My hair looks fucking amazing, and all it took was some shine blaster crap, a detangler/defrizzer and curl definition spray. And special shampoo. I had better make the most of it, because there's no way I'll spend that much time doing something so boring ever again.

Now, if only we could fix the face.

EDIT: My hair ended up looking like Weird Al Yankovic's.

More proof that Tom Cruise and Christian Bale are practically indistinguishable*:

There is some more semi-interesting crap here if you're a horrendous gossip-monger like me

*Okay, so that article means that a character Bale played was modelled on Cruise. BUT STILL. THEY COULD BE TWINS

EDIT EDIT: Oh man, and here's the fanfiction! Already!

Today is a seminar on psychoanalysis, and my group is presenting Edward II related things tonight that no one has bothered to try and rehearse.

...today is going to be a bad day.

And once you’re in, you’re hooked like a gambler, you can’t afford to walk away from the crapshoot once you’re deep into it.

Dear Mr. Brecht,

You were right about Epic Theatre, and I was wrong. I'm really sorry I've been bitching about how boring you are. That won't be happening again for a little while.

Yours humbly,

French Cheese

Today hasn't been a good day. I can't believe I cried over losing my bloody timetable (but the hot receptionist was really lovely and let me photocopy the official one for free). But I cried. What the hell is wrong? Perhaps I'm pregnant again.

In other news, presentation on Noh theatre wasn't a fucking disaster. For next week we have to pick a recent news story and reenact it in the theatrical style we've been assigned. I really want to do this (don't judge the source - I picked it up from @badjournalism):

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1218880/One-gay-man-lesbians-legged-cat-poisoned-curry-plot.html?ITO=1490

Just the URL is amazing, isn't it!

Okay, bed. Going out tomorrow (tonight?) for bad music and worse alcohol.

- I love JSTOR with all my stupid geeky heart.

- There is a taxidermy shop on Essex Road called "Get Stuffed".

- There is also a Strong Bad rip-off sprayed on one of those metal shutter things. In that it's a guy in wrestling garb (though of course, for Strong Bad, the mask is his face) and he has "SB" emblazoned on his chest.

- I love Derren Brown with all my stupid geeky heart.

- (500) Days of Summer is lovely lovely lovely (read: Joseph Gordon-Levitt is lovely lovely lovely), and Hall & Oates should be the soundtrack to post-coital bliss more often.

- District 9 scared the shit out of me, but I loved it.

- I love Sibelius with all my stupid geeky heart.

- I have unbitten, painted(!) nails, am down to one cigarette every other day, the internet is working and I have a full social calendar. Something bad is going to happen. Apart from my MA being fucked up already.

Since today was the first day my internet didn't die on me after ten minutes in my new house, I thought I'd check exactly what I was meant to be doing this week regarding uni.

...now I know I'm enrolling on Tuesday, have induction on Wednesday, and classes start the following Monday. I had managed to delude myself into thinking I had longer before the scariness begins. To say I'm nervous would be a bit of an understatement, and I have to read "Edward II" and "Titus Andronicus" by next Monday. Plus on Wednesday I'm meant to be paying for the theatre tickets for the plays we're seeing on the Paris field trip. That I'm worried about too, since the only time I've travelled alone was to Germany, and that was hardly an ordeal since Jenny was waiting at the other end. Et je n'aime pas parler francais. Mrrrrrrrrr

I suppose I'd better go to bed - there's a pub quiz I have to be brilliant for tomorrow night.

EDIT: Since I haven't updated since before I got the news, I suppose I ought to mention that somehow I managed to get the full grant. Which means I'm sort of being paid to do this, so I suppose I'm not actually allowed to chicken out? FUCK

Guess who managed to sprain their ankle by simply getting up from the computer!

The answer is me.

I have spent the rest of the day ascertaining that it isn't broken - it is just badly sprained. Which means I may be leaving halls tomorrow, and no final evil shift on Wednesday! Being lame does have its advantages after all.

It's kind of sad that I've seen St. Paul's close up for the very first time today - from a cab window on the way to the Minor Injuries Unit. There's so much here I haven't done, it's ridiculous.

Tonight has been the first time in forever that I've managed to sign into AIM, but it keeps making me invisible! Plus, I wait around for awesome people, only to take a fag break when spacebee signs on. And off. ARGH

Also, I will probably be living alone next year, because my ex-potential-housemate is a temperamental twat. The problem is, so am I, and I think only one per living space is advisable. I am curiously zen about the issue now, which is odd. Before I wanted to remove his spleen via his mouth.

I have been erroneously called a bigot four times in the past week. I hope this doesn't carry on.

One more shift at the hell that is Waitrose! Yesterday was the penultimate one, which began gloriously by a pigeon shitting on my hoodie. On the way home my bus was held up by a naked bike ride at Oxford Circus. If nothing else, this is unusual?

Also (perhaps not unrelated?) I found out that "cretin" comes from the French word for "Christian" - "hence one who is human despite deformities". I thought that was rather nice.

EDIT: I've been bad, but I'll try to be better. I typed lots of inane crap on Twitter today!

Also, I got my Post-War American Fiction essay back, and the outlook for my final mark is good. I didn't realise how FUCKING EXPENSIVE it is to graduate, however.

EDIT EDIT: There is an article about people's names that happen to correspond with their profession. This is the best one:

J. W. Splatt and D. Weedon. The New Scientist campaign was spurred on by the discovery of these two authors of an article on incontinence in the British Journal of Urology (vol 49, pp 173-176, 1977).

I should go and ring some letting agents now, I guess.