He who trims himself to suit everyone will soon whittle himself away.

My mother has decided to move to Irvine my sophomore year at college. Lovely. There goes the plan that Mlle. Johnston and I have about moving into an apartment together sophomore year. I sure don't want to live with my mom. I'm super sure Mlle. Johnston doesn't as well. I mean, this is our time to live, but she keeps trying to interfere and not letting me live. She's had her chance at life. Let me have mine. Youth only happens once.

Speaking of youth, I've just finished a book. Rebbecca by Daphne du Maurier. It's an okay book with wonderful descriptions of a country estate called Manderley. It sounds so lovely to be so rich and living in such a decadent place, to have a drawing room and a morning room. I am especially in love with the scene where the unnamed heroine enters the morning room, the place where her husband's beautiful first wife Rebbecca always spends her morning writing letters and managing the estate. She describes the ornaments and decorations in the room, and then the descriptions of the writing desk comes up. Gosh, it seems like such a great desk, with labels such as "Unanswered Letters", "Invitations", "Parties", and "Misc.". And then the scene where the unnamed heroine stumbles upon the bedroom in the west wing (she stays in the east wing), and sees how the crazy housekeeper Mrs. Danvers has kept Rebbecca's room in a way that suggests that the owner is still alive. There is the ante-room which has a closet full of beautiful dresses in multitude of materials. I could have died and went to heaven right then.

And then there's Rebbecca.

My ideal beautiful woman is always one with black (blackest of black) tumbling past her shoulders. Always. Then, if her skin is dark, then she would have almond eyes (black or green, it doesn't matter). But if she has pale skin, then she has the kind that is almost white, but not quite. Her eyes, then, would be icy, icy blue. Rebbecca has the hair of the beautiful woman in my mind. She's tall and slim and beautiful, not to mention witty and clever and very, very charismatic and charming. She sails and rides and entertains while looking lovely beyond belief. And then we find out she's a nymphomaniac who has sex all the time and enjoys telling her husband, who hates her, about it to provoke him. She's manipulative and deceitful, mocking those around her for believing in her facade. When I was reading, I was very drawn toward her (not in a homosexual way, of course), but I always feel giddy when a beautiful girl or woman or house or room or dress or outfit or closet or scene that has some kind of a natural water source is described. It's weird. I just can't explain it. Oh, yeah, and floor plans! That stuff turns me on. Not in a weird way, of course. It just gets me really excited.

Mlle. Johnston wants to hangout during Spring Break, and, of course, I can't because my mother is incredibly anal. The topic of my prom dress came up and I told her that it would be $200 (it's actually $300. I always tell her that I spend less money that I really do), and she almost flipped out. She was like, "$200? Why are you so extravagant? Why don't you just borrow one of [my cousin's] dress?" Um...because, one, a long dress costs at least $200 and a good one costs at least $600. Mlle. Hatfield got one for $400 and it wasn't even that good looking. Mine's going to be so much better. I'd rather spend a wee bit more money on something I love than spending any at all on something I don't care about, but that's beside the point because I'm spending less than most people anyways. Two, because it's my own money? Three, because she and I don't wear the same size? Four, who borrows a dress for Prom? That's like borrowing a wedding dress. Who does that? Certainly not me. I would not get married if I couldn't wear my own wedding dress.

Actually, sophomore year, I decided that I wasn't going to marry, but then I thought about it and I really really really want to have my own wedding dress, so I decided to marry after all. Yeah, so...she's ridiculous! I'm paying for it with my own money! Why is she even complaining? Everyone else's parents are paying for theirs and they actually go shopping with their daughter.

Ugh. Talking about this makes me feel so suffocated and oppressed. I wish time flies faster.

There are three types of friends: those like food, without which you can't live; those like medicine, which you need occasionally; and those like an illness, which you never want.

So, this weekend, I kind of made peace with myself about my upcoming rejection from Barnard. I was going to go to Irvine, study my butt off, and be the one doing the rejecting the next time around. That was my plan, as set in stone as my plans could possible be. I told my friends, and they were more than happy because we would be a few minutes (at most an hour) away. My mother and I got on so well this last weekend because of that.

But now University of Rochester--which I just assumed would reject me since they accept 38% of all applicants while Wellesley accepts 32% and they rejected me--accepts me and is probably giving me tons of money to go there. I'm so lost.

Pros

1. Rochester is a huge-ass city, which means plenty of volunteer and job opportunities.
2. It's ranked higher than UCI and is one of the new Ivies.
3. It's one of the leading research universities right now.
4. You just need to take classes for your major, so no gen. ed.
5. It's 300 miles from NYC, which is a whole lot closer to it than I will ever be at Irvine.
6. Last, and most importantly, it has a neuroscience department, and I want to be a neuroscience major. I honestly don't care about the other stuff, but UCI is almost the same in those aspects, but neuroscience is something I really want to get involve in.

Cons

1. It's far away. I mean, I can understand going all the way across the country to study at Barnard and Columbia, but to study at a school that's ranked a wee bit higher than my in-state school doesn't make much sense. But the neuroscience department is just so so so irresistible.
2. It's not NYC.

Can you imagine how lost I feel now? Now it feels like I'm waiting for Barnard's acceptance letter to swoop in and save me from making bad decisions all  over again. I love Barnard, but I don't want my hopes and dreams to be shattered and trampled all over, something that will happen if I keep getting my hopes up.

But, for sure, wherever I choose to go, I will become the applicant that medical schools can't resist. They won't be the ones rejecting me the second time around. I'll reject all of them save for Columbia Medical School.

So, away from collegial stuff...

Prom planning is a nightmare! People keep freaking changing their minds!

Okay, so we have a bus for 18 people but we only have eight people so far (Mlle. Lopez dropped out to go on another bus after giving us her words, what the heck? but Mlle. Macias managed to find someone to take Mlle. Lopez's place). So I talked to Mlle. Yun, who has a group of ten and no bus, so if they merge with us, it'll be perfect.

Not.

Mlle. Yun is the only one I can stand in their little group. The rest of them are annoying as hell and are just asking to be slapped. So I asked Mlle. Coleman and her group, and she says she's telling everyone tonight, which is great. Her group is huge. They'll get ten people with no problems.

And then Mlle. Jang--who's going on Mlle. Lanter's bus, the same bus Mlles. Velasco and Yasakova (oh, they are an entirely different story), keeps interfering with our plans because she talks to Mlle. Smith and Mlle Smith is the most malleable person on this whole planet! Mlle. Lanter's group isn't going to dinner before the Prom like we are, and Mlle. Smith wants us to cancel to the dinner reservation to. Are you serious? Mlle. Macias, who is normally calm and gentle, nearly blew her top when she called me (because I left at lunch and skipped 5th and 6th to go home and finish my Sim's new house. Haha. The things seniors do). I called Mlle. Smith to tell her that there was possibly no way we're going to cancel our dinner reservation. She reasoned that it was too much, but was willing to do dinner anyways since it would make us happy. I told her that she shouldn't do that, and that she should only do dinner if she really wanted to. She said she wanted to do dinner, I knew she didn't. She kept trying to convince me that she wanted to do dinner, but a fool could tell that she wanted otherwise. So I pretended to believe her and hung up. Then I asked around and apparently, all these losers were not going to freaking dinner which made her convince that dinner wasn't necessary.  So I called Mlle. Macias again and told her about my plan to eat dinner before, but only to eat a little bit so it wasn't terribly expensive, then eat at Prom with everybody else. Problem solved. You're welcome.

God, Mlles. Velasco and Yasakova make me so mad! Especially Mlle. Yasakova. She just assumes that everything and everyone revolves around her dramatic little life. But Friday was when people who were going on our bus needed to confirm with us that they were for sure going. Everybody was supposed to tell me before school ended. So there I was, at freaking five o'clock, calling Mlle. Yasakova over and over and over again (why the eff do you carry a cellphone if you're not going to use it?). I took a break from that and called Mlle. Velasco--who called me at two and requested an extension till six. Mlle. Velasco said that she didn't know what to do. And I was very patient then, not at all pissed off like I am now. I was like, "Okay, well, what are your deciding factors?" And she said that she didn't feel comfortable with Mlle. Smith. Well, honey, if you hadn't ditch us, that wouldn't have happened, would it? NO.  But I was really really nice then, so I was like, "Okay, well, you do whatever you feel comfortable doing. I don't want to force you to come with us and make you have a crappy night." So she chose the other bus. I called Mlle. Yasakova again and she didn't pick up. She didn't even have a damn voice mailbox or whatever. I called Mlle. Velasco and asked her to ask Mlle. Yasakova for me. So Mlle. Velasco called right back and told me that Mlle. Yasakova was coming with her to the other bus. At that point, I got really mad. I kind of started to raise my voice at Mlle. Velasco, but I stopped and apologized because I was getting mad at the wrong person.  Mlle. Velasco was trying to get me to sympathize with Mlle. Yasakova. She said that Mlle. Yasakova liked to talk about her problems and didn't like it when Mlle. Smith and I just dismissed them like they were nothing. Well, first of all, we never dismissed them. We talked and talked and talked about them until we got sick of talking. Second of all, okay, so having a conversation means talking and listening.  She always talks and never listens to problems, and she thinks we're being unreasonable? Ugh. I. Am. So. Sick. Of. Her.

And then now, Mlles. Smith and Velasco are talking again, but Mlle. Smith says that her forced conversations with Mlle. Yasakova always returned to Mlle. Yasakova and her problems. Well, I'm not putting more efforts into a one-sided relationship. Period.

And guess whose bus Mlle. Jang and Tran Sr. are going on now that their party bus is broken up? Mlle. Lanter's bus when they could have joined ours and save us bunches of money. Then I really thought about it. I was really close with Mlle. Velasco, so to think that she could have spared me all the worrying about the party bus but chose not to is kind of annoying. I love Mlle. Velasco, but she is very shallow. I thought I was shallow, but she's even more shallow that me. And that says a lot.

Anyways, tomorrow, Mlles. Smith, Johnston, and Hopkins, and I are going to the beach to take pictures. Well, I'm taking pictures of them. Their hair will be curled. They'll have on red lipstick and cat eyes and long dresses. It'll be great! I'm excited!

If minutes were kept of a family gathering, they would show that "Members not Present" and "Subjects Discussed" were one and the same.

I can feel my nonchalance wearing off. I got rejected from NYU ( I KNOW!) but got deferred to NYU Poly, which, in a sense, is an extension of NYU, but it does not have my major: Neuroscience. I can always take Biomedical Engineering, but that's not what I want. I'm so freaked out and depressed.

Barnard will reject me, I know it, yet somewhere in the back of my mind, there's still foolish hopes and dreams that they won't. I feel like crying right now because if I don't get in, I'll have to go to UC Davis or NYU Poly. I don't know. Things would just untangle if I get into Barnard.

My mother thinks I want to go as far away as possible since I'm choosing Davis over Irvine and applied to all those schools on the East Coast. No duh. I want out, and getting into Barnard will give me the ticket. That's why it's so so so very important for Barnard to accept me. Everything about it is just perfect, and it just needs to accept me.

My mom's forcing me to go to Irvine now. That's complete BS. I'm going to be living there for four years and I need to like where I'll be. I don't want to finally escape her and be reeled back on weekends just like that. I hate Irvine so much more now just because she endorses it.

My dad is on my side. For now. I hope he'll remain on my side and not go off to the dark side.

Everyday, I see girls who do normal things, like going out with friends and talking on the phone, and things that they love doing, like dancing, and I get incredibly jealous because their families support what they do. I have to do this, I have to do that. When I offer an opinion, I'm told it's not appreciated because I'm too young and naive to have an opinion on everything. When I ask to participate in something I like, it's disregarded as being unnecessary. She hates it when I go out with friends and would give me a hard time about it. When I do volunteer stuff, she would rush me home or comment on how often I do it. I hate that.

But to be fair, I mean, I can see where she's coming from. She's raised in a family-centric culture, so me going out with friends and stuff is weird for her. I mean, she has friends, but she hung out with her sisters more since there are like, six of them. She also grew up poor which strengthens familial bonds because people who go through tough time together bond because they have the same common enemy: adversity.  She was more intelligent than all of my aunts, so she saw things differently and knew that she was different then the other girls who only lived to doll themselves up. Beauty fades, but knowledge remains, so she always pushes her children to get the best education they possibly can.

When I was growing up, I was a funny looking child. I'm skinny to the point where looks bony ever since I could remember, so growing up, I was a little bit on the uglier side compared to my two cousins of the same age, who grew up all pretty. My sister, who was supposed to support me, made sure that I knew I was ugly whenever I tried to make myself pretty and would always try to get on my cousins' good side. Well, I turned to studying because that was what I was good at, and that was how I got attention, but I isolated myself in the process. No one seems to be on my wavelength, but they're on on each other's, so it's like I'm an outsider in my own family anyways. But with that education, I know--hope, wish, pray--that there is more to life that just studying for years and years and years to become a doctor only to put it on hold to start a family. I don't want that for myself. I want something different. I want to travel, to feast my eyes on the wonderful world around me so I have something to look back at when I'm older. But traveling means ripping myself from the family.

She just condemns me for trying to break apart, but she's done the same thing! She moves us up here, an hour and a half--without traffic--away from where the main family lives. I've seen how clingy and intrusive it is. My cousins' relationships are forever under attack from the aunts, my mother included, simply because the girls are not who they have chosen. I don't want my boyfriend to have to go through that. I don't want to look back on my relationships and wonder if things would have been better if they'd let us be.

Well, actually, I'd just realized something. I'm not an emotional person, but I've been crying non-stop since nine. It is now about half past eleven. You know what this mean? I'm getting my period pretty soon. Goddamn it.

I think this is actually not as complicated as it seems. I just need to get into Barnard and all the problems would be solved.

So, Barnard, please please please please please accept me.

Beauty is only skin deep, but ugly goes clean to the bone.

Mlle. Smith and I ditched sixth period--Painting--today to go shopping. I bought my prom shoes at Charlotte Russe. It's not on the website right now, but I'll try to find it later. And then we went to Forever 21 and tried on clothes there. It was just really fun.

I think now that we've gotten past the fact that Mlle. Velasco and Yasakova ditched us and that they're not coming back willingly, we get on so much better and have a lot more fun than before because we no longer just sit around and brood about how boring our lives are.

I do feel bad when we're trying on clothes though. For some reason, I just know what kind of clothes work best for my body. I know how to accentuate my greatest assets and my greatest flaws equally. Boxy clothes and belts suggest wider hips and smaller waist--something I don't have. Scoop-necks and sweethearts shows a lot more cleavage, hinting that there is more--while the truth is quite the opposite--and, at the same time, divert attention from my decolletage to my clavicles. High-waisted shorts just outright lie and make people believe my legs are longer than they are. These kind of things to come naturally to me, so I assume that they come naturally to my friends too, since we're almost like peas in a pod.

Mlle. Smith picked the worst things for her body. I tried on this pair of high-waisted shorts and boxy, striped top and Mlle. Smith really liked it so she borrowed the shorts and paired it with a flowy top. Well, our torsos are completely different, so while the shorts look good on me, the shorts divided her in thirds and make it seem like she had no waist--she has a very slim waist--and short legs. I didn't know how to say it because whatever I said would have come off as "my body is better than yours", so I just said, "Okay, well, no we know high-waisted shorts are not for you." I hope she didn't think I was implying anything bad. I have pretty friends, and I don't want them to think of themselves as ugly just because something like this happens. She looks beautiful in belted dresses.

God, I should have said no when she wanted to try on the shorts. She already feels so very insecure about her "large" hips. Well, let me tell you, they are NOT large, and I don't know why she's so insecure about them. She's beautiful in her own way and I think she shouldn't compare herself to other people and should just be embrace herself. Seriously, when I pick my friends, it sounds nasty and all, but I choose people whose beauty aren't mainstream and people who aren't ugly. My friends are all pretty in their own unique way and that's why I'm friends with them. Then, of course, their personalities play a major role in how much more prettier they become in my eyes.

Then there's Mlle. Ocampo, who, at first, I thought was really ugly but is strangely pretty because of it. When we were friends, she got a lot more prettier, but the moment she back stabbed me, she got ugly again. Well, uglier, of course.

That's why I hated it when people said that I looked like her. I took it as them calling me ugly on the inside and out.

Since second semester of junior year till now, no one has and will ever make that mistake again.

Anyways, enough of the nastiness, Mlle. Jang got into USC! I am so proud of her but I--and several people--are getting mad at UCLA for rejecting us and letting people of inferior intelligence in. That sounds snobby and all, but it's true and it's how I feel. I hope M. Ward's gotten in as well because I think M. Ward deserves it more than any of us.

Mlle. Jang is keeping her fingers crossed for me and Barnard. I am keeping my fingers crossed for her and RISD-Brown,  who's sending their notification today along with Carnegie Mellon--another of her school. But I am less worried now that your truly's gotten into UC Davis.

It's depressing, but I don't think Barnard will accept me. Neither is NYU, nor Rochester. I will never get to leave sunny California. I can't imagine not being in New York. I'm 5000% sure Barnard's rejection will break my heart.

On a brighter note, Mlle. Lanter and Mlle. Lopez and I are planning a Heel Day at school on April 1st. So far, about 12 people are attending, eight maybes, four declines, and 54 awaiting replies. That's okay if only 12 of us do it. We'll be the 12 girls in school with great postures and killer legs.

Mlle. Jang's group for Prom broke up so now she might join us if we don't get enough (18) people. Yay!

There is a road from the eye to heart that does not go through the intellect.

So, today began really nice and peaceful, which is not a surprise since this whole week has been pleasant, yet I find myself getting depressed everyday at around four to seven o'clock. Not to worry because the moment I feel a tiny bit depressed, I switch the music to blasting Uffie, Lily Allen, and 3Oh!3 and the raunchy lyrics take my mind off of things. I need a new way to get out of it though because this way won't last forever.

Anyways, I had to go to the bathroom in Mme. Kennedy's class today. You would think that a small and skinny girl like me would walk all soft and dainty, but sometimes I walk like an elephant. Today was one of those times. Anyways, that's way beside the point. So when I got back, the moment I opened the door and walked in, guess whose face I saw looking at me first way before other people started to turn around. Maybe I'm overspeculating, but I would like to think that he felt my giant stomping, saw me at the windows, and turned around to look as I walked in. Anyways, I saw him looking, and he was probably the only person I had eye contact with, and I could see him watching me as I walked across the room to take my seat. Once I got there, I kind of lingered and stood there for a few seconds, looked in his direction, and saw that he was still looking! Then toward the end of class, I looked out the windows and saw him looking again out of the corner of my eyes. It's hard to explain but I moved my eyes to include more of him in my peripheral vision, if that makes sense. He was indeed looking my way. It was all very thrilling until I realized that Mlle. Pillado, a pretty, lovely, and gentle Mormon girl who wouldn't harm a fly, sat behind me.

If M. Lythgoe likes me, then he should say so. He is awfully nice to look at, especially when he stares at me right back. God, it sounds like we are having eye sex, but we really are not.

And then the day went by like always. Mlle. Smith, Hatfield, Macias and I discussed our limo plan. Now that M. Smith has asked Mlle. Smith to the Prom, we have nine definite people in the group: the four of us, M. Smith, Mlle. Lopez and her date, M. Clayville, and Mlle. Rink (a friend for Mlle. Macias). Mlle. Yasakova and Velasco (I have invited her when I found out that she didn't know what her G.A.P.P friends were doing for the Prom) are supposed to come with us, but they are well-known for backing out at the last minutes. I have not heard from the other people yet. And M. Lythgoe has YET to ask me.

I think I will fail the next Calculus test because I have no idea what is going on. Mme. Kennedy is very patient when she explains things to me, and I love her so much for that. But once she is out of sight, everything she's said goes as well. I'm trying so hard, harder than I have ever done before. I come to class early to check my homework and ask her questions, but I just don't seem to be getting it. I bet she's very disappointed in me for wasting her time and effort.

We had a lot of fun in Painting, as usual. Mlle. Jang had finished putting the gouache in the palette for me, so I worked on drawing eyes and other facial features with graphite as I waited for the gouache to dry. Mlle. Smith and I discuss our workout plans for the Prom. Since my dress is leg-centric, I need to tone my legs. Honestly, I know I sound like one of those girls who fish for compliments because I'm skinny and all, but my thighs are huge compared to the rest of my body. And my gastrocnemius muscles are virtually nonexistent; I saw them and my thighs jiggle today. Not. A. Pretty. Sight. But ever since I started taking Physiology, I'm so afraid to do anything really physical, like running, because running means bending my knees, which works to wear away my cartilages in my knee joints and eventually it'll just be bone on bone and let me tell you, I can NOT stand pain to save my life. I'm just going to stick to stretching until I can find a workout to tone my legs.

Towards the end of class, M. Ward managed to get to Youtube from the Mme. Mills' computer and we all (Mme. Mills, M. Ward, Mlle. Smith, Jang, Tupac, and I) watched funny videos on there. God, it was a fun afternoon.

Then I came home to find out that I got rejected from UCLA. Remember that whole stress thing I went through that made my back breakout when I got an "unlikely" from Wellesley? Well, this is a little bit better but I'm still so very scared, nervous, and anxious.

My mother came back from Vietnam last night! You know what that means? I miss my lovely camera so much! Plus, she bought me earrings, which will go into my ever-growing collection of earrings since I am so into earrings right now.

I talked to Mlle. Velasco earlier to let her know to let us know about her final decision before the 24th and to give us her money by the 31st of this month. Sometimes I feel like such a bad friend for not being there for her when she has money problems. I mean, her dad makes so much money, but when you take that amount and divide it by seven people in her family, that doesn't leave much for them to do much. And it just feels like I all do is say, "Hey! Wanna go waste money with me?"

I think M. Lythgoe should just ask me to the Prom!

The most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched, they must be felt with the heart .

Okay. Crappy start to a crappy day. I found out today through Early Evaluation from Wellesley College that "unlikely" will I be join their 2015 class. LAME. That's okay, Wellesley wasn't my first choice. My first choice is Barnard, but now I'm incredibly worried because Barnard is more selective than Wellesley and I can't even get into Wellesley. So, I'm wishing, hoping, praying that the reason Wellesley rejects me is because I am not the right fit, which I am for Barnard! Please, please, please let me get in.

I was worrying all evening; I couldn't do homework; I just surfed College Confidential, looking for someone to say, "Oh, Barnard? What's that? An all-girl school? Eww. Even living in New York is not worth going to a girl school. That school is so easy to get in because nobody applies there." Nobody did say that, unfortunately. Somebody did say, however, to stop stressing because I did all that I could and now it is out of my hand.

Good things come to those who waits. Well, I'm waiting. I'm waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting, and I'm sick of waiting. I want to go and get it myself, but I don't have the means to do it. To acquire the means to do it, I have to wait for a bit longer. Well, I hate waiting. I am terrible at waiting.

M. Brucker from English class got kicked out because he didn't show up to class; Mlle. Johnston's crush turns her off because she realizes how much of an asshole he is.

My God, please excuse my French. I don't know why, but I currently find the word "ass" very attractive and fun to say. Like, "that's a huge-ass bird" and "that's a French-ass name, Yvonne." I need to stop cussing so much. It is not at all lady-like. To do that, I have to stop hanging out with Mlle. Hatfield and Johnston. They both use terms like "whore" and "slut" as endearment. Well, more Mlle. Hatfield than Mlle. Johnston, but Mlle. Hatfield uses "hon" and "sweetie", so shit stuff cancels out.

I called Mme. McElroy today to reschedule our weekly piano lessons to have her daughter pick up the phone and informing me that her mother had taken a turn for the worse and probably would not be teaching anymore; she couldn't even talk. It's really sad. I won't say I hope she gets better because I've been saying it every since her body hinted at being cancerous, so it obviously doesn't work. God, I feel so horrible because my brother and I would get really happy whenever she called and canceled our lessons because of her bad back or funky health.

For me being depressed means you can spend all day in bed, and still not get a good night’s rest.

I was feeling down for the first two periods at school today for no reason. Like, really down. So down it was not even funny, but I sucked it up and held it in like a big girl and went on my way. School went by like usual. I couldn't switch into Shakespeare and American Government AP like I wanted. Even though I don't know if I will like American Government CP, at least I will have it with Mlle. Johnston and still have Mme. Berman as a teacher. If I was in Shakespeare, I would be with Mlle. Smith, Jang, and Tran, but would be stuck in American Government AP with Mlle. Zhou and her obnoxious friends.

Mlle. Smith and Tran came over today to work on our scholarship packets. I love her very much, but I often wonder the extend to which Mlle. Smith can do for herself. She looked really pretty today with her hair slightly curled. Mine would never retain the curliness for the whole. I wish it would just hurry up and grow already.

Anyways, I called the cruise line company or whatever and got an estimation for our senior trip. If we were to go two to a room, it would be about $640ish including tips. However, if we were to do four to a room, then it would be $550 top. I'm super excited to go. To top that off, Mlle. Johnston's invited me to go with her and our dear friend Monsieur Steven to Six Flags this Saturday. I don't think I can go though, because I already took last Saturday off, plus I need to save money for all kind of stuff.

Anyways, I found this blog yesterday, and it is exactly what I need. She's an American writer living in Paris and writes about her experiences there. From what I've read so far, they are very detailed and interesting, filled with things people would usually consider banal or superfluous, but exactly what I need and want to know.