contact sport

Ow ow ow ow fucking ow.

(This concludes our weekly Saturday morning post-skating moan session.)

For my own reference, a list of things to get done before the 21st party I'm going to tonight:

- clean bathrooms
- wrap present & write in card
- finish writing out neuroanatomy notes
- read articles on surgical treatment of congenital spinal disorders
- choreograph step sequence

But right now, I am going to coddle my pulled muscle and watch the new episodes of House and Avatar.

girly things

I sodding hate mascara. I. hate. mascara. I have very long lashes, so the clumps tend to gather obviously on the very ends of them and teeter there like they're enjoying the thrill and possibly considering some kind of abseiling mission into my eyes. And no matter how careful I am to choose decentish brands or to look for packaging that has the words 'no clumps!' on it, THERE ARE ALWAYS CLUMPS. Other people manage it. Maybe my lashes are cursed. Despite it all, I retain a sense of hopeless gullibility that stems from the desperate hope that one day, one day, I will find non-clumping mascara.

Revlon: NO CLUMPS THIS TIME! Come on, baby, you can trust me.
Me: I don't know, I've been hurt before.
Revlon: But I've changed! New formula! I've had classes, I know better now, you know I love you...
Me: All right then.
Clumps: *duly appear*

But I have to wear mascara because I can't afford to get my lashes tinted until the school holidays end and I can start tutoring again. Grr. Argh.

~

And now: the teaser for Avatar 3x04 'The Beach' = greatest thing ever to pass in front of your humble eyes, y/n? MY PSYCHOPATHIC FIRE PRINCESS GIRLFRIEND* IS WEARING BATHERS AND PLAYING VOLLEYBALL, YOU GUYS.

*Oh, whatever, be quiet, you know you have crushes that are even more shameful.