The Adventures, Mishaps and Musings of Me

OH GAWD COULD THE FIRE ALARM PLEASE SHUT UP!!!!!

The firealarm has being going off for two hours straight. Usually, you can't get through two days of living in this dormitory without the fire alarm going off at some point due to everyone smoking in the rooms. But, God alive, it's now completely malfunctioned and has being going off continuously for two hours. After the first half hour of it, I came to the conclusion that there may have actually been a fire, but after a bit of investigation this was, of course, not true - the alarm in the halls have just gone completely bonkers.

Wait, it's stopped.

And now it's started again. And stopped. And started again. And stopped.

Ugh, I forsee a painful headache coming on...

EDIT: Three hours of fire alarm and it's finally stopped. Phew.

I've lost the electronic key to my dormitory.  Damn.

I'm spending the weekend at a friend's villa.  Yay.

It's come to that point in October where Italy's extended summer abrubtly drops into a sudden cold autumn.  In other words, it has come to that point were I wish there was a radiator in my room. 

At least this means no more mosquitoes.

I made good use of a "vote communist/vota communista" poster today:  Rip them from the wall and then use them to historically decorate the front covers of your Russian class notebooks.

Apparently, it is more politically correct to refer to a "foriegner" as an "alien".

...

At least foriegner implies you are from earth.  Quite frankly, if an Italian referred to me as an "alien" I would want to give them a good kick.

What the?!

 A locust, or else the biggest grass hopper I've ever seen, just leapt in through the window, wreaking havoc on my already chaotic desk. Papers and stationary were sent flying as it attempted to escape until I took action to bat it out through the window.  Immediately, it leapt right back inside to again muddle itself on my desk.  Another post-ashes victory bat from myself and it was sent back onto the balcony not to return.

...

Thankyou, but I'm going to bed now.

I really cannot explain my utter fascination with the two gay Italian men who were making out in the park this lunch time.

LONDON BABY!!!

It is never a good sign when you open the milk bottle... and it lets out a fizz.

It's official, when studying accounting class, I have all the attention span of a seven year old child who has eaten too many Smarties.

Trauma and horror was to be found in the park yesterday afternoon.

Trauma and horror.

DaMN opera. Not letting us in because we came late.  So we instead go have house party at friends house.  Lots of wine.  I get quite drunk.  Most satisfactory evening.

Flying home tomorrow: Triple YES with chocolate easter eggs on top!

Though first I have to sit a Microeconomics exam tomorrow morning: Triple NO smothered in mathamatics that I don't understand.

...

I must say, it is quite bizarre to be filled with utter dread and total excitement simultaneously. 

Screw coffee, a drink that TV tells us is sophisticated. 

Tea is totally where it's at.

I have a new favourite word: 

DIAGRAMMATICALLY.

Awesome, eh?

Always check sauce for mould before adding to pasta.  Also, cook using less pepper so smell of mould is not disguised untill placing said mouldy-sauce-pasta blindy into mouth...

Am I the only one who gets totally over excited when awaiting packages arriving in the post?

I do.  Alot.

The Scottish hate the English; the Welsh hate the English and the Irish hate the English.  The English save their hate for the French and the French save their hate for the English.  I, being English, obviously hate the French.  And today, in particular, I am indulging in my French hatred more then usual.  This is because the French, today, are causing me pain.  Or to be specific, French mathamaticians are causing me pain. 

Let me explain, in studying for my Maths exam taking place in two weeks time, I am having to understand, learn and prove an unpleasant group of theorems, which have all been invented by Frenchmen.  Bugger you Fermat, Lagrange and Darboux!!

Sigh.  No good ever came of the French. 

*Leaves to read Phantom of the Opera*

Cleaning ladies are spawn of Satan.  They are the ultimate force of evil.  All problems in this world are caused by cleaning ladies. 

You, are why this planet sucks, Italian cleaning lady!

Today's topic of insight, analysis and fierce debate is... underwear.  Blame ashdinosaur.  Blame memes.  Blame Sunday evening boredom.

So, to underwear.  Or more specifically "favourite underwear".  Hmmmm... this topic requires research!  Please bear with me momentarily as I have a brief rumage through my underwear drawer.

*rumage, rumage, rumage*

OK, the rumage was inconclusive.  I'll try having a rifle through my underwear drawer instead.

*rifle, rifle, rifle*

Nope, still inconclusive.  The truth is I don't have a "favourite" pair of underwear (on that note why do we describe it as a "pair" of underwear when it is only one, inseprable thing?) at all and this is mainly due to the very low differentiation of my underwear:  It's either black or it's white.  End of.  (Why do I feel describing your underwear is something on the lists of "dont's" in internet safety guides?  Stay back perverts!)  I'm not in the habit of parading my underpants to the general public so why should I bother purchasing "designer" underwear (if such a thing exists and I'm sure it does - Heaven forbid, the idea of a brandless item of clothing!).  Underwear is a purely functional thing to me, if I need some I just scoop up a "pack of six" from Tescos and I'm done.

And no, a leopard skin thong has never been tempting.

That all said, I can hardly dive out of what is essentially a simple question that the binding power of the meme demands I answer:  What is my favourite pair of underwear?  Or, in my case, do I prefer my black pairs or do I prefer my white pairs?

Black, most definately :P