6 Reasons Why Going to Chapters is Almost the Same as Writing a Paper

With only slight emphasis on the "almost"...

1. It makes you hate Hegel. He said something something about history, but in a very convoluted and German way. I don't know what it means. But I know I'm supposed to.
2. You do things you aren't supposed to. When I'm supposed to write a paper, I play games, talk to people, spend way too many hours on research...When I'm at Chapters I spend all my money on books I don't have time to read.
3. You talk to strangers. To write a paper I usually end up having at least one awkward conversation with someone (on the bus or in class) in which I attempt to explain my very fucked up logic. Today at Chapters Amanda and I started laughing because some guy was talking about excellent sentence structre. He offered to help find us jobs. Talking to strangers is good, no matter what our parents have told us.
4. Caffeine. There's a starbucks at Chapters and I'm always wired when I write a paper. Well, wired or buzzed...one of the two at least.
5. You wander around aimlessly doing pointless things. Last week I amused myself for nearly an hour reading book titles. "I just want you to know tomorrow you are going to kill me and my family." Look for it. I swear it's real.
6. You fall asleep sitting up. And then someone says, "You've been hiding!" but really you are just tired of thinking and walking and standing...

The Day I Lost My Mind Completely

I understand that the majority of you think I'm a little nuts to start, but today, I actually lost my mind completely. Well, last night I lost my mind. This morning I awoke in the aftermath, to find my mind gone...

Part A: Your favorite heroine does someone else's homework
Because I'm such a good friend, I did a homework assignment for a friend of mine, several months back. The assignment was to write a personal story, but to make it interesting enough to turn it into a movie. Now my friend leads a rather dull life, and he was having some difficulty coming up with a plot that was equally plausible and entertaining. I, with my mind working at the speed of light, decided he was in love with me, and wrote him a lovely story about how I broke his heart forever.
The story was a huge hit with his teacher, who felt so sorry for him that he always looked hat im like he wanted to find a way to mend my poor friend's heart (I'm serious. I know it's creepy.) Rory turned the story into a lovely movie thing (umm, you know DVD cover thing). There were lots of pictures of rye bottles that I didn't quite understand...

Part B: In which the heroine gets to the point
The story made me laugh. Every time I reread it, I wonder why Rory let me write it...why he ever used it. But last night I had writer's pause (I'm told there is no such thing as "block" because a "block" sounds insurmountable, but you have to work your way through writer's pause). So I got out the old story and revamped it. I'm thinking I could sell it to Harlequinn if I beef it up a little. I even wrote an "erotic" scene. Weird eh?

So at that point my mind was shamelessly blown away, out the window. I didn't know it at the time, and feeling fatigue setting in, I checked the alarm and went to bed.

Part C: The Day I Realized I'd Lost My Mind Completely...
When I woke up this morning, the radio was blarring. I hit the snooze and thought, ya ten more minutes is all I need. When it went off the second time I almost broke it. Damn noise. I just wanted some sleep.

Part D: The Explanation
In all honesty, I have no solution to the sound of this pollution in me (when I wake up in the break down of the things I never thought I could be...) Tuesdays will always be trouble. Harlequin is going to sign me up for a three book deal--they just don't know it yet. My mind is almost back, but I need your help. Remind me why if life is the problem (and that's just baffling--according to Jenny Lewis) I keep on waking up--and breathing. Fuck breathing (it's a total waste of time.)

So I'm exhausted of Midnight's Children, but I'm thinking that I could totally do with some Salman Rushdie. If that's not baffling, I don't know what is. Tomorrow: part two of I QUIT LIFE FOREVER (the dramatic series...)

My Cunning Master Plan

Yes, it is still cunning if I tell you all the details because I had to think it up first.

Item 1: My thesis presentation is tentatively scheduled for Friday, April 13 and I am inviting every one to come and listen to me talk about the role of language and performativity in identity formation and reality in Salman Rushdie's Midnight's Children. I kid you not. That's really what it is about.

Item 2: I am telling you this so that I have no one to blame but every one of you when no one shows up and my heart shatters in disappointment.

Item 3: I am telling you that my heart will shatter so that you will actually come to my presentation.

Item 4: But you don't have to if you don't want to.

Item 5: Bring rum and ice cream. I have an exam in the morning but who needs to be sober to write, really? Not Hemingway that is for sure.

Seriously, rum and ice cream to celebrate the culmination of my genius. Please.

Expect the Worst

And you will never be disappointed...

I was presented with two conflicting possible interpretations of my thesis supervisor's intentions when she asked to see me in person.

One: Jean said, "Oh that can't be good. She's going to kill you!" I was inclined to agree. I figured she was going to have a fit because I subjected her to that paper. I pictured her with a knife saying, "You spent ten pages on plot! Contextualize this!" And killing me.

Two: Dennis said, "I bet she just wants you to go see her so that she can give you a medal made of rum and ice cream." Wouldn't that be something?

Well, she didn't kill me, but I was majorly disappointed about the lack of a rum and ice cream medal. Maybe someone will give me one of those to make me feel better. A girl can dream...Jean owes me a party for doing my thesis on Rushdie (she said that she would take me to Red Lobster for lobsterfest instead but I think she is a liar). She is also quickly approaching the deadline to get me my fourth year graduating present. (No, I haven't forgotten.)

The moral of the story? Expect the worst--you'll never be disappointed.

The Funniest Email Ever Written

Rory is round brackets and I am the square ones. Funniest conversation ever.


The absence of God will bring you comfort, baby(You) [let's hope so because his presence has been useless most of my life](Yeah, mayjor let down)[the majorest](F god)[up the bum with a rubber thumb](PERV)

And planning's for the poor so let's pretend that we're rich (Me) [but you like planning about new zealand](Yes, true but I >also said I to do what makes you happy out of context?) [well if you pretend> you're rich i guess that's like pretending you're happy](money isnt happy)[but poor people plan because they don't have the money to do it...](Suckers)

And I'm not my body or how I choose to destroy it (You)[alcohol...](Wiskey Sours) [so both of us...](It is now)[we rule]( did you lcbo today)

Folk singers sing songs for the working, baby (?) [this reminds me of the Simpsons when the nuclear plant goes on stirke and lisabrings a guitar to the protest but she never played the guitar before](that's stupid)[you're stupid](No you are)[im brilliant...and modest to boot](and self centered)

We're just recreation for all those doctors and lawyers (You/Me) [if you can't beat them, join them? or get a sturdier weapon...](I hate doctors/lawyers)[i want to beat them...and brendan because i need my book back](put him on the list)[oh he's on it...how do you> know about the list?](you told me)

There's no relief for the bleeding heart (You) [another reason i'm not allowed to talk in dtp any more](I got nothing)[poor little flower](thanks)[lol i meant the bleeding hearts]

'Cause they'll be losing bodies tonight (?) [the doctors and the lawyers are going to ruin us...](Read up two)[they would lose our bodies](Shitty news)[meh what do we care we'll be dead](Alive in our minds)

And Rory says you love, love, love and then you DIE (Me) [you would say that](thanks)[you're quite welcome...i would emphasize the die part if i was you](done)[atta boy](WOO)

I've watched him(her) while sleeping and seen him crying with closed eyes(Me) [aww poor crying rory](I'm actually watching some one cry)[who is that](I dunno. its because i marred them tho..eww)[oh you jerk! haha](umm sorry)

And you're not happy but you're funny(You)[at least i'm funny...](the>funniest)[thanks](a bunch)
and I'm tripping over my joy But I just keep on getting up again (Me) [doof](jerk)[you're clumsy](can't help that now)[so dont call me a jerk you doof](sorry your the doof)

We could be daytime drunks if we wanted (Me/You) [we SHOULD be i'm telling you](Next Time dear)[when? tomorrow i'm going to the liquor store](what are you getting?)[probably rum but maybe vodka and juice](shnapps)

We'd never get anything done that way baby (Me/You) [who needs to get things done?](not us were quiters)[are we ever quitters](Procrastinators of quiting)[ya what the hell we cant even decide to quit](I say we do but not right now)

And we'd still be ruled by our dueling perspectives (Me/You) [we would be, but we would be too drunk to duel...or maybe just drunk enough](Every day)[we should duel at ford](ok your on)[with picking sticks]

And I'm not my perspective (?) [me because i dont know what my perspective is until i am supposed to duel](ugh this is getting hard)[haha i almost said something inappropriate about hardness](No,dirty mind its about pillows)[lol i'll have to remember that](yes indubetably)

Or the lies I'll tell you every time(?) [me again because i'm a liar](i try not to be)[i know you are wonderful...but Nietzsche says there is no truth](blah blah blah. thats what i hear)[thinking there's truth is arrogant]

And Morgan says, maybe love won't let you down (Me)[but it probably will](never love conquers all)[conquer this...](a mountain?)[no i was shaking my fist](mountain dew is like no other drink experiance)

All of your failures are training grounds (Me) [you don't have failures](yeah sure do)[i dont believe you](alot. I let my parents down everyday)[they have misplaced expectations...you will never fail in my eyes](this last post is failing)

And just as your back's turned you'll be surprised she says (?) [us because of the next line]

As your solitude subsides (You/Me) (sure)[solitude is always surprising when it subsides](i dunno what this means)[when you turnyour back to the world you'll be surprised because you still won't be alone...](I will be)

And Mike I'll teach you how to swim(?) [i already know how and there is no way i would trust mike with me in water](yeah eww)[super eww](BARF)[all that hair](eww)

If you turn the bad in me into good again(Me)[it is and always will be good]

And I say there's trouble When everything is fine (You) [ya okay i do that](yes alot)[im sorry dont hate me](I wont)[oh thank goodness]

The need to destroy things Creeps up on me every time (You) [and that is all dennis's fault...i wasnt destructive before i met him](true)[stupid dennis]

Just as love's silhouette appears I close my eyes and disappear tonight (Me) [disappearing is fun--i want to disappear](disappear with me)[done](poof!)[oooh a magician...disappear my rest lit class]

And something's got to change 'Cause our love's the slowest moving train (?) [me and shane...the slowest train ever](haha)[im not happy but im funny sigh*](mwah)[muahahahahahaha](um)

Misery Loves Company

But you just love my misery.

A list of things that makes my life difficult, and your life easier or more enjoyable:

1. Grumpiness. Regardless of what you tend to believe, being grumpy is hard work. Those rants, those raves...they take thought and effort to come up with. Today I yelled at the DVD player because it didn't skip past the FBI notice fast enough. Amanda laughed. I was really mad about the whole thing. Bad jokes too. The whole bit. It's killing me. Know what? that just means more grumpiness--lucky you.
2. Sociology essays about the application of Symbolic Interactionism to Automotive Management. You think it's easy to decide to compare the two? You think it's not downright painful to think in such demented ways? My liver thanks you though, it's been looking for a speedy way to go out with a bang--26er for my efforts sounds like the miracle cure.
3. My thesis. It contributes to both my grumpiness, which you find so charming, and my desire to write random papers for those who are depressed because they live in Barrie.
4. London. There's a Marble Slab here. That should make you happy. I spend the majority of my time in London staring at a computer screen and trying to think of synonyms for words like "symbol" and "history" and "identity". Wondering how this place could possibly look more depressing when it's melting than when I'm waist deep in snow. Well fuck.
5. The story I'm going to write. Young girl, at her wits end because everything that usually cheers her up has failed to uncrease the worry line on her forehead. "Ice cream," she thinks. "Ice cream...with baileys." She goes to the fridge only to discover that her bottle of mint-chocolate Bailey's is empty. The bottle smashes on the floor. She runs to the balcony and flings herself off of it. Barely hurt, certainly not dead, she lies in the melting snow imagining that this is how it feels to be dead. She loses her mind completely when she realizes that if this is what it is like to be dead, she'll be lying in her grave wondering whether the maggots and worms enjoy the taste of her heart.

The End.

Boredom Busters

You all are driving me crazy. Me, with 40 pages of just thesis to write over the next couple of weeks, you complaining that you've got nothing to do--you're bored? Well, here it is then, a list of things you can do for me to keep yourself occupied.

1. Find me a job. My freak phone interview was not so hot and I'm looking for something a little closer to home, since the most advice I can get on the age old transportation question is: "You can buy or lease a car." Wow, Dad. No wonder Ford is going to shit. People like him are running the place.
2. Read Midnight's Children for me and take notes on the following broad topics: performativity, identity, nationhood, history, and language. DON'T HIGHLIGHT THE WHOLE BOOK. I could do that myself.
3. Develop a coke habit. Okay, so this wouldn't really help me out. But you might be out of my hair for a while as you struggle with your addiction. Peace. At last. Until the intervention.
4. Help me develop this theory about where people sit on the bus. Can you tell me why some people stand even though there are several seats? Why I always get asked to make space when my bag weighs about 60 pounds? Why does anyone under the age of 60 in excellent physical health ever sit in those front seats reserved for seniors and people with physical disabilities? HUH? How about this: why do some people sit way closer to you than they have to? Why doesn't anyone ever move back as far as they can when the bus is packed? Are people actually afraid of the back of the bus like Rosa Parks was?
   
5. Do some research on Thomas Heywood's theories about comedy or read All's Well that Ends Well and tell me how it unsettles the notion of comedic resolution.
6. Sing me a song. Not everything has to be difficult. I could use some entertainment every now and then. Be prepared though, I will almost definitely end up telling you that I hope you die. You can hope we both die. I won't mind.
7. Tell me why I'm supposed to feel bad about eating ice cream. Think on it for a while because you will have to be damn convincing. I don't want to hear any of this "but it's cold outside" bullshit. Real reasons. Tell me how fat I am. Tell me it's killing my insides. Tell me it's too expensive. Tell me something I don't know.
8. Figure out what the ties between identity and place are. Can you change your identity just because you change the place you've been sitting for the last twenty minutes? Because you move from the place you lived for the last 20 years? Can you transform yourself like Saleem did during the Bangladesh war? I think I'm going to switch between first and third person for a while. Talk about myself like she is someone I don't know all that well. Retarded.
9. Go to Antigua. Take a copy of A Small Place on your trip and tell me how the locals reacted when you offered to fix up their library. That is all I want to do after rereading that book--build them a nice new library, or fix up their old one. Fucking earthquakes are even worse than imperialists.
   
10. Try to get your few remaining friends to give up on trying to save you. Start with me. I'm sick of the lot of you.
11. Don't be one of the dumb few that forgives me. (Can you tell I'm listening to that song right now? I hope you lie and tell everyone I was a good wife...)
12. Get a job and start sending me money in the mail. I think if I think about it for long enough you will probably do it for me. It worked for Jeff, he didn't do a single thing and Georgian sent him 1500 bucks in the mail. Now he can do even less.
13. Come up with a scientifically valid argument that proves the number thirteen is actually unlucky. Or lucky. I don't want you to prove that superstition is stupid. I want you to prove it makes sense. That should take a while.
14. Figure out how to excuse the worst thing you've ever done and the worst thing that you ever saw someone doing. Prepare a speech about it. Prove you are a better person for doing that terrible thing.
15. Argue with someone for over a half an hour about which shade of blue the sky is today. If it's cloudy, argue about which shade of blue you think it is beneath (above?) the clouds. Obviously, I will need a typed account of this for my records.
    
16. Hang out with someone and do nothing but look into their eyes. Don't stop until you're in love.
17. Go to the World's Biggest Bookstore and make a list of at least 20 books I would love to have. Buy them for me.
18. Determine the cure for insanity. Go insane and test it for me.
19. Paint your nails the darkest shade of red you can find. Work hard to find out what people say about it without saying a word. Stick your hand in front of the faces of cashiers, doctors, dentists...do something interesting that would make me proud to know you. This plan is that much better if you never wear nail polish.
    
20. Join the Polar Bear Club. Then you can be depressed that the ice caps are melting. Awww, poor little guy. No more hypothermia for you freaks. Polar bears are actually crazy for the extent that they need to stay cool. I did a project on it once in grade 10 (and incidentally cried through the presentation) and found out that even in the freaking tundra they roll around in the snow because they are ridiculously hot. People in the Polar Bear Club aren't really like that though...they just turn blue.
21. Find Shane's keys. Seriously I don't know where they went.
22. Convince your best friend and your worst enemy to do at least 5 things on this list. Take pictures. Use them for blackmail purposes, or just for kicks. I will need at least one copy.
    
23. Try sleeping upside down on your bed (head where your feet usually go) but don't change the sheets to make it work, wrap them around you still tucked in. You will get more sleep I guarantee it. More sleep equals less time awake equals less time to be bored.
24. Record your dreams in the smallest notebook you can find (use one book per dream) and then in the biggest notebook you can find, writing with the biggest pen or pencil you can find, turn your dreams into novels. Read them for me and tell me what I need to know to have you committed.
25. Drink some... I don't care what you drink. I suggest avoiding rye though. Tummy killer. Death. I mean it just avoid that stuff.
26. Contact Ryan Brady. He is just fun. You don't have to do it for me. Do it for you. He will make you laugh.

Good luck, weiners and weinists. Make me proud and let me get this crap taken care of. Clearly I don't need to take much time thinking of ways to keep you occupied--just the hour I was supposed to spend researching for 2 of my 4 essays. Brilliant. Have a good weekend.

The Sountrack of My Life

After a few drinks, you become sure that some sinister composer has written half a dozen songs that represent each episode of your life--and you're not even being compensated for it. I'd like to take it one step further: these are all the songs that make up the soundrack of my life:

1. "Anthem for the Already Defeated": for the nights my friends can't make it to where I am (so long as I am in London and they are too cheap to take the train). Don't worry though, Rory. This way we dont have to worry about locking our eyes forever, because that would mean we are in love. I'll just shake my rump alone.
2. "Stay with You". This is the song they will play at our reception when Shane and I are reintroduced as the McGinnes (pluralize that how you will)-- "I'll stay with you. The walls will fall before we do." Now we just need to find some reception walls that look cheap; if they fall at the reception there's no pressure on our marriage from there on out. Sounds like something that would happen to us--freak hurricane blows off Lake Ontario and destroys a single wedding hall. Perfect.
3. "Lips of an Angel," by Hinder. Not because I like it. Not because it has any bearing on me life. Because I hear it everywhere I go. Everywhere.
4. "Chicago" from the "Little Miss Sunshine" movie. I would totally drive to Chicago for the sake of a new love. And if you see me crying, in the van, with my friends, it is almost always for freedom. Plus I freaking love that movie.
5. "Cold Hard Bitch." There is no stretch here. I'm sure you can make the connection on your own.
6. Sarah Silverman's song from "Jesus is Magic". One of them anyway. I read an article the other day that said she was only funny because she was a chick that acted like a man (wow, Times, way to perpetuate stereotypes--good work) and I thought (loudly and to everyone in the GM waiting room), "No way, she is hilarious because she inspired me to create a painting for Rory that reminded him not to fuck children because it is against the law." And screw Times...the reason that women aren't funny to young men is because young men are stupid. Women are more subtle. Men have no sense of humour. I, for the record, am goddamn hilarious.
7. Which brings me to my next point. "Absence of God" another of Rory's favourites that was clearly written with me in mind. Because I'm not happy but I'm funny. Line of my life. Or so I am told.
8. Any song by the Spice Girls but particularly "Spice up Your Life" or "Wannabe" because those songs are on Shane's ipod and I don't think I will ever escape them. Ever.
9. "Unwell." Shane has music on the brain. I called him to tell him that we won a free trip to Florida and a cruise through the Bahamas for the low low price of $798 and whatever is left of our sanity and he said, "Don't worry, honey. You're not crazy you're just a little unwell." To which I muttered, "Too bad right now you can't tell." We're the coolest.
10. "No Children." It's just kind of what I hope for in my life. I really do hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow and I hope it will bleed all day long (the last time I hoped that I sliced a big chunk out of my armpit and spent the day, not checking to see if it was still bleeding, but terrified that Ford dirt would infest it and I would have to have my whole arm amputated.) More than that, I hope you die.

My Amazing Exploding Mind Trick

It's not that amazing--but it is really, really messy.

Part One: My Lost Textbook
As if paying too much for a book isn't enough of an irritant, I seem to have lost the textbook I was so pointedly against purchasing. Now I have to buy another. Life just isn't fair. And before you tell me to just look a little harder, let me assure you--I have torn this room limb from bloody limb. It's no where to be found. All hope is lost.

Part Two: My Disappearing Cash
In an act inconceivable for the minds of scientists and philosophers alike, my money keeps on disappearing--vanishing into the nothingness of space. Cash, cold and hard, has disappeared from my wallet. Don't get smart. I didn't spend a single cent.

Part Three: My Treasured Purple Bear
For our 6 month anniversary (I know that is a misnomer--shut up already), Shane gave me a Princess Di Beanie Baby and tickets to see the Goo Goo Dolls. The bear is MIA (the concert, for those who care, is over). My mom says that it was in my sister's room. I can't find it. Now I'm being yelled at because it is worth a fortune (although Shane didn't spend a cent on it) and I'm not devoting more than 1/10 of my life's work to finding it. [Sidebar: Why is it that I'm expected to deal with other people's concerns incessantly? Do I look like someone with time to waste? I'm worried about where that thing went too, but would it kill Shane to ask Meg if she's seen it? Really? WOULD HE DIE?]

Part Four: Missing Spares
I had Shane's spare keys in my purse, now they are gone. Maybe not really gone--they could be any number of places, but I don't know where they are. It seems to me I might have put them somewhere very deliberate so that an occasion like this one could be avoided; but I have no clue where that deliberate place could be. Maybe the purple bear stole them, my cash, and decided to take the text too just in case she felt like brushing up on her knowledge of magazine writing if selling herself on Ebay didn't pan out as expected. It's possible.

Part Five: The Part You've Been Waiting For
This is the part where my brain goes splat. Or my mind goes kerboom. Or something. This is my amazing exploding mind trick: like the disappearing cash and missing keys you can't make heads nor tails of it. So stop trying. I know I will. The only thing worse? I swear Shane put as many Spice Girls songs as Goo songs on his ipod--not a word of a lie. And that is the secret to my amazing exploding mind trick--complete and utter tomfoolery and madness.

This Might Mean War!

I deal with people a lot--way more than I would like to really. But sometimes I find myself in these arguments and I just wonder, does this person even hear what we are saying to each other? I want to bust out laughing at the whole situation, but I don't want to give in...

For reasons that are still somewhat mysterious even to myself, I've decided to go home on the train tonight rather than riding back with Amanda in the morning. It's January. Do you know what these two facts mean when they are combined? Today, I got to buy a new ISIC (International Student Identification Card). I know, please tell me the excitement ends there--this is almost too much to take.

Being the diligent young woman that I am, I dutifully printed off a recent photo of myself and got up early to make these arrangements. Here is how my conversation with the Travelcuts destination officer went:

ERIN walks up to the counter where the BITCH is doing something on the computer and talking to a coworker about how a costume party someone is attending as the tin-man.

Erin [polite as always] : Hi, I'd just like to buy a train ticket for the 720 tonight to Aldershot. And I need to renew my ISIC as well. [Puts relevant information and that lovely photo on the counter.]

Bitch: That looks awesome...No don't worry about that. Oh, hi.

Erin [still trying to be nice]: As above.

Bitch: Oh, you need an ISIC?

Erin: Yup.

Bitch: Okay...Oh wait I can't use this.

Erin: Can't use what?

Bitch: This picture. It has to be printed on photo paper.

Erin: Why's that?

Bitch: Because that's the rule.

Erin: Okay, but what difference does it actually make? It's a recent picture. It's better than the one I've been using for the last year. I don't understand the problem.

Bitch: I can't use this one. You need to print it on photo paper.

Erin: Okay, but I can't and I need to buy this ticket. What am I supposed to do?

Bitch: Come back with another picture or let us take one of you.

Erin: There is no way I'm paying you 6 bucks for a picture when I just gave you one that would work fine.

Bitch: If I make an exception for you, then I have to make it for everyone else.

Erin: I don't think anyone will even notice. This place isn't exactly crawling with people who think it would be great to make you put a normal picture of them on their ISIC.

Bitch: Well, I can't do it. Don't you have any regular pictures? A picture of you and your friends or something?

Erin: Do I really look like someone who has friends? I think that you should just take this picture because I can't afford to pay you 6 dollars for one. If I do I can't eat today. Do you understand that? I need the ticket now. I don't have any more time to argue about this.

Bitch: There's nothing I can do. You can either let me take your picture or pay full price for the ticket [Sidebar: I save the money I spent on my ISIC the first time I use it to buy a ticket].

Erin: Well, no I can't do that. Just take the picture I guess. I hope you know this is ridiculous.

Bitch: Okay, you have to fill out the top to parts of this form and I will process that for you.

Twenty minutes later, another girl has come and left with both her ticket and a new ISIC [She didn't argue, but she came after I had started to fill out the form.] ERIN finally leaves with no ticket in hand, just a voucher for a ticket--don't get her started on the system.

Bitch: There you go. There's an extra picture for you to use next year.

Erin: Perfect, if I ever come back to this hellhole for kicks.

Bitch: Have a nice day.

Erin: I hope you die.

The END.

I know that I named myself Erin and the bitch BITCH and by this account it seems like the titles are reversed, but she was a twit at very least and most of those things were said under my breath or with a degree of irony that the bitch didn't quite get.

Tonight Rory wants to show me and Shane something super exciting. If the train makes me late I'm going to Paris. There I will become bilingual so I can get hired at VIA. I will spend the next ten years of my life slowly breaking the company down from the inside, after which I will publish a damning expose about misused funds and the real cost of a passport-size photograph that will gain me international acclaim and hopefully a Pulitzer (the first of seven I think).