A bit of lusting after someone does wonders for the skin.

So, my morning consists of thinking about M. Paff and I, watching Friends, and talking to M. Paff. Of course, only I would pick the worst outfit to wear to Skype him: a strapless romper with a pearl necklace. Well, when I put the ensemble together, I thought having my hair up would be a nice finishing touch since it would accentuate my naked shoulders. The thing is, if I have my camera angled too low, he'll get a nice view of my cleavage--or lack thereof. If I angle the camera too high, my face is viewed from an unflattering angle, and I sure don't want that. The "right" angle spans from just above the neckline of the romper, which makes me look naked--and the pearls and the up-do definitely emphasize that. M. Paff wants me to call him if I get bored or to tell him things, like how we've called each other at our SPOPs. I call the camp and they tell me there won't be any cellular service. Of course. For five days. Yup. Lovely.

Then I drive the kids to camp. It's a very nice place. It's remote--which explains the lack of phone and Internet service. When we get there, there are three other people already there. One of them is a dude called Nick and with him is his sister Neaty. Nick looks 16, but he's actually almost 20. Neaty is my age. And later comes a girl from Peru named Angie.

Nick is such a nice guy! He knows beforehand that they make us eat vegetarian food here, so he stocks up on beef jerky and all that. He shares a piece with me, a stranger, after I take a dump--that last bit is privy to the general public. Then he notices that my sister's left the lights on in my car and walks me back to my cabin--the farthest one from anywhere--and to the car and back. And when I lose my keys, he helps me look for it outside in the dark late at night.

Just for future reference, my keys are in my suitcase the whole time.

I talk to my sister about staying until Friday, and she wants to do it. Well, we need to convince my mother because I really want to hangout with M. Paff.

Of course, now that M. Paff knows that I want him to make the first move, I think I'll lose my kissing virginity the next time we hangout. If he doesn't want to make the first move, I will. I kind of want my first kiss to be of me kissing someone, not someone kissing me. M. Dow says that the chance of M. Paff rejecting me is very, very low unless he's a homo. Well, the thing is, M. Dow thinks I'm an 8.3; M. Paff thinks I'm a 6 since he's gay and doesn't want to do decimals like the rest of the normal people population. Yeah, so M. Dow thinks I'm attractive, but M. Paff only thinks I'm decent. But at least his dad thinks I'm really hot, which I hope plays up that whole "if a lot of other guys think she's hot, then she becomes hotter in my eyes" concept. Yeah, I sure hope so. But the thing that pisses me off is he things this hideous girl is an 8 and Mlle. Johnston is a 5. I'm like, "Hell, no. Your rating system is jacked up."

But then again, Thursday seems too soon. It feels like I should wait more to make us want each other like mad and then get together then it'll be crazy. Plus, I haven't waxed my upper lip yet.

Friends with benefits? Don't sample the goodies unless you're willing to risk addiction and withdrawal.

On Sunday, Mlle. Johnston called me up and asked if I wanted to go see Friends with Benefits. I asked my mother and she said it was okay. So, we went and saw it with her mother, who also paid for me.

It’s a typical rom-com. It’s funny, has a happy ending where the guy realizes that he’s been in love with the girl the whole time. Well, life doesn’t work like that, but knowing that didn’t stop me from sharing my thoughts with M. Paff. I was only a quarter serious, but I jokingly—completely jokingly—asked him if he wanted to be mine, and he said he was 50/50 on the idea and he would need time to think about it before giving me an answer. I think he was serious. Well, the thing is, for the past couple of days, I’ve been complaining about how I wanted to be with someone after I found out that I actually did not kiss David, which is good, don’t get me wrong. Yes, I was disappointed, but I was very, very, very relieved.

Then today, M. Paff and I video chatted again for a bit until he started to play Black Ops at the same time. Sure, I love watching guys play Black Ops as much as the next girl, but I ended the call because I wanted to talk to M. Monge. Well, I didn’t tell him that, of course, but M. Paff wanted me to stay on so we could talk while he played. Um…I don’t ever want to be a second thought, so I said it was alright. Then, after a while, he said I looked good. I was like, “I’m not mad at you,” and he was like, “Are you going to take a compliment or are you going to overanalyze it?”

Well, I have a gigantic pimple on my nose, but, okay, I’ll take it. There was something I wanted to do uninterrupted, so I told everyone I was talking to that I was going to bed. That was at midnight, so it was understandable. So I downloaded music and synched my iPhone. I also worked on catching up with blog; it’s nice to be caught up—I’m still working on that.

Then, at about one, I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I texted/Skyped M. Paff asking if he was up, and he was. I told him I couldn’t sleep, and he seemed concerned—which is always nice. Then we talked, and he confessed that he’d been having weird thoughts lately and he was wondering if I’d be creeped out if I knew he was very seriously considering what I’d said the other day. The conversation got going and I told him that it wouldn’t be such a good idea for me to enter into a no-string-attached relationship with him if I was the least bit attracted to him, and I was a bit attracted to him. So, I’ll think he cares for me, when he doesn’t, and start to like him back, and that’s going to work in this kind of a relationship. He said that if I thought I couldn’t handle it, then it’d be a better idea to not get into it. I concurred.

Then he asked me why I even thought of the whole friends with benefits thing, and I told him basically everything. Then I asked him, and he said he wasn’t attracted to me (the nerves…haha jk), but, for some reason, he thought I’d looked really good today, so he started to reconsider it.

Okay, well, I think I’ve had better days, but the only thing I did differently today was I had my hair up. Now that I think about it, when I started to gather my hair to put it up, he’d stopped playing and started watching. Hmm…that’s interesting since M. Dow says I look a lot prettier with my hair down, but M. Paff prefers me with my hair up.

Just to clear things up, even if M. Paff and I got into that kind of a relationship, we most likely (95% sure) wouldn’t go all the way because I’d like my first time to be with someone who loves me.

But then again, I’ve been saying that my whole life about my first kiss.

Oh, I almost forget about M. Monge. I’m so glad he doesn’t see me as a piece of meat anymore. Now he sees me as a female friend he gets off to. Hah. Just kidding. Kind of.

But I like talking to him because even though he accuses me of asking the world’s weirdest questions, he answers me seriously, be it about college or sexual fetishes.

Women dress alike all over the world: they dress to be annoying to other women.

I was bored because Mlle. Jang was at a concert and M. Dow was busy sleeping off his crazy and sex-filled night. I was on Chatroulette for a while.

Okay, so...I don't know why, but people keep thinking I was a GIF. Just to be amused, I ask them to demonstrate that they too aren't GIF by doing stupid things like hopping in a circle on one foot. Then the girls...Jesus...why is it that us girls are so mean to each other?

I got two instances when a girl with her friends flipped me off. I just ignored it and waited for her to move on. One did. The other didn't. She stayed and typed "ugly". I ignored it, put on my lipstick since this guy got tea and it got me to want to drink tea and drinking tea wears away the color, and wait for her to click NEXT. She didn't. Instead, she typed in "bitch". At this point, I was kind of annoyed, because she was UGLY. Like, I think girls are generally really pretty when others obviously don't think so, so when I think they're ugly, they're definitely super ugly. So I was like, "Are you jealous because you're ugly?"

Her face was priceless. It's so mean of me, but I felt so triumphant when I watched her face, right before I nexted her. That's kind of horrible of me, isn't it?

Then I went and talked to Mr. Inappropriate (A.K.A. Monsieur Peel), the funny drunk. I thought he'd been avoiding me because he was embarrassed by what he's done, but he was just actually very busy with work. He had a fun conversation today with him whispering at first. He then got a text from his flatmate to tell him to shut up. I talked and he typed after that. He's just very funny, but I don't think he'll live for a very long time. The man drinks all the time.

The reason I bring this up is because when we were talking, I guess I was being cheeky and he said, "If you weren't cute, I'd be annoyed with you." I've actually been feeling pretty all week, so I'm going to take things from that point of view. Attractive people get preferential treatment simply because they are easy on the eyes. It's not fair if you look at things from a plain person's perspective...actually, it's not fair PERIOD. But those who receive the preferential treatment obviously won't complain. The thing is...how long will it last? My skin won't be this tight forever. It'll lose elasticity. Gravity will eventually get to me. What happens then? Then I'll actually have to use my personality to attract people. How frightening considering the fact that I don't have a very attractive personality to begin with.

Wow. I wonder how I got on all these years.

M. Dow wanted us to do what we did the other day. But he was horny, so I acted as the sane one for the both of us and reminded him that we promised it wouldn't happen again. He logically agreed. Glad he did because

Mlle. Smith...I wonder what will become of her. I can't imagine her outside of Camarillo. What if she just finishes college, gets married to M. Smith (haha--but this is no laughing matter), stays in C-Town, and starts the cycle all over again? I hope not. There's definitely more to life than this provincial town and I hope she gets to experience it and not live the rest of her life out like my predictions.

Man is harder than rock and more fragile than an egg.

It never occurred to me that other people go through identity crisis too. I always thought that only emo people and me had that kind of problems.

Like, M. Dow...I never would have thought that he is the person he is  from the first glance.He's the completely opposite of what I was expecting. But we opened up and he told me all those things about him and his problems.

And then I read M. Ward's accumulation of problems today. It's quite terrible, but it's a bit like mine, only so much more intense. Poor thing. I'd love to help, but I don't know how.

Funny thing was...right before I started reading it, Mlle. Pearson, this girl in our AP Art class found it funny--ridiculous, in  fact--that I asked the people around about those moral dilemma questions. You know, there are people like her who just kind of cruise through life all happy. And then there are people like M. Dow,  M. Ward, and I. Why can't we live like that? 

I'm not saying I'm incredibly intelligent and philosophical, but sometimes it seems like having the ability of think is almost like being cursed, being born a human is an unfortunate event. We're "blessed" with consciousness to feel all the things we don't want to feel like frustration, anxiety, emptiness, hopelessness, loneliness, etc. But then again, we also enjoy the good things in life, but I can't really think of any right now.

I remember several years ago, a monk was lecturing on how fortunate we were for being born human, and I remember thinking, "I'd rather be that ugly-ass plecs fish. Sure, it's eating waste from the other fishes, but it doesn't know any better. If it tastes good to it, then it shouldn't matter. It's happy where it is with how it is. Not like us."

Now, I kind of don't think that way anymore.. Sure, it'd be nice to not know any better, but knowledge is power. It's been given to me, and if I don't use it, it'd be a waste. I only have this life once. Might as well make the most out of it.

I gave a ride to a random stranger today. Non sequitur.

I know I've been bitching about how I want this year to be over, but now that it's getting close, I want it to last just a bit more. I hate getting into habits and schedules because I feel so nostalgic looking back and remembering. Like, for the past few days and weeks, I've been coming home from school and talking to Mlle. Jang and M. Dow on Skype for hours, listening to classical music, and updating this blog. All this will end in about two weeks. I'll be working all summer. I don't know how college will go.

It just seems like, yeah, I welcome change and all that, but I was in Mme. Kennedy's room today and thought, "In a few days, I probably will never see this classroom again. I will never walk in these hallways again." All the things that I've grown accustomed to...they'll all be gone soon. There's this sinking feeling in my stomach. I don't want to let it go, but I know I have to, I want to let it go because I'll be on to bigger and better things. 

But it's a bit sad and hard to let go. Well, really sad, actually...to let something go after you've been used to it for so long...says that girl who's willing to throw everything and everyone a few months ago.

Anyways, I thought about my plan to study abroad in London and how I was just going to drop the bomb at the airport. That's not very different from running away. It's a childish thing to do. The adult thing to do would be to inform my mother and stand my ground, and I will do just that. I won't let her be in control of my life anymore. I don't want to go through life feeling like a doll and empty and commit suicide by age 30.

I've discovered that if you say, "I'm thirty years old" in a British accent, it's the saddest thing ever. Oh, God. Thirty. I never want to turn thirty.

Anyways, I've also discovered that being pretty has it advantages. Many, actually. And I'm not even like, the prettiest girl out there. Not even close. Cars stop for me more often. People let me cut in line (not because I ask). People just help me out when I need help when I don't ask for it. Like, it's great. For example, today, it was very windy, and, being a student in Mme. Berman's class, I have a folder full of crap mixed in with stuff I actually need, I was carrying my English folder in such a way that everything fell out and flew all over. I just stood there in shock at what I've just done, but almost all the people around me stopped what they were doing to grab my papers. There were so many, just flying in the wind. I'd walk for a few steps and someone would come up and hand me paper. It was nice. Unlike how things were years before, when the same thing happened and no one stopped to help. Like, literally nobody. 

It's good for me, but it's very unfair. I read this book a while ago and the main character was an ugly duckling in middle school, but she cleared up her acne and got hot for high school. One of the things she said was that pretty girls got head starts. Head starts, indeed.

Haha. This is a bad picture.

Speaking of Skype, I was talking to Mlle. Jang and watching a video at the same time. And I fell asleep. Oopsie. For two hours!

Mlle. Jang seems so lucky. She has parents who support what she does. She's allowed room and freedom and is provided with a protective environment to grow as a person. I asked her if she had any identity issues or stuff like that, and after she told me, I felt even more oppressive by my family.

Beauty was my mothers law, her religion.

On Thursday, Monsieur Reyniers—this British guy that I met on Chatroulette a while ago—and I talked on Skype. The day before, we briefly talked about Osama bin Ladin, and he sent me this link to documentaries. I watched them. Crazy stuff. So, on Thursday, we kind of talked about that a bit more. Then he asked me about my studies, and I asked him about his line of work. He works for an advertising firm, and the way he describes it makes it seems so interesting and appealing. Like, no joke. He showed me some of the ones that he’d produced. Good stuff. We talked about wine and cultural things.

Then his drunk cousin came home. He’s called Nicholaus. Nicholaus then told me about his date while M. Reyniers tried to get him to leave us alone. Nicholaus asked me if I’d been on a date, and I’d said no because that’s the truth. He was all shocked. He then said I should get together with M. Reyniers, and we laughed since M. Reyniers and I always joked that M. Reyniers was too old—he’s 29. Having conversations with drunk people is the most interesting thing ever. We kind of stopped the conversation because Nicholaus wanted to retire and M. Reyniers had to make sure that he was okay.

I went and finished up my commentaries for the portfolio. And then M. Dow and I talked for four hours.

On Friday, I only went to second period to take my Calculus final. I spent the rest of the day preparing finishing up my portfolio and hanging out. Mlle. Jang finished all 12 Concentration pieces the night before, and I bought her a breakfast burrito to reward her. So did M. Ward, but I didn’t buy him one.

The thing was, everyone was supposed to finish their portfolio and send it to Mme. Mills before noon, which is when the testing period was for Studio Art AP, and we were supposed to be done before 1—ideally, so we could all leave. It actually is supposed to go all the way to five o’clock, but everyone wants to leave early, obviously. Mlle. Ocampo had another AP test before, so she came in at half past noon, which was understandable, but we were just all so pissed when she said she had to take pictures of some of her art works, edit them, and upload them to the site. She hadn’t done her commentaries either. We finished at two o’clock—an hour late.

Mlles. Jang and Smith and I went to Pink Cherries (or whatever the name is) and got frozen yogurt. Good stuff.

Then I came home and read White Oleander since M. Dow was spending the night at the house of the girl that he liked. I didn’t know. I only knew they were going to hangout. So when he didn’t come on at eight, which was eleven for him, I kind of figured he got lucky that night. He later told me that they just hung out and he slept on the floor (on a mattress) in her room. That's awfully romantic. I'd love to be in a relationship like that. He's planning on giving her flowers since she's said she's never received flowers before. Sure, it sounds mushy and everything, but that's pretty sweet for someone who's an asshole.

White Oleander is such a good book! I am in love with the way the author describes beauty. It’s my kind of beauty: traveling all over the world, having beautiful and classy clothes, and having a sophisticate mannerism. But I wouldn’t trade place with the heroine. She’s forced to grow up too fast, too soon. I’d like to retain my childlike thoughts and to blush like someone unjaded.

M. Dow messaged me the moment I got home, which was eight—eleven for him. We looked up porn together although I could only stomach the first few seconds. That didn’t work out, so he showed me other videos like One Guy and One Jar and Two Girls and a Cup. He’d watch each video first so I could kind of get a feel for it by watching his reactions. I don’t know. I thought One Guy and One Jar wasn’t that bad—yeah, he was shoving a jar up his anus and it exploded and he bled, but watching Two Girls and a Cup kind of stimulated my gag reflex.  Then he told me of his plan to not masturbating since it lowered his zinc and testosterone level.  I like talking about stuff like that, like things you do and how it affects your body on the chemical levels. Mlle. Smith and Mlle. Jang and my girl friends wouldn’t understand. Mlle. Karch probably knows, but she seems so chaste and virginal to me; I don’t know if she’d know about that kind of stuff, you know?

We talked about our prospective partners. He liked Asian girls, preferably atheists, but he’d tolerate Buddhists and Agnostics. I liked white guys, preferably atheists or Agnostics. It would be awkward to bring up the fact that we fulfill each other’s requirements, so I didn’t. But he did since he possessed the IQ of 130 but almost no inhibition. He said that we should enter a pact where we’d have children together if things end up not working out. I agreed, because there’d be no harm since things will work out. I think our kids would be funny looking though. Maybe that’s not such a good idea.

Anyways, remember that guy that told me that he loved me? Over the Internet? He’s not actually who I think he is. The guy that I’m thinking of is from the Netherlands, not Austria. The guy that I’m thinking of is very, very, very cute and has a giant painting of New York in the back of him. The guy that I’m thinking of loves kids and wants to work with mentally retarded children. That guy doesn’t love me and he isn’t creepy. Thank God.

M. Dow told me he wanted to see me without make up. I told him, not in this lifetime. 

Here are some of my Breadth pieces:

Sometimes we're so concerned about giving our children what we never had growing up, we neglect to give them what we did have growing up.

M. Dow and I talked again today. Surprise surprise.

It's kind of amazing that I can talk to him about anything. Like, I never thought that I could open up to another human being like that. Especially a boy. Especially a boy like M. Dow.

I told him about some of the things I've wrote about on this blog. About how I sometimes feel like I have no identity; like, I don't know who I am. I know I'm supposed to be, but I don't want to be that person. I've told someone that as long as I keep up my facade, it'll continue to act as a shell to cover the emptiness that's inside. It's sad to think that I'm empty inside. I have my mother imposing her will on me at home, and I have expectations for me at school.

I can't wait until next year, where I'll be away from my mother, friends, and their expectations, and just start growing as a person. I'm already 18. I thought this transformation was supposed to be done and over with.

I have a friend, Mlle. Karch, who is amazingly intelligent and beautiful, except she doesn't think so. She always says that I am pretty, and she always looks like she's embarrassed about herself when she says it. Like, I just so so so glad that no matter how intelligent she is, she still can't read minds. If we were to strip down, bare and naked; no clothes with flattering cuts, no tights that accentuate lengths, no sweaters that conceal curves, no make-up, nothing...we wouldn't even be on the same level. It's weird to think of people looking at me when I'm unclothed, but I just feel like they wouldn't give me a second glance if that was the case. Like, I'm not a lesbian or a bisexual or anything, but I even get amazed, and I'm a girl. She doesn't even wear make-up, and sometimes when we're talking, I'd just interrupt her and say, "You're so pretty; I'm jealous."

But thank God we live in a shallow and materialistic world where minor tricks and gimmicks mask emptiness and ugliness. But only for a while. I seriously need to grow as a person.

M. Dow told me that I was interesting to talk to when I told him all that. I was like, "WHAT?! I know you're sleepy, but if you're that delirious, go to bed." He says he likes talk to me because I'm a contemplative person and he likes to hear my thoughts. I like to hear my thoughts too. When I try to voice them, they come out awkward. He sums it up nice and tidy for me.

I wonder how long our little thing will last? He must get bored of talking to such an insecure girl sooner or later, and he already told me earlier that he found insecurity very unattractive.

I thought I was done with the headband craze (I owned more than ten different headbands at the beginning of this year; that number is gradually decreasing thanks to a little thing call inertia), but now I seriously want to buy more headbands. Like, no joke.

Guess who I parked next to today at the place to take the Calc. AP test? Who else but M. Lythgoe and his giant-ass truck? He keeps looking at me. If he has something to say, he should say it.

We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all.

The UCI day went well. It was uneventful, but it went well. I didn't meet anyone else though. Everyone else just kind of stuck to their parents.

I feel so lonely. And boring. Like I've forgotten how to have fun. When I go out--on the rare occasions that I do go out--I feel so pressured to HAVE fun that I end up feeling so forced and even more bored and boring. Like, other people just have fun all the time. Why can't I do it too? I'm not spontaneous, maybe that's why. And not confident. I wonder if I am insecure because I'm so judgmental and critical of others.

People think I'm nice, and I appear to be nice, but I actually think really mean things. Like, this girl in my class, Mlle. Murphy, would be so sad if she knew all of the things I think about her. Why is she doing that? Why can't she just talk normally like everybody else? She's so weird. Why is she wearing that kind of make up to school? Does she know that that shirt and those jeans highlight her muffin top? Why is she talking to me now? God, I wish she would shut up and let me do my work. Maybe if I answer in monosyllabic answers, she'll go away. God, why is she still talking to me? Stop it. Stop waddling toward me. Leave me alone, God dang it. Why is she still trying to talk to me? Can she see I'm talking to [Mlle. Jang] and we're obviously try to ignore her. Good she's going away. Dang it, she's coming back again. That kind of mean things.

And then I got lonely and went to Chatroulette for the first time, on Monday. I only got next-ed whenever there were girls, which was kind of a flattering. Most the guys are like, "you're beautiful" or "you're lovely" or stuff like that. Well, on the first night, I was, like, really happy because those people thought I was attractive. Oh, and I only got flashed once.

Then the next day, I went on again (is it pathetic that I get ego boosts from strangers like this?). This time, I got flashed, like more than ten times. And the guys almost always asked me to strip for them. And the little kids? "Let's see your tits." Sure, show me yours, I'll show you mine. They next-ed me, but some of the other guys weren't too smart. They showed me (very nice, of course. God, I feel like such a pervert right now) and I clicked next after getting a nice show. Oops! I got several guys who serenaded to me. That was quite nice. And I would talk to British guys all day long because I will never get over their adorable accent. One told me I was sexy in his adorable accent. God, my smile is so big right now, you have no idea. Anyways, then I kind of reached the conclusion that people only tell me I'm beautiful or pretty or sexy or lovely just to see more of me, and people will continue to do that to try and get an easy lay. It's just really sad. And then this naked girl (I only stayed because I was curious about her gender. I couldn't tell if she was a dude or a girl. I swear) asked me if I wanted to see her "vjj". No, I don't want to see your Goddamn "vjj". Get of the internet, sicko. And, yeah, I finally know what a penis looks like. It's ugly. I was hoping that the ugly one was just an exception, but it's actually a rule. I don't know if I want to have that thing inside me. What will my husband think if I say I don't want to look when we have sex. That shit thing is nasty.

And I know it's kind of conceited--and unjustly so--but I can't help but feel that I will never know if I'm ugly or plain or pretty or beautiful for real. Somebody told me that boys don't talk to pretty girls because they're intimidated, so that's why none of them talk to me. That's such BS. That's what I'm talking about. If somebody tells me I'm pretty, I just dismiss it because I just assume that they're trying to be nice and have nothing else to say. So, will I ever know? And then when someone does talk to me, I just assume they're talking to me because a pretty girl would be more likely to reject them, and that I am the next best thing and that's why they're talking to me. I don't know. I wish I could just know if I was pretty or not. No, actually, I don't want to know because if I was ugly, then I would have to deal with that. I don't want to know. I don't want to know. I don't want to know.

And then today, I was talking to this really cute college guy, and his friends flashed their abs at me. Then they asked me to strip. I said the same thing I told the other people. You do it first and I'll follow. They next-ed me. I got bored, and started nexting a bunch of people. I feel so bad when I next an ugly person, though, because it's like I'm rejecting them because of their appearance, which is exactly what I'm doing, but it just feels really bad. Anyways, I was talking to this really cute guy from Holland with the coolest painting of New York behind him. So I talked to him and we were having a really good conversation when he next-ed me! I was like, what? And then he Facebook-ed (he gave me his, and I added him) and apologized for the connection loss. And then I kept nexting random people.

And then this guy with a mask was on. I was kind of laughing from something before and I covered the bottom portion of my face and my forehead so it would look like his mask. And then we started talking. He told me I was beautiful (at this point, I just waiting for him to say, "I want to see more of you" or something like that.) I told him that he looked like he would be cute underneath the mask. We talked for a bit more and he took of his mask. I was right (like I usually am, of course--I wish). He was really cute. Like a model. Except masculine looking. We talked for about an hour without him asking me to take off anything once. I kind of liked that. And then we just talked and me just smiling stupidly the whole time (I wish I was more graceful and charming). He smiled really nice. Close-lipped, just a hint of happiness. I talked about my future plan, and he said that he wanted to marry me if I was without prospect when the deadline approached (I HAVE to get married before I turn 30 and have a baby before I turn 31). He was so cute and charming and sweet and he knew all the right things to say and it was approaching 5 o'clock (when I said I was going to stop because I have a math test tomorrow and an essay to finish), and I wanted to ask for his Facebook or Skype or anything just so we could stay in contact, but I didn't want to do the asking myself because I kind of felt like I was just another one he was (possibly, but hopefully not) stringing along. I was so happy when he asked for my Facebook instead. Me, and he, and the Holland guy, and the two Italian kids are friends now on Facebook. God, those kids were hilarious. They told me they were 18 (and they looked 18) and asked me to add them. I did, and they were not 18. They were 17. They apologized profusely. And the best thing about it all was that they used a translator to talk to me because their English wasn't good enough. It was just all really fun.

Mlle. Jang thinks I am in love with M. Ward. Are you kidding me? I've liked him when we were in 8th grade, but now we're older, you think I'm going to make the same mistake twice? Not that there's anything wrong with him, it's just, yeah, he's cute and attractive and has a nice personality, he's not my type. I bet it's because I asked him why he didn't have a girlfriend when he was so cute and had a nice personality. I bet that's why. So much for the female intuition.

I wonder if I'm beginning to like this guy. I wonder if that's possible. It shouldn't be possible because no chemicals, no hormones, no pheromones were exchanged when we talked. It was over the Internet. It's just not possible for me to fall in love with him. Ever. Because it's just impossible. There's no way. If I, in the future, ever to think that I am in love him, then let me read this blog and be reminded that if I were to fall in love with him, then I would be sadly mistaken and delusional. The person that I were to fall in love with would not be him, but with the boy that my mind had created and projected desirable qualities into and the guy with the mask had added on to the imaginary boy and made him a bit more real by merely existing. I would only be in love with my own imagined boy and not the real one. I'm still logical now. Please let my brain continue to be in control when my heart wants a turn.

Rejection helps you to discover who does not vibrate at the same frequency as you, and therefore it lets you know whom not to waste your energy and resources with.

No go on Barnard. I'm not incredibly bummed, but I speed-walked to the bathroom to cry my disappointment out. It was took less than five minutes. Thank God Barnard was incredibly cold and rude in their rejection letter or else I would be more bummed.

My mother took me to visit UC Irvine on Sunday. It was a lovely campus. There was a lot of Asian people, but the ones I've seen were attractive, so I don't mind. Plus, when I went into the Visitor Center to grab a map, I saw the cutest guy--possibly Greek or Persian--manning the Info Desk. I think I'm going to like it here.

Then we went and got our whole body massaged. It was incredibly nice and it felt so good.

I turned in my SIR and paid my non-refundable deposit yesterday and just paid my housing application fees today. It feels so good, and I am incredibly excited.

I told my friends, and everyone was like, "it's not like I don't want you to go somewhere you really want to go, but I'm glad you're at most an hour away." Mlle. Jang is going to USC. Mlle. Smith is going to CSUCI. Mlle. Connelly is going to LMU. Mlle. Johnston is going to CSU Long Beach and was especially excited when I told her. Mlle. Hatfield hasn't decided yet, but it is most likely that she will go to CSU Long Beach too just to piss Mlle. Johnston off. I wish those two would stop hating each other.

Oh, yeah, I've almost forgotten about Heel Day. It was great. I wore my heels with ankle socks and received so many compliments. Only a few girls did it with me, but they looked great and the other ones looked like they wished that they did it too. Guess who stared at me when I walked to class that day looking great. If you guess M. Lythgoe, you are absolutely correct. Okay, seriously, you've asked somebody else to Prom--you forfeited your privilege to stare, so please stop.

Speaking of Prom...now that it's a little bit more than a month away, I'm kind of freaking out because I hate two pimples on my face because I was lazy last week and ate junk food that whole week, so, yeah, my face is kind of messed up at the moment. So, I've started a new diet and new skincare regiment.


Diet:

• No more junk food.
• Drink a glass of tea per day.
• Drink at least five cups of milk per week.
• Drink a glass of water per day.

Obviously, the point is to detox my body so this kind of disaster will not occur. Ever again. I like having nice skin, thank you very much.

Skincare:

1. Remove make-up and cleanse lightly.
2. Apply honey to face for ten minutes.
3. Rinse and cleanse for real.
4. Tone.
5. Moisturize.
6. Apply this disgusting-smelling night creme to my face.

Well, this is obviously for my night regiment. My morning regiment is steps 3 to 5. And then there's the make-up routine that I have and must specifically follow because I am anal like that.

Make-Up:

1. Moisturize.
2. Foundation.
3. Blush.
4. Chapstick.
5. Eyeliner.
6. Highlighter.
7. Lipstick.
8. Mascara.

And there's my hair styling regiment, but that one's more complicated to explain because it has many variations.

But starting this week till Prom, I will not wear foundation unless my skin looks horrible. I know I said my skin looks disgusting right now, but it really isn't. It just looks unsightly because I look at myself with a magnifying glass. Not wearing foundation is supposed to help your skin, so I'm up for it. Saves me time too.

It seems like Mlle. Jang is trying to be better friends with me, which is nice, except I have no time to hangout because my mother hates it when I go out. Grr. I want to do yoga with her and Mlle. Smith. I just want to hangout like a regular girl, but I can't.

Mlle. Smith and I, and possibly my mother and Mlle. Jang, are going to UC Irvine next Wednesday to tour that campus and dorms. I'm so excited, you have no idea.

Now that I think about it, my mother always gets what she wants. Everything works and fits her plans the way she wants them too. It's like the people upstairs love her more than they love me.

That's a lie. They love me in a different way. I'm an incredibly lucky child. I've never been seriously hurt in my entire life. Never broken a bone...nothing. Almost gotten hit by a car, stepped in shards of glass, lost a foot, gotten rabies, stabbed and sliced by a knife, gotten stuck for weeks in Italy, gotten stuck and lost in Vietnam at the airport, and bunch of other almosts. I'm just lucky like that. My well-being is looked after.

Sometimes I wonder if I truly want to go to UCI or if my enthusiasm is just something my brain make up to ensure my survival through these rejections. Either way, I don't care. I just kind of want to know, that's all.

I talked to Mlle. Kodoma today. It was really nice. I miss her and I wish she was here.

I did not have three thousand pairs of shoes, I had one thousand and I did not have three thousand pairs of shoes, I had one thousand and sixty.

Poor M. Ward. He's been rejected from UCSB because of his excessive absence sophomore year--thanks, mono. While Mlle. Jang and Mlle. Lanter are waitlisted, he is outright rejected and seems to be taking it quite hard. I found this out yesterday and felt quite bad because a few hours before, I told him that he shouldn't worry and that stupider people have gotten in. I got his hopes up so I must be responsible for its crash.

So, the next morning (which is this morning), I went to Burger Barn to buy him a breakfast burrito since he always seems to want one when I have one. I bought Mlle. Smith one too since I owe her money and this would even us out. And then I completely forgot about Mlle. Jang, who would have paid me back. Oh, well. It's funny because my orders at Burger Barn are so specific ( two breakfast burritos with only salsa, cheese, and eggs) the staff remember me, which is nice of them and flattering as well. When I ordered the extra burritos from M. Ward and Mlle. Smith, the guy in the back who works the kitchen who I didn't even know that knows I exist (if that makes sense) came to the front and said, "Changing it up, huh?" and the girl at the register knows my name. It's a very good feeling. I will make sure to find out their names as well.

When I got to school, I gave M. Ward his burrito, and he tried to pay me back for it, but I didn't take his money. Later, he thanked me and gave me a hug. Well, M. Ward knows how to hug. Sometimes, I wish all the guys were like him. The world would be a much more inspiring place.

So, I've been obsessing with lace a bit too much lately. I think it's sexy and provocative in a classy way. I already have two LBDs, but if I were to buy another, I would try and find one that is long-sleeved with a scoop neck (a crew neck is okay too, but I personally prefer scoop necks). It is backless, in a way, because the lace will span the back and connect with the fabric (maybe wool crepe) at the small of the back and the shoulders. The result will be this simply sophisticated that needs no further accesory that I will wear over and over and over again.

Before Anchor Blue closed down, I went and bought, oh, I don't know, only five million white XL t-shirts from them because I liked the material and I was planning to make my own T-shirts. I made one for Mlle. Smith as a Christmas present and really liked how it turned out. So, now I have a bunch in my closet, and I haven't been inspired yet until like, five minutes ago. I want something simple but very eye-catching. This will do.

I don't want mushy stuff like a heart or love. I want my shirts to be simple yet grand at the same time. A peace sign is good, no?

We dissected a cow's eyeball today. It was so awesome. We got one that was really meaty, so this other girl and I hacked away until only the eyeball is left. We did the regular stuff, and the best part about it all was the tapetum lucidum, this thing that reflects light back into the eyeball that allows the animals to have superior night vision.

Barnard. What to do about Barnard? I really do believe in ESP now. My brain just feels depressed when I think of Barnard, and, it's hard to put it into words, but I think the brain is going into this mode where it is indifferent about everything, to prepare me for probably the biggest rejection and disappointment of my life. Just kidding. The greatest disappointment will be saved for medical school applications.

The Friday that M. Lythgoe asked Mlle. Pillado to Prom, I wanted to have the line "today is the day when dreaming ends" from the song One Day I'll Fly Away (Reprise) from Moulin Rouge. In the beginning, she sings, "Why live life/from dream to dream/and dread the day/when dreaming ends," because she was just ready to go away from the whole courtesan life that she had. And then she fell in love with Christian, and when their love was threatened, they made plans to go away, you know, the whole shebang. Then she found out that she had tuberculosis and that if the Duke couldn't have her, he'd have Christian killed. So, she had to make him believe that she didn't love him. So, she sang the Reprise before going to tell him that the plan was off since the Duke offered her riches poor Christian couldn't.

That scene is very heartbreaking. I cried. Like, really hard. So, I was going to put that for my quote, but then I was like, actually, I'm going to save that from the day that I get rejected from Barnard because it fits better there. I mean, it's just M. Lythgoe. Sure, he's cute and I'm kind of attracted to him, but he just doesn't matter much because I don't even like him that much. Gotta put things in perspective.

I've been drinking NON-SWEETENED tea since yesterday since I kind of blew that off a month in because I ran out of chamomile tea and had to drink yucky cinnamon and apple cider tea instead. That stuff is nasty without, I don't know, ten tablespoons of sugar. So, to get back on track to detoxing and cleansing my body for Prom, I've picked up my tea habit with:

which has chamomile, blossom, and, best of all, rose petals, which makes it taste kind of like rosewater--or what I imagine rose water to taste like based on its smell because I'm not stupid to drink fragrance water. Just saying.

My shoes came! Me and two other girls are planning a Heel Day at school! I am so excited!

Isn't it weird how depressed and forlorn I felt before and how excited and happy I am now? Hormonal much? I kind of want to go on the pills to regulate this and eliminate the depression, period. But I don't want chemicals and stuff to mess up my body and possibly leave me infertile--I mean, I know I'm always going on and on about how I don't want to give birth, but I would like to have options, thank you very much.

The hair is the richest ornament of women.

May 13th is going to be a great day! It's the day before the Prom and it's also a second Senior Ditch Day, which I'm going to participate in (I didn't do the first because the timing was stupid; it was first quarter, for goodness's sake). Anyways, we're meeting up at In N' Out at 12 and going en masse (I hope I used that right; I'd feel pretty idiotic if I didn't) to Zuma Beach. Fun, ya? I think so! Mlle. Smith is excited about it also.

So, remember how I told Mlle. Macias about M. Lythgoe. She now thinks I have a crush on him, which I don't, and suggests that I help her make a cake for him on his birthday since she's in Yearbook and people in Yearbook are doing that for all the people in Yearbook (hope that makes sense). Then I can come and hang out with them in Yearbook and eat the cake too. An occasion to miss class? Count me in!

The math test I took today was crazy! I went in feeling pretty well, but came out completely depressed. I need an A on the test to bring my grade up to a C since I BOMBED the last test so bad, tears can't even describe it. Anyways, we'll see how it goes. I hope Mme. Kennedy won't be too disappointed.


I bought this hair thing yesterday and I'm trying it out starting today. It's called Smooth 'N Shine Therapy: Silk Fusion Repair Extreme Leave-In Treatment (with pearl extract). I mean, honestly? It was cheap and on sale, and it has the word "pearl" in it. I'm a goner.

So, I'm going to try it out everyday for a week to see how it goes. Hopefully, it'll make my hair all shiny, smooth, and soft.

It is better to be beautiful than to be good, but it is better to be good than to be ugly

 For all last week, I've been putting on a moisturizer after cleansing my face. So, that's twice a day. Surprise, surprise: I broke out. Not like crazily where everyone could see--only I could see because I'm probably--hopefully--the only one looking at all areas of my face that closely. I don't know why I did that because I have oily skin, and a moisturizer is meant to keep the face from getting too dry. Well, my face is never going to be dry. Once a day moisturizing is enough. I'm going to start doing that now.

Also, I'm going to start rinsing my teeth with Rembrandt mouthwash. I bought it only because it has the name of a famous painter and a simplistic yet very intriguing design. The sucky part about using this is having to wait half an hour before drinking or eating. I don't have that kind of time, so I'm just going to use it at night.

My hair is long enough to be tied up now! Yippee! But if I put it in a bun, it looks like the end of a chicken tail, which is not attractive at all and definitely not what I'm going for. I want to put my hair up in a bun for prom, and in four months, that goal looks very doable.