Saturday, January 07, 2006

Un chapeau noir

For her birthday three days ago, NorIda received from her boyfriend an autographed hat worn by Slash (previously of Guns N' Roses fame, now in Velvet Revolver). Though I am not the first to comment on her unsightly taste in men, who wouldn't want to own a piece of their heartthrob's wardrobe? Apparently, a friend of his asked the 80's rocker during a private party and the man obliged and personally made it out to her.

I told her I've officially become that girl who starts stories with, "A friend of a friend of mine ..."

Also known as the third tier of gossipdom, eight degrees removed from D-list.


CatCouver's doing an exchange in England this semester. She's dying to see Britannia again; her plane leaves Monday. NorIda, having spent a great deal of time there, warned me that London's City University has a terrible reputation for being unorganized. But knowing CatCouver's distaste for our journalism program ("Too vocational!"), anything that appears remotely exotic must look appealing. I'm a little saddened that she's decided to switch into anthropology though. I mean, I understand I'm not in a position to say considering I have more "fun" classes (with the addition of a joint major in communication studies), but anthro? Interesting? Sure! Practical? Not for most. But who am I to say? I also earn credits watching and discussing obscure movies. Where's that going to lead me besides a dark room in Rio with transsexual hookers and a post-op paraplegic named "Pigglesworth"?


I went to see Brokeback Mountain with Readerdroid (its popularity escapes me) and caught sight of Choo-Choo Chuck (i.e. the boy I met on the train the day I was informed of J.Lass's passing). He was behind the concession stand and greeted me with a huge warm smile when I exited the theatre, wanting to know how my holidays went, what I thought about the movie, to which I answered both times, "Uneventful." Even cuter than I had remembered, Readerdroid found him "extremely dorkish ... in a good way." (I guess she was getting me back for when I originally called her ex-boyfriend "scrawny", "pre-pubescent", and "okay, at best.")

"I'm moving on from hippies to hipsters," I explained, cheerfully unfazed, then gushed for a full minute before being calmed down by the apparentness of my absurdity in the ladies' restroom.

He hopes to see me again. Hmm, does he now? But it won't be for another week. Not before I get accustomed to my new class schedule because this time I will not be accommodating for just anyone.


Houseband, or that guy I met during my trip to China this summer and forced to live with during the Christmas break because he's decided to study in Canada and needed a place to stay until he found somewhere of his own, is getting on my nerves. He seemed harmless and boring when he was under my parents' roof, showing frequent restraint in his flirtatious pursuit (which I brushed off as another side-effect of his lonely situation and the fact that he's native Chinese, which I should've known would make him virile, not sterile). He was driven to his new place in Toronto the day before I came back to Montreal. Let me point out that I had tried my best to appear extremely short-fused and temperamental whenever anyone brought up the opposite sex and even got my mom involved whenever the three of us were alone in the car:

"You ask daddy why he no buy me [wedding] ring! I say, Leelee, why marry? Men, they crazy!"

I went out every night with one friend or another to avoid having to "get to know him" and "show him around". I was rude, sure, but passively so.

This strategy, presumably, would've driven any sane person away. And I thought his lack of intimate intiative was a result of that. What delusion because I received messages from him today telling me how he misses me and asking me for my cell number:

"Why would you want it? It's long-distance."

"Oops, I have got it already."

Shit, I can't be expected to maintain a conversation with someone who has gems like, "I bought a phone card today" and "No, the notebook was not from Chinatown," in his repertoire. When I mentioned going to a party this Sunday, he said, "Oh, so u have to go to sleep or u will not be beautiful for tomorrow."


He's the son of a family friend, I understand that. Which also means I'm obligated to be nothing less than courteous to him. Fine. He has another side to him I noticed when he lamely tried to court me during my vacation in the land of a billion chinks. I didn't like what I saw then and I don't like what I've seen now. Besides, how can you trust anyone who gets on your parents' good side simply to get to you? Pick-up lines that might've worked with girls on the mainland do not work with this uber-plantain.

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