Friday, April 29
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Ex Attack
[journal] This week I've been having Ex attacks. It started at the mall when I saw the brother of my Ex. She was the Ex, the big one, the first killer. I was inside Club Monaco when it happened. He, the brother, was making a purchase at the register and beside him was a girl of the same skin tone, same height and same build as his sister, my Ex. I've never ended on good terms with any Ex so I tried to blend in with the pink polo tops and nippled mannequins while still attempting to confirm the identity of the person beside the brother. It turned out not to be her. A thought of a gracious hello to her brother crossed my mind, which was promptly dismissed. I simply was not looking my best and there would be no doubt as to his prompt report to her how I looked particurlarly bummish with incrediably greasy hair. And this incident, I think, brought about Ex attacks, prolonged spells of me thinking about Exes: who are they dating? do they have careers? are they happy? just a lot of useless thoughts for the most part. Stupid Ex-attacks. I get them now and then, too often. Bah! Go away. |
Sunday, April 24
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The Poll
[site] The poll has 12 votes, and I don't think anyone in this entire world is going to cast another vote. Nevertheless, I'm going to give it til the end of the month since right now there's a tie for first. Man, if I had only put myself in there, none of this would have happened. :) |
Friday, April 15
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Good old man
[journal]
I saw an old man, back hooked by age, skin wrinkled and thin, help a lady with a baby carriage off a street car. It took like five seconds for him to negotiate each step while walking backwards and holding the bottom of the carriage. I wanted to applaud him after the minute had transpired and they finally reached street level. When I was writing this post, my sister kept asking me why I was laughing. The picture of the old man I found on the internet (left) looks identical to the man I saw on the streetcar. |
Wednesday, April 6
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Excuse me, but it's my job
[journal] I don't have a very difficult job, but like other office jobs, there are moments that are trying. For example, I have to ask patients very direct, personal questions that the psychologist feels he needs to know. This is exceedingly difficult when I have to interview a muslim woman and ask her about sex or a blue-collared man twice my age and ask him about his education. Imagine a dark skinned women, comlpetely covered from head to toe in garb except for two peeping modest eyes, and I have to ask her,
Choose which statement describes you most accurately: a) I have sex as much as I used to b) I have sex a lot less often than I used to c) I no longer have sex Imagine a robust, snarly looking man twice my age and three times my weight, and I have to ask him,Have you graduated from university or college? Okay, how about highschool? Elementary school? The doctor will see you now. Keep in mind that he is the man that wanted me to ask you these questions.... |
Saturday, April 2
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...and for this you shall pay...
[journal]
 So this is what got me in trouble. Few days ago, I got my hair cut. It wasn't a rebellion, it wasn't me asserting my independance as an individual, it was simply me doing what I love most, getting my hair done. Well, let's just say the parents weren't so happy with the result. When it comes to David and Kim, there just ain't no "it's just hair." Mind you now, the cut itself wasn't so different from my last haircut, but the colour was different, and the sectioning was different. But really now, does this make me a punk? Does this make me a street kid, a savage? They talked about how image is so important, and what other people think is so important, but fail to realize that beyond my family and friends, I couldn't care less about what other people think. I suppose it's really just what their friends think, when they see me trying to hide from their annoying appearances and small talk. From this one incident, they were able to pull out a vast arrangement of ways to make me feel guilty and inadequte as their child. Whether through my choice in work, or my accomplishments, or lackthereof. It's amazing what you can link, perhaps not as logically as you would probably like in an argument situation, to hair. Admittedly, they are much older than I, and I do still live with them (David says it is literally painful for him to look at me), so I made a compromise. (Life is full of compromises they say?) The next time I colour my hair, it won't be "as extreme." (That is, until I move out...) 
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Ummmmm K
[journal]
Today my mom came into my room with a small stack of DVDs. On top, the only readable one, was Sex and the City. My mom isn't familiar with the television series but she is obviously familiar with english enough to know the word sex. Yes, she probably thought she stumbled on some sort of porno DVD trove. She asked matter-of-factly "Are these yours?" because she isn't shy. In fact you could say her questions almost always sound callous when their intention almost never is. I read the title outloud, "Sex and the City -- Yah it's mine. Can you put it back where you found it?" With a little hesitation, as if she was going to say something, she left with the alleged stack of pornos. I sometimes like to throw my parents off because they like to think they know me well. There were those times they tried to set me up with girls and my mom asked me "Why you don't like these girls. Are you gay?" and I replied, "Yes." I had to tell her no shortly after because of the onset of hyper-ventilation. Or the time I wore an eyepatch for the whole day without reason and they didn't ask why. We even had a round circle sit down dinner together and I had it on, still without comment. The latest incident, porno trove withstanding, my parents have been nagging us, their children, to have children of their own. I said to my parents, "Fine. Okay. I'll get right on that baby from Jamaica I've been investigating to adopt." My father didn't laugh and my mom thought I was for real, just like the gay statement, and kept repeating "no, no, no" like she was addicted to it phonetically. |
Friday, April 1
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my blood is all drained...
[journal]
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