Bear Nuts

(no subject)

So. Earlier today my landlady sprang one on me. Apparently she made an application to the local social agency for an extra user (my landlady actually manages a home for people with mental impairment), and I should try to move out be early July.

Turns out she'd called my dad first (she apparently began the administrative process months ago) to let him know, and it was his idea not to let me know "not to stress me out". Well, trust me, with only two months' actual warning, I am fucking stressing out!. I mean, my semester ended nearly three weeks ago, and in any case, it would have been only polite to tell me earlier. You'd think these people would remember how much I'm constantly ranting that I'm always the last person being told about these things!
  • Current Mood
    stressed stressed
Bear Nuts

OMG GET THIS FREAK OFF

I'm using this icon and it is damnably appropriate.

Earlier I had the worst run-in in the series I've been cumulating with house centipedes. My ankle felt tingly just above the sock line. I assumed it was just a fold from y bathrobe dangling down and tickling, so I reached with my hand to brush it off.

It didn't quite consciously register within the half-second that my hand had touched something that should not have been there. It must have somewhat because I still pulled back away form the desk allowing light to come in and that's when I saw the fucker scrambling toward the cover of the bed's underside.

Cue freak out.

Yes, I'm a pansy when it comes to anything with more than six-legs, heck, anything that looks like it's got more than six legs. Spiders have me running. Woodlice make me climb on chairs like a cartoon maid. For some reason (I still say it's because I'm a character in a sitcom in another dimension, that or a god, somewhere, is pointing at a tv screen and laughing his head off at me), I've run into more house centipedes since coming in this room two years ago than anything except flies. Pretty much every single of these experience has carved itself a special new place in my nightmares. But these things had NEVER actually climbed on me. This Frankensteinian son of a cranefly and a scolopender had been rubbing its grubby first pair of spindly members in my skin.

It had to die.

Anyway, back to the narrative. By "freak out" I mean "screaming and highly creative levels of cursing" (involving Buddha, Muhammad, Jesus, the whole incestuously extended Holy Family, lotsa chocolate syrup and a ham sandwich, for starters), followed by running out of the room like a demon out of a holy water Katrina-grade hurricane. The only reason I didn't freak out anybody else in the house is that I rent a basement room (going a long way to explain the things, admittedly) and everybody was busy upstairs with visitors.

So I'm there, still shaking out on the edge of hysteria and trying to avoid just running upstairs and curling into a corner because if I don't go back there, I will not be able to make sure the stilted motherfucker is out of the room by the time I go to sleep. I've been told the things are photophobic, so I grab the industrial-grade flashlight (my landlords actually manage a residence for mentally challenged people, so there are a lot of high-grade things around) to make sure the ghoulish silent horror gets out.

Photophobic my ass. He was right there by the edge of the shadow near the corner, chillaxin' as if waiting for me to mount a proper challenge to his multiple-asses. I had to nearly smack it with the thing to get it to move. Ensued scrambling to kick away various items under which it attempted to hide (namely my laptop carrying bag and schoolbag). As it rushed for the closet, my eyes fell on my slippers.

I own a pair of heavy rigid rubber slippers lined with wool. They were a gift from my godmother last Christmas. I can never be too grateful for it now. I grabbed the thing and in a mighty SLAM it was all over, tiny chitinous bit flying everywhere.

I haven't dared yet lift the damned piece of footwear, because that would be, like, y'know, looking into a used kleenex. And this is one of those things that are not necessarily a good idea to do when you're an aspie. I figure the ensuing cleaning will involve long-handled mops, plenty of industrial-grade soap or bleach, and a lot of abuse from a rigid-bristled brush.

Is it necessary to mention my feet have not touched the floor of the room since the incident ? (Fortunately I can use my bed to reach the door easily.)
  • Current Mood
    gloomy gloomy
Bear Nuts

(no subject)

The National Question for Dummies
Note: if there is interest, I might decide to translate more of this book. Tell me!

A couple years ago, a recently arrived South-American called me about "an important question". When we met he was straightforward.

"What's this sovereignty business?" Before I could say a thing, he continued with obvious worry: I read that Quebec wants to separate from Canada. Is that right? Can it really happen?"

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Victor Armony (2007) "La question nationale pour les nuls", in Le Québec expliqué aux immigrants, Montréal: VLB, coll. "partis pris actuels", pp. 93-98. ISBN 978-2-89005-985-6
Bear Nuts

(no subject)

71. La Diplomatie Publique
Faites-nous un beau sourire

Le mantra a surgi dans l'après 11 septembre. On s'est mis à l'entendre de la part des politiciens de toutes allégeances, la "solution" à cette cette Haine avec un grand H "qu'ils ont pour nous": Collapse )

John Tirman (2006) "71. Public Diplomacy", 100 Ways America is Screwing up the World, pp. 184-187, New York: Harper Perennial. ISBN 978-0-06-113301-5.

Sources des citations de Tirman: {1} {2} {3} {4} {5}
Bear Nuts

(no subject)

White Barbarian

I'm ten. Every week for French class we are required to select one book from the class library. I already can't stand the classical authors, so I reach for a gamebook. The searing glare from my teacher confirms that just because I'm allowed to take the book doesn't mean I can. I take it anyway.
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Poulpy, "Barbare blanc", Poulpy (blog), December 29, 2008, versions taken on April 29, 2009.
Bear Nuts

another translation exercise

Dubai, city of contradictions

I'm writing in from Dubai. Ritziest city in the world. More so than the Quartier DIX30! Yup yup, that is possible. What I'm doing here? Well I wanted a 75-foot diamond-covered yacht. Nah, just family vacations. An idea from my sister-in-law. As a naturally curious Homo Sapiens, I also wanted to see the city with more contradictions than a disillusioned Canadiens fan.
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Lefebvre, Benoit. "Dubaï, ville contradictoire", Avec prétention, Métro (Montreal), April 23, 2009, p. 30.