Women who hate cleaning, a new breed

I tricked myself into going shopping with YY today, as usual at the expense of my sanity. Normally I just flat out refuse...

YY: I need new shoes
Mark: like you need a punch in the face
YY: you need a new jacket
Mark: I just renewed the lease on the old one
YY: you're ugly. Let's cover you up with some clothes
Mark (pokes YY in the eyes): there ya go, all better now!

...but this time I decided to strike a bargain. Maybe it's cause I abandoned all my students in China. That in combination with the well documented fact that teaching instincts tend to flare up every once in a while like a bad case of herpes. Or is it the other way around? Either way, in the spirit of the completely unbalanced deals my parents made with me when I was young, we made a pact: I would go shopping with her for an hour if she read Prelude to Foundation (in Chinese). That'll teach her! I can't wait to see her suffer as she reads that awesome book...


Does bejesus ("you scared the bejesus out of me when you changed your underwear without me asking") have anything to do with Jesus? Cause saying "you scared the Jesus out of me!" just doesn't sound right at all. Scaring the Jesus out of someone...now that's something I need to experience. On both sides of the scared Jesus.


I think my female flatmate might be even lazier than Yuan Yuan, who in turn is even lazier than me when it comes to cleaning, something I would have thought impossible a few years back. But the universe just keeps expanding. There's a double sink in our kitchen, essentially two sinks side by side sharing a wall. My flatmate has had a pot with caked porridge soaking in water there for the last month. The other day I remarked to myself that due to evaporation and drinking (I was thirsty!), soon the water level in the pot would get low enough for the porridge to start rotting again (it already started once, before my flatmate mustered up the energy to pour some water in it). But then I looked again today and it was full almost to the top again! What a beautiful combination of action and procrastination on her part.

If It's On Sale, It's On The Bank Statement

Michelle's birthday's coming up soon. She's turning 12 plus or minus 6; it's hard to tell at that age. As always, I'm short on ideas for presents. It's been a long time since I was a twelve year old girl, and with all these "forty is the new twenty" and "seventy is the new twenty one" I can't even narrow down which millenium she belongs to. Should I get her a tricycle or some razors (for shaving; it's too early for her to be clinically depressed), a bib or a wheelchair? I've asked some experts, they're still analyzing the data. Wish me luck.

We went to Kroger's for some grocery shopping today. They're all set for Christmas, and there's a massive sale. Except for grapes, which at $964.99/lb seemed to be compensating for all of the other items put together, literally everything was marked down. So now, not only are we broke, but in two days time we'll be fatter than Señor Christmas stuffed with Dasher and Blitzen's entire family trees. Christmas trees of course.

I followed a schedule today for the first time in 22 years. Not the whole day of course, but from 1:00PM to 4:30PM I lived a life of order and premeditated action. This included an hour of Chinese, half an hour each with two guitar books, and half an hour of ear training. I am not skipping out on the chance to brag about it since there's no predicting how organized I will feel tomorrow. Clap your hands if you believe I can stick to this for more than just today. Now if you clapped your hands, go see a shrink. Clapping to yourself for no reason is a first-rank positive symptom of schizophrenia according to the Schneider classification. Either that, or you're a Nazi for following orders blindly.

An hour and a half ago, Mario put a 10oz frozen pizza in the oven. Usually within 10 minutes we hear the first hissing sounds of cheese globs committing suicide on the red-hot coils. I just went to check on it. The oven was set to a comfortable defrosting temperature of 0. Fahrenheit of course - this isn't a magic oven, and only I'm loony enough to take a pizza out of the box and plastic wrap and put it back in the freezer to cook.

Mario (seeing me at the oven): is it burning?
Mark: dude, you forgot to turn the oven on.
Mario: that wasn't the question. I said, is it burning?
Mark: nope, this one's a champion.