October 4th, 2016

kiri win


At my usual coffee trip to Fitzbillies, the cute barista who has made these coffee trips - and hence a portion of my paper-rewriting summer - so very pleasant said this to me while I was in the midst of entering my PIN in the card machine: 'I don't believe I've got your name.'

It is quite coincidental that, just before I left my room, I was thinking about precisely that: that I'd never got his name and vice versa. This is not to say that I didn't know what his name was; I heard one of his colleagues call him by his name once. Still, it seemed a bit odd that I've been seeing him almost every day for the past six weeks, way more than I see my friends, and yet I'd never formally introduced myself. Nonetheless, I thought he should ask me, just because, etc.

I must be psychic now, right? Or clairvoyant, or are they the same thing? He said his name is Matt, which I already knew but I just said, 'Nice to meet you.' While he was making my coffee, he said that my name is pretty special and asked where it's from.

'It's Chinese,' I said. 'But I'm not from China.'

'Where are you from then?'


Then he told me about his three-month Southeast Asian trip; train through Bangkok, Vietnam and Laos. He didn't stop by Singapore because it was too expensive. We made small talk about Australia where he said he lived for a year; he was there to 'improve' his coffee skills, he said after I asked if that was where he learned to make coffee. He shared my opinion about the blahness of Sydney. I was surprised that he didn't go to Melbourne, a.k.a. the centre of the world for coffee, considering what he does for a living.

It was a very pleasant chat. He's always so nice and friendly, and he's also really cute, so once again, I'm really happy that Fitzbillies opened across the road from my college.


I bitched to both John and Barry about the situation with the gross guy, and they both said that he was trying to make me jealous. They both said the same thing on separate occasions.

So either they are both wrong or the gross guy is really that immature and...well, gross. I was not jealous at all; I was just grossed out. Still, I debate with myself if it was more true that my ego was hurt or if my feelings were hurt, and it seemed that the correct answer was that the guise of my bruised ego was a cover for the hurt feelings. But then it occurred to me, why should I give a fuck? Gross Guy is fucked up and that's his problem. It's not my problem.

I suppose the whole experience was still a bit of a shock anyway. In my 30 years of existence, I'd never had someone do this to me: express interest for 24 hours and then demonstrate so blatantly the evaporation of the interest by flirting with somebody else right in front of me. Gross Guy is so lacking in self-awareness that he told me with a completely straight face that he's a gentleman. Um, news flash: real gentlemen don't treat women like shit. They don't tell a girl that they'd see her at some event and then not only ignore her at the event, but blatantly hit on someone else. Part of the reason I met him on Friday night was because I was curious to experience for myself the behaviour of someone like that (i.e. a complete, unrepentant flirt). Of course, I didn't bargain for this and I think no one sane, who hasn't had the misfortune of meeting someone like Gross Guy, would've predicted this. So it was indeed an eye-opening experience, and it reinforced all the reasons I have never been interested in going out with a flirt, and will never again do so.

Good luck to whoever he next cons into going over to his place. Thank goodness it's not me.


Barry was very amused when I told him, 'I'm so glad I didn't kiss him. If a guy wants to kiss me, he has to at least buy me dinner first!'

He laughed, said, 'So that's your price, then? A GBP12.95 dinner and then a kiss?'

Obviously, the point is, I will be taken out properly and I will be treated properly. If I am fixating on this Gross Guy shit, which will pale into insignificance by the end of the week, it is because hell truly hath known no fury like a woman scorned. Have I mentioned how grossed out I am? Because I really am fucking grossed out.


It is rather regrettable that I sullied the nice first part of this entry with the shitty second half. Well, at least Gross Guy is the exception and guys like Matt are the rule. Right?
kiri win

Bitching about someone insignificant.

More on Gross Guy:

I helped out at the pub quiz in the college bar. It all went well; my college mates were nice and fun to talk to, my job was piss-easy, it got a bit boring but standing around waiting for people to answer questions on a sheet of paper before collecting said sheets of paper was never going to be supremely interesting. Still, it was a pretty enjoyable night. Towards the end, M, WY and A showed up, and we had fun talking.

When the quiz was over, I sat down next to WY who started giving me her legendary massage before she proceeded to braid my hair. Halfway through, guess who walked in?

I have been told that I am an open book. I cannot hide my feelings, though sometimes I try. Other times, like tonight, I absolutely cannot be fucked to hide them. He walked in and my eyes rested on him and the corners of my mouth turned upwards in the most perfunctory way and I said nothing. He was followed by the unfortunate girl that he was hitting on over the weekend. I was so distracted that it took me 3 seconds to realise that she'd said hi to me; we chatted on Saturday night and she's now occupying the room that I had last year, and so obviously, being the polite person that she is, she said hi. Three seconds later, I registered what was happening and I said, 'Hi!' with a big smile.

She went off. Gross Guy lingered, stood next to A, looked at his phone. Then WY leaned over me, called out to him; he came over, stood right in front of me. I looked at everywhere but him. WY left something in his pigeonhole so he went off to get it; as he went off, I involuntarily made a face, the kind that one would make when one is on the verge of retching.

Gross Guy unfortunately came back, thanked WY for the thank you card that she gave him (he helped her print her PhD thesis) and he stayed and chatted for way too fucking long. His cologne smelled as cheesy as the kitschy suits that he wears. Everything he said, everything he did, every utterance he made, caused me to roll my eyes in my head. I radiated unambiguous iciness, and I didn't care if he cared; his very presence annoyed the shit out of me.

The first thing that he said when he came in and saw the group was, 'Where did you guys went?' Excuse me while I cry with laughter.

I was also extremely grossed out on Sunday night at the cocktail party, to which I showed up 1.5 hours later (but 30 minutes before my shift), when I saw that he was schmoozing with Dominic.

I am almost convinced that this little incident is karma paying me back for 1) not appreciating someone decent and nice and genuine and pure like Dominic; and 2) thinking that Gross Guy is one of those good time guys that one has fun with. I mean, he probably is, but it is not right to objectify people like that. I wouldn't want to be thought of in those demeaning terms, so I should not think of others as such, too.

John was quite right, though. Why am I wasting time with people like that, with flirts that I was never going to seriously date anyway? John also said, Why aren't you going out with [insert name of guy I kinda fancy]? He's a good guy, he's smart, he writes well, I approve!

Why, indeed? If I were capable of understanding perfectly everything that I do, every decision that I make, every inclination that I act on, every stupid move that I make, then I would not be the same person now, would I?


I read half of my paper today and I was absolutely horrified when I spotted two mistakes in one page. I left out a word in a sentence and reversed the order of a couple of words a few lines down. The meaning is unaffected but it's sloppiness like this that I find unacceptable. The second mistake is especially terrible, but sometimes when I read my own work, I know what the sentence says, and so what is mentally sounded doesn't always match what is actually on the page (screen in this case, as I didn't proofread the final version on hard copy). I would trust my own proofreading skills over someone else's almost every single time...but perhaps not when it's a day before the deadline and I've only just reduced the word count and I am tired and forcing myself to proofread, but because I am tired, I miss little mistakes that I would have spotted if I have had one more day to do the proofreading.

I am an idiot.

Additionally, I am so not satisfied with my writing style - that is, my academic writing style. It is so bland and boring and pedestrian and just so blah.


Lastly, I misplaced my retainers that I have had since I was 10 during my move. This is really very upsetting. I wrapped it up in tissue which has proven to be a huge mistake. I'm not sure if I want anyone from the NHS poking around my teeth but if I don't get it replaced here, I'll need to go a few months without retainers. Who knows what my teeth would look like by then? This is annoying. I hate moving.