I Love My Roommates

Two Snippets of Dialog:
Protagitron: Tragedy, Iris: Richard is going back to Markham.
Iris: Who's Christian?
Protag: RICHARD.
Iris:... Who's Richard?
Protag: Sigh.

A few minutes later:
Iris: Protagitron, you're the only constant in my life.
Protag: I thought that was Mister Claws.
Iris: But he'll die before you.
Protag:... Who, Richard?
Anthony: Laughs loudly from his room.

Yes, my acquaintance Richard is leaving. If you've stuck around this blog for awhile, he was the mysterious V I mentioned way, way back, upon whom I briefly entertained before the Q shenanigans came underfoot. Somehow we eventually became friends. But he also makes me think that some personal relationships are more complicated than simple categories, and that some have, well, layers. Even if they are only complicated on one side. Look, it's like sedimentary rock: here's the respect I have for him as a person, and there's my loyalty to him as a friend, and above that is the knowledge that's all we are. And of course, there's the fact that, even as I babble to him about Neil Gaiman's current run on Batman, I can't look at him. Because I might let my attraction become less subtextual and more textual (sexual?).

Sometimes I think I would much prefer being a stock character in a movie than someone dealing with real, dull life. The editing would be better, and the soundtrack more exciting.

I am old; I am random

The cats, caught in a rare moment of peace

So, today I finally did that 25 Things Meme that has been plaguing Facebook lately. You know, the one that's been written about in both The New York Times and the Wall Street Journal? Actually, do you know how slow on the uptake I am if the New York Times is on to something before I am? I think it was only last month that they had a columnist decrying the phenomenon of "hooking up" on campuses. Ah, that oh-so-fresh trend of people having casual sex when they're in university.

Anyway, as I was contemplating my own obsolesence, I was also having trouble coming up with twenty five random nuggets of interest. It's not that I don't have any stories, it's just that I have a limited supply of anecdotes, and since my general social strategy is to break the ice with one of them, the stable is getting a little stale. Who among my friends hasn't heard of the time I was going to applying for a job at an adult store, only to walk out with a gift certificate? I eventually came up with the required number of esoteric facts, but it was hard.

Of course, it's hard not to either try and compete with your friends for amusement, honesty, or surprise. Or come to the standard news copy conclusion that it's a little sad viral memes are required for what we used to learn slowly, through actual social interaction and discovery. But, on the other hand it's nice and efficient to be suddenly handed a Cliff's Notes version of the dreams, fears, and ice cream flavour preferences of all of your acquaintances. Now you don't have to risk crossing a border, and asking a question that's just an inch too personal. You just have to deal with the creepy guys who advertise WooMee in the sidebar.

A Bright Spot!

Good news, fellas: the McGill shenanigans have been taken care of. I might be able to graduate on time, and all I had to do was prostate almost every professor in the English department. And then fill out many forms. And, perhaps, sacrifice the blood of a newborn on the eve of the first noon.

So, my relationship with my educational institution of choice has returned from "hate" to "ambivalence." Time to dose the flames on my McGill-wear bonfire.
Q: What does it take to set a pile of 80% cotton 20% polyester on fire?
A: Seething, burning hatred. Also, a match helps.

Detective Protagitron

I'm sorry, I've slipped back into a weekly publishing schedule. Blame my abusive boyfriend, aka McGill University. And the night I was a rent-a-cop for the McGill Model UN. You see, I occasionally, out of guilt, volunteer at Walksafe. That's an outfit at McGill you can phone at night if you need to be accompanied anywhere on the island. In case you need all the safety and protection a 5'1" girl like me can offer. We also annually do "security" at the hotel where the McMun conference is happening. We act as a buffer so the Israeli Security Council doesn't order too many hookers and get the model UN banned from any hotel for life.

Well, in my dreams I hustled hookers out of the door. Actually, I spent most of the night knocking on doors and awkwardly telling rowdy types to simmer down. Oh, and the only semi-professional clothes I own are very "Lesbian at the PTA," except I lack a natural butch authority. They had me with this other guy, who was very sweet and conscientious. He would be the first to knock on any door if he heard a peep. Unfortunately, he would then just stare at them in silence. So it was up to me and my domestic partner pants to instill fear in their hearts. Check it: "Heyyyyyyyy guyyyyys.... Yeah, there's uh, a few too many people in your room, so you need to keep it down, mmmkay?" They positively wet themselves in fear. Well, at least they didn't laugh at me. They are true keeners at heart, so they would whisper an apology and then shut up.

They are horny little monkeys in the pants though. Further evidence that large gatherings of nerds descend into bacchanalias. (see: engineers) I'm just waiting for the cat-loving, comic book-reading, action-loving nerd demographic to reach critical mass so I can engage in some whoring. Unfortunately, I don't think we'll ever achieve the budget of McMun, so we can't give out free muffins to those who keep us in line.

Obscure File Categories, 2

From the files of "Things I Suck At"
Giving relationship advice. It's kind of like a case of the blind leading the blind, only if the first blind person was also a crystal meth addict with a shitty credit rating.

The Cat-istential School of Philosophy

Today was a morning of sloth, even though it was supposed to be a morning of activity. i was going to be a good little productive person, and polish up my stats assignment, get my hair cut, and eat a fully balanced breakfast before class started at 1pm. instead, I woke up at 10:30 and ate a handful of wine gums chased by some Coke. Oh well, there is always next week.

I am currently at a philosophical impasse: Would following the tutorial and making this:

Link

... make me a crazy cat lady? I mean, most of my anecdotes already revolve around my cats. Should all of my activities? I think the cats are already convinced that they do. Just think of the crazy plans they'll start making once they see me slaving over cardboard, cutting each strip equally wide, and then endlessly taping them together. It's a damn cute idea though.

Snot Fountain A Go Go

I thought I was keeping a mild cold under control. Turns out I was just hibernating the kind of cold which has only left me with enough mental capacity to listen to the same Pet Shop Boys song on repeat.
In other words: neither the article on the Yasukuni Shrine I should have read, or the CSI episode I actually watched, make any sense right now.

Bonus: Prof Quote of the Day:
"US Weekly and People use a lot of pie charts and bar graphs. Particularly US Weekly. Many... many... pie charts."
-My Stats prof, being adora-awkward.

Kawaii!

If this course had a textbook, this would be its cover.

At the beginning of every semester, I go through a weird phase where I vow to be friendlier in class. This lasts for about a week, because before long I'm cranky and fixating on the newest injustice the STM has rendered upon me. But McGill can be downright frosty, particularly in winter when the student body begins to sublimate the weather into their own being, so I'm making a particular effort this year, so I take it as my duty to temporarily inject some light.

I've met some good people that way, and probably made a few consider a restraining order. Today I engaged my seat buddy in my Introduction to Japanese Culture class. His name is Charles, and he seems very nice. He also seems very concerned about our midterm in that class.

And, come to think of it, I share that concern. Apparently it involves some kind of research and then, horrors, role playing. If we have to bring costumes, I'll seriously think about seppuku.

The Cake Conspiracy

Ah, those days. When there is no particular tragic incident, but an aggregate of petty annoyances. You can't get mad at any one thing in particular, so you're just sour at life. Today was one of those days. There were cancelled and missed classes, the rag, foul weather, a payment snafu at work, a knee that decided it was 80, and a broken mixing bowl. I figured these were but petty annoyances, and plastered joy on my face, but one person said that I looked sick and another asked if something was wrong because I wasn't "my usual peppy self."

Acting is clearly not an alternative career choice. 

After all of this, I figured I earned one of the Hostess cupcakes Katie gave to me, mystery ingredients be damned. I opened the packaging only to be assaulted by the stench of the grave, because half of the damned thing was moldy. The half I saw in the box? Pristine. The other half? Like something from a j-horror film. What the hell? Aren't Hostess treats, cockroaches and Keith Richards supposed to be the only things left after a nuclear blast? Are all of the truths I clung so faithfully to false? Apparently, so. And all the time, my rational mind was imploring my emotional side not to think of the moldy cupcake as a metaphor for my life, because that is just silly and I have lots of good things going on, which didn't matter anyways because my emotional side is louder and was screaming that "This cupcake represents my liiiiiiiiiiife!" I have calmed down and become more rational, but am off the baked good for a few days at least.

University Bound: The Final Chapter

I am back in Montreal, and have checked one whole day of classes off of my final (final! Where did the time go?) year at McGill. Will I finally learn not repress my emotions and be honest when I am attracted to someone? Will I pass all of my courses? Will I make friends with my professors? I don't know, but at least there are American Cheez-Its to get me through it.