Sandwich Thief

There is an adorable Greek bakery-cafe across from both my apartment and the [YMCA] steam room. Yesterday, I sauntered over to get my $3 sandwich that I have grown to love so much.

I sit down, organize my things and as I put a text book to my right, nearing me from behind is a very interesting looking woman. She has giant, uncombed frizzy hair and her outfit leads one to believe that she was playing bohemian princess in 1967 at age four and hasn't changed clothes since. They were just that dirty and that pink and purple-y.

She assumes I have put my book beside me to discourage her from sitting there. I know this, because as I put the book down she says, "Oh! Now we're really talking!"
I don't really care if she wants to sit beside me; I just have a lot of books. So I apologize and offer her a seat next to me.

She shuffles over, humming and screeching (I can't make the noise, there simply isn't an
onomatopoeia to describe it) and starts to pull out some things from her bag.
First, she pulls out two paintings of kindergarden-style butterflies on purple and pink construction paper.
Next, a terribly scratched Best of Van Morrisson cd.

Between us rests my beautiful swiss cheese, tomato and lettuce of which there is such abundance that it it struggles to fit neatly inside the fresh baguette. The woman hums and screeches, pointing at my sandwhich. Her fingers are filthy.

I think she is just pointing at it because, you know, she's an artist and a Van fan, so maybe she likes to point.

No.

She takes one half of my sandwich.

Shocked and suprised, I quickly take it from her and say "Nothat'smine!"
"Just a bite?" She says quickly.
"No," I reply.
"Cigarette?" She asks.
"No," I reply.

Bitch almost stole my sandwich.

The guy on the other side of her is less tolerant. He asks her to leave because she is bothering him. Screeching and humming, she packs up her Van and her butterflies and shuffles away.

Vote or Die!

Eleven of you would holler at Dolly Parton because... 9 to 5 is the greatest movie ever	1 (9%)
She created jobs for people of her home town by erecting Dollywood	3 (27%)
"You'd be surprised how much it costs to look this cheap!" -Dolly	5 (45%)
Boobs	2 (18%)

I am appalled by the fact that the most radical film ever made in Hollywood— the only one in which the workers overthrow their oppressor and take hold of the means of production— earned only one vote.

The superficiality of this world makes me want to fuck off and go shopping. Forever.

I am a failure; I lack; My life sucks; I am going nowhere; They didn't have any sour cream glazed timbits at Tim Horton's

To cope with my sadness and disappointment surrounding what I call 'my life,' today I purchased impractical shoes.

I am the most typical woman in contemporary hyper-consumer history.

My legs better look fucking fabulous in these. If I don't continue my daily dates with the Y and the steam room, all I'm going to have by the time the snow melts in this god forsaken city are chunky, stumpy gams and impractical studded wedge heels.

You Know Journalism is Dead When...

...Celebrity journalism attacks Quebec's finest export for leg hair:


Give the woman a rest. In fact, "Because You Loved Me" sounds infinitely better knowing that she has some angel hair on her chic little thighs.

I am taking this opportunity to praise my fellow Quebecoise on the naturalist approach she has taken to presenting her legs, as they seem to balance out the obscene spectacle her make-up artist and hair stylist have created that has enabled her to live comfortably and with others of her kind in Las Vegas.

Tu va, fille!

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(She was probably a dance mom in her previous life)
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