Tuesday, March 30, 2004

Was thrown off the bus today.

"What is this?"

"My bus pass?"

"It's says April."

"Yeah?"

"Pay $2."

"Why would you sell it in March then?"

"Because people buy ahead of time."

*sigh*

"Let me off."

I hate bus drivers so much. You're allowed to use an old pass one day into the new month, but not a new pass, one day before the month begins?

At the Spec today, I joined the in-company photographer, Paul, to a trip to the Conservation place to watch the a preview of the upcoming "thingy" (aka. reenactments of a fur trade settlement between the years 1650-1925.)

It was literally ... one of the most humiliating, yet hilarious, things I've ever see. These volunteers take their beaver pelts very seriously. Paul wanted a shot of them paddling a canoe in a pond (ie. a ditch that just so happened to be filled with water due to the rain.) One guy was paddling this way, the other, that way; so we all thought they were stuck in mud. All the while, the child is waving cautiously to us, in case the damn thing tipped over.

Everyone heads for the nearby cabin for some grade F quality acting. Two actors in period dress (capotes = old coats) haggle fur, while this guy, Rob, corrects their speech: "It's not high, it's thick." This was for CH14 Cable News.

Soon afterwards, they set up another play job. Rene Robert LaSalle (Rob in costume *rolls eyes*) walks in and starts speaking French: "Eh?! Je m'appelle LaSalle! Ah ... er ... ca va?"

Girl #1: "I don't speak French."

Old Man #2: "Say ca va."

Girl #1: "Ca ... va."

LaSalle: "Oh ho ho! Ca va, ca va! Tres bon! Je suis fatigue! Je suis chaud! Je suis froid!"

Girl #2: "Ca va."

Old Man #1: "Tres chaud! Ca va!"

LaSalle: "Ah, ca va! Magnificent! Incroyable! Tres bien!"

Girl #2: "Ca va."

Old Man #1: "Ooh la la! Tres chaud!"

It was so awful, the re-enactment. I couldn't stop laughing in the corner room, with Paul, eating chilli (pretty good, actually.)

The other photographer and camera man kept hitting on me. It was so embarrassing. In addition to the fact that I was wearing white pumps, skinny jeans, a lace top, and some Viktor & Rolf-inspired vest wrap, walking around the woodlands, jumping over mud ... and landing in more mud.

Oh man, good times, good times. Told Rick about it. He thought it was hilarious. Then I pitched my column idea to him: "Talking to Eccentrics in Hamilton."

He liked it. What type of eccentrics are we talking about here? he asked. You know, the guy with the food particles stuck in his matted hair, I replied. Everyone wants to know what his story is. Oh, those people. But don't go looking for junkies, I was warned. Oh, I won't, I laughed.

Damnit.

Monday, March 29, 2004

Oh man, I haven't updated in awhile. Okay, so went out with Sexy Spinster last Saturday. We were going to go to the Royal Botanical Gardens to have ourselves a little picnic. That didn't work out (roping off the parameters must've had something to do with that.) So we decided to go to Math Judas's house (after calling the German and Christian Scrawnwich zealously, thinking maybe they're all hanging out; everyone, including Bible Cop, that is.) So while I was looking at everyone's phone numbers at a gas station booth, and holding up the phone book with my knees, elbows, toes, etc., Sexy Spinster taunted me with her uproarious laughter. Oh, haha ... until her foot slipped off the break and let her car torpedo itself in my direction (which, fyi, was a mere 2 feet from me ... pre-crash.) So yeah, her car skimmed my calf ... my bonafide sexy calf *sigh*.

Anyways, next weekend, I'm going to Toronto with Teet Taunter. He's my date for prom and we're going to have a hella good time. Gay people are great because they bring the type of drama that's ... well ... attractive to the table. The type I like to call "melodrama" and not "Next Stop: Sob City."

Straight men totally need a Queer Eye. Honestly. I can totally be a Queer Eye for them, but they're too busy being insecure to make it a worthwhile experience.

Anyways, prom. Short for "promenade" and you can't "promenade with just one." And I'm hoping to get something Betsy Johnson-inspired. Very '80s, sans leggings. Madonna's Like a Virgin lace, in black. Maybe 1920s style beading, with a hint of Gucci goth theme fall/winter 2001 or 2002?

Thursday, March 25, 2004

Maybe I'm shallow, but looking at celebrities without makeup is like crystal meth for me.

Upon every click, I find that my self-esteem flies sky high. It's sad, I know. But it feels so good to say to myself, "Hey, is that Beyonce with a mustache?" or "Wow, Yasmeen Bleeth looks like a potato."

Ooh, time to sniff again.

Oh, also yelled at a big time politican yesterday. She called the Spectator and I just so happened to be at the city desk to answer, and I said, "No, Sheila Copps does not work here. You have the wrong number, ma'am."

After much confusion, I get a, "No, I am Sheila Copps!"

Whoops!

Monday, March 22, 2004

Ugh ... it smelled like diarrhea on the bus today. Someone cut the cheese, let it sit on the counter for a few weeks ... and Dutch Ovened the passengers.

It was an ambush. A gastric ambush.

Sunday, March 21, 2004

Both my parents are children, incapable of growing up.

"Lalalala, this conversation is over! I don't want to talk to you," bellowed my mom as she waved her hand in front of my face.

"Listen! Mom, listen! Just listen! I need to tell you what the police offic ..." I said, frustratingly.

"I already know more than you. You don't need to tell me. I know everything," she yelled back.

"But you need to know how the judicial system works! You can't just start pointing at cops, screaming you'll hire someone to get them!" I explained.

"I'll get my revenge! I don't care if I have to sell this house to do it!"

"I'm trying to protect you from saying the wrong things in front of the wrong people when you're obviously in the wrong state of mind!"

It got me nowhere. My mom's just a big pain in the rump.

I told her to swallow her pride and take it like a grown-up. It didn't even happen to her. But she refused. She's one part near-menopausal-woman and two parts crazy ... all the way up my wazoo.

And she's King Lear and Lady MacBeth all wrapped up in one:

"Think'st thou duty shall have dread to speak/ When power to flattery bows?" asks Kent (hehe, Shakespearean dramatizations really are useful for something ...)

How is Lady MacBeth involved? If anyone can get my dad worked up over nothing, it's her: "You're not just going to take that, are you?! Beat his ass! Oh, I'll block his car. I'll block his car alright ..." She is so childish and had the nerve to call me a 50 year old!

She's so obscenely melodramatic sometimes; spewing out bullshit like someone with Tourette's and that Pete Sampras disorder, where you can't control the volume of your voice? What's that called again? Will Farrell did a little ditty on it back when he was on SNL? Voice emodulation disorder? Huh? Yeah, she has that.

Damn, do all marrieds lose half their brains once they lose the opportunity to use it?

*Note to self: Don't get old. I'll give Joan Rivers a run for her money.

Thursday, March 18, 2004

Shotgun Toter came online and asked me what the lesbos looked like and this was my reply:

"Well, the one who stood up outside the car was thin-framed, looked like k.d. lang, with a leather buckle-strewn jacket, and man-shades (c/o Tom Cruise in Top Gun.) The woman in the car was fat with a green fat-sweatshirt w/ gray hair ... like Wilson from Tool Time."

In the words of Bill Nye, "Now you know."
It's official. My editor doesn't know I exist.

Went to work at 9:00a.m. today and idly wasted my time reading the paper and "researching" the Elephant Man. Rick greeted me and I greeted him back with a, "Hey Jim." Became all paranoid that he was secretly seething inside after he moved me Milton-style from one cubicle to another, which had neither a stapler nor scissors. He ignored me the rest of the time.

Went to Edo for lunch. Had a chicken teriyaki rice bowl. Was watched by a mentally retarded old woman with a buzz cut. She kept smiling at me while I ate and read Sophie's World ... to avoid her stare. I looked up. She was still smiling. I was this close to expecting her to lick her lips as she drooled uncontrollably.

Got off work at 12 and got on the bus, which hit a green sedan occupied by some butch lesbians. All you could hear was this LOUD thump and the smashing of glass. Good thing that old lady was there to absorb my sideways impact (no, not that old lady, another one. There's quite a few in this town o' lost souls). Everyone got off the bus and walked to the next bus stop. I looked at the woman in the car, her crewcut lesbian lover waving people away, shouting, "She aw-right. Gon' head down naw." Her head was twitching in time with the corners of her mouth. My first reaction was, "Did the bus give her Parkinson's?" But my assumptions were proven false when, mid-twitch, she gave attitude to passerbys: "I's alright! *eye roll*"

Wanted to interview her and call Rick, but then said, Fuck it, I don't care.

Hopped on the following bus. The lesbian lover was on it, probably going to get help. Then a stench overwhelmed me. It was a mix of day-old urine and ... week-old urine (which is more concentrated due to the evaporation process). It was coming from the man who was making a 20 minute conversation out of the car accident: "You know what this means, doncha? That's 9 points off her license."

"Oh, well isn't that sad?" answered the old woman in the knitted white cap and floral print scarf.

And there's me, trying not to breathe and vomit through my nose. I even had an imaginary conversation with him in my mind to pass the time and ignore the smell: "Sir, have you no access to lavatory facilities?" only to step coolly off the bus and get on with m'day. I vouched not to do that; didn't want him to smear himself all over me in revenge *shudder*. The smell also came from the fat guy with the woolly beard and torn jacket with hanging zipper. He had these massive glasses on, which made him look surprised in every which direction his head was turned. He also had the mental capacity of a 10 year old: "Oh no! Whatever shall we do?!"

I hate to be judgmental (okay, I confess, I don't), but it would be really nice if Hamilton was equipped with these automatic watersprays in the bus shelters like in Las Vegas. But rather than use them to cool off occupants, it will be chlorinated for our disinfectant needs. And Johnson & Johnson will join as a corporate sponsor, handing out free bottles of Febreeze for everyone in dire need of a smell-juvenation.

So ... that was my day.

Insofar, miserable.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Had a dream about buying some overpriced fungi.

And where the hell did all this snow come from?! Holy crap! Will spring never come? Are we doomed to live like hermits forever?

Can't wait for Canada to acquire the Turks and Caico Islands near the Bahamas. All of Canada's social welfare without the goddamn white stuff that's able to freeze your goddamn nards off.

Jaysus! I can't emphasize just how much I hate Canadian weather. It's not as bad as Colorado or even NYC for that matter, but it's still nothing to be proud of.

Whitewashed in a whiteout. How ... ironic.

Monday, March 15, 2004

Blar, blar, bloody blar. Went to work at the Spec. for 5 hours then left to go have some Vietnamese beef noodles with the madda. Life is so cruel when it isn't fun, though curiously delicious when dipped in hot/oyster sauce and a splash of lime juice, with cilantro and bean sprouts on the side.

Mmm ... Life ...

Attending a police media conference tomorrow at 8:30a.m. Yah ... I can feel the excitement bursting from my loins. Which is code for: Kill me.

Sunday, March 14, 2004

Found another birthday twin I'm proud to add to my list:

Spalding Gray

In addition to:

Ron Livingston
Mark Wahlberg
Igor Stravinsky

Maybe it really is in the stars that I'm neurotic.
Sexy Spinster and I went on a joyride for ... 6 hours? I will list our activities in chronological order:

-Decided to go to Second Cup in Meadowlands to steal an oversized mug
-Chickened out
-Entered Westdale
-Exited Westdale, two stop lights later
-Went to Dairy Queen and had us some cheeseburger combos
-Got in the car and listened to the Strokes
-Sang wildly off-key to the Strokes
-Drove up and around the escarpment to pass the time
-Picked up her brother and his two friends, Mike and Mike
-All were drunk and smelly
-Loudly expressed their ... displeasure ... towards my dislike of The Passion
-Realized there was no way out since the entire car was filled with Catholics
-Arguing with drunk people is funny...
... especially when they relate everything back to The Matrix
-Drunk people called me a robot for not feeling sympathy for the fillet of salmon messiah
-Dropped off drunk people and wished them well
-Realized we were supposed to turn on the Classical station during the ride
-Slapped Sexy Spinster for not hearing my cries for help from their smelly/verbal grips
-Turned up Usher: "Nigga, nigga, nigga for real?"
-Next stop: Tim Hortons*
-Next stop: Hick Hortons
-Next stop: Smokey McHortons
-Decided to visit Math Judas and the German before they left for Vermont
-Sexy Spinster asked me where the prior lived
-I said, "Garth and Kenilworth."
-She said, "Kenilworth? But that's downtown."
-I said, "Alls I know is, I remember he lived on Kenilworth."
-It wasn't on Kenilworth
-It was UPPER Kenilworth
-We drove around Scenic Drive (other side of town) for a pitiful hour, not knowing his address
-Looked for a phonebooth with a phonebook attached to it
-Found one, after I fearfully screamed that we were driving on the sidewalk ... straight into a sign
-Tore out 8 pages of maps
-Tore out the "L" section
-Went through every surname belonging to Math Judas
-Drove away and looked for a gas station
-Pumped gas at Gage
-Felt like women
-Finally found his house
-Honked the car horn outside his window for a few minutes ... at 12:00a.m.
-Decided to write them a note instead
-Folded torn maps and wrote message on them
-He didn't have a mailbox
-Fucker
-Saw a rock in the middle of the road
-Thought it was fossilized poop
-It wasn't
-Though it could have been
-Used it as a paperweight and placed it on his porch
-Drove away
-Listened to Travis's "The Man Who" album
-Then The Hives and The White Stripes
-Arrived home safely
-Entire family not home
-Called my mom to tell her I was back
-Asked her where she was
-"We're at the hospital. Your dad, he ..."
-She sounded shaken and tired
-Now waiting for them all to come back
-Still waiting ...
-... worried
-hungry

*Banana Republic to Starbucks; Old Navy to Tim Hortons

Saturday, March 13, 2004

What's up with men and computers?

"C++ is the hottest thing to hit computers since porn. I mean, I can repeat the image of a green box hundreds of times to form ..."

"... a lawn?"

Also, am I the only one who finds Kylie Minogue hot for a 36 year old?

Friday, March 12, 2004

I was at the police station until one in the morning. My dad's taking that violent Gino's pizza beast to criminal court. Wants to implement a "peace bond", a parole sentencing of 12 months. Then told me he'll probably take that bastard to civil court if he decides to sue. My dad has to take medication to go to sleep due to his injuries and has a broken rib. He also told me to tell the sergeant that one cop was asking him irrelevent questions, patronizing him, acted in a condescending manner:

Bad Cop: Sir, what country are you from?

Dad: Me? I'm from China.

Bad Cop: Do you fight in your country?

Dad: I am 15 years, Canadian citizen.

I was at the police station as the translator since my parents speak Chinglish.

"So, the man ... Okay, he veddy big, eh? He hold me here, and I no can breathe. And he push, push, push, push, push my head. So hurt. And I ta-ow him 'I no happy,' but he, oh, just hahaha, laughing."

"He means 'hit', officer."

Basically, I can forget about going to Cuba because I have to deal with all the legal negotiations. I told my editors, Jim and Rick, about it and they wanted me to do a piece on the experiences of a 17 year old Chinese girl in Hamilton. How it feels to be a first generation child with immigrant parents (even though I immigrated here, too.) What sort of treatment we get from the authorities. Incompetence? Insincerity? Prejudice? Which means, I now have a designated spot in the City and Entertainment sections.

Whippadeedoo!

Thursday, March 11, 2004

Black Eye

I stand corrected. Gave him a black eye. Now my diabetic dad is driving around in shades like Terminator III had the borgbot aged (and ate) poorly. Unless he's in the house and wants to gain sympathy, which I am privy to give. That's what you get when you fist fight nearing fifty.

Anyway. My sister brightened up my spirits today (a welcome surprise in MacBethian weather). She said her classmate's older sister, Alisha (sp?), knows me from school and gushed that I was, "... pretty, popular and has really nice clothes and shoes!"

Man, must pencil that in for future reference. It's flattering to know young girls whom I've never been formally introduced to (or even met, might I add) say such nice things about me.

Ah, that just gave me a sense of motivation to do homework. Must now type up an essay describing Edmund (from King Lear) as a machiavel. Dancing Bloomers says he's a Darwinist. I see her logic, but I think Machiavelli had a point when he classified human behaviour not as inherently strategic and manipulative (therefore, evil), but as a by-product of social obstacles.

Studies in Literature is really great. I like it a lot. It is the philosophy class I don't regret taking, unlike last year's summer fiasco.

Ooh, was also informed today I was nominated for "Most Uniquely Dressed." How do you nominate someone? How do you go about voting? I wonder who my competition is?

Think I'm going to go watch Once Upon A Time In Mexico instead. I downloaded the DVD-rip. Johnny Depp es muy caliente! But what else is new?

"It is a slow roasted pork (nothing fancy, just happens to be my favourite). And I order it with a tequila and lime in every dive I go to in this country, and honestly, that is the best it's ever been ... anywhere. In fact, it's too good. It is so good that when I'm finished with it, I'll pay my cheque, walk straight into the kitchen and shoot the cook."

He makes me question whether or not someone can be too cool. And dreamy, can't forget dreamy.
Oh, and some Bosnian Gino's Pizza employee punched my dad in the forehead after flailing shoe boxes all over the rat-infested parking lot alley (home of the sleeping hobo my dad tried to wake up, but then thought the man was decapitated, then realised whoops! false alarm, he was only mudcaked, drunk and covered in feces.)

Wednesday, March 10, 2004

I called Dior Boy an asshole during teacher advisor today and listed the things he said about me back to him:

"What about you thinking you got me wrapped around your finger? What about that?"

He didn't even try to defend himself, kept his head down the whole time, but looked up long enough to look shocked. Self-incriminating jerk.

It was supposed to come out as, "I thought we were friends, but you've disappointed me. At least be discrete about bad mouthing me." Spoken to him in private.

It sure didn't turn out that way, though I did add it near the end ... aggressively. But what a catharsis. The last months of high school rocks the rock. I mean, I can do and say whatever the hell I want without having to face these people again. It's the ultimate "screw you" kiss-off.

Not including gunning down your co-workers with an illegally obtained M16 you got from a syphilitic Israeli for half a pack of Double Bubble chewed by a one-legged prostitute.

Nothing beats that.

Tuesday, March 09, 2004

An old Italian man yelled at me on the half-empty bus today.

"Did you pay for your bag to sit there?!"

"No, but I could if I wanted to."

"Oh, you getting smart now?"

"No, I am trying to defend myself from you."

"You think you smart, heh?"

What is it? Piss-Off-Lily Week?

So needless to say I would definitely endorse and celebrate a day that commemorates the slaying of assholes. It's like misogynists are everywhere. I'm sounding more and more like Gloria Steinem (pre-marrying into the Bale family ... one that Christian belongs to *drool*) by the minute, but je suis bitter.

Men. The good ones are taken. The bad ones are taken. But there's still enough of the latter to make me want to put my hand through a paper shredder ... and enjoy it.

Monday, March 08, 2004

Sexy Spinster and I just came back driving around town to eat a $5 Little Caesar's pizza and talked.

Oh, how we talked. Mostly about ... me. Well, not "me" but the group of guys who sit around everyday, having discussions about me. Gossip, if you will.

One of them is Dior Boy. Let me paraphrase what he told my good friend SS:

"I know Lily likes me. And she would have printed anything I said [for Paw Prints.]" Let's make things clear that I do not like that two-faced fucker with a titan of an ego. In any case, my private and professional affairs are kept separate anyway.

Sexy Spinster: I ... don't think so. If [what you wrote] was crap, she would've just edited it all out.

Dior Boy: Oh, well she's power hungry.

Middle-Class-White-Bread-Assholes: *nod in agreement* Yeah, she thinks she can walk all over people.

Sexy Spinster: Um ... I think that's only possible if you let her do it. People go to her for advice because they respect her opinion.

Sexy Spinster says they feel threatened by me. They list off what I deem to be accomplishments and pass them off as embarrassments.

"Oh, she thinks she's cool 'cause she's the editor."

"Oh, she was published in the Spectator."

"Glad she's leaving [for university.]"

"Hope she fails."

They also critique my clothes, concluding that my style and how I dress is a "vibrant attention seeking mechanism."

*sigh* Terribly bitter and spiteful towards someone they haven't spoken to in months, don't you think? Didn't think I was so popular with the boys ... all four of them.
Went out with Bible Cop, Christian Scrawnwich and the German last night. Hung out at 'Wich's house. It sure was mighty cozy in his basement, with the 19th-century stove (named Napoleon, if you were wondering) burning wood in its belly, drying German's shoes through its glass bust (or "door", if you must.)

Interesting things were mentioned and discussed, but I didn't know what concerned me more. The conversations that were taking place or the hand/eye gestures Bible Cop was making to me while I was talking. Tap, tap, tap, went her index fingers. Dart, dart, dart, when her pupils between subjects. It was all so ... complicated, most of all, for me since the other two didn't catch her overtly risky game of pantomime.

I think my strength and weakness is the ability to sound absolutely (and intentionally) oblivious when I talk to someone, knowing full well the possible outcome of my verbalisations. It's a game of wits, pushing the stack of bluffs into the open arena. Can I be entirely honest without sounding like I am? Can I lie while sounding entirely honest? Can modesty stay intact when vulnerability refuses to be your ally? And most importantly, can I disguise my personal intrigues as empirical data, situated firmly in the realm of scientific curiosity?

I guess it's difficult to say, but sometimes I think I am either too blunt or too logical because people expect this behaviour from me. Which, ironically, provides a sense of social superiority, while fanning private grievances.

In laymen's terms: I'm, like, totally immature sometimes. Stick a fork in me, I'm done.

Friday, March 05, 2004

Why is it that songs containing the name "Lily" must either revolve around masturbation, necrophilia, she-demons, hick boats, gambling and/or stalker intentions?

The Who - Pictures of Lily
Kate Bush - Lily
Elton John - Dixie Lily
Bob Dylan - Lily, Rosemary and the Jack of Hearts

Why, oh why, must I also share the root word with a long forgotten Biblical character that is rumoured to steal your babies and kill them in the thick of the night? It's shameless.

I mean, I wouldn't even bother stealing them. I'd just whack them in their cribs.
I recently found out my dad developed diabetes. I thought he was joking. He wasn't.

He's been eating (and acting) like a child until now. Used to stuff his face with everything he found lying around. Chips, pop, juice boxes, ice cream, frozen yogurt, cheap chocolates, cheese, donuts, etc. I used to tell him, "Dad, please. Eat healthier. I mean, you don't even need me with you. Just read the labels. Here, I'll show you."

But he told me it was his life and he'll eat whatever he went out and paid for. Then a few weeks ago, he bought an entire gym set. The whole BowFlex-looking apparatus, except not. One of those four seater weight training power stations. Also bought a treadmill, which my mom now uses religiously with her classic '70s synthesized pop music blasted zealously through the vents in our house. My dad started exercising. Wanted to lose the flotation device that had its own satellite orbit. Then one day, the doctor said his blood sugar level was twice the normal amount.

I haven't taken it seriously and the possibility that he might die from this (like my grandpa) hasn't hit home yet. But he's finally getting his life in order, at least, nutritionally.

"Dad, omega-3 fats are good. Found in fish. Eat lots of that. No saturated fats. No trans-fats. I don't want you eating anything that has a high sodium content. Cut down on your calories."

I bought 4 types of cheesecake on Wednesday. Creme Brulee, Berry, Cappacino, and Amaretto (the latter being my favourite flavour in the entire world.) I took out a slice and gave him a bit to try after he looked at me forlornly, tempted: "Does cheesecake have sugar? Let me try it, Lily. No, don't. Okay, yes."

That's when I knew he had a lot to learn and a long way to go:

"NO BANANAS EITHER?!"

Tuesday, March 02, 2004

I love the French duo "Air." Fell in love with them when I was in Beijing sampling bootlegged music and found Moon Safari. Then loved the soundtrack they did for The Virgin Suicides. Now I'm contemplating whether or not I should buy Talkie Walkie. Their new single "Cherry Blossom Girl" has been playing on my computer for the past ... 10 minutes. I love it (mostly because it took me so long to find a real version, which makes me appreciate it even more.) Sample lyrics:

I don't want to be shy
Can't stand it anymore
I just want to say 'Hi'
To the one I love
Cherry blossom girl

I feel sick all day long
From not being with you
I just want to go out
Ever night for a while
Cherry blossom girl

Tell me why can't it be true


It's not thought provoking or anything. But the layered melodies are wildly catchy and harmonious. Inventive but nothing like Radiohead's Amnesiac or Kid A. They incorporate so much texture and crispness to the sound that it's impossible to be bored. Air really is about the music. The lyrics are non-sequitur. Beautiful, not bland. Candy for my ears.

My mom raised my food allowance from $20 a week to $30. I didn't even ask for it. This must be her way of compensating for the whole "... and I'm not going to take you to CO-OP anymore either! What do you think about that?!" tantrum this morning.

"*shrug* Fine by me."

"Oh, don't you get angry with me. You're just too spoiled. This will be the last time I take you to school!"

"I said it was fine by me."

"Oh. I see. Hmmm... Well, I guess I'll get you some more bus tickets then. You want a bus pass? Which one would you rather have?"

"Meh."

"Okay, I'll get you the bus tickets because you have March Break this month and it wouldn't be worth it. I'll get you a bus pass in April. How's that?"

"Okay *or the equivalent of in Chinese*"

"And go get yourself a Subway."

"Thanks mum."

Monday, March 01, 2004

My guidance counselor made me cry today. She lost my History mark three times within a time span of one year and basically told me to get lost, even though I needed to print out completed versions of my transcript to send to university. Adamantly refusing to admit any wrongdoing on her part. Mr H. assured me it wasn't my fault, along with Mr. O. "What's her problem?" he rhetorically asked with a scowl on his face.

But everything worked out in the end, after she lectured me about the wrong way I lead my life.

"I hope you learned your lesson." I did. Never trust a bitch.

I don't want to sound sexist (because I'm going to sound sexist), but the ratio of nice male teachers to nice female teachers is like 3:1.

Why do you suppose that is?

That's right, because they enjoy fucking you over after their own children leave the nest to go and start families in the witness protection program.