Girl and City

Being from an old-school mainland Chinese family, I am the first generation that has even heard of the need for women to shave. So, when the time came for me to join the millions of North American girls that were desperately trying to rid themselves of every hair on their chinny chin chin (and the rest of their body), I only had one weapon to battle the oncoming fur: my dad’s electric razor. Sure it would eventually make my leg hair as hard as the stubble on my dad’s chin, but I wasn’t really concerned with details like that at the time. All I knew was that it was a painless solution to a procedure I knew very little about.
Shaving with a blade mounted on a plastic handle sounded horrific, but less horrific than the idea of lathering hot wax onto my skin and then ripping it off.
Regardless of the method, it was inevitable that I would come to hate being a girl, shaving, and every single hair on my body (minus my head).

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I woke up this morning and two things suddenly occurred to me. One was that my ex-boyfriend may be under the impression that I have a boyfriend right now, and the second was that there was left-over chicken wings in the fridge.

You see, a couple weeks after the end of school, we had a “grade trip,” a five-day camping trip. Technically, only a third of the grade went on this trip, but it happens annually. Anyway, it came at the peak of my dangerously flirtatious friendship with HB. So the memory that jerked me awake was from the second night of the trip, when HB and I had gone for a walk while everyone else was at the campfire. During our walk we came upon MFL and The Other Girl. They had shined their flashlights on us, so for a while, I couldn’t tell it was them. I think HB and I were holding hands. Anyway, it ranked pretty high on the awkward scale, but at the time I was too alcohol-happy to care (I wasn’t drunk, I swear!).
So I guess it didn’t hit me until now what it must seem like to him, since we never talked about our love lives after that awful day…

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What am I doing up at 4 in the morning, browsing the Internet?
I haven’t a fucking clue.

I was planning to go to bed at 1, after spending a good three hours re-watching Titanic for the 200th time. That movie tugs at my heart strings every time. Anyway, I came to check the downloads on my computer before going to bed, and now, three hours later, I am still here, blogging no less!

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One of the things I miss about being in love, or at least, being in a relationship, is the sex.

Well, ok, that’s a lie. There wasn’t any sex. But there was a lot of snogging and necking and touching and not talking. I think our longest make-out session lasted for an hour, and I swear my lips were twice their normal size when we were done.

Anyway, that’s one of those things you just can’t substitute when you’re single and alone. I mean, I’m not utterly alone really, but I’m not about to snog my mother. Gross.

Exactly.

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For a girl who refuses to wear make-up and owns a total of one presentable dress, I’m a pretty big fan of romance-comedies. My rebellious nature does not cover the romance category I guess. In any case, I’m a huge fan of British romance-comedies in particular, simply because I adore their sense of humour. And having a funny accent doesn’t hurt, either.
My absolute favourite romance-comedy has to be Bridget Jones’ Diary. I am in love with the character of Bridget Jones. And I don’t think I’m alone in this. I think the reason Miss Jones appeals to the modern-day woman is that she is the real deal. Nothing about her is perfect. Even her imperfections aren’t perfect. Her diary lets us peer into her innermost thoughts – unabashed hopes, embarrassing fantasies, and the inevitable disappointment when illusion fails to make the transition into reality. (more…)