My mother detonated.

I’m going to my training day to WAPS (a public school… just the initials, the place isn’t actually called “WAPS”) to teach summer school to kids up to age 14. I’m really excited. It’s a program called S. I., and basically it’s half-academic, half-recreational for kids. It’s how my Mentor Teacher (MT) got her full-time teaching job she has today. She said it really helped her and other teachers get a job at this school, and it’s a great way to network.

Hopefully it’ll work!

Anyway, so before I head over to this training day, I’m supposed to have some documents with me before I go there, such as my Statement of Good Health (costs $75 to get it signed by my doctor, holy crap, slit my throat and cut a leg off too, why don’t you), police check, etc. It’s to check that I didn’t do anything shady or negatively influential to vulnerable individuals (i.e. children in this case).

Makes sense.

Except I’m still upset that it costs $75 to literally sign a piece of paper that has less than 3 lines printed on it.


Anyway, so the police check finally came through snail mail, and I’m supposed to look up my bus routes so I can get home from that desolate and old area the school is situated in. I take the piece of paper that has the address with me upstairs to Google map it, and then my mom flips out at me.

Pretty much like the gif up there.


Taken by surprise and angered by such hostility at me, I whip my head around and pound down the stairs, asking, “What?” She goes off to this tapestry-long rant filled with waterworks about how I should be mature enough (“You’re 21, for god’s sake” even though we don’t believe in any type of deity) to pick up after my own crap, and that I should have taken the police check with me upstairs.

Well whoop-dee-doo, so I say, “Okay, I’ll go get it now then.”

She screams at me that I was supposed to have gotten it when we were opening our mail.

I said that I was going to get it sometime later since she put it in a frickin’ basket (we put our mail in baskets) that was hidden from view so how the Satan’s lair would I have known to have gotten it? Moreover, we agreed to relax on the couch first before doing anything, so I just happened to forget after that.


NOPE I WASN’T ALLOWED TO FORGET. May Zeus zap with me lightning if I ever dared forget, ’cause it’s totally my conscious will to forget my Police Check which I paid $25 for (totalling to $100 if you include the Statement of Good Health, and I hadn’t even started working yet. For a summer job!).

So after some acidic spit thrown at each other, I give up ’cause I know too well the path we were going to go down. I didn’t survive 21 years (almost 22) for nothing. I certainly learned the signs of a detonating bomb when I see one, and my mother was going to explode.

I said, “Okay, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I’ll get the police check.” Usually I slip in a little affirmative “Okay?” but I really didn’t want a response from her. I just didn’t want to talk to her and set her off and have her blame everything on me.



She just blares herself at me about how I’m not an adult, and how irresponsible I was, and etc., etc.

I’m sorry, but I’m irresponsible? Has she looked at the rest of the 20-somethings yet? Let’s do a little inventory check.

  1. I don’t do drugs.
  2. I’m not pregnant.
  3. I’m not addicted to anything (alcohol, drugs, gambling, shopping, or otherwise).
  4. I don’t freak out over my physical appearance or fawn over new fashions.
  5. I have a goal in life: to become a teacher.
  6. I’ve set down the steps I am going to take to get to that goal, and I am currently following through with my plan.
  7. That’s right, I have a plan. A PLAN. IN LIFE.
  8. I did a double major in English and Sociology while handling another program: Concurrent Education.
  9. Both of which I am graduating from this June in 2 weeks when I turn 22.
  10. I’ve been a Saturday school teacher for 2 years and counting (including marking, planning, making my own assessments, creating fun games).
  11. That’s on top of my mandatory student placement of teaching Grade 8 this year (and Grade 5 last year).
  12. I was the News Editor and ran Edible News by myself even though it’s a 2-person job. And I started up the blog all by myself.
  13. I run my own online writing portfolio, The Grumpy Giraffe, which publishes articles every Thursday and has around 350 followers.
  14. I got in the most hours while being a Peer Health Educator for Health Ed last year despite it being my first year in Concurrent and teaching Saturday school, and won a certificate.
  15. I did workshops this year to get some shiny certificates in my portfolio.


Yeah, you know what, I just gave fifteen fantastic reasons as to why I’m a responsible individual.

I need to move out. I think I really do.

Sometimes, my mother’s okay. She’s an amiable character.

But times like these make me really not want to be here, and I just want to move out.

Guess that’s another thing to start planning for: find a cheap bachelorette apartment that isn’t sketchy.

And has to be a near bus stop ’cause I’m not driving anytime soon.


Feminism on Facebook Games

Getting tired of failing the same level on Candy Crush for the 12th day in a row, I decided to try out some other game.

Bubble Saga is basically one of those “shoot this coloured ball to match 3 or more coloured balls of the same colour to win” games. I’m pretty sure there’s an actual English term for this, but I can’t be bothered to scavenge the Internet for it.

The story is that there’s this girl called Princess Love, and her Prince Charming is stuck on different planets. To help her rescue Prince Charming, you need to win the levels. When you click the game, it looks like this:

Bubble Saga

Bubble Saga

At first, it looks like a regular storyline, if not overused. Girl has long hair, a crown, and a pink dress. We have a rescue mission for a damsel in distress–

But wait.

It isn’t a damsel in distress. No, it’s actually a prince who is in need of rescuing.


And check out the Prince’s picture (it’s the only picture showing up in the bottom bar with “invite” under it). He isn’t buff, and he doesn’t have short hair or facial hair. In fact, from a thumbnail, he could easily be mistaken for as a girl.

It doesn’t shock me, but it did surprise me a little. I’m actually really happy that Facebook games, even if they use such a cliché plot, are starting to veer away from the feeble damsel and superhuman prince.

Not to mention that now it’s the girl who’s saving the guy.

But then I got to thinking: she still fits within the conventional “girl” look though, if not to the point of vomiting: long hair, curvy figure, bright pink attire, and wearing a dress. Although, I think this is mainly because they want to appeal to the biggest audience.

Not too many people accept the tomboy look, and more people are accustomed to the fairytale quality of a pretty princess.

Even in video games, I find that female heroes are dressed impractically scanty: ripped tank tops showing off the midriff, extremely short shorts, etc. Or sometimes it’s a very skintight suit where you can almost see the pores on her body underneath it.

Anyway, bravo to (the company who made Bubble Saga). I’m glad they’re beginning to experiment with the gender barriers.

I was getting sick of “Oh, save me, dear heroic prince” stories anyway.

Cheese is the answer

I didn’t take this photo, but it looks exactly like what I ate yesterday. I’m going to try taking my own pictures next time, though.


At Sushi Kiku, I was with someone~ for his birthday. We had all-you-can-eat sushi, and praise Thor and Loki for that, because I ate a ton of stuff.

I’m not talking about like “Oh I ate a leaf of lettuce, I’m full now, thank you” and dab the corner of my mouth daintily.

I’m talking about giant plates of food, and I also ate 8 of these beautiful mussels.

They’re called “Baked Mussels Japanese Style”, which is essentially oven-baked mussels with cheese on the top, and they sprinkle some herbs as well. The mussels I had were baked to a golden colour with a tinge of brown to show that it’s fresh from the oven.


So yeah I totes recommend Sushi Kiku for dinner, even though it’s like a whopping $20 something per person. But then it’s dinner hour, and all you can eat, so…

I suppose it is… average pricing?

But really, these mussels were so good, I had eight of them.

E I G H T .

If you aren’t in Toronto, that’s okay too. Find the nearest sushi restaurant that has this on their menu and your day will be made!