Trailways Terminator

Today was a crazy day. I decided to skip all my classes because my bus was at 10pm and I didn’t want to cut it too close. (My classes were from 1 to 4, so you can understand where I was coming from). So, to deal with the stress from that and our once again malfunctioning dishwasher, I took a mental health day.

The mental health day started off strong, I “preserved my peace” by finally getting back into my old TikTok. I made an emotional video about our dishwasher to Let You Down by NF to cope, which helped me a little. I then spent an hour watching my old videos and laughing.

I continued my morning by sitting at my kitchen table. I scrolled for a bit on instagram, albeit it uninvested when I saw a reel about the bedbug infestation ailing Paris. I jumped from my seat, quick to rush to Alienor’s side - I hoped to provide her comfort she needed and deserved in these trying times. As an empath, I shed a few tears before moving on with my morning.

I was so wrapped up in being such a caretaker that I didn’t even realize they have taken MY city, New York, as well.

This, believe it or not, was not the only instance of critters overtaking my safe space today. A few hours later, I was Alone in the house. As usual when I’m by myself, I was on guard, alert to any mysterious noises.

I’ve always had gas stoves, but my apartment this year is electric. I’ve found this journey to be exciting, as I love learning. I’ve been told by many I’m inquisitive by nature.

I sat at the kitchen table, eating my dinner, running through the list of things I’d packed and the things I would need to bring back to Canada.

All of a sudden, my ears perked up. There was a rattling noise coming from the stove. Of course, as I mentioned, I wouldn’t hesitate to compare myself to a modern Sherlock Holmes. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw that the stove was off, which crossed my first hypothesis of a burner heating up off the list.

I got closer to the stove, not sure what I was looking for. It took me a second, but I realized the mysterious grey line along the side of the burner was a tail. So we meet again, dear mouse.

My first instinct, naturally, was to do my best cat impression and make a hissing noise. The mouse was unmoved by this, and the tail stayed. I banged my hand against the top of the stove, and she retreated into her cave. I sat back down, and my heart rate returned to normal.

I continued my dinner, and a mere five minutes later, BAM. She was back. Bobby McGee and me. I was Tom and she was Jerry. We played the game of cat and mouse a few more times, and then I heard the creak of the front door, a sound much like the flapping of angels wings. Alienor and Jaimie had returned, and the mouse took her leave for the night. Sleep tight sweet Angel.

An hour or so later, it was time for me to set sail on the rocky seas of the west and begin my pilgrimage to Brooklyn.

My trip to 1717 rue Berri, the glamorous and famed bus station was nothing short of rocky.

The man beside me on the 80 kept calling me a slut - as I tuned him out, staring at the woman in front of me’s knee, I wondered why? I was wearing pants and a t-shirt. Then, as if the clouds parted above me, I realized - it was probably my Patagonia backpack. I’ve heard red is a slutty color, and this wouldn’t be the first time I’ve experienced envy at the hands of this bag - jealousy comes out in cruel ways.

Also, I was thinking my hair dried differently than usual - maybe he was saying I looked like Lindsay Bluth from the episode of arrested development where she visits her George Bluth in Jail. I hope this was the case, then in real life I could be married to Ellen. Dreamy!!

A transfer and short walk later, it happened. I had arrived. Rue Berri!! How I had missed her fluorescent lighting. We lined up almost immediately, and as I settled into the bus, GASP. The chargers didn’t work. It felt like a knife to the throat. I crumbled to the ground and let out a wail. Gone were the days of me blogging- me playing sudoku. Gone, before they would even begin. Me, living alongside all of the tragic love stories of the past. Me, Romeo, Juliet. I threw my fist into the ground as I mumbled, Et Tu, Brute?

(Caesar had a tea for lunch and Brutus ate a rat. This one’s for my Latin language lovers. Rawrrrr).

I laid on the floor for what felt like hours, shrieking, and much to my dismay, no one gave me a second glance. So this is what heartbreak feels like?

I shook my head as I rummaged through my bag and realized I forgot my slam poetry book - the greatest art comes from the greatest pain.

Luckily enough, the lady beside me asked the bus driver about the outlets and a few hours later I was saved.

The time before this bounce back, though, led me to some serious pondering. When Ila pointed out to me the quotes on the top of the pages of the US passport, I decided on a new goal in life - to be featured. I’m not sure what I have to say, but I think I could up with something. I always have lots on my mind.

Really, I would like to be featured on the Canadian passport, but one, I’m not sure if their passport has quotes, and two, I worry you would need to be a citizen.

Soon after, I watched the freaks like me music video, and my spirits were uplifted.

“We are we are we are the quirky ones”

20 reasons we should bring back razor scootering

If you know me, you know this is an issue close to my heart, and one I think about constantly. I thought I should share a few insights about the scootering life just off the top of my head.

1. It speeds up your commute by tenfold, even those of us who take the bus. I can’t even count the number of things I could do with that extra minute and a half I would save.

2. It would help you make a name for yourself, and as we say in the industry, no press is bad press.

3. It’s super sexy and sleek

4. It would make everyone think you’re a badass because you always have mysterious bruises along your ankles

5. You get to say “are we razoring there?” which is mysterious and unique and has an instant cool factor

6. If you got a whole posse to scooter with you you could bring back the boy band era or girl band era. People don’t do things in groups enough anymore

7. You would have to carry it around everywhere meaning you had a conversation starter 24/7

8. You would never need to be upset if there were no busses for a while, with a scooter you have an option other than walking

9. In Montréal it would be difficult to scooter during the winter so you would have another piece of room decor you could hang scarves or necklaces on, like a multipurpose and functional sculpture.

10. In awe of that sculpture, all of your houseguests would think you were imaginative and cool

11. When scooters catch on again you would get to tell people you were in the front lines of their revival.

12. I would finally have another piece of evidence to present people with after telling them how influential I am

13. You would have a weapon on you at all times to hit creeps with

14. You would have another accessory to complete your outfit

15. You could get away from any unpleasant interaction in a moments notice - all the pleasant parts of a bike without the clunkiness

16. You would get to hate on electric scooters for not being authentic

17. You could learn scooter tricks and then be even cooler

18. You wouldn’t have to worry about carrying a bike lock or the scooter getting stolen like a bike cause you could bring it inside with you.

19. Nobody would forget who you are ever again because even if they can’t remember your name they’ll think of you as the scooter kid

20. For my McGill readers - you might even get featured on the Reddit

Dreams Do Come True

Finally, after all these years, I’m able to fulfill my dreams of becoming a millennial, even if just for one night. I am Cinderella, and Tumblr/2010s/Indie sleaze party is my ball. For this ball, I am transforming into a hipster. Alienor and I were talking the other day about purpose. I don’t believe this is my peak, but still, I wonder, is it my purpose?

Throughout my life, I have heard many people say they felt God’s presence, or the spirits with them. I’ve never felt this for myself, putting it into the same category filled with doubt that I attributed to ‘shifting.’ (For those of my readers who weren’t on TikTok in 2020, ‘shifting’ is when people believed they could transport themselves into fictional worlds such as Harry Potter, or as Dextero says (whatever Dextero is) “moving your consciousness into an alternative reality.” No, this isn’t the same as dreaming - to those who ‘practice’ it).

All this aside, when making my costume, I felt the spirits coursing through me, as if my life had been leading up to this moment, my ancestors guiding hand as I made mustache sunglasses out of cardboard.

I looked in the mirror, wearing a slouchy beanie and I felt as if for the first time, I fully understood the phrase, “home is not a place, but a feeling.”

Lots of things have been keeping me up, the anticipation of my next Linear Algebra assignment dropping, the mystery of a stolen and returned record from our last party, the excitement of our new dishwasher, but this tops them all.

I can feel myself in possession of a mug, shoutout Nell’s roommate, that says, “I’m not slurring my words, I’m speaking cursive.” I can feel myself, as if pushed by some unseen force, drawn to craft beer. I can feel myself talking about the best mustache pomade brands with my friends.

I remind myself of Jared Leto, is it method acting, or is this who I have become?

Three people have told me the hipster look is unsettlingly natural on me. If hipsters existed twenty years ago, I would like to imagine I am one reincarnated, although in this world it doesn’t make sense.

I keep thinking about that Happy Endings episode where Penny starts to like a hipster and because of it, tries to transform.

They said the hipster rules were as follows:

1. Never put effort into anything

2. Only like things ironically

3. You can never show too much enthusiasm

4. Everything is dumb

I think this hipster movement has been brewing ever since I took the male archetypes quiz and was presented with a man in a fedora and suspenders, telling me I was definitively a Beta.

Don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee, I say. I even already have a blog. I am the Eminem TikTok woman . I dream of Harry Potter. I can feel myself itching to draw a mustache on the side of my finger and look wistfully at pictures of Zooey Deschanel.

I am millennial and millennial is me.