No cops

So I am leaving Russia tomorrow and I didnt have a run-in with the cops. Laurence, my roommate got to hang with cops AND go to the hospital. I suck and am unexciting but will be making it up to myself soon...

Instead, I've been hanging out in hippie hell where no one uses utensils to eat their soy products and they moan meditatively and periodically throughout whatever it is they are doing... fucking, facebooking, peeling potatoes... I kid you not, dear readers, there are sporadic moaners in this buddha-blessed soviet housing unit and to cope I stuff bright orange sponges into my aural cavities. There are severe reprocussions to this act of resistance: ear wax build-up.

I'm going to give Soviet speed another try, and maybe if I'm short on cash and my fingerpaintings dont sell, I'll sell some of those to yound and umpressionable american tourists, of which there are so many EVERYWHERE I just don't know if I can resist the temptation.

My Mum is so badass

Tonight, my Mum and I went to a movie. She splurged this time around, spending $15.74 on popcorn, a Diet Coke and M&Ms. Insanity!

So, I suggested after watching the movie that we sneak in to another one. Without a flinch of hesitation, she agrees. We toss our movie stubs, refill our cola, strut into theatre No. 4 and stick it to the man.

Hey, AMC! Take your $15 admission price and shove it up your Harry Potter-profiting ass.

Faith in humanity: Restored

After my fruitless venture to the Russian Consulate, I reported to my Professor who is overseeing my upcoming eastern hullabaloo that is called 'language camp.' Defeated and ill, I had given up on trying to retrieve my passport and wished him via gmail to have a wonderful weekend.

AND YET-

I get a phone call on Saturday. It is Professor's assistant, reporting to me that, in his hands he holds my beloved passport. Professor had personally trundled over to the consulate and "begged" (as his assistant informed me) for them to let him have it so the poor girl (me) could go and see her father (Kaptain Kim).

Professor did not have to do that. (I should have just paid the additional $150 to get it processed more quickly)

After all, there are individuals on the McGill payroll who are not disinterested and ignorant robots, but kind Russian scholars with warm hearts and communist bartering skills!

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.

Daily Thoughts from the YMCA Steam Room

Training Bra: Underwire Bra
is as
Hamster: Puppy

This analogy came to me as I bathed this evening in a sweet warm cloud of eucalyptus at the YMCA. As the sweat and vapour glistened on my feminine curves, I pondered the hamster wheel. I came to the conclusion that the hamster wheel is the most depressing invention known to suburban pet-domesticity and beyond. I do not care to elaborate on this today, but would rather encourage a discussion about this contraption.

I wanted a puppy or a kitten when I was five. My parents bought my sister and I each hamsters. Mine was brown, named Sarah. After her first grade boyfriend, my sister named her white hamster Neil, even though it was a girl (we were raised in a gender neutral household- NOT). My Dad is really cheap so he decided to economize on the caging issue. Consequently, Neil ended up eating Sarah. Sarah and Niel were my training bras to what I now have, which are kibble-eating, good-tempered dogs and underwire bras.

Today, I love my Java-puppy and my fashionably-engineered perky tits.

I continue to be saddened by the hamster wheel, and the more recent invention known as "the clear plastic ball with breathing holes." I wish hamsters were smart enough to be freedom fighters. Instead, they eat each other.

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My Life Sucks
I'm too quick for these social constructions