Pack, Shove, Tape, Lug

Rinse and repeat until room is strangely empty and hallway is bursting with boxes and duffel bags stuffed full of sweatshirts, shoes, forks, computer gear, papers and books. The sad thing is that in packing to go back to Queen's, I finally unpacked the boxes that I brought back home in April from residence. I'm told that this is normal (ahemWNDahem) but it's still unsettling.

Getting excited over moving in. Well, I'm not looking forward to cleaning the house before we move in, or setting up the internet and phone accounts. But once all that is settled and done with, room decorating and furniture arrangement sounds good to me. I've never had the chance to set up my room the way I like it (see: Granny room I currently live in at home, complete with maroon paisley print wallpaper and nubby blue carpet) so I'm happy.

RANT TIME. Like Miller Time, only instead of beer, you get a nice toasty bottle of anger. Yeah, drink it up. This summer I've been noticing that when I go to a Chinese mall or restaurant, I sometimes get stared at. The hell--? What are you looking at? Giant mole? Vestigial horns? Vestigial tail? Vestigial third eye and/or arm? Last I checked, I had none of the above. What I do have, however, is thick frizzy hair, 5 feet 8 inches of height, darkish skin, hips and a butt, and a penchant for speaking in English rather than in Cantonese. All of which sums up to: un-Chinese characteristics. Face it, most Chinese people (well, girls at least) are small, petite, pale and in possession of obedient, straight black hair. These people just can't figure out if I'm Chinese or not.

That's not the part that irks me. What gets me angry is that they keep staring until they conclude that I am: A) Not Chinese and hence eligible for condescending behavour, or B)A CBC, a jook sing, a second generation Chinese Canadian that is a disgrace to the Chinese community and hence, also eligible for condescending behaviour.

Puh-leese! Don't sneer at me. Don't speak to me in overly clear, overly evident, overly loud English. Don't ask me if I want a fork (well, that hasn't happened yet.) Don't treat me like a lesser being just because I can't speak Chinese properly or because you think I'm Filipino or Malaysian or Indian.

It only happens once in a while. But hot damn it pisses me off.

Sw33t!! B00k 2!!

Dark Horse and Megatokyo!

Heartache?

I don't know.

I miss Hong Kong. I want to travel.

Reading Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou and looking at the BWG's photo galleries makes me want to wander.

If it weren't for that 20 hour long plane ride, that is.

(On second thought, it also makes me want a digital camera.)

Burn baby burn.

Still alive. Candles are fun.

Thank you to all those who directed traffic. I hope you were paid well in water, ice cream, and, in some cases, beer.

*shakes fist at impending heat wave*

Queen's has a Macdonald Hall, too

This one strikes me as slightly ominous.

This one is slightly familiar.

This one is proof that I learned something last year because I actually understand what he says.

This sounds like fun.

This one's for Wendith. Shovey shovey!

This one's for Bento. Damn whiteboard thieves.

This one's for ME!

And this one is for the wonderful virus-infested carpets of Vic Hall.

Anger Management

Sometimes my dad makes me so mad, I want to throw something at him. Like a tomato. Or perhaps the couch.

Running With Scissors

So I checked my bank account today on one of the computers a work (shh...my little secret). Okay, $15.98 phone bill paid to Primus Canada (greedy bastards), preregistration fee paid to Queen's (greedy bastards), payment for new hamster and lunch with brother (greedy bastard) and... what the heck?

Who wrote this check?! Some greedy bastard out there is stealing my hard-earned cash! Curse you Primus!

It took me until 10:30 tonight to figure out that I had indeed written that check, (three months ago), to pay for the rent over the summer on the apartment in Kingston. Yes, will have to look after myself next year: no more cafeteria, no more frosh coddling, no more tolerant professors and dons.

Just me. And five cruel housemates. Just kidding I ruv them... except Lydia. Eat my fist! Ha ha, who's a pig now? Oh right. Me.

But seriously, if I can't ever remember writing a check for such a large amount of money, how will I survive myself? I'm going to forget to eat dinner (it's happened). I'm going to make the oven explode (yet to occur, although I did set myself on fire when baking cookies once). I'm going to forget all those elementary safety rules I learned in kindergarten and hurtle down Princess Street with a pair of scissors in each hand.

Naw, just panicking a bit because I'll be moving back to Kingston in less than three weeks. I'll survive in my own blundering way, bruises and scrapes included.

$340 a month, minus utilities. Greedy bastards.

SARSapalooza! EXCLAMATION MARK!! Part 2!

Wow.

What a show. Even though we only showed up for the last two acts (pre-show dinner at home took considerately longer than we thought), it was amazing. AC/DC kicked ass (I *heart* Angus and his darling little shorts and bobby socks. Back in Black, Highway to Hell, You Shook Me All Night Long...sigh...) and the Stones were cool (Justin did a duet with Mick...poor boy got water bottles chucked at him on stage). Very nice of Mick to open the show in a bright pink jacket so everyone could see him.

We (me, Ming, Katie and Ant) managed to get pretty close to the stage. Well, relatively speaking anyway; we made it past the 101 marker to the left of the stage near the seated section. Some guy climbed to the top of the 101 marker and stayed there for the rest of the show. He had the best seat of all 450, 000 of us (damn him). Too bad by the time he climbed down, there were several secuirity guards and cops waiting to give him a stern talking to.

A Stupid Fat Old Drunk Guy approached me at one point and started rambling about backstage passes, would I like one, did I speak English. I just smiled nervously and sidled away until rescued by brother and co. SFODG said he felt like going onstage and doing Stuff (like taking off his shirt...oh geez). Which we whole-heartedly encouraged him to go far, far away and try. I hope he tripped on a lobster.

Also, similar to the Foo Fighters concert, lots of people high on, umm, the music. Yes. The music.