I realize that I have a disturbing habit of naming my things.

For example, the green fluffy thing that lickie gave me for my bday that goes hehe, I put 'hehe' and 'lickie' together to get 'hickie'. So hickie it is. And my bolster is named after me, and Bolster and Lichie together gives 'Bitchy'. Okay there's an extra t, but it SOUNDS similar anyway, and there's a 't' in bolsTer anyway, so consider it a merger of sorts.

Oh, that these names have an amazing relation to words with dubious meanings is an absolute coincidence and is definitely NOT chosen because of said dubious meanings, I grin cheerfully.

Actually my class names things too. Everything, in fact, from bai's flobberball to auyong's doggie to our straw structures for KI. But strangely, with no relation whatsover to our class mentality, all these names seem to center around 'boob' and 'dick', leading to very interestingly ambiguous situations where someone shouts across the class 'give me back my dickie!'. Three guesses who started the naming business.

And. I'm in love. Again.

Okay lemme tell the whole story. Yesterday I went to the library in a barely-concealed attempt to ask my mom to buy chocolates for me, and I didn't manage to find any books at all (so I was feeling depressed), when I walked past the FFO shelf and gazed upon the curves of The Well of Lost Plots. And I promptly took down Lost in a Good Book and Well of Lost Plots, and pranced off to borrow it cause I desperately needed books to read lest I entered the stagnating couch potato stage, and television serials nowadays are disgustingly repulsive with their recycled heroes and overused plots.

And after dinner and after the Design Proposal which I will steadfastedly refuse to touch with a ten-foot-pole after this, I settled down in bed with my handphone and book to read. And fell in love. With Jasper Fforde. All over again. His humour is so much funnier than pratchett's (and how my inner pratchett-fangirl protests, but it's true), and it's so much more satirical and amusing.

*cue lots of fforde-fangirling*

Why can't we do sensible books, like The Eyre Affair, for lit? Writing the P&P journal is going to kill off all my braincells one by one. Slowly and painfully. Ouch. But Mr. Bennet is funny. And Mrs. Bennet is funny too, albeit in a self-owning way. Ahwells. Sigh. Back to lit journal for me. I'm such a geek. I shall form a GEEK club. And we can all stone there and do our homework, so when we get home we're free to like chat on msn or something. Yayy go geeks.

Okay I'm descending into incoherence. Not good. Not not.