floor at school. Naturally, I was having a bad day; most of my days from the fourth year were on the bad side. I was chatting away (possibly about the Hairy Yeti Man) with a friend when Changmin rushed up to me and practically screamed, "DID YOU SEE THE NEW KOREAN STUDENT?!".

She then proceeded to introduce you to me. I probably murmured something about how extreme Changmin gets when it comes to Korean things and/or people; you likely had no idea how grand her K-pop obsession was (think of the nature of the name Changmin in relation to one of the world's largest boy bands of all time: Gods Rising from the East). I introduced myself; you introduced yourself. We didn't speak to each other after that.

A couple of days later, our paths crossed in an extremely crowded hallway. I said hi, I said you probably didn't know who I was. You nodded, smiled, and told me you had no idea who I was. It was so crowded that before I had a chance to say anything else, you and I were separated.

The months following this encounter, the friendship between you and Changmin drifted, and you started hanging out with the jocks. I was cool with that, and so was Changmin - we honestly have nothing against jocks, as they are essential to the high school experience. Soon after this, though, you probably realised how out of place you were in the group, and somehow (this is where my memory gets really fuzzy) you became a pretty close friend with me.

The funny thing that I like to think of when you and me come to mind is how strange our friendship is. I suppose it's strange because you yourself are strange...but we hit it off anyway. Remember when we skipped science fair and had bubble tea in Chinatown with The Monkey? Hehe.

Now that I really think back to our friendship, though, I've come to realise how much it has destroyed me. This isn't to say that I'm a complete wreck ever since I've met you, but certainly things could be better. It isn't your fault. At all. I am quite sure that if I stopped being your friend and gave you a valid enough reason, you would respect that and let it be. It's mainly my fault. Sort of.

Yesterday, I went to see the school guidance counsellor. I needed to sort out what I was going to do with college. The counsellor suggested an international program, suggested I try for a scholarship worth over ten thousand dollars in Europe or Asia. I pondered that for a moment, and concluded that achieving the scholarship was well out of my reach. I was thinking of you, and of that time you told me I had disappointed you, that you were surprised at how stupid I was. I was also thinking of a number of other events including you. You probably never realised that your comments were like a whiplash on my self-esteem; I didn't even believe it so until that trip to the guidance counsellor! You meant no harm in it, I'm sure. You are one of those utterly objective people; you say it like it is.

When I went back to chemistry class, I was recovering from tears. The reply the guidance counsellor gave me shocked me so much, I couldn't stop them from flowing freely. It also inspired me to think about what our friendship means to you, what it means to me. Actually, what the guidance counsellor said, coupled with a chain of events that have happened over the past few weeks, has certainly made me take a step back to look at the situation.

I hope I'm not sounding like a horrible person here, but did you ever stop to think...that maybe it's you that's driving all your friends away?

I'll stick with you through thick and thin, but I think something is happening between us, and I'm afraid that it is only you who can change it.

Yours,
Sophia

Los Angeles, tu me manques tellement!

2008-10-06T17:29:00.005-04:00

Guess who just might be staying with relatives in Los Angeles this summer as one of those Coming of Age trips that could very well be documented in a novel at Indigo? Yeah, that same girl will be spending laborious hours in San Diego and So Cal (think Huntington Beach) attempting to learn how to incorporate words like 'stoked' and 'bail out' into her everyday lingo.

If it wasn't for the fact that I'm up to my eyeballs in homework and tests and assignments and RFTPEFI board interview on Friday WHUT, I would definitely elaborate.

Tcheah.

I HAVE TO DO THE LAUNDRY.

2008-10-04T23:41:00.004-04:00

There are heaps and heaps of dirty laundry waiting to be washed, and what am I doing? I'm catching up on some old-school tunes and blogging. We all know, though, that turning on the extremely loud washing machine at nearly midnight is one of those things that will definitely get me on the I HATE YOU, UPSTAIRS NEIGHBOUR list.

So I leave my laundry alone. For today.

...I also need to get some sleep.

Promise to come up with something interesting to say later, obviously. Probably something Big Bang and/or Jay Chou related. In time, my blogsters, in time.

ON A SIDE-NOTE: guess whose birthday is coming up in approximately twenty days? Hellz ya.

Breathe in, breathe out

2008-10-02T21:06:00.003-04:00

After having had a major huge argument with Jerkface again, I am trying to calm myself down with an email message sent to me by an old and caring friend:

"Okay, Miss (insert father's last name), who is also called (insert mother's last name),
stop calling yourself fat. You are not. If you still dwell on the untrue malignancies uttered by someone with whom you have such a short and superficial relationship, then it just means that we, your friends, have been neglecting to remind you what a special person you are: a fun-loving, overachieving, intellectual, CONFIDENT and very ATTRACTIVE young woman who likes Big Bang; and how we appreciate you a great deal. You won't make us any more proud if you start to act like (insert name of anorexic-like awesome person who just goes to the gym too often). If anything, we would be worried. So stop worrying, and smile. Here's some math: Sophia = Pretty + Awesome. Okay? Agreed? Shake hands on that? Good."

I LOVE MY FRIENDS TO DEATH.

Edit: Jerkface apologized, using the absence of substantial amounts of homework as an excuse to be mean to me...BUT HE'S NOT OFF THE HOOK.

Strawberry Milk Bubble Tea

2008-09-30T20:35:00.005-04:00

She wipes the sweat off her brow, not noticing the stares she receives, aware only of the hazy heat surrounding her.

She hitches her school bag higher up, feeling uncomfortable with the dead weight of the gray cotton surrounding her school effects.

She brings her fingers around the door handle. Pulls, brings her feet to a slow walking motion. Enters.

She walks to the counter, finally relieved of the heat pulsating outside, the air conditioning evaporating what lingers of her sweat.

She orders. The waitress writes in large, shortened Asian characters. She knows already what to tell the men waiting in the kitchen - this young girl orders the same thing anyway, who needs to ask? Though the waitress says nothing and simply scratches on her notepad, she orders.

She pays, exact change. Some tip in the glass container, and then she is told to have a seat, to wait for her order to come up. It shouldn't take long; the lounge is empty, all seats vacant save for hers.

She waits, no more than five minutes pass. The waitress hands her the plastic cup, the over sized straw, and returns to her work behind the counter. A moment passes.

She stares at the take-out order, watches the pastel bubbles froth and pop, the artificial shades standing out in the dark of the seating area, a stark contrast to the black spheres lying stagnant at the bottom of the cup.

She stares, remembers. A melancholy song begins to play, a low-budget video promotion flashes on the lounge's large screens. It is a man singing, accompanying himself with a piano. He sings of angels and fairy tales.

She goes down the steps, pushes the door, and enters the sweltering heat. Beads of sweat form on her forehead; she grips the cup in her hands and takes a sip. A mixture of warmth and a cold as icy as the regional winter envelopes her.

She remembers the warmth, the cold, before shifting uncomfortably, the dead weight of her gray bag bothering her.

She wipes, she hitches, she brings, she walks, she orders, she pays, she waits, she stares, she stares, she goes...she remembers.

Heartbreak. (cont.)

2008-09-29T17:22:00.006-04:00

I was willing to risk it all for you.

I actually did risk it all for you.

In the end?

Pffft. Nothing.

Ni shuo wo ai ni tai duo, ni shuo wei le xue xiao, yin wei ni mei you shi jian, ni jian jian zhao le ni bu yao yi ge nu peng you.
Hao le. Liang ge nian yi hou, ru guo ni jue de ni you le shi jian, ru guo xia ke le, ru guo ni yao yi ge nu peng you, ke neng - ye bu ke neng - wo zai.
Kan jian ni, kan jian wo, wo ye bu zhi dao wei shen me wo xi huan ni, wei shen me yao cheng ni de nu peng you...zhi zhi dao wo hui deng dai.

I REALLY NEED TO GO LEARN SOME CHINESE. Those sentences were extremely rudimentary.

Heartbreak.

2008-09-29T16:23:00.005-04:00

I've recently noticed that for the past two or so years, pretty much all I've ever been able to bring myself to post about is boys. Boys, boys, boys. I call them out, trash them out, fall in and out of infatuations with them based on a measly first glance - I'VE NOTICED THAT MY PAST FIVE POSTS HAVE REVOLVED AROUND MY ULTIMATE HATE/LOVE-but-only-as-friends? RELATIONSHIP WITH JERKFACE. Since when was I honestly ever this shallow? Before you answer this question though, I really think you need to understand my current situation when it comes to significant others belonging to the male half of two genders.

The current situation is essentially the following:

Sophia + Boys = Romance.
Sophia + Romance = Fun.
Boys = Fun.
This cancels out...
School = Fun.
Therefore
Boys > School
THEREFORE
School = 0.
And since...
School = Grades
Then
Grades < Boys
AND
Grades = 0.

Conclusion? Sophia phails epikly. The other conclusion? Sophia is not allowed to see boys, yet she has had a significantly high number of romantic encounters with them, of which none were actually Asian! EPIK PHAIL, EPIK PHAIL!

GR?

2008-09-27T22:00:00.002-04:00

Alright, Jerkface.

After a good two or three moments of silent contemplation, I've deduced the following facts of you that were cleverly hidden until this evening.

Wait, what am I talking about? Aside from your being polite (yes, that's right; you are polite!) and your ability to be easily amused by my ridiculous antics, WHAT ELSE DO I KNOW ABOUT YOU?!

You're not as bad as I make you out to be, but you're not that great either.

GR.

2008-09-27T21:46:00.006-04:00

JERKFACE.

It's over. So over. You know, the part where you take a stab at pretending you're the coolest piece of Viet meat ever to cross my path (because you're quite aware that you're at the bottom of my list) and I smile that 'noh' smile. Why? Because I figure that since you're such an oddball anti-social badminton-loving loser freak combination PERSON, I should at least try to be nice.

WRONG. Soooo wrong.

You know, the part where it's late at night and you're feeling grumpy that you have to leave the place because I'm leaving the place but at the same time you're so effing elated that you got to throw your Viet meat justified-vendetta-crap all around the courts in order to prove who calls the shots? You.

WRONG.

Like the part where you just exist, and I ask the gods why I ever had to meet a person like you.

It's SO OVER...and so justified.

(Please, please, please. Find it in your heart to forgive me, Trebuchet.

Do I start that Jerkface-fast over again? Hellz yes.)

Epik Phail

2008-09-24T21:49:00.003-04:00

Remember that Jerkface-fast I was talking about?

I officially just broke it, proving that I have absolutely no willpower whatsoever when it comes to shallow, teenaged-audience shows such as Gossip Girl. It seems Jerkface has no willpower, either.

Aaaand fail!

Ninth place, BITCHES

2008-09-23T22:14:00.003-04:00

Guess who placed ninth at a cross country meet this afternoon? THAT'S RIGHT - YOURS TRULY. Excluding the fact that only twelve girls were competing, of which two were disqualified, I think I did pretty darn well. SFFL, being the natural athlete that she is, placed eighth. Who gave her the right to complain? I was the one who ended up second-to-last. The girl who was behind me was running at a slow, arduous sort of pace...probably very similar to mine.

Except, with my natural bad luck and awful immune system, I caught a nasty cold shortly after. The definition of shortly after is relative to every case, however, so let me enlighten you a bit here: less than five minutes (no exaggeration here, it was actually less than five minutes) after I had finished the race, my nose started running.

IT IS STILL RUNNING TO THIS DAY. Haha, get the play on words? Quite hilarious.

(I am, quite frankly, exhausted, and will therefore go to bed.)

As a small side note, though: do you have any idea how hard it is to stay on the Jerkface-fast? I've unblocked-blocked the kid so many times I've actually lost count, and went so far as to type in a "I FINISHED MY HOMEWORK. SOPHIA > YOU" before frantically backspacing and retreating further into my Jerkfaceless shell. Woe is me.

TOO MANY CHARACTERS.

2008-09-22T18:59:00.003-04:00

Ladies, and gentlemen; boys and girls, I'd like to present to you two new characters of the blog. I have known the both of them for a substantial amount of time (I've known one since I was a fourth grader in the Hell that was Chinese school, and I've known the other since I was a sarcastic sixth grader). Both have their own individual blogs, though one remains silent while the other screams riddles through the megaphone that would be Trebuchet MS font.

I remember first meeting the first new character while scrawling the Chinese equivalent to words such as 'side' and 'grocery store' on my desk, desperate to avoid the looming failure of that dictation test. She slid beside me and calmly asked - first in French, then in French again, and then in perfect English - if I was planning to cheat. Naturally, I lied my little Asian ass off and pretended I had no idea what she was talking about. Throughout the years, I at first had the impression that she was a down-to-earth and very studious girl; however, after a few years, I came to a startling realisation that she was not as angelic as she seemed to be. I found her strange and slightly non-social tendencies to be rather irking.

Reflecting on all of this now, I think it's quite safe to say that I really want to learn more about this girl, and not in the superficial and/or specimen-like way. I honestly believe that the two of us are continuing to grow as people (and not necessarily as beings with a pre-determined genetic height maximum), and that within this growth is no shortage of self-discovery. After this afternoon's hardcore, five-minute conversation on a metro cart, I now know that there is so much more to her than meets the eye. All pre-existing notions of what I saw through my eyes seemed to evaporate as I realised that this girl simply needs to come out of that shell and open up to the world. And I have a whole-hearted intention to help her find herself in any way possible.

The second character is, frankly, somewhat of a mystery to me. She seems to evade my direct questions regarding subjects containing words such as 'love', 'like', 'crush', and 'WTF' by directing me to her blog (no, I will not link to her) which, honestly, is just as confusing as her strange Facebook statuses.

I distinctly remember her (sarcastically?) wishing me luck on my Jerkface-fast. There is no doubt, however, that I will not need an ounce of luck in terms of resisting the drug that is the dislike for someone as horrible as him. But enough of Jerkface. I am, after all, determined to hate him silently and subconsciously.

So welcome aboard, Predicament (because I know that's what you are in) and Trebuchet. May many posts include you from now on.

Jerkface, Jerkface, Jerkface

2008-09-21T20:01:00.006-04:00

Dear Jerkface,

As much as I want to go online and insult you (as if you really were the bad person you put yourself to be when we talk on a messenger service), I have decided that STARTING TODAY I am going on a Jerkface-fast.

The fast itself will last approximately eight days and seven nights, and I sincerely hope that by the end of it, I will have enough inner peace to put up with you.

I would also like to mention that a significant part of this fast will consist of me resisting the urge to badmouth you to my friends and family (Fatty, Changmin, SFFL, Monkey, Senor, and Wistful; I love you all) as well as blocking you on aforementioned messenger services. I will also quell all desires to badmouth you in my own thoughts, and to give myself only the satisfaction of giggling at your openly feminine sense of music (for entertainment purposes, I would like to suggest title songs such as 'Romantic' and 'Love's Way' to my readers as some of your favourites).

Also taking into consideration that you may have developed a "reciprocated" crush on me (crush is such a juvenile term) because of your honest opinion that I am madly in love with you (this is all a fabrication of Changmin's imaginative mind, I'll have you know), I have decided that I will no longer reject badminton requests from you. This is because I hope that my awful hair will manage to keep you far, far away from me. Of course, by far, far away from me, I simply mean that it will manage to keep a monitor and internet provider between us.

So here's to eight days and seven nights without you (in the figurative sort of sense, I suppose, because I never 'had' you to begin with).

Cheers,
Sophia

P.S. Yes, this means that you are now on my 'blocked for eight days and seven nights' list. It also means that if anyone brings you up, I will simply say JERKFACE-FAST and direct him/her to this post. It also means that if I start thinking about you and your horrible ways, I will channel those negative thoughts into happy feelings of memories relating to characters like Eugenia Dexter Maximilian Ta-Kim Joe, Hemingway (though his actual resemblance to the real Hemingway really does disturb me), Mr. Mystery, Riceboy, Sandman, and shoes.
P.P.S. I am aware that shoes is not a character on my blog.

Because I'm unreasonable, angry, and plain insane

2008-09-20T23:34:00.003-04:00

"Most people only listen to things that they think can benefit them or things that they find interesting. This is one of the main themes in “The Story-Teller” by Saki (H. H. Munro). The children did not like the story at all by their aunt because there was nothing that they found interesting about it. Their aunt did not take into account their interests and things that they can relate to in the story. Contrasting that, the bachelor tells the story in such a way that relates to them very much so they listened and asked questions. The bachelor also answered the questions in such a way that the kids could relate to it and be interested at the same time. The bachelor seems to be the true story-teller in this story, not the kid’s aunt. I enjoyed every part of this story. I loved how the author foreshadowed what the story was going to be about in the beginning. The kids learned a valuable lesson after they heard the bachelor tell the story compared to their aunt. Kids learn more efficiently if they are interested in the topic that is being taught, and to be interested in such things, they must be able to relate to it or enjoy it or maybe even both, as I did."
HEMINGWAY WOULD NOT APPROVE.

JERKFACE II

2008-09-20T23:29:00.002-04:00

You know what, Jerkface? Xin moi em chet di yourself.

Do you think I'm hostile towards you because I'm madly in love with you, and you lead me on, but you haven't asked me out?

WRONG!

I hope your speedy metabolism catches up to you when you're thirty and your width expands in one horizontal direction, like the 'i' vector. Do you read this? THE 'I' VECTOR!

Orange Stripes

2008-09-20T15:05:00.005-04:00

Continuing from yesterday's post, I'd like to go on a small rant about hair. Why do we need it? Women pay enormous amounts to have it ironed, curled, straightened, permed, dyed, trimmed, sliced, style, spiked, treated, when in reality, all women should just go bald. Do you have any idea how much less of a hassle that would be? We could channel all the moolah directed towards haircare into a beautiful river of other materialistic things, like shoes! Of course, the idea of women walking around without any hair is completely irrational; we love our hair!

Except when it dies. (This is a figurative expression, because hair is, in all actuality, very much dead.) The fact that hair is dead does not explain all the magic that it has! A question I often ask myself is, why the hell is my hair frizzy when it's DEAD?, or WHY IS MY HAIR SO POOFY?! WHY?! WHY. As you can see, the relationship between me and my strands is a bit less than healthy. Add my horrible haircut that looks nothing like I specified and is nothing but short of the length I repeatedly requested of my stylist, and you have Sophia: sad, and trying to understand the science behind her hair (because, as her physics teacher told her, triangles are everywhere).

So if anyone has any tips on how to control excessively poofy and not-slanted side bangs, do let me know. You will have the honour of turning a disgruntled Asian into a slightly pacified Asian.

Before I run off to homework, though (and hence signalling the end to this rant), I'd like to remind any blog friends reading this that though I do prefer quality over quantity in terms of posts, WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE ACTUALLY BLOGGING?!

(You see, Sophia's not-alive-yet-somehow-alive-because-it-manages-to-infuriate-her hair really is a cause for stress and insanity.)

The Spoils of The West

2008-09-19T22:36:00.004-04:00

You know what really sucks? School. No, it doesn't suck in the sense that I get to see my friends and some great teachers and the uniform really does make me happy (more reason to justify the fact that I am head prefect) - it sucks in the sense that there is just so! much! work!

I'm looking at my agenda, and I'm honestly trying to figure out how I'm supposed to manage my time between tutoring (ka-ching!), cross country (I've been neglecting my practices, because I'm actually a lazy bum who likes to laze around all day), badminton (that's right, Jerkface, it's on now!) and Chinese school.

So let me put this into perspective, because, yes, I actually am a whiny little girl who likes to wallow in my own self-pity --
ENGLISH: one-hundred-word poetry analysis, two-hundred-word poetry analysis, overall poetry analysis notes, grammar homework (grammar?! HOW OLD DO YOU THINK WE ARE?!);
PHYSICS: notes review, dot product review;
MATH: notes review, assignment;
HISTORY: actual notes, assignment;
FRENCH: argumentative essay, poetry styles, books, sonnet;
ECONOMICS: test, page nineteen;
GRAD: chocolate fundraising.

I HATE LIFE, and it seems life hates me as well; I'm swamped!

I'm also suffering from a rather unfortunate case of wow, I really should not have considered getting a haircut for yearbook photos, since my hair looks like a mushroom. How utterly pleasant!

I forgot to add the sidenote that I am suffering from exhaustion as well. I'm going to bed. Good night.

JERKFACE!

2008-09-16T20:13:00.005-04:00

Heyo Jerkface!

I was about to write up this exceptionally long parody of a letter addressed to you.

It was about to contain confidential information, including the strong sentiments I feel towards you.

It was supposed to make the reader believe that I was madly in less than three with you.

But the letter itself sucked, so! here comes the big question:

Will you go to prom with me?

Much love,
Sophia

EDIT: This is a joke! I am not bringing Jerkface to prom, and have no intention whatsoever to ask him. Nor am I madly in love with him. At all. No. Feelings.

Mama Burger

2008-09-14T19:39:00.002-04:00

Oh, how I truly despise the fast food franchises of North America. For someone as ridiculously sensitive to everything as me, after two $1.50 Mama Burgers, I feel as if (and I quote Senor's getting high post from the eighth grade) my head has been hit with bags of sand. ARGH.

In fact, I felt so shitty that I even looked up the nutritional values of an A&W burger. Nearly one thousand milligrams of sodium.

HERE'S TO ATHEROSCLEROSIS!

Thank God I have cross country tomorrow, or I'd likely be in the emergency room by graduation night.

Nouveau personnage

2008-09-11T21:22:00.005-04:00

Dear Strange Friend For Life (SFFL),

Thanks for chilling out with me so far away from where you come from, both literally and figuratively.

:)

Kamsamida, or however you spell it, my fine Korean friend.

Bow Ties.

2008-09-10T21:40:00.006-04:00

Once upon a time, there lived a little Asian girl. She was named Sophia, but a lot of people called her a FOB or a Fobabee because she had so many AZN tendencies.

One day, she discovered the joys of online shopping. To be a bit more specific, she discovered this wonderful web site called Soompi, where online sellers could organize giant batches of items and ship them individually to the buyers.

Enter a character named Riceboy. Riceboy is a simple little Riceboy. He does not care very much when it comes to his grades, and he can only dance when he is completely plastered and at a party. (Pleasant.) Sophia developed a slight obsession with Riceboy, which resulted in a phase of emoness in her life, reflected on her blog Fresh Off the Boat (you are at the blog) for a good five or so posts.

Eventually, Sophia and Riceboy reached a mutual agreement that she was to get over the self-proclaimed loser, and the two became good friends again. Time passed, and Sophia realised that Riceboy's birthday would be in two weeks. Excited to purchase this ex-obsession a gift, she browsed through the online stores to no avail.

That is, until she reached Soompi, and its glorious abundance of online sellers. She found a Californian ordering exceptionally cute bow ties from South Korea, which prompted her to place an order.

Which was a rather rash decision, considering the fact that A: Riceboy specifically asked that Sophia not get him a birthday gift; and B: the bow tie arrived nearly two months after his birthday.

Sophia and Riceboy actually picked out the(ir?) bow tie together. The two of them were undecided, as they could not agree on either the tie that had a Burberry pattern (as Riceboy was extremely obsessed with anything Burberry) and a deep, bright pink silk bow tie. Obviously, Sophia refused to purchase the Burberry bow and chose to purchase her personal favourite, because nothing actually beats the colour pink.

Lo and behold, school rolled around, and Sophia still had that pink bow tie in possession, unsure of what to do with it. After all, she never found herself in the quaint position of being able to actually wear the thing. Riceboy didn't help much either; he refused to accept the gift.

THAT IS (and this, my fair reader, is the fun part of the story) until the day of school I.D. photos appeared on the calendar.

There was a long-standing tradition at Sophia's school for those living their graduating year: look as ridiculous and crazy as possible on your last identification photo of your high school career.

Unfortunately, with the entrance of the new vice principal three years prior to class of 2009, the joy of wacky school I.D.'s died. The vice principal made it his number one priority to ensure that students took a serious and earnest identification photo. In fact, the year that Sophia was graduating, he made it a point to prove his seriousness in handling the situation by actually seating himself a good five metres in front of any fifth-year student taking his or her photo. He would order them to smile, and make sure they didn't pull any funny faces. In fact, an announcement had been passed around the day before: anything that was not uniform could not be worn during the photo session.

However, being the head prefect that she was, Sophia knew that small passage in the uniform regulations section of the school agenda by heart: Conservative ties may be worn with the shirts. Since many students had taken to sporting lovely silk ties (of which many were not at all too conservative), Sophia came to the conclusion: why not bow ties as well?

So that morning, while all the other girls were trying to think of funky ways to put up their hair, Sophia clipped her bangs up, borrowed a pair of prescription glasses, buttoned up her head prefect vest, and, much to the chagrin of a certain French langue maternelle teacher, tied on her bow tie (clipped is the correct term, actually, as Sophia had no idea how to tie a bow tie).

Snap!

Maybe it was the prefect vest and genuine smile, or perhaps it was the fact that Sophia looked so darn studious with the nerd frames and bow tie and vest, but the vice principal didn't sound out a single syllable of protest when Sophia gave her best-actress grin, her eyes trying to adjust to the flash of the studio camera.

Except, of course, when Riceboy tried to wear the bow tie during his photo shoot. The vice principal ordered him to return the thing to Sophia.

Aaaaand fail.

Riceboy was satisfied, however, when he was able to verbally thrash the ruling to anyone patient enough to listen, and when Sophia allowed him to wear the pink bow tie for the last two periods of class. The next day, he asked her if he could purchase the ex-gift.

You wish, Riceboy. You really, really wish.

The End.

The Intangibles

2008-09-09T21:54:00.006-04:00

RWA is considered a pretty "special" school; of course, by "special", I simply mean that the student body is composed of students who either get high (but are very smart either way, and therefore manage to not fail in every subject) and those who study so immensely hard that most teachers automatically assume they (the students) are preparing to enter the medicine field.

So, of course, when a special program that goes along the title of Hospital Opportunity Program (I like to call it Reserved For Those Pretentious Enough To Fake It - RFTPEFI) rolls into selection pendant les premières semaines à l'école, it's only natural that twenty-six students sign up for it. Fatty was part of a generation where only twelve students decided they were pretentious enough to try RFTPEFI, which left sufficient room for her entry.

Not that I'm saying the students there are actually pretentious, because, you know, they aren't. At least, not all of them. Take, for example, me. I know, I know; some of you may think that I'm some kind of raging, pretension-to-the-max evil little Asian pre-med and/or pre-dent student - but I'm not. Trust me. In fact, if there's anything I hate, it's when pretentious people come up to me and say hello. Maybe they want to get close to me because I hold about seventy-five per cent of the power in the school (from a nerd's point of view...and by nerd, I mean prefect). Or maybe it's because they're just being polite. Either way, it bothers me. A lot.

To the topic at hand, though. Due to the wonderful pressure my Asian fobster little parents have decided to hand down to me (from Fatty, since she's made it very, very clear she has no desire whatsoever to enter the league of pre-anything), I was coerced into entering the RFTPEFI program.

Here's the process. One: you enter the organiser's cramped office. Two: you speak to the organiser, who then asks if you averaged above eight-five per cent. Three: if you got this far, congratulations! Only two thirds of the grade level ever make it past honour roll. Take a form, fill out, and return it to the organiser by Friday. Four: sign up for an interview slot.

Sorry, what? An interview slot? I DON'T REMEMBER SIGNING UP FOR THIS.

Needless to say, the interview went really well. Word of advice: people are less impressed by the standard responses, and more impressed when you tell them you consider Chinese school as one of your greatest accomplishments.

SRSLY.

Oh, and Sandman? Guess who's cured of her disgusting Shanghai-cold, and picking up your Sichuan Relief reference letter from a certain physics teacher ming tian? You better believe it, and you better start saving up for that bubble tea you're treating me to; I'm thinking the jumbo sizes.

If anyone starts hanging around the East end and sees a little Asian girl in a yellow sweater (which I feel like a winner for purchasing) lurking the corners of residential areas, it's because she's really (ACTUALLY) madly in love with Jerkface.

SRSLY.

Someone remind me to blog about the pink bow tie tomorrow. The two of us have a GREAT history. <3

Gray Clouds Only Mean One Thing

2008-09-07T19:59:00.007-04:00

Every year, I promise myself that I will stop the horrible academic epidemic (haha, that's a funny play on words) that is procrastination. Every year, that promise is broken. Sadness!

This time, though, I'm not really that behind. All I have to do is rewrite my chemistry notes so that they're coherent again, do some chem homework, start the physics exercises, work on my French grammar table, and prepare that English presentation on Blindness (an amazing book, I highly recommend it).

OH MY GOD, I AM SO MISERABLY SCREWED FOR LIFE. I haven't even spent four full days in school, and I'm so behind.

To make matters worse, the weather has turned from blisteringly searing clear skies and that hazy thickness that is humidity to crisp, clean air and dreary clouds. That's right. Fall is coming; the days are disappearing, and I'll soon find myself under piles of homework at four in the afternoon while the sun peacefully sets itself.

I REPEAT, I AM SO MISERABLY SCREWED FOR LIFE.

Um...I should get back to homework.

START OF POSTCRIPTS, THOUGH THIS IS NOT A PERSONAL LETTER!
Edit: Improv this year? Hell yeahz.
Edit II: Hemingway actually looks like Hemingway. That is not right. I say shave it all off. All of it. Now.

SNEEZE, WHEEZE, COUGH

2008-09-06T22:59:00.005-04:00

I've had the misfortune of catching a difficult Shanghai-developed cold from Sandman, and by God, it's a horrible, horrible thing.

And since Sandman and Jerkface are two entirely different people, I felt the need to split this post into two separate, three-sentenced paragraphed entities.

Why have ye gods cursed me with this awful cold...and an acne breakout? And JERKFACE?!

Logically Speaking

2008-09-06T22:54:00.005-04:00

Three egg-less mooncakes, two Gossip Girl discussions, and one rainy afternoon later; I'm still a thick prude.

You're still Jerkface.

Unfortunately, suggesting that I should give up my virginity for a billion and one dollars does not change much.

Nor does it impress me in the slightest degree. Abstinence ftw.

I'm in a happy place, I'm in a happy place...

2008-09-05T20:10:00.008-04:00

So according to Changmin, I am officially a mean person. Of course, when she called me a mean person and mentioned the fact that "like, everyone" thinks the same of me, she actually meant that I am a dreadful, tactless bitch.

She really hits the mark there. I'm being serious, too. There are times when I think that my hardcore bitch-ranting crosses the line, but for entertainment purposes, I tread that very same line lightly and hope for the best. Though to be honest, my attitude on the blog says a lot about my attitude in real life. So if I were to give a purely objective third-person rating of the niceness of my blog, with one being horrible and ten being amazing, I would have to say Fresh off the Boat deserves a three. It's just that insensitive!

I've decided to follow one piece of advice: think mean thoughts, but suppress them by not giving them sound. Here's to being nice.

Speaking of being nice -- no matter how much I honestly try to be, I can't for the life of me even think nice thoughts of Jerkface, with the sole exception of his hair and ridiculous thinness. He really seems to believe that I've developed some sappy and ridiculous I love you very, very much sentiment towards him -- as if I'm that much of a romanticist! Besides, I'm one of those insensitive, tactless bloggers who don't believe in much of the ridiculously sappy plot of novels wired together with ribbon by people like Jane Austen. Pride and Prejudice? I read the abridged version when I was in second grade, and that was enough cheese for me; I happen to be lactose intolerant, sorry.

So here's an honest word from a girl who maintains a ruthlessly truthful and highly exaggerated blog: Jerkface, I am NOT madly in love with you! You are an idiot who I've had the misfortune of meeting and playing badminton with! You watch Gossip Girl because you cling onto a ridiculous and threadlike-thin hope that the main characters Blair Waldorf and Serena Van Der Woods (or whatever her name happens to be) will go through some girl-girl action! You. Are. Not. COOL!

So please stop acting as if you are. :)

EDIT: PLEASE STOP BEING SO EFFING PRESUMPTUOUS, YOU DOUCHEBAG.
EDIT AGAIN: PLEASE
STOP
TYPING
LIKE
THIS.
Words cannot express how bothered speaking to you makes me!
EDIT THREE: I somehow feel as if I've undergone catharsis (thanks, theatre arts class!) after having called you a manipulative asshole.

Scatterbrained Me!

2008-09-04T19:38:00.007-04:00

Well, I'm terribly sorry. I promised I would blog everyday...but promises are made to be broken? I blame this on my horrible memory. It seems every time I (or Wistful) remind myself to blog, I promptly forget within five minutes of having mentally kicked myself for not remembering sooner. I'll try to post everyday though, really. I truly do love my blog, and I'm sure those who have nothing better to do than to read the ramblings of the likes of me love it too.

Seeing as how the first day of school wasn't actually a full day and ended at noon, I took it upon myself to visit a friend at a rather large college exactly one bus away from RWA (my current school, for those who are new to the blog). He coerced me into walking for nearly an hour in the blistering heat and treating him to lunch. HOWEVER, he had a cold.

So guess who's sneezy, wheezy, and speaking as if she's got some sort of brick lodged in the area between her nose and throat (sinus)? Yeah, that's right. Sandman seriously owes me bubble tea.

Aside from the usual school has taken over my life, nothing interesting has happened.

EXCEPT. I went to the library today. I know, you're really proud of me, aren't you? Why? Because there are usually only two libraries I frequent: the one way out West, which has amazing air conditioning and a very cozy reading room; and the one smack in the middle of our small little metropolis, which is HUGE and slightly annoying because of the librarians who walk around with a stick up their...noses. EXCEPT. The library I went to today was neither West, nor downtown. This leaves us only one other library; the one in the EAST.

I remember being left to watch The Flintstones in that library while my mom abandoned me to pick up Fatty from her posh little private school (yes, the one that sits on the top of the hill). I remember the gray carpet, the small screens and the lighting of the room. Unfortunately, the library actually doesn't look anything like I remember it. That's alright, though, because it's only a bus away from where I live. This means I don't have to go running around with clumps of my hair in my hands, cursing the gods for giving me such terrible luck when it comes to the proximity of my home to the rest of civilisation.

Then I realized that Jerkface lives near the library. Very, very near the library.

How do I know this?

I suggest you do not ask.

CUE DRAMATIC MUSIC! END OF POST! START OF POSTSCRIPTS, THOUGH THIS IS NOT A PERSONAL LETTER!

P.S. Oh, and, improv this year? You tell me.
P.P.S. I have so many classes with The Monkey. I am so excited.
P.P.P.S. I have two (count them, 2!) classes with Wistful. When asked to define zero, she said the dark force (at least, that is what I think she said - please correct me in class if it is wrong, Wistful <3). I am so excited.