Saturday, January 29, 2005

Thief, thief!

My wallet was stolen. The bastard who did it had a field day with my credit card, using it on Ste-Denis like nobody's business. I've never even got the chance to shop on Ste-Denis and this jerk found a way to whip it out like a sack of Irish potatoes during Faminefest '45? Motherfucker!


Quite uneventful, the visit from my parents. However, a bunch of Vagooligans were having a grand old drunken time until the wee hours of the morning as I prepared to study for French. I knocked on our shared wall, signaling the universal sign for "Shut your pie hole, whore." But the request was deliberately ignored and one of them even yelled back, "WHY DON'T YOU GO TO SLEEP ALREADY?!" She sounded like those confrontational guests Springer reserved until the end to bring out; the ones with cheetah-print booty shorts and no dental insurance. But I decided to calm myself into a restful stupor with variations of the same hatchet-thrown-against-the-front-door-type fantasies. It worked. My mom, convinced that my complaints were legitimate after all ("I live in the projects! I have to jiggle the tap to keep the hot water constant! A 30-year-old Chinese man keeps trying to hit on me!"), believes it would be a good idea if I moved; she hates my apartment as much as I do now ("It no good! How you sleep? Why so cold? I no like!"). My mom is trying to warm me up to the idea of moving into a condo in Vieux-Montreal. I don't understand why someone who scoffs at the sight of overpriced, ten-dollar haircuts, would want something as extravagant and frou-frou fantastic as a "micro-loft." What is the reason behind this sudden fancy? An investment? A winter home? Blinded by a daughter's love? Or perhaps ... an investment?

Anyway, single best thing about this place (other than the floor to ceiling windows and chi-chi modernist interior): Johnny Depp's some-time home is nearby! The tour guide from the boat bus told me so! Hehehe! *Drool*

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