Snowstorm

Two colossal snowstorms buried my car (as seen above) in layers of snow, not just once but thrice! Far more exasperating, I had to be helped with getting my car unstuck from the snow by members of the male species 1.5 times!

I intensely dislike being rescued by men.

I Hate Faceless Companies!

Me: Hi, I was charged on my account although I've already moved and ended my internet services.
Phone Guy: Oh, yeah I see. That wasn't supposed to happen. The refund will take four to six weeks.
Me: Four to six weeks? If I took four to six weeks to pay my bill I will get a late fee. Can I charge you a late fee?
Phone Guy: long pause. Umm.. no 'mam, you can't.

Big Brother

Gov. David Patterson of New York recently suggested an 18% sales tax on soda (pop!) in an effort to plug a hole in the dwindling state budget with a potential $400 million per annum while brilliantly dressing it up as a noble effort to alleviate the obesity crisis in America.

Naysayers are boo-hoo-ing about Big Brother's Big Government. They spew out the Declaration of Independence, a bestowment of divine rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. C'mon, really? Is paying a little more for soda a detriment to your life, liberty and pursuit of happiness? Cry me a river, will ya?

People pooh-poohing government intervention in their daily lives quickly forget how important government actually is in enforcing sweeping policies that elevate the quality of life for its people: iodized salt, vaccinations, sanitation, education and the list goes on. Take a trip to Harare, Zimbabwe, a country crumbling into chaos from lack of saniation, schools and public services. You will be crying for Big Brother to save you.

Charging a little more for soda to offer extra pocket money for the state to provide services is hardly clamping down on liberties. Big Brother my foot.




Ironically, I'm reading Aldous Huxley's Brave New World.

Reading

I finally started reading again yesterday.

With the year coming to an end, with my qualify exams done and with more time on my hands, I snuggled into my comfy, fluffy, pouffy bed with my trusty companion, a good book! How lovely!

Perhaps, tonight, with a cup of decaf tea, I might just do the same.

Looking for my Granola Grunge Self

I was clickety-clacking my high-heeled boots into the elevator of the building where I worked when a snugly-bundled girl came rushing in after me, her face gorgeously flushed from the cold wind, along with her bicycle that she rode to work.

You see, the Geology department resides right above the Chemistry department. Geology department denizens are majorly comprised of the granola grunge type (and I mean that in a good way!), with their mountain hiking, forrest trekking, earth digging, environment loving types. They ride bicycles to work because they don't just talk about greening our earth. They reduce, reuse and recycle. They look so cool with their granola-type clothing all thrown together from their mother's wadrobe and the salvation army store, but are too granola to care that they look cool anyway.

And me? I wore high heels because, hey, I drive the two miles to work and also because I can't really ride a bicylce and the cold is too much to bear. And because I wore high heels and was too lazy to get my mug from my office, I held a steaming cup of coffee in a unreusable paper cup I bought from the cafe.

I need to be more granola!

The Calm After the Storm

Hip Hip Hurrah!

After gallons of coffee and countless late nights, I managed to pass my synopsis & research proposal qualifiers while holding onto my sanity (more or less).

It is such a relief that this "hump" is over, but in the grand scheme of things there are so many more "humps" to go over. Graduate school is such a tiresome journey!

The Samson Crush

There was once this cute boy who worked in the lab just down the hall from me. I remember my first encounter meeting him, I was rushing to the bathroom for a type 1 nature call when he burst out of the door before me in his dashing white lab coat. My heart jumped quite a bit, I didn't know if it was because of the shock of someone stepping in front me, or because he was so cute, or that I just needed to hurry more quickly to the bathroom (perhaps all three!).

Then, one day, he got a haircut, and he wasn't cute anymore!

The Samson Crush!

P.S. He has since moved away.

Breathe In, Breathe Out

I am currently in a perpetual state of panic that I will not be able to meet my September 1st and October 1st deadlines for turning in my synopsis and proposal. The former is to be a summary of my current body of scientific work, of things done and things to be done. The latter represents my "brainchild" of scientific creativity, which will probably end up like a desperate idea splashed on a piece of paper in hopes of passing.

These two events represent the mid-point, the do-it-or-die, in my graduate school career. We'll see if I make it through.

Asian Melissa vs. Americanized Melissa

I had a tofu stew with rice for lunch today.
(Asian Melissa 1, Americanized Melissa 0)

To get rid of my lunch breath, I started chewing gum. Went to talk to my advisor about my data, and realized I could snap on my gum while talking to him and nodding.
(Asian Melissa 1, Americanized Melissa 1)

Felt remorseful about rude chewing gum incident after I left his office. Was thinking about what Mummy would say.
(Asian Melissa 2, Americanized Melissa 1)

Happy Valentine's Day!

My Ghettofabulous Car

My car turns sixteen years old this year. Old enough to drive itself. And also to drive me insane.

I was driving home from work on a Saturday night (typical, unfortunately), deftly flicking the fingers on my left hand to signal my right turn onto Sweet Home Road when I heard a click followed by my car lights (headlights, tail lights and dashboard lights) going off unceromoniously. Left with no choice, I journeyed my way home in darkness with the occasional car honking/flashing/signaling at me, as if I am some soh mui driver oblivious to my situation on a pitch black night.

I turned to my ever reliable, amazingly innovative mechanic, Sham, who understands that my car is a jalopy, and there is no way I will spend too much to fix a $1800 car. So, after a couple hours of tinkling at the cost of less than $50, let me present to you:



That knob to turn on my lights on the left signal-thingamajig is now a thing of the past. I can now do that by using the on-off light switch sticking out from my dashboard. Ghettofabulous.