For The Girl Who Considers This Blog A "Distraction"

Because of the looming danger of afternoon traffic, driving to school is always a gamble. There's the trusty public transit option, but that usually involves people who pick their nose, see me looking at them while they pick their nose, and then carry on regardless. I generally take the nose picking option, but today I gave myself (but not the environment) a break. You see, I really have to reinforce here that my steering wheel, while lacking in the luxurious leather padding area, does not have the snot of strangers on it; for this, I prefer my car.

Today after trying to muster all I know about Abraham's covenant with God (I bloody hope it was Abraham) on my final exam, I decided to de-stess by visiting my friend Alanna. If I spelled your name wrong again Alanna then you know what? BITE ME I CAN'T SPELL YOUR MY-PARENTS-ARE-HIPPIES-AND-THEY-GAVE-ME-AN-ALTERNATIVE-SPELLING NAME! I like Alanna because she likes to make me feel uncomfortable by talking about non-public things VERY LOUDLY when we're in public, and on some level I think that's good for me. On one particularly memorable night a priest got on the very bus that myself and the very intoxicated Alanna were on aswell. I whipped around and told her that if she valued any aspect of our friendship that she had better keep her rambling mouth shut. I'm not sure whether it was the malicious look on my face or the purity being exuded from the priest, but Alanna magically kept the embarrassing comments to a minimum. This would be the same blonde-haired blue-eyed friend that used a Metis Status Card as ID back when she wasn't legal. If nothing else, she's inspirational.

However, even the appeal of Alanna wears off when I realize that traffic may just swallow me whole if I don't get my act together and book it to my car. For some stupid reason the university puts student residence way in the middle of nowhere, possibly to give the kids a genuine Canadian wilderness feel to write home about.

Somehow, by the same priestly luck that got me out of the bus incident, I managed to get home without getting shit on by the traffic monster. I was coasting, giving the traffic in my rear view the ol' finger, and enjoying my good fortune when a big semi wanted to bypass lots of cars and then just cut in infront of me. Now I realize that if you change lanes solely by your adept driving skills and don't force me to brake, then you are completely and fairly exempt from giving me a wave. HOWEVER, if I let you in by the goodness of my heart and took it upon myself to brake, then you give me a god damn wave. Allan and I have a habit of threatening people from inside our car with a "Give a wave...now. Give a wave bitch, give a wave oh no you- ok there we go, got the wave." On the off chance that people are too dense to abide by the rules of driving etiquette, then we usually talk impolitely about how inbred they are. It's not hard people, lift forearm, move side to side; it means thankyou and I like your hair.

I think the underlying message in this post is clear: Just because you buy exotic fruits doesn't mean you're cultured.

Or something like that.