Yet another dismal, unworthy, disgustingly rabid year ends on quite an unsettling present, an unknown future, and a past scorned upon by patriotic fiends. Fiendish plots, save your disgrace for 1999, or if you can't abide by that, until the era before the monkey. I never liked monkeys with a liking to war-mongering in defence of their own father.

In defence of my own frivilous accounts of the days of 2002, I'll just leave it that I am human after all, and all the mistakes I've made this year were excusable because humans aren't made for perfection, just to improve, and that I'm a weaker human than most, even if other people say that I am not. Many of you who have only observed me, be it from afar or close by, have missed out on so many trials burdened on me that I don't think you'd understand all the flubber that I rant or cry over. Not even you select few who call me a friend would know much to understand.

There is another thing I want to say, but I think it best be left alone for the moment. (Just to keep a long story short, implementation bleeding, which isn't good in my case.)

Lovely, isn't it? The clock strikes eight, which leaves only a long 4 hours until another [dreadful] year restarts the healing process. I feel quite exhausted, although I suspect it's just my poor condition that causing this. I wish for once I didn't feel so ill, then I wouldn't be complaning about it to Mother. I could use some gesundness at the moment, don't you?

Bloody fucking New Year's Eve, world.


Caffeine-free diet Pepsi. This is beyond uncivilised. This is sheer madness!

Well, blubbering sky-flitters. Something very troubling on my mind as of late. Namely, a certain true american patriot, or to some other people, the most unwanted monkey in the White House since the issue of Clinton and Monica Lewinsky, Mr. George W. Bush.

I've left myself to pondering in my room. These are the ponderings.

Clearly, North Korea is making threats against them, waving a great North Korean flag straight up their knockers proclaiming "Yes, I know you told us to cut it with the Nuclear Programme, but we did it anyways--and we don't intend to stop until we receive what's duly ours."
And to suprise every fellow educated American (about 2% of the population), the U.S. has responded with a "You're not really going to make us come over and spank you, now will we?"
(solemn shake of the head from Kim Jong Il) "No Mr. US of A, just ignore the fact that we might be the bigger threat than Iraq, who has been denying any existence of these 'mass weapons of destruction', and that we're an extremely dangerous country that cannot be trusted."
"Okay siree, Mr. North Korea!"
"Hey, we know you wouldn't really do anything stupid now, right?"
"Oh no, after all, I'm talking to Mr. Bush after all, aren't I?"

My theory to all this Iraq madness is that this is all but a personal agenda for Mr. Bush, and attacking a country who has denied all of this, but on the contrary another country is waving their shorts proclaiming it and yet Bush ignores it troubles me deeply.

You see America, this is what happens when you vote for Bush instead of Gore!


I usually don't mind repetitiveness, but sometimes it becomes downright unbearable.

Take, for instance, Sundays. It's always so uncanny how every Sunday I wake up to gloomy skies, boring morning infomercials, and bitter family members. Of course, this too is the case everytime I visit Rochester (minus the boring morning infomercials--I have to deal with 80's music on the radio). Do you find it funny? It's really not that funny after the 3rd week in a row, visiting Rochester on a Sunday! I think it could be some ancient curse. Some ancient curse from some distant Wiccan friends to enslave me into eternal boredom!


You think this is why Mum says I have a dangerous mind?


Here's a thought.

If people ignore you long enough, would you disappear?

Keep that thought, sir.


Call me strange (and curiously refreshing, oh my!), but I absolutely hate Christmas. Family and relatives nestled closely to one another around a blazing fire, drinking 100-year old egg nog and eating reindeer testicles-oh wait, I'm thinking about something else. Carry on, sir.

"I used to enjoy Christmas, but then I turned 15."
True, very true.

"I used to love the christmas dinner, the festivities that surrounded it, the presents...yeah, every kid loves their presents. But interest in new presents and joy went away around that time. I think it's all to blame on the teenage stereotyped fantasia. All I care about now is the man I love (Lord, stop the cheesiness) and friends. Art, stories, and many other things too, but you know what I'm getting at. Another saved moment away from family, relatives, and other kind of pewk-shite makes me a happy woman. Yes, baby, I *am* I woman!"
Ahh...this calls for fondling of my soul mate in the janitor's closet.

"Why did this have to end? With the ending of my childhood into my teen years, everything drew very, very dark. Do I like it? Well, I have to live it, I have no other choice, now do I? I'll cope. I reflect often. Oh, and to sum it all up, Christmas, bite my roody poody ass! I have nothing else to add. Just fondling you, dear."
As always.

Oh, how I love thee, muse.


Another fond story of the boy who never learned the importance of knowing the ways of slipping on a pair of trousers. He never learned about the hard life, about living on money made from a job, never learning or knowing about everyday rituals that many people did. He just did not understand why he just could not run about the city with a pair of trousers on his blonde little head. They don't belong on your head, came nasty shouts from lonely, ill-plagued witch women without a love in their heart. They belong on your fat pudgy little legs, boy.

I like pants.

Good Lord, the genius's at work. Come back another day, dear?


Every day itself is a long, tedious journey into the centre of the earth. Each step becomes a leap for humanity, a painstakined walk into a future that no one can comfort us in the parallels of the universe. A little guidance of astrology can give us a little bit of insight of our bright (or dark, in some cases) future, but we cannot depend on astrology; like the everyday human, it has flaws that skew the outcome.

Can we really depend on ourselves to live our lives to the fullest, not falling to illness or plague? Will we not kill ourselves for pity on others for cursing them with our adolescent being? Suicidal teenagers are so common and overused these days. Couldn't they try something new for once, as like being polite, well-mannered citizens? Or maybe that's just too much to ask of them.

(The irony in this post is that even that I look down on suicidal, angsty teenagers, I'm just as guilty as they are. We all have our faults, you know. Live with it. Just don't bore us to bloody death about it.)


Unfortunely, a mind such as mine that bathes in the gold of Art, English, and other stretches of the mind cannot comprehend simple, straightforward subjects such as...Mathematics.

Still, I resist the temptation to get help from a 4'11'', 14 year old genius who finds great joy in ridiculing me in my liquidated mind when it comes to such things like...Mathematics. I could never conform with the damned thing anyways. (In reference to Math and the brother's genius friend, mind you.)


If boredom comes to your bleedin' sockets, I'm not the person suited to fix it for you. I was busying myself, spending off my accursed boredom watching cheerleaders practise their drills. The exercises they do sure are memorising. Memorising in a sick, guy-wanting-to-molest-them way.

GOOD GOD IM A LESBIAN O SAVE ME AHHHHHHH GOD I HAVE SINNED!!!!!11Ich bin sehr krank. Ich will Advil. Ich bin so ungesund!


If what concludes insanity as the opposite of what is considered right and normal, all of Canada, America, and all those other foreign countries should have their citizens locked up quickly.

Of course, classifying insanity as the act of no reason, acting as a threat to society whilst having bubbling drool coming from your mouth...well, there we go.

Thus proves my point that "Ich bin komisch; und denn ich bin Gott. Ich weiss." Lovely thoughts I have, yes.


I'll never understand 13-year olds with the need to put ellipses at the end of every bloody sentence.

Person 1: OH! hello...
Moi: Hello.
Person 1: i saw my boyfriend today...
Moi: You mean the Spike-look-alike?
Person 1: yes...i love him...
Person 1: he...is so great to me.
Person 1: i want to be with him. i want to be with him...forever.
Moi: Mmm, sorry, I don't know much in the teen-love department to really say anything.
Person 1: that's all right...
Moi: Uh, yeah.
Person 1: i love him...

Excuse me for a second while I ARRRRRRRGH!!!
"Since the subject's on hand, I'll dwell on it. Dwelling is the root of all evil."--The great words of Mr. Devereux of Canadian Illeteric...oh, go on and fetch me a English Professor, I couldn't spell this to save my lifeC.I. Bloody hell, one could imagine the French running amock in Canadian territory, telling such...well, what did that mean? I haven't the slightest.

That would be my famous side-track scheme to get my mind busied on a frivilous matter so that I can remember what I've forgotton later. Usually this'll end up to be an erased blog entry. Maybe not. I think too hardly these days, you know?

Oh, yes. 'Member now. Those ellipses. Next Blog Entry!!!


Sensitive men...hmmm.

I definetely do not welcome these new foreign philosophies. I welcome the men created from it, though. (Mmm, delisch.)

A random pondering on a recent event somehow involving the one and only. No, I'm not the sensitive man. I bite my finger at all who would ever think of that. Or something like that. Well, go read Romeo and Juliet and you'll understand that rather high-schoolish brought concept.
I love dictionaries.
Copulate /coh-poo-layte/ vb, -lated; -lating: engage in sexual intercourse. -lation.

Well, safe to say Minny won't be using that word anytime soon.

Life, at times, seems simplistic. A quick mind could easily make through life without no trivialries, no unneccesary burdens. If they were to avoid the hectic life of the normal man, they could easily treat their life being a God, controlling every event and occurance that crossed their paths. Without the complicated factors of love, worry, hate (and many other feelings, mind you), they could control life. If there wasn't such a concern with happiness, they could become a God. A true, unknown God. A God in their mind.

Only if the perfect life, in this sense, existed.


And as the days approach until the 2nd week of March, 2003, Min-dawg here begins reciting her poor and unadequete knowledge of the korean language.

How is it possible to cram a good adolescent's worth of the korean language into 3 months? Well, I shall see. I hope there is an existence of such religious things as 'miracles'. Miracles always seem to make their lovely entrances in those worthy few. It never made it here, to my mother, or to any of *my* kin. It always decides to bless the well-off ones; the american ones with a perfect life until they try to rockclimb and find themselves dangling off it, screaming for God.

Scream for God, bloody damnit, scream.

God is *so* caucasian opinionated. Bad God, did you forget about the poor Asian-Americans dealing with the latest tragedies and torture of the real rotten kimchis*? Mum doesn't fancy sour kimchi like my father. My father's the kind of man that used to fight with his 800 other siblings about who'd get to drink from the Sauerkraut jar. Now my father's just a dwindling, pathetic little man who ignores the cries of his immediate family and goes about his life watching unbearable 80's no-rate hit shows and movies.

I can only conclude after this meaningless entry that I should--no, I need to move to England or Germany. -1 with Germany because my german isn't exactly the greatest.


*...= kimchi, otherwise mostly known as pickled cabbage. Stored in jars in smelly old fridges to eat when someone gets around to cooking some rice from the market.

I just would love to furthur pursue this.

Today, during a class, I read this fascinating book called Moral Philosophy. It talked about everyones' morals, i.e. The Native Americans vs The Greeks in reference to taking care of the dead. The Greeks would cremate their departed, whereas a certain group of the Native Americans (it started with a C, but that's all I can recall) would eat their flesh. It may seem very inhumane and savage of them in our eyes, but if you were to look into their perspective, they are sort of becoming one with the departed; becoming one with their soul as they eat it. To cremate them is seen as inhuman; you're trying to push their soul away from you. Of course it works the other way around with the Greeks. I really don't need to explain anymore, do I?

Interesting things like these--Psychology, Philosophy, you know, all the really deep stuff, tends to be one of my strong suits. I could do much without mathematics (hell, everyone knows I couldn't multiply to save my life), and all what I refer to as 'nonsense subjects'. That includes those dreaded Phy Ed classes every fat kid hated back in grade school.

Oh, the hidden insight just makes me crave for more, baby. Now where's that alfredo sauce?