I am
...getting rained on in Tokyo.
...old enough to drink alcohol but not old enough to know when to stop.
...blogging since 02/22/03.
Tuesday, June 29, 2004
It's no Zak McKracken but anything with Shakespeare in it should be good enough I wouldn't be me if I hadn't almost forgotten to pack my bikini for my beach vacation. But now that everything's packed, all that I can think of is that I will be without internet for more than a week. In my absence, I suggest you entertain yourself with Hamlet - The Text Adventure which distracted me from learning for my oral exams the last week. I really got into the game and even started to draw maps for it (you know, the old "women and no sense of orientation" blabla).
Once I completed the game for the first time, I challenged myself to play the game efficiently and finished it in under nine minutes. Four years of business school leave their marks upon your soul.
Not sorry to leave It's finally over. Everybody looked very pregnant at the graduation ceremony and the tassel wiped half of my lipstick off my face. At least everybody else looked equally undignified. All that's left of the last four years are a diploma, a yearbook and a membership of the alumni club. Time to relax. I'm off to France.
I will build a fire that will be visible from space (not that anyone of you could actually go there to check whether my claim is true, ha!) I passed my oral exams and therefore am eligible to receive a diploma on Saturday! Now please excuse me while I burn the pile of notes I took during the last four years of my studies.
No dignity on graduation day I finally opened the package containing my cap and gown and instantly started to bemoan my fate. The gown is an awful shade of blue with a hint of purple. I tried it on and realized: this piece of clothing doesn't make you look more accomplished but more pregnant that normal formal attire. Men appear to have boobs when wearing the gown. I can already picture the line of 200 expectant mothers climbing onto the stage to receive their diplomas. I hope the pregnancy element will go away once I iron the gown but then there is the danger of melting it into a lump of molten plastic.
Caution: hackneyed sports metaphor may cause eye rolling The last few meters of a race are the hardest to run. I'm just heading toward the home stretch but without the sweat, the panting and the searing pain in the legs: my final exams are on Wednesday and Thursday. It has never been so hard to motivate myself to study even though there have more stressful phases during my studies. Everything distracts me from my books. I'm currently listening to classical music because I figured that it would improve my concentration. Now all I can think is that I should take up playing the piano again. I'm a hopeless case.
You think puberty ends with the last outbreak of acne but you're wrong I'm afraid I have to stop leaving comments on my favorite blogs. I can't apply the same care and thoroughness of writing semi-coherent posts to writing comments. My comments are battle fields of typos and grammar mistakes. I'm obliged to cease all commenting activities at once lest my dear fellow bloggers should suspect me to be some uneducated 11-year old pretending to be a university student.
It's tragic because I've only recently overcome my commentphobia. Not long ago, my fingers went rigid with fear whenever I opened a comment window like fingers clutching a lunch bag while the fingers' owner is approaching the lunch table of the most popular group in high school.
Am I witty enough to comment? Will the blogger consider me cool enough to mingle with the crowd of regular commenters? Will the other commenters make fun of me and steal my lunch money?
I always thought that the era of insecurities would die away with my coming of age but my inner teenager appears to be immortal.
He makes fun of me, I make fun of him, two bads make one good Screw my soul. I signed the working contract and sent it back to Company X today. Still feeling highly unemployed though but nonetheless amused. My amusement, however, has nothing to do with the contract but with TJ's new glasses. They're rimless. However, when TJ wears them, they look like shell-rimmed ones. Three words: bushy eye brows.
A tale of two supermarkets Today I accompanied a friend for some grocery shopping. As I'd been binge buying groceries yesterday I really didn't need anything. I just longed for some company because the last few days have been spent on studying for my final oral exams. In the end I ended up buying...
a small suitcase which can be used for carry-on baggage: I realized that having a humongous suitcase might be appropriate to ship myself as air cargo but not for going on business travel.
the latest limited edition of Axe deodorant: I only use deodorants for men. I've never been a fan of girly deodorant which makes your environment believe that you were the offspring of a lilly of the valley and a violet in a previous life.
junk food: No willpower. 'Nuff said.
Next stop: the future The beginning of June has passed and I still haven't gotten around to telling you what the outcome of the whole Company X story was: they offered me a job. My silence on this subject was not due to negligence but rather due to the fear that I would make an ass out of myself if I told you all and then it turned out to be a mistake some HR person made.
By now, I have received a contract to prove that it's not just a mistake but I'm somewhat reluctant to sign it because how can I be sure that "We're are pleased to offer you a position as Y at Company X" isn't legal lingo for "If you sign this, your soul will automatically become property of Company X"?
My concern for my soul is rather strange in consideration of the fact that I believe it to be non-existent. I think it's just an excuse to postpone the decision because signing the working contract will end my life as a free, careless spirit that doesn't have to file income tax returns. Unfortunately, growing up means not only having a myriad of options but also having to choose one of these options. I hope I get the right one.
What are friends good for if not for vexing comments TJ declared me a priss because I used a napkin to eat a chocolate cookie in order to keep melted chocolate off my fingers and I fold my used tissues. Time to get the pitchforks out and drive me out of the village.
Does a rose really smells as sweet if it's called something else? Finally Merriam-Webster emails me a "word of the day" that actually applies to me: polyonymous (having or known by various names). I've been polyonymous for a long time, it started when my parents named me. I still fail to understand why they would give me an Asian name in the first place and then take up the habit of calling me by a nickname (it doesn't even sound anything like my real first name).
They took great pains in choosing a first name which could be pronounced in German easily. The Germans, however, don't really think Mom and Dad did such a great job. If I'd gotten a dollar every time somebody mispronounced my name, I'd be the proprietor of a little tropical island built on a foundation of 1$ bills.
In middle school my English teacher gave each student an English name and so I was called "Tina" during English class.
In high school people started calling me R accidentally - an indicator that I spent too much time with my best friend R.
Is the name an integral part of our personalities? I don't feel there's one specific name associated with me and it's strange to see these various names in writing because I'll never get used to them belonging to me. They're just a means of facilitating communication.
I probably shouldn't be telling you that I don't care what you're calling me as long as I know you're talking to me. When I told a friend the whole name story, he called me "broomstick" in jest for a couple of weeks.
Chocolate shock People seem to sense whenever I've just eaten dinner because that's the moment they ask me to join them for some ice cream. So I just come along and order a cappucino. There's only one ice cream parlor in the village and so we get the same waiter every time. Now I don't want him to think of me as the "girl that always orders cappucino when everybody's eating ice cream", so this time I had a big chocolate sundae and therefore am feeling queasy. I care way too much about what strangers think about me.
I prefer jobs not to turn into fashion statements At some point I considered a career as a mailman. Fresh air, exercise, and a minimum amount of responsibility were very enticing features of this job but yellow doesn't become me.
Pedestrians and cyclists, beware! After a four month long break from driver's ed, I'm back to being a danger to road users. I have two months before I move out so that I really have to get my driver's license within this period. This is probably the last chance to finish my driver's ed because there won't be any time left once I start working. At least, I no longer have any excuse for procrastinating and consequently will be driving frequently for the next few weeks. Expect to hear the tales of my first accident soon.
I know that the mailman only comes once in a day but it keeps me occupied Currently I am living in a state of torturing anticipation. This company X told me that it will let me know whether I get this job in the beginning of June. The problem is that "the beginning of June" has started two days ago but will last for about another ten days. And still no news. This means that I am expecting to hear from X any minute and, therefore, I'm constantly checking my email account as well as my mailbox.
On a side note: the last written exam of my student life was quite a pain. Yesterday I hadn't been able to study for it because I was too bored. Lack of motivation is much harder to compensate than a lack of grasp of the subject. Heck, I was even too unmotivated to hold the pen properly in the exam.
When being slow prevents you from being a lazy bum Today I realized that it wouldn't be so stupid to switch strategies from grade optimization to effort minimization. Upon this flash of insight I created an excel sheet which calculates the final grade of my diploma based on the grades I will get in various classes. Even the worst case scenario I have created will still get me a decent grade.
However, this epiphany doesn't help me much because I will write the last exam in my student life tomorrow. Mark my words, I am careful in formulating statements of the "last [insert] ever in my life" kind. When my high school graduation induced me to exclaim a such thing ("I'll never have to write a calculus exam again!") I was proven wrong during my studies repeatedly. So this time I will refrain from saying anything like that. Otherwise, I will draw the attention of the gods which have their own sense of humor and will inevitably make me a teacher.
