In light of Overheard In Singapore’s entry into Singapore’s blog-world, I was reminded to put up something I heard about a week ago.

Let me see, I’m going home for CNY. Cat, oranges, marker pen: check, check, check. Ho ho ho. (via popsiedoodles) Edit: I want them teeshirts!

According to wikipedia (don’t you just love looking things up for the heck of it?), coup de grâce is pronounced [kud ɡʁas]¹, i.e. with only 2 syllables (although, dictionary.com says it’s [ku dÉ™ gʁäs]² but I think the point of contention is the presence of the [s] in [gʁäs]³), but is frequently mispronounced as [ku dÉ™ ɡɹa]⁴, which sounds like coup de gras which means “blow of fat” instead of “blow of mercy”/the killing stroke.

I was trying to tell my bunny this and the only reaction I got out of her was, “So if I were to hurtle into someone, that would be a coup de gras, right?”

The poor thing’s very grouchy because she thinks she’s putting on a lot of weight so much so that she’s going to have to get herself a new wardrobe. And knowing her lifestyle problem, that’s going to cost a lot of money. Her massage therapist then delivered the coup de gras (sic) when she remarked that bunny’s behind has grown.

Hurhurhur.

Footnotes:

I’ve received some feedback that the phonetic transcriptions aren’t showing up on all computers so here’s another try. Or for those of you who don’t know the IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet).

¹ “kood grass”

² “koo de grass”

³ “the s sound in in grass”

⁴ “koo de grah”

Dreaming about being chased by dragons and having to cycle backwards so your bicycle can fly so you can run away from the dragon (can’t dragons fly?) is not the best thing to do when you have had the most amazingly tiring day and then to wake up to a fight on the phone just pretty much tops it off.

This semester is beginning to look very much like the last in that Wednesdays suck and Thursdays deliver the coup de grâce so I just don’t really know what to do anymore.

I would follow advice that’s been given and lie on my bed until I fall asleep (alone) only sleep doesn’t seem to be of any help right now.

One can discern the age of a tortoise by the number of hairclips they have on their feet.

One can also discern the sex of a tortoise by the presence of hairclips on its feet. (No hairclips = boy. Which leads me to wonder, how do you then tell how old a boy-tortoise is?)

A young child displays his/her narcisstic tendencies by testing the limits of her entourage’s loyalty. (i.e. How many sprints between the living room and backyard they’ll follow her on.)

Mommy and Daddy Tortoises can both be girls. (Hurhurhur.)

Tortoises can’t tell me their names when they are sleeping. (Duh, I should have known this one.)

That a judge decides that the victim in a case where her email account was hacked into and then used to email lurid accounts of sexual trysts the victim may or may not have had with the hacker is a problem.

Old women who have strangely shaped boobs are surprisingly malleable when it comes to changing tutorial classes. Especially if said woman has a 5 character long name that contains “pig’s trotters”.

I need much more sleep than I am currently getting.

Mr A-Z is playing as part of the Mosaic Music Festival, and, like that isn’t enough, The UnXpected are opening the night for him.

Today, I spent my first few waking moments screaming at the PGP finance department for various reasons, one of which being their incompetence and plain ineptitude in all things relating to FEES (which you’d assume would be in their job scope to know).

I had a pretty tiring day at school, though it wasn’t all that bad in terms of what I managed to accomplish. I felt quite intelligent in tutorial for once in my life (seeing as how I’d finally done my homework, ergo I knew the answers) and Ah Boon and I managed to get our data for the project.

Finally, after 10pm, I returned to my dorm room, exhausted and just wanting to collapse into my bed. I dumped my stuff on my bed, grabbed a magazine to pass to my mom who was waiting in the carpark, pulled the door shut and..

*pause.

.. the door knob was in my hand.

Yes, you read that right. The door knob fell off, into my hand. Now. PGP is a stickler for “security”. They believe in us having to beep our transponders no less than 3 times before we can gain access to our rooms (unfortunately for their well-laid plans, the stairwell doors are mostly propped open now, and the cluster gates apparently can be jimmied with a credit card. The latter bit of information almost gave me a heart attack 2 semesters ago. *cue X-Files theme song), but once you undo the bolt in your room door, you still need the door knob to unlatch your door.

i.e. I was locked out of my room.

I went downstairs and asked the dudes at the FCC to give me a hand, they instructed me to wait at my door and they’d send the technician up to me. I waited. And I waited. And I waited. And I was done waiting.

I went back downstairs only to find the technician sitting in the FCC twiddling his thumbs, and the shitface who sent me back upstairs to wait had the freaking audacity to ask me, “Eh sister, rileks. Why like daaaaat?” (Yes you all know what accent you’re supposed to use with that. Clue: Exponential. Hurhur.)

Anyhoo, so I threw my fourth fit of the day (and tomorrow is Throw A Fit At Comfort Taxi Day, so I hope I still have enough energy then, since I’ve been waiting 2 weeks to make this call) and finally the nice (*grits teeth) technician consents to coming upstairs.

From the presence of this post, yes, I’m finally back in my room. (After a good 20 minutes since he got up.) Is my door fixed? No. He just went back downstairs (after at least 35 minutes) to see if there are any extra door knobs in the office. If there aren’t, I really don’t know what I’m expected to do. I’m quite annoyed, but at least my girlfriend’s coming over and hopefully she’ll make me feel better because god knows I really feel like shit right now.

Damn you, Murphy.

But I am le tired. :( (cf this)

These are the weirdest looking rabbits I’ve ever seen in my life. Yes, I’m ignorant, and no, I never knew that things like that existed. Btw, who can believe the nutter put up pictures of her sweaters made from similar rabbits on the same page!! (via vickiho)

Ooh, perfect accompaniment for nua-ing. (via wurh)