Filed under: Generalizations, Uncategorized | Tags: biggie smalls, drug abuse, humour, public transit, random violence, society
Edmonton Transit has a funny policy about violence. I suppose it makes sense if you think of it in a “greater good for the great number” sense, but still, it isn’t exactly one that inspires confidence. The policy is that if two (or more) people are involved in a physical fight, the driver kicks said aggressors off the bus and drives away, leaving them to battle. I learned about this after hearing of a story from a friend who witnessed one patron smashing another patron’s face into the sidewalk repeatedly over a dispute about whether or not Patron 1 hit Patron 2 in the face with her bag. Luckily for Patron 2, others rushed to her assistance and broke up the fight.
Scary? Yeah.
So needless to say I was a little apprehensive about antagonizing the aggressive cracked-out person on the bus today. I am innocently minding my own business (well texting J about the love-child of George Burns and the Magic School Bus Lady I was currently observing), when she starts to noisily, pull up a wad of phlegm from her throat. She then spits this grossness on the floor of the bus. Biggie Smalls (who is miraculously not dead, and residing in Edmonton, AND taking public transit) speaks up:
“You spit on my shoe,” he says.
Now, personally, I wouldn’t be messing with a 400lb black man who looks like he could crush me without breaking a sweat. But, crackheads aren’t exactly reasonable people, so this one starts shouting at him that “I didn’t spit on your f*cking shoe you f*cking (really bad word). Don’t make me f*ck you up”. Now I don’t think that she would be able to f*ck her john if she had too, that’s how messed up she was. Then again, never mess with someone who has nothing to lose. They are capable of anything.
Live and let live. It seems like a pretty simple motto and since Edmonton has become pretty stab-happy over the last few years, I normally don’t open my mouth to crazy people. Apparently yelling at Biggie isn’t good enough for her, since she decides to turn her attention to me.
“This white girl I’m gonna curb-stomp!” she announces to everyone, meaning me. Why? Maybe she’s related to the love-child. I really don’t know. Normally, I get off the bus a stop before the transit centre and walk the few blocks to school, but not today. After twenty minutes of threats to my personal well-being, I decide to disembark in the safety of others. (Yeah, I’m a pussy. Want to make something of it?) All I need is to get off the bus and have her start smashing my head into the sidewalk while the bus drives off and leaves me. This scenario is running through my head and all I can think of is my mom is going to be so pissed off if I look ugly in wedding pictures.
I guess she forgot about me and Biggie, two absolute strangers made allies by a crazy crackhead. As we disembark, Biggie gets behind me to block the crackhead from attacking me, for whatever delusional purpose. At which point he looks at me, all 400lbs on menacing strength and says “Don’t worry. I wont let her hit you”.
So Mr. Smalls, if you’re reading this, and I hope you are cause you’ve made it into my blog for being purely awesome: Thanks dude. My mom would thank you too.
Filed under: Uncategorized
I just discovered I’m probably a hipster… This makes me too sad to blog.
Filed under: Generalizations
So an update on my shopaholic behaviour is required. I did not end up buying those shoes. Maybe that’s a good thing, since for a week after I wrote that post, J followed me around calling me “Gramma” and insisting that her own grandmother owned the same pair. I know you’re reading this J, and you’re Grandma is cool, so nice try.
Regardless of how hard she tried to dissuade my decision, it didn’t work. Because I’m part donkey and you can’t make me do anything without whipping me a few times. The reason I did not purchase them had nothing to do with name calling, but with a shoe-phenomenon I’ve noticed over the past couple of years.
I used to be a size 8. So average, so normal, so annoyingly common that a few times I’ve seen some kindly looking woman holding the last pair of the very shoes I wanted. Red fury builds inside me as I contemplate football tackling her and wrestling my precious away from her. Anyhow, I don’t beat up old ladies (so that’s out of the question, damn) but I would slip a cute little size 8 on and *gasp* it’s too small!
What the hell! I haven’t grown since I was 14 or so. There’s no way that my feet have grown. Embarrassed, I go for a size 9. Sometimes,that works, but sometimes it doesn’t and I’m left holding a size 10 in my hand and debating the consequences of that purchase.
At least it isn’t only me. As I was trying to shove my (apparently) abnormally large feet into a size 10, another woman was complaining vehemently that she’s NEVER been a size 8 before, she’s ALWAYS been a size 6. I wish I could explain the relief that washed through my body at that moment.
It’s not me! It’s not my big feet! I want to shout and dance and sing around the store. However, that does not solve the dilemma I have found myself in. The size 10 doesn’t fit. Do I try a size 11, actually hope that they even have a size 11, and allow my stubborness to pay off?
Yes, I’m vain. Things like that matter to me. No matter how cute or comfortable they may be, every time I would wear those shoes, all I would be able to think of is “they’re a size 11”.
You Bastards! Yes you! You know who you are!
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: emoticons, humour, language, Office, passive aggressive, technology
They hide in the shadows and come out when you least expect them. Don’t feel too safe in your surroundings, because you’re not. Sooner of later, they will get you and when they do, there will be no going back.
Of course I’m talking about emoticons. Those silly little sideways happy faces or high-tech ones that require little imagination and a lot of techie things that require electricity and coding that I can’t begin to understand. For years my understanding of the Internet was akin to my understanding of the Universe: too big to comprehend, but it doesn’t matter cause it’s there anyhow.
“Don’t ever use emoticons,” more than one instructor has informed me, “They’re unprofessional”. Try as hard as we might to eliminate them from professional writing, they still pop up. Emails are particularly bad offenders. I work in an office (when I work) and there are always emails sent around that read a little something like:
“To whoever keeps making a huge mess in the coffee room,
Some of us work really hard to keep it clean and finding bits of dried fish and chicken liver is particularly disgusting. Also, the science projects being kept in the fridge? Those were once lunches and would like to go home soon. CLEAN UP AFTER YOURSELVES! :)”
What the hell is that stupid smiley face supposed to mean? That you’re not really mad? Actually this is what it means: You’re an idiot and I had to send out a message to the entire firm so that it seems like I’m bitching at everyone equally. I’m much too passive aggressive to approach you and discuss your slobbish habits so now I’m going to add a smiley face to this message so you don’t stab me in the neck. Thanks.”
Stop hiding behind emoticons! We all know what you really mean.
Ah, who am I kidding? I just really want to see an expired lunch fight. Smelly, and sexy.
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: city life, commuting, culture, drunks, humour, public urination, society
I don’t drive. In theory, I’m an excellent driver. I never make any illegal turns, I’ve never been in an accident, and I know what all those little thing-a-bobbers do. But in practice, I can’t drive… legally. So I take public transit. Many downtown commuters do. It’s easier to read your book while someone else worries about the traffic then getting frustrated because you’ve been stuck at a single light for a half an hour because someone (not me) doesn’t understand the principles of driving.
It seems so relaxing and luxurious, but there are dangerous perils that come with this. J and I love exchanging “weird patron” bus/train stories. I’ve seen a creepy asexual ginger kid get arrested while its friend cried. I’ve seen drunks cutting seats up with pocket knives and drinking/spitting Listerine all over the back and other commuters. These things haven’t daunted me. I am too jaded to be afraid of the bus, no matter how much ghetto-girls try to threaten people. I AM SUPER-COMMUTER!
However, there is one thing about public transit that does completely frighten me. Upon entering the bus/train, one takes a customary glance around, taking in the other patrons who may, or may not, be “safe” to sit beside. There’s the elderly asian lady with all her grocery bags, or the young mother playing games with her toddler. Other people are students or business commuters, or those who are like me, and just too damned cheap and lazy to drive. All in all it seems like a little piece of vehicular utopia. Everyone is content and quiet. Ahhhh
Or so it would seem. I try to pick the “safe” seats, but there’s always that very small (and likely) chance that you will sit in a puddle of urine.
So please, don’t pee on the bus. It’s awkward and I’m scared of your acidic urine eating through my pants and infecting me with whatever you got goin’ on in there. If you must pee on the bus, I’ll ask a favour of you: can you please do it beside the crazy Listerine-drinking, knife-wielding psycho who insists on calling me “Margo”?
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: culture, curse words, cursing, language, society
I’m going to start this by coming clean. I’m a hypocrite; completely and irreversibly. I have, in the past, written posts and essays about the importance of correct language and its mechanics. Sure, I joke around and make it lighthearted, but what I’m really saying is:
I’m better than you
But I’m not. I have a vice when it comes to language. I love to swear. Like, a lot. It’s become common within my household for entire nouns and adjectives to be replaced with curse words. Whole thoughts aren’t even completed! OH! The travesty! The humanity!
Cause it goes a little sumthin’ like this:
“So you just bip that sh*t on to the sh*t and it sort of just f****.”
It’s some strange sort of jargon that only certain experts can understand. I forget myself sometimes. I forget that I’m dressed nicely and look socially acceptable (it’s all a terrible lie), and the words slip out of my mouth. I never even realize what has happened until the my poor receiver gapes at me open jawed.
Yeah, ok, but why is this good? you might ask. I will ask you a question in return: how is it NOT good?
They’re only words. Their meaning is completely contextual. If they’re meant negatively they are negative. For example, if I say, “Your mom is cold” apparently this means something other than that we need to turn up the thermostat.
See, it’s about the tone, the inflection, the context.
In summary, I like swearing. The words feel nice on my tongue and they flow oh so easily. If I can slip a good curse word into my stories, well by gosh, I’m gonna do it! And I will NEVER skip it in a reading.
I leave you with these parting thoughts:
Let’s bip some sh*t up
Filed under: Generalizations | Tags: assault, controversy, culture, Edmonton, Edmonton Eskimos, lifestyle, pop culture, sexualt assault, sports
It’s been a busy couple of weeks with the beginning of school and me being sick (again) and complain-y (again). So here it is (finally):
Eric Tillman has been hired as the new GM for the Edmonton Eskimos.
Wait, what?
That’s what I said too. I don’t follow sports (at all), but I have heard all the highly positive, community oriented, socialist messages that the Eskimos are known for. So you can imagine the confusion when the former Saskatchewan Rough Riders GM was charged with sexual assault… by his sixteen-year-old babysitter. And then we hired him? OK…?
You can read more about Tillman’s assignation here at Global Edmonton.
But don’t lock your daughters up just yet…. Tillman says that he’s learned his lesson: Don’t sexually assault teenage girls. Whooo. We’re safe. You’ve set my fears at ease Tillman.
Seems pretty simple right? Actually, it seems so simple it shouldn’t even need to be said. I know young girls dress provocatively. I get that they like to flirt with men. They’ve been doing it for generations. I didn’t realize there needed to be a class teaching values like DON’T TOUCH TEENAGE GIRLS WHO ARE BABYSITTING YOUR CHILDREN. Apparently my own feelings are echoed by other Edmontonians.
In an online poll conducted by Global News on Monday, more than 1,000 people voted, and 73% of respondents said they did not believe Tillman should not be hired as the team’s GM. Hundreds of angry comments have also flooded in via on our Facebook page.
“If Tillman becomes the new GM of the Eskimos, I will no longer support the team.” one Facebook user said on the Global Edmonton Facebook page. “never will I attend another football game in Edmonton!” said another.
I have an idea to get the proof we need of Tillman’s newly found ethics and self-restraint: Nanny McPhee
Molestable? I think not.
The Lifespan of a Fly 