The “Charming” Charmed

This is what I did for a couple of days during my holiday:

Charmed Season 1

Crappy acting, cleavages, lousy effects, revealing clothes, cleavages, mushy lines, and cleavages!

Does it get any better? =p

However, I’m not a man. Cleavages don’t hold any appeal to me.
After a while, the “Don’t let me use my magic on you” and “Do I have to use my powers on you?” which is normally just disgusting is now officially nauseating.

One episode a day, is the appropriate dose. Don’t watch is marathonly like me. The side effect include involuntary hurling, goosebumps, cynical laugh, and it does not go away easily!

Sunday Morning Call

These J. Crew peep-toe pumps are calling my name. LOL

Lyla printed peep-toes, in papaya, was $250.00  select colors $129.99  item number 15447.
The website wrote:
Our newest love—Lyla, in the season’s prettiest prints, topped with a straw bow.

I usually hate papaya. The sight of it, the smell of it. The taste of it, moreover. But this papaya I won’t mind. ;]

Happy Sunday, everyone!!!

Between Yarn and Scarf

*Inspired by Gunawan Tanpanamabelakang =]

I had a ball of yarn.

White of color, brand new, and thick.

I was going to make something out of the yarn.

A scarf, a hat, a muffler, a glove, a vest? The list goes surprisingly long.

I took my time in deciding what I’m going to crochet.

After some time I decide a scarf. It’s practical. What use have I of a muffler? Or a glove? True, they’re much fancier, but they’re also harder to make. Why bother, when I can make something simpler.

Am I right or am I right? =p

So I started crocheting.

Chain stitches.

First row.

Second row.

Until the n-th row, I stopped and took a look at my work.

It was lopsided.

Instead of being square and nice, it was rounded and did not look like a scarf at all. If I continue it, it will eventually turned out circular. Instead of scarf, I’m going to have a tablecloth. Gah.

I don’t know why. Perhaps I am not very good at crocheting. Perhaps I made a wrong stitch somewhere. Perhaps I used the wrong type of yarn. Or the wrong size needle.

Perhaps the yarn is onto me. LOL

No.

I put it aside.

I don’t want to continue down this road where at the end of it I’m only gonna found a pair of blistered hands and a lopsided scarf. No one wants a lopsided scarf.

So I put it aside. I don’t have a scarf and I only got a part of my yarn. And I forgot about the both of them.

One day I opened my cupboard and there it was. My unfinished scarf, wrapped with the remainings of the yarn.

I took them, and I pulled the strings.

I figured if I am not going to have a scarf I might as well pull the unfinished scarf apart and take the yarn and turn it into something else. A flower, maybe. I probably can crochet a flower.

As I pulled on my unfinished scarf I got my yarn back. Only now instead of white yarn neatly tucked into a ball, I have a long string of yarn, now curled from the stitches I made long ago and piled up in one confusing, tangled heap.

So I started rolling the string. I pulled it, I straightened it, and I rolled it into the ball it used to be. At the end of this road, I’m going to have my ball of yarn, and I am going to make something out of it, only this time I’d be more careful. I’d stop at the end of a row and take a look at my work.

The Part Where I Melt

Mr. Darcy: How are you this evening, my dear?
Elizabeth Bennet: Very well… although I wish you would not call me “my dear.”
Mr. Darcy: [chuckles] Why?
Elizabeth Bennet: Because it’s what my father always calls my mother when he’s cross about something.
Mr. Darcy: What endearments am I allowed?
Elizabeth Bennet: Well let me think…”Lizzie” for every day, “My Pearl” for Sundays, and…”Goddess Divine”… but only on *very* special occasions.
Mr. Darcy: And… what should I call you when I am cross? Mrs. Darcy…?
Elizabeth Bennet: No! No. You may only call me “Mrs. Darcy”… when you are completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.
Mr. Darcy: [he snickers] Then how are you this evening… Mrs. Darcy?
[kisses her on the forehead]
Mr. Darcy: Mrs. Darcy…
[kisses her on the right cheek]
Mr. Darcy: Mrs. Darcy…
[kisses her on the nose]
Mr. Darcy: Mrs. Darcy…
[kisses her on the left cheek]
Mr. Darcy: Mrs. Darcy…
[finally kisses her on the mouth]

Vie: ♥   ♥   ♥   ♥   ♥  ♥  ♥  ♥  ♥  ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥♥

.

I really should find something better to do…

Recto Verso

“Ya.” Sebotol mahal anggur putih ada di depan matamu, tapi kamu tak pernah tahu. Kamu terus menanti. Segelas air putih.

“Yes.” A bottle of expensive white wine is here in front of your eyes, but you never know it. You kept waiting. A glass of water.”

I know.

It’s been a year since this book was published.

And months since I borrowed it from my friend (maafkan saya, Fer… =p), but I didn’t touch the book until last night.

And even tough it’s not half as interesting as Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons, nor as touching as Cecelia Ahern’s P.S. I Love You, I find myself unable to put it down.

Recto literally means the page on the right side of an open book, and Verso the left.

There’re eleven short stories in this…hmmm…work, with eleven corresponding songs.  It’s quite interesting, and this coming from a person who rarely reads Indonesian literature.

Dengar fiksinya, baca musiknya

The second story of this book is about a guy (in this book he is known as simply ‘Abang’ , no names) who had autism, and he has been accustomed to spending his Sundays with a girl, ‘perempuan’. Then Abang’s younger brother returned from his studies overseas, and the girl started seeing him. The boys’ mother (Bunda) had a talk with the girl, saying that she’d prefer her to date Abang, since he loves the girl not only with his heart, but with his soul. And the girl replied by saying that Bunda cannot possibly know that, since she is not an angel who can know a person’s heart. Hence the title, “Malaikat Juga Tahu” (“Even Angels Know”?). LOL
The music video tells the short story written in the book version:

Nice way of spending an idle day. I haven’t finished the book yet, Dan Brown’s The Lost Symbol showed up, and you know, Brown trumps all. =)

Irresistible!!!

It’s simple.

I love Marchesa’s new collection!!!

Complete and utter lack of things to do have led me browsing the web and I stumble upon the new collection from Marchesa.

Okay, that’s a total lie. I regularly check fabsugar.com. That’s the thing about unlimited internet access. LOL

So anywaaa~y…here are my faves:

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this one feels so bridal, eh?

last but definitely not least

So…what d’you think?

Owh, and if you’re as idle as I am, check out the sartorialist. It’s a blog of photos taken candidly (or so I think), of people with vastly different sense of fashion. A lot of the clothes are not my cup of tea, but it’s still interesting to see how people dress up in, say, Milan. Anyway, apparently the blog is very popular.

Theme Change!

I found this cute little website that offers cute themes for wordpress, for free. Check out all that cuteness: http://www.thecutestblogontheblock.com

And so I want to change my wordpress theme.

I like this one:

Too Darn Cute

But perhaps it’s a little too darn cute for me.

This one, maybe?

Bumbleberry

Or this one:

Pookie

But as for this one…..

Two Hearts

It is just too cute it makes me wanna throw up.

Seriously.

So, thoughts?

One liiiiittle bump on the road, though, I opened the rar file I downloaded and read the instruction and I have absolutely no idea what I am supposed to do. Like…

*** Installing WordPress Themes
——————————-
1. Access your Web server using an FTP client or Web server administration tools.

What the hell is an FTP client?

Help?

Out of Boredom

-Untitled-

Mary Sunday Brown does not believe in God.

Mary Sunday Brown was born on a Sunday, and was named Mary Sunday Brown for a simple reason: she has a pair of uncreative, devout Catholic as parents. Mary after the Virgin Mary, and Sunday because her parents can’t decide amongst the many saints to name their daughter after. Theodora, Antonia, Benedicta, Eugenia, Bernadette, all have their virtue and they can’t decide which would suit their newborn daughter best. Or whether that daughter will be able live up to the name. So they settle on Sunday.

After all, Sunday is God’s day.

When Mary Sunday Brown was 5 years old, her mother got diagnosed with cancer.

“Bone,” the doctor, a young but cold man with metal-rimmed glasses said, ”Final stadium now, nothing we can do except make you as comfortable as possible. You have two weeks. A month, tops.” With that he left the room, offering no words of comfort.

Hearing this, Mary’s mother turned white as a ghost, and her father immediately left the room. Mary sat on the sofa beside her mother’s hospital bed, playing with the Barbie which used to belong to their neighbor’s daughter, Jill Harris. Jill has grown out of Barbie dolls and has switched onto make up and accessories so Mrs Harris decided to give her dolls to their less blessed neighbor.

The one Mary was playing with was the best looking one, the doll’s hair was still attached although one side was much longer than the other one, the reminder of Jill’s hairdresser phase. Jill has been through a lot of phase, from hairdresser, teacher, scientist, archeologist. She used her dolls as students during her teacher phase, and buried them in sand to dug them out again when she wanted to become an archeologist. I don’t think I need to tell you what happened to the poor dolls when she went through her surgeon phase.

Mary was too young to understand what was going on. So what, her mother was sick? She’s gonna get a few shots and she’ll be good as new. Mary hated shots. They hurt. The nurses who gave them always say they didn’t, but they did.

Her parents were desperate. But only for a day. The next day her father went to their church and asked that Mrs. Brown be prayed for by the congregation. For the next two weeks letters arrived telling Mrs. Brown to hold on, that the Lord is going to get her through all this. Phone-calls came telling her that thousands of people prayed for her in last Sunday’s mass and thousands more will pray for her in the next mass. Flowers, too, came, bearing “Get Well Soon” cards and notes of encouragements. Color slowly returned to her mother’s feature.

Mary asked her mother what is wrong with her, and her mother replied that she is sick, but not to worry, for their Father in heaven is going to make her all better.

“And then after I’m all better, we will spend everyday together. We can bake cupcakes, go to museums, or anything you like.”

Reverend Smith came to visit Mary’s mother on a Saturday. He was middle-aged and fatherly, with a kind voice that will get you to confess your deepest, darkest sins when you went into confession with him. The priest thought about what he was going to say to the dying lady. The doctor has said that she only have a month to live, tops. That was two weeks ago. So she’ll probably die within the next two weeks. The priest prayed for guidance while walking to Mrs. Brown’s room.

Turned out he didn’t have to worry about what to say to the dying lady. She was doing all the talking. She gushed about the letters and phone-calls and flowers that she received and how that strengthens her.

“A Mrs. Long called and said that the congregation was praying for me last Sunday. And the Bible study, too, every night. You have no idea what that means to me, father. I felt strong. I felt the Lord beside me. I felt that I can beat this. You know?”

The reverend led a prayer and then he left, thanking the Lord for this show of faith, so strong, by so sick a woman. Mrs. Brown look so thin, and so clearly in pain from the tumor growing in her bones, but she still have faith.

She died the next day on Sunday, God’s day, and Mary’s faith died with her.

***

I was at church last Sunday when the priest was talking about— wait…what was he talking about again?

*darn*

So anyway…, he was telling this story about his visit to a woman who was hospitalized. He didn’t what to say to her, her illness was serious, he said, and he kept praying all the way, asking guidance to say something that will give her some spirit.

He shouldn’t have worried, he said, because the moment the woman saw him, she started babbling. About the calls and visits she received and how they strengthen them. How they convince her that she’ll be just fine.

I remember at that precise moment I thought about how ironic it will be if she died the next day.

Yes, I am that sceptical.

Beginning of Boredom!

Tomorrow is the beginning of a two week long holiday a.k.a utter boredom.

What to do, what to do…

Let’s see…
(randomly listed, off the top of my head)
1. watch Samantha Who, season 2 (yay!).
2. organize my room (…).
3. sleep through the day.
4. …..
5. …..

Ideas, anyone?

Administration Over Education

It irks me how a lot of my teachers seemed more bent in bureaucracy than education.

They seemed to care more about administrative details than the things that should have matter most: education.

Like how one student was held back a semester because she filled her grades with numbers rather than letters as supposed (or letters rather than numbers, I forgot). Just because of a couple of typos she cannot graduate with the rest of her class, when she actually has good —even great, grades.

And how my friends submitted her internship report, and received it back with a note to change the font number of the header to match one of the footer. The contents wasn’t marked in anyway, suggesting it wasn’t even read.

And how I got a frown when I said I have returned one week early from my internship.

“When are you supposed to finish your internship period?”

“31st, sir.”

“And today is…”

“It’s the 22nd, sir.”

A frown. “And why did you return early?”

I started a full-of-crap monologue about how I was allowed to leave early because they were very busy at the factory, and my counselor got an addition of 2 eager interns, AND that we have finished our assigned projects.
(They were all facts, of course, except that I ASKED to be allowed to leave early. Of course I didn’t say that in my crapful monologue, I’m not that dumb.)

“This internship is not about assignments or projects. They had a deal with us, and the deal is to let you stay there for two months. Not one month and three weeks, but two months. You are supposed to be allowed to use that two months to fully learn the process going on in the factory.”

Throat-clearing. “Then ask your factory to write a letter stating their reasons to let you leave early.”

Honestly, one week?

Like we even really worked there. All I did was arrive late and go home early and spent the time between that doodling.

Honestly…

I understand that breaking a rule in the laboratory, like not turning off the equipment, should be punished accordingly. It was a simulation of a real factory after all, and in a real factory even when proper cautions have been applied things blew up anyway. Shit happens. So every little precaution is necessary.

But I can’t see what is the essence in holding back a student because she wrote down her grades with letters instead of numbers (or is it numbers instead of letters, I can’t remember). I can’t see the essence of troubling a busy HRD personnel for a silly letter explaining why they did both the factory and the students a favor by letting the latter leave early.

Honestly!