Blargalfloo.

Bleeeh. I can always tell when summer gets nearer - the hotter it gets, the stuffier my nose gets, and it's oh-so-stuffy right now. I wonder why that is?

Been busy over the past week, although I couldn't tell you what with. Some of the past portion of this week has been spent cuddled up with my MACM assignment - it turned out to take a lot longer than I thought it would. Gah. I hate proofs. Why did I take this course again?
Chinese is going fine, but Ling is ungodly boring. I swear, three hour class, but it seems to take double that. The lecturer just goes over what's in the book, but throws in his own observations or meanderings (and sometimes goes wildly off course), which would be fine, except... He's not interesting. I wouldn't even bother going to class, just read the book instead, if it weren't for the fact that we a) get a take-home midterm next week and b) there's a group project sometime, so I need to find out when that is and who my group is. Also the journal things (which we haven't got /any/ concrete information about) and some 'summarize this article' bullshit. Bleh.

Society stuff's been fine, aside from what I'm convinced is a lack of money. There may or may not be, but it looks like a good position for me to take.

The infamous Balcony Rapist of Toronto moved into my neighbourhood this past week - lives about two blocks away from where I am, if reports and my own police sightings are correct. Doesn't make a gal feel especially secure, y'know? I know his lawyer swears up and down that he's reformed, he swears up and down he's reformed, but... Really, people are crying out about 'omg the KIDS', since he's near an elementary school. I'd be more worried about females of age, like myself, since that seems to be what he's got a preference for.
I'm wholly of the opinion that serial rapists, whether they rape a whole bunch of times before being caught, or whether they rape once, go to jail, and reoffend later, should be castrated. Cock, balls, and all. Certainly cut down on the reoffending rate and probably discourage men from trying it in the first place. They say Callow's not supposed to have anything that could be in a 'rape kit' - that is, electrical wire, duct tape, stuff that could be used as tools in committing the crime - but hell, he's still intact. That's the only real tool one needs.
(Of course, some similar system would have to be put into effect for women rapists, too... I dunno, removal of the clitoris or uterus? I'm not sure what motivates women who rape to do it - pleasure? Power issues like guys apparently have? - so I dunno what would be equivalent.)

Also speaking of creepy, as I was on my way home from Trav's place this morning, I stepped out of the Skytrain at Surrey Central and proceeded to jog down the stairs, when I hear quite near me, "excuse me, mumblemumble". Look up and over, cock my eyebrow at the dude who spoke, "Eh?" Figures maybe he wanted the time or directions or something. That's usually what random people at transit stations want.
Oh, no. Instead, it's "I liiike you." Delivered with this kind of glazed-over expression on his face. It, was, um. Yeah.
..."Um, okay, thank you?" I squeak out. Thought processes immediately spark to 'holy geez, creepy Indian guy with ten years on me hitting on me in such a way as to appear functionally retarded, do what now?'.
"What's your name?"
"Er, Erin." I always default to my middle name when approached by random strangers, particularly men. This has happened a few times in the past.
"I liiike you, Erin. You look nice." I looked better yesterday morning, actually, when I'd had a shower and my hair was in better condition and I wasn't freezing (because, geez, it was freezing this morning), but, er.
"Ehehe... Well, thanks." I take that moment in time to book it down the rest of the stairs and head over to check if I've missed the C74 or not. Please be a not.
Sure enough, when I get to the pole (which is all the way down at the end of the station), I hear "Erin!". Sigh. Cringe, turn around. "Yes?"
"Do you... think we could maybe see each other sometime?"
Oh, geez. How to respond: A - Sorry, I have a boyfriend, heh. B - Laugh at him weakly, in an 'oh-dear, how 'adorably' desperate you seem' sort of fashion. C - Laugh at him loudly in a disbelieving sort of fashion. D - Whip out the sarcasm-o-matic and ask him what on earth gave him the idea that I'd be interested in a creepy putz like him.
I went with A, just to be on the diplomatic side. Checked the schedule - yep, I'd missed the C74, have to go with the 320 instead. Well, damn. "Now, er, if you'll excuse me." Beat it once more.
"Oh... But I liiike you," greets my quickly retreating back.
I went and hid in the 320 line for a little. He didn't reappear, thankfully.

I just... I really do wonder, what gives these guys the idea that Surrey Central, out of all places, is a singles bar? C'mon! Really, we're interested in getting from point A to B, not in checking out the local selection of skeevy men. And it's always the skeevy ones, every time some guy has tried to hit on me there. If they were, you know, actually around my age, or good-looking, then maybe I wouldn't be quite so creeped out. Probably more likely to assume that they're an asshole and pulling my leg, but not so creeped out. Maybe even a little flattered, depending on how the encounter went.
But this? Creepy and terrible for the self esteem!

So, note to guys? Don't try to pick up women you don't know at transit stations, and particularly not the worst one in Surrey for drugs, beatings, and Other Scary Things. You hit on a strange woman and she's going to immediately think you're a lecher at best, and a killer rapist at worst, I promise you. Besides, most of us are probably already attached - and the ones that aren't probably don't want your attention any more than those of us with awesome boyfriends or husbands.

Hokay. I am of the thinking that I need to be getting more sleep, so to bed with me!