Let’s get a few things straight:
When French people laugh, it does not sound like, “Hon hon hon hon hon!” Yes, we eat frogs. Yes, we eat snails. And you know that cute pet bunny you had as a kid? A French person probably ate it. And it was most likely delicious.
Yes, I’m Chinese. But why you think I absolutely must speak your obscure dialect of not-even-Cantonese I have no idea. Stop talking to me! I have no idea what you’re saying!
I’m not an animal; I won’t respond to your whistling or that annoying clicky sound you make. “Yes, I’m Asian. No, I will not love you long time.”
You can’t speak sign language. Sorry.
“So, how many languages do you speak?” is not an appropriate follow-up question to “I studied linguistics.”
And I don’t walk fast; your ass is just slow.
At the risk of sounding incredibly selfish/egocentric…
How many of you have heard, upon sharing your troubles with someone, that “things could be worse”? that “at least you’re not [insert situation that is more unfortunate that the one you’re currently in]”?
People who say these things are either trying to make you feel better or belittling your problems; if it’s the former, thank you. If it’s the latter, fuck you.
But we all know that things could be worse. Yes, there are people starving in the world. Yes, at least I have food on my plate every day. Sure, my problems are insignificant compared to that — but by no means does it actually make my problems smaller than they really are. You’re not making my troubles vanish when you tell me that. You’re not even remotely decreasing the importance that they have in my eyes, so, while I do appreciate your efforts to make me feel better about my current situation, I’m gonna have to ask you to stop.
Because you’re doing just the opposite. Because you have now successfully made me feel like an asshole for complaining about something that, compared to other things, is so tiny it’s not even worth mentioning. Because things ARE worse; I’ve got my problems AND people are starving in various parts of the world.
And I don’t think you understand how disgusting this actually is. What you’re basically doing is getting satisfaction from the fact that people are starving elsewhere. “Oh, at least I’m not one of the people who are DYING OF HUNGER in, like, Africa or something! My life is now much better! THANK YOU FOR OPENING MY EYES!”
I’m very confused about everyone’s opinion on La Colombe. I traveled the city on foot with mom today and stopped by La Colombe for a cup of coffee; the first time I went there was June 30 of this year–I was with my cousin Carol who could not believe I had never stepped foot into that place.
The coffee was decent. Good, even.
Apparently, though, the staff is rude. Snobby. Uppitty. “European,” they say. I didn’t have to deal with the staff the first time I went there, but I did today–and I didn’t get to witness their bad attitude. The barista barely cracked a smile and his way of speaking was very dry, but not unfriendly. We exchanged words, but I still can’t tell if it was a friendly exchange or a very indifferent exchange. The delivery was very dry on both of our parts, and neither of us smiled at all–but by no means was it hostile. Is this weird? I’ve never experienced that before.
Maybe it’s because I left a tip upon paying for my coffee. Maybe it’s because I returned the cups and saucers to the counter instead of leaving them on the tables (I got a ‘thank you’!). Maybe it’s because I wasn’t on the phone while I ordered. Maybe it’s because I’m not a coffee shop dweller and thus don’t have any set expectations. Maybe I just got lucky.
I don’t know. Friendliness is nice, but when people are too enthusiastic it makes me wary.
Reviews also speak of long lines and crowded space; I didn’t see that either time I went there.
I’m not sure what to make of this. I’ll go there a third time and see what happens.
This morning, the doctor told me that the results for my latest blood tests were in and that everything looked good.
But, “Your cholesterol’s a bit high. It’s at 122, the average is 120.”
I gave her the ‘fuckyoutalkin’about’ look, and she proceeded to tell me about elevated lipid counts and said a bunch of numbers like 01.120imanasshole021 — something to that effect. And then she told me that my bad cholesterol was high. I gave her the ‘you’vegottabeshittingme’ look, when what I really wanted to do was punch her in the throat and laugh.
“Did you eat before you came in that day?”
Um, everyone’s instructed to not eat after midnight before the blood tests.
“Do you eat a lot of fatty foods?”
Not to my knowledge, no. Unless my mom feeds me lard intravenously in my sleep.
“Do you exercise?”
Like, practically every day?
Of course my answers sounded more like, “No. No. Yes.” — Jus’ sayin’. There’s a reason why I’m looking at you incredulously.
“You’re gonna have to change your diet.”
What’s funny is that I had tests done about two months before the most recent ones and everything was butter. My diet hasn’t changed in a year — but, if anything, I’ve been eating much better.
Then I took the train to work and thought about how I spent six hours drinking last night, and how my mom thinks I drink too much.
I never thought I’d be sitting here, googling tips for reducing my cholesterol instead of doing work to try and meet a deadline at the age of 23. Life is funny like that. Next thing you know, I’ll be able to predict the weather with my knees.
All I’ve been doing since the beginning of this week is BITCH. Maybe I’ve been generally cranky, or maybe people are lazy fucktards. Help me understand what’s so hard about loading paper into the printer’s paper tray? Help me, because I really don’t understand. Most people at the office, when trying to print something and upon realizing that paper isn’t coming out, see the blinking red light and sit right back down. Look at the screen. Look. Look at the motherfucking screen that’s telling you to load paper into tray 2. Then walk your lazy ass over to the copy room, get a ream of paper, and put some into the printer. See? Not hard.
So once again I found myself loading the paper tray today, and, in the process of angrily shoving paper into the tray, I dropped it. The tray. The tray fell to the floor and a couple of pieces broke off. That, dear friends, is because the printer is now on top of a new cabinet! One that is much taller than the previous one! Why? I DON’T FUCKING KNOW! So my knee wasn’t there to catch the damned thing, and it plummeted to the floor.
In other news, I went to a wedding on Sunday, June 29, and to another one exactly one week later. People ask me, “Do you like weddings?” and I say, “I think so?” Those were my first two “real” weddings. I think I might have gone to two or three as a child, but I’ve only got pictures to help me remember. On the other hand, I’ve been to probably 10+ funerals, so yes, I like weddings.