Contradictio in Terminis

Today, my doctor tells me I am officially underweight with a BMI of 17.6 (it was hovering around 19 in May). She says I am officially putting myself at risk of heart problems because my body will start rerouting energy from protein - heart muscle - in order to function.

...Whoops. >.>

I am going to try and unclench the excessively tight sphincter of my mind and fix this.

Um, in happier news, Chloe's friend, Melissa got me a Pottermore account last week! We spent the weekend celebrating - by reading copious amounts of fic and watching The Pacific. (IDK if I could personally ever get into the fandom. The series was brilliant, from what I saw - the battle scenes! characterization! holy gut-wrenching perfection, batman! - but I kept getting thrown out of the loop because on the one hand, the Japanese were "the enemy", and on the other, they're my grandparents...).

Something else I learned recently: conscientiousness runs very strongly in my family. In Ye Days of Olde, when my dad, my uncle and my Oma were new to Canada, my dad had a job as a paper boy, delivering newspapers around Toronto's St. Clair E./Birchmount area, which was not the nicest part of town. One morning, he got off the elevator in one of the apartment buildings on his route and discovered a large pool of blood in the hallway, seeping out from under one of the doors. Probably, most people would have turned around and called it a day. Not my dad. In his own words: "I thought to myself, people need their daily newspapers!"

I feel like that somehow explains so much about my family.

BECAUSE PRODUCTIVITY IS FOR N00BS.

Below the cut: my partial costume for our Videodance number, which is choreographed to a Lady Gaga mashup (Bad Romance, Alejandro, Just Dance). Uh, warnings for derpy photos and me wearing revealing clothing? If this offends anyone, I apologize in advance!
( Image-heavy-ish! Also, again, I'm wearing kind of saucy clothing? IDK, IT'S GAGA!  )

I feel really weird posting this, but I'm really excited for recital, and I've never bedazzled a sports bra done my own costume before.

This is a post all about eighteenth century French literature! Because reading Diderot is just... LOLWUT. But it is not a srs!bznz post because a) LOL THE BOOK IS WRITTEN IN FRENCH, WHAT IS THIS READING COMPREHENSION YOU SPEAK OF? and (consequently), b) my summary of the book is basically as follows: two guys ride around and talk about their sexcapades.

I REALLY ENJOYED THIS BOOK. :DDDDDD

Let the record show that: 1) If I am looking up fanfiction for Jacques le fataliste, it is only because DIDEROT TOLD ME TO. Or, rather, he was all "I DARE YOU TO DO BETTER Si vous n'êtes pas satisfait de ce que je vous révèle des amours de Jacques, lecteur, faites mieux, j'y consens." WHICH IS BASICALLY THE SAME THING.

2) "Tu es mon serviteur, quand je suis malade ou bien portant, et je suis le tien quand tu te portes mal." (p.118) ;LASKDJF;LASKDJFAS YOU GUYS WHY IS IT SO ~BROMANTIC ;ASLDKJFA;LSDF (There are other examples, but I am too lazy to type up a whole paragraph of French js.)

3)... THAT IS SOME NICE BROMANCE YOU'VE GOT GOIN' ON THERE, DIDEROT.

Jacques: Bonjour, ladies.
Look at your Maître. Now back to me. Now back à votre Maître. Et encore à moi. Malheureusement, il n'est pas moi. Mais s'il ne prendrait pas une prise de tabac en regardant l'heure qu'il est, he could act like he's me. Look down, back up. Where are you? You're camping in the French countryside with your Maître. What's on your mind? I have it! It's a history of the time I learned sex didn't have to be in the missionary position. Look again. The woman is now on top! Anything is possible si c'est écrit là-haut.
Son Maître: I'm on a horse.

SOMEDAY, I WILL ACCEPT THAT NO ONE APPRECIATES BUTCHERED FRANGLAIS OLD SPICE MEMES*. UNTIL THEN, YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO PUT UP WITH ME.

*Also, why have I not been able to find one for The Eagle? STEP IT UP, FANDOM. :D

OH... MY... GOD.

I'M PUTTING A HIT OUT ON TODAY. I SWEAR TO GOD, I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL SOMETHING. SOMUCHRAGE. (And all over the internet, too; dear Twitter feed, you are more than I deserve).
( Take: 1 hormonal teenager, 1 biopsyc midterm, 6 hours of sleep, 1 toaster, 1 irresponsible housemate. Put through blender. Makes OVER NINE THOUSAND servings of teen angst. )

On a note of Well, That's Just Dumb, I still feel slightly drunk. With a German quiz in an hour. Yesssssssss.