• • (i) Determine the equilibrium price and quantity for wheat and indicate the equilibrium price and quantity on the graph.
    (1 mark)
    (ii) If the Federal government decided to support the price of wheat at $4.00 per bushel, explain whether there would be a surplus or shortage and how much it would be.
    (1 mark)
    (iii) Demonstrate your answer to part (ii) on your graph being sure to label the quantity you designated as the shortage or surplus.
    (1 mark)
    Do you agree with the following statement? “Government-set prices undermine the rationing function of competitive prices.” Explain carefully in terms of both price ceilings and price floors.
    (2 marks)
    “If demand increases and supply decreases, then both the equilibrium price and quantity will increase.” What conditions are necessary to make this statement true?
    (1 mark)
• 11 hours ago

  Qianhua Lee

  • The president of the Micro Brewing Corporation asks you, as the company economist, to forecast changes in consumer beer purchases associated with a proposed price change. You conduct a survey and find that if the price of a six- pack increases from $5.50 to $7.50, the quantity demanded will decrease from 2200 units to 1800 units a month. Should the Micro Brewing Corporation raise its price? Explain the economic basis for this recommendation to the president.

I love you, my dear friend.

We shared a cab, you hit me in the face.

Hi! I am almost 100% positive you remember me. I was standing in the cab line for about 15 minutes in 1 degree weather, and then you and your girlfriend ran in front of me in the cab line right as my cab, that I had been waiting so long for out in the ball shivering cold, arrived. Now I admit, I am a nice guy, and women get to take advantage of me quite often, but that said I haven't been laid in months, and when that happens, I somehow feel that the goddess of feminine nurture and chivalry can... how do I put this? Suck my six inch piano player. This is the point where I told the cabby what you girls did, and informed him that he was throwing away the very long cab ride to Erie as well as his moral saint 1-month chip. At this point he had the very bad... very bad idea to give me (a drunken narcissist, in the right) a ride with the girls who shunted me most literally to the curb. This is where the sh*t show began. Your friend and you are both very attractive, but nevertheless I have become accustomed to, when necessary, seeing only the ugly souls of the monsters who arrogantly think they can get whatever they want. The cussing, the womanizing, the abuse, the screaming, and everything that ensued for the next 15 minutes, is unlike me. However I was not alone in this endevor, in fact I would go as far as to say that it was YOU two who did most of the screaming, and abusing. Nevertheless I stood up to the both of you. I let you know exactly how sh*tty it was to leave a stranger to freeze for the sake of your own toes. And although I am a tired soul, tired of fighting petty battles with girls, there are times when the wild thing from my youth finds the perfect combination of irritation and gravel to carve a path to the surface and cuss you the f*ck out. So I did. Somewhere along the way you hit me, good and hard across the face for addressing you by your lady parts. I probably deserved it. But even so, when your friend got out of the car, the attitude from the back seat was cut in half. This reduction in calamity is what made me flip around, to see you face to face for the next 10 minute drive to your home, perched on my knees, and just listen. I watched as you blasted me with insults and be-ration, never admitting nor denying that you intended to leave me on the cold cabby curb.Your visage melted from rage into a pool of confusion as I just sat there and listened. By the end, you were reduced to a puddle of tears, and as gratifying as it was, it is these empty moments that remind me why I hush my inner child to sleep, and open the door for you, and hold your purse, and buy you presents, and walk your dog, and keep you warm, and give you kind smiles. When you exited the cab, my body took me over, I hopped out and gave a "Hey!". You turned around, and I threw my arms out. "I'm Sorry!". You sheepishly just looked to me, and through the tears came a genuine moment. A deep smile. Full of the confusion and joy that comes with being twenty-something. I just wanted to say I appreciated that smile. In it, you told me that you were okay, that we are only human, that you value people over right and wrong. Expect to have a beer on me if I ever see you again.....

Another Best of CL's.

Je ne parle pas français

Catherine Malandrino! Been doing a little goofy research on girls, models and aesthetics again. Turns out she's French!

Anyway, although we'll be spending most of our time in London (I think... oh god I have no clue what is going on), of course Paris seems all the more enchanting, romantic, mysterious and some what exciting. Though I'm looking forward to the rich sights and sounds of the iconic city of London *cue what should be their OST right here*, I just don't have the sense that the culture and people will be that much more interesting.

Okay, with the monarchy and regal heritage, there is a lot of pomp and pageantry in many of the things the English people do... Like. Um. Pouring tea. Their fancy government buildings and incredible newspaper headline fonts. Politics. Erm, their well-dressed military! Oh and... Yeah. Literature! That's it, Shakespeare and whatnot. And their "fashion". Which was all imported from... well. France. (Get the sense that I am sick of Colonial effects here... but no. Only the act/history of imposed Colonialization, although it did do countries like India some good. But not to worry, I am very much in love with everything Anglophone. I HEART WILLIAM AND KATE!!!!!!)

And if what they say about French people being snobby is to be true (which holds quite well in the Canadian-French city of Montreal, Quebec, to my experience... But of course that is a very geographically flawed comparison), I still have to give a very slow and understanding nod to this. Why? Because look at their damn history! Their sense of fashion, hairstyles, social mannerisms and etiquette, art (the idea of a masterpiece was probably borne out of the artists' ear waxes of this nation. Once the rest of the European world realized the splendor and value of beautiful art, they were like OMG!!! Did you see what Jacques just did with that painting, Reginald? If you are to be my son, see, you are to be just as skilled and talented as that young man. Understood, young chap? OR YOU SHALL GET THE HORSE WHIP IN THE STABLES BY VINCENT THY BUTLER. KAPEESH?), interior/exterior design and building infrastructure, amazing cuisine and wine culture (read Mireille Guiliano - French Women Don't Get Fat) and good looking politicians.


Prime Minister and his wife, Carla Bruni. Yeah, she's not a political figurehead blah blah blah but fuck she's so sweet and elegant.

Elaborate hair

Elaborate dresses

Back in the day, there must have been plenty of "seamstresses I'd like to get fingered by" jokes.

Holy embroidery, Batman.

The men are not spared. My balls feel so elaborate in this high-waisted poop jacket.

In today's world: HAHA LOLUFAG!

Lol.

Foreplay includes 36 tantalizing minutes of methodological clothing removal. Help from maids-in-waiting not inclusive.

Awful movie. But alas, the costumes and elaborate film sets were it's saving grace.

On behalf of Marie Antoinette's poor soul and Ms Dunst's extreme lack of emotional facial vocabulary, I sincerely apologize.


Abrupt end of entry.

(Jk. Sort of. Why did I go on such a long tirade of pro-Francophone culture? So, so, so hard to describe. It's hard to talk about this deep feeling of frustration that there are few who would be open to exploring, learning and understanding these interesting facts of something outside of their own world. Am I ever going to find someone like that, whom I will regularly interact with, be living in the same continent as, and have in my lifetime and not just for a semester or two? Is it silly to keep my hopes up that my future boyfriend/husband will maintain such qualities? Awkward. Snobbish. Intelligent. Geeky. Pretentious as fuck. That's how I see myself and how I think people who are reading this would think of me right now. I'm just in that place where I need a friend. A Canadian. Somebody with a Western-minded perspective. An adventurous person without the close-minded and materialistic pipe-vision of a... Chinese? Asian? Singaporean perspective? Yeah, you wouldn't understand.) *big sigh*

Anthropology-related/ interesting stuff: The French Paradox

Going back to my roots

But why do I feel this way?


Trying to squeeze the sin out of my body before my trip to Paris, London and Scotland. I'm so excited for the UK holy fuck. So many things to snap pictures of and see and feel and absorb and watch. People are beautiful there, and even more so in their fashion and mannerisms in the sweet little City of Lights. How romantic. Mom, the true romance-novella fanatic, of course is all jittery about Scotland. It's a mysterious part of the UK for me... which means my knowledge of geography and history in that parts is pretty non-existant. Alls I know is that my future housemate is part Scottish, and he did an amazingly adorable accent for me before I left Guelph. Cute cute cute dork cute dork cute.

I want to hug youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu. And smoke. That is all.

Fuck me without Marlboros for 3 weeks let's see how irritable I'll be when I come home.

The Real L word

Clicketttt.
Interesting first eppie to blow your sleepless nights over.

I think commitment makes me nervous. Basically I hate making myself vulnerable. I always put walls up because I'm nervous that someone will change their mind or pull out. And I don't wanna get hurt, I don't wanna be exposed.

I'm so scared and so insecure.

Life has really slapped my face with a fuckwave of what's going on.

I need to. I need to. I need to. You keep telling yourself that and not doing it, you're going to end up fucking up your life by never following through.

日本の人々を祝福

Someone has crossed a line you drew awhile ago, Aquarius. It wasn't a threatening sort of situation, but it was an emotional barrier that you erected to protect yourself. Most likely, it dealt with a significant other or a potential romantic partner. This person may have made you feel things you didn't expect to feel. The possibilities you have begun to see may cause you to erase that line. Yet you may still be fearful. Don't allow insecurities from liaisons you had in the past creep into the present and the future. There is no connection. Start fresh.

For those of you who haven't caught Black Swan yet...


You are gay.

WATCH IT. Your ass and thighs will get a good work out from squeezing yourself during the scenes boiling with suspense and sex. If I hadn't watched this with 3 other girls (and a good 1.5 pillows or so, each) I would've very much liked to watch this on a nice couch with a nice young man. :)



I got through the Oscars long enough to see Christian Bale win for Best Supporting Actor in The Fighter (again... you, your grand mother and your Formspring account are ALL gay if you missed this) and hear his lovely speech spoken with true grace and sexy humility like the Brit that he is.

Anyway, most may be unaware (but totally should be) that Miss Portman is vegan. Pretty obvious from the trailers and her previous cinematic roles that she is a chick with a small frame. But on top of being a gorgeous, she had to lose so much weight for the prima donna position as lead ballerina in Black Swan.

She's the physical inspiration for staying slender, but a big part of why people change their lives (for the better, in many eyes) is all explained in Earthlings.

If you're prepared to be educated, made aware, informed, enlightened, fucking grossed out, watch this! (I didn't, not the entire shitstorm, but I quit after 10 minutes because I'm not fucking telling you)



Cute animals appreciate virtuous, non-self righteous activism. :D That's why videos like the Chinese woman killing kittens with her high heels are around.

I promise I will treat you with nothing but kindness and respect, pretty much I wont be a jerky douche bag. Either way I respect your seriousness with your studies, and the fact you're shy and unexperienced with dealing with guys. I would just like to spend some time with you, even if its not long, we don't have to drink or party. We could just interact, grab a meal or a smoothie or anything. You know, see that pretty smile first hand, haha.

******************

Giant hug you say, funny thing about that is I have this medical disorder that makes me hug with my mouth.

Also, In accordance to my mellowed-out ability (or lack thereof) to produce blog spots, just follow me on Twitter, you sick minded fucks. Frequent, literal and a reflection of a healthy woman's realistically perverted, base thoughts. You certainly wont get any more from-the-heart Life Lessons of Paulina ramblings from here anymore. You creepy assholes don't even know a thing about me or deserve to, anyway.

www.twitter.com/@Buttersleeves_
For your utter amusement.

Here's a picture of something cute to appease your horror at being offended by shameless and unnecessary self promotion. And for the trouble of bothering to read on.





Freud was fascinated by the interaction of these various aspects of the psyche -- and the way that they sometimes come into stark conflict. That is, it is left to the ego to successfully meet the needs of the id, while staying within the limits imposed by the superego. Naturally, as everyone has experienced, this is not an easy job. For example: an individual may have a body based yearning for sexual gratification, but have an internalized moral belief that says sex is dirty and sinful. The conflict between innate desire (id) and conditioned beliefs (superego) may manifest in such symptoms as anxiety, guilt, and frustration. Meanwhile, in the struggle to keep the inner peace, to cope with and balance the dictates of the superego with the demands of the id, the ego may resort to one of a variety of defense mechanisms. Amongst these are denial, repression, sublimation, intellectualization, compensation, and reaction formation. They vary in detail, but each is employed to reduce the conscious emotional tension that would otherwise be experienced by the ego. Thus the sexually conflicted individual may, for example, use rationalization to convince themselves of the moral superiority of "waiting for marriage." And the more strongly the id cries for sensual satisfaction, the more of a talking to the individual will have to give themselves, and the more he/she will feel the need to extol the virtues of virginity to others.

But as one might imagine, the underlying desires and awareness do not truly disappear -- not unless some kind of neurological damage occurs. Instead the thoughts and feelings are merely pushed into the background -- a kind of "white noise" as it were. But ironically, as Freud discovered, such repressed knowledge can still continue to influence behavior. Hence strange dreams, peculiar verbal slips of the tongue, and a variety of seemingly "irrational" behaviors. Individuals may even find themselves unable to consistently do what they believe they should -- or at the very least, find themselves feeling strangely unhappy even though they have done what they consciously believe is right.

I don't know if I trust you enough to give you anything of mine.

Sup, from a 20-year-old

See the resemblance? flap flap.

I'm so fucking busy with nothing.

I haven't been considering my priorities in university. It's first year. I tell myself. The gosh darn cutie president of my program happened to be my Intro to Hospitality & Tourism Management T.A. and even he admitted he didn't do jack shit in first year.

Hate fuckers like this. You create unrealistic representation of the effort it takes to be made. He went to Abu Dhabi to intern for 6 months at the world-renowned Burj Al Arab and probably has a million and one other community, family, academic commitments but the only thing that stuck with me is his awkwardness, slight acne and careless shrug each time he admits "I barely turned up to any of my lectures in first year."

Bitch, don't make it look easy. I mean it probably is, considering my ability to put my insecurity in school work on steroids-overdrive, but still. He's put a very bad example of himself out to the first years, especially to the fellas who just signed up for the program because they're still unsure of what they want to do right now.
How am I going to achieve this?

Anyhow, looking back, 8 years ago, blogging was a way for me to rationalize my "bad emotions", make fun of retarded trends and stupid cunts in school and bitch about the incompetence of the NAS school staff and overall stifling rigidity of the Singaporean school system. Still, I have fond memories of Ngee Ann. It is after all, where I met many fun people and good friends (I choose to omit the word "great" so we wont accidentally inflate any egos here... ahem).

In terms of growth, I haven't changed much except perhaps in terms of my attitude towards partying, image and men. Of course, my hands have grown heavy and fingers very tired and no longer blog about life's conundrums and blast society's lack of common sense, maturity and intelligence. Mocking, however, is still a favorite pastime I prefer to share with the company of like-minded friends.



What happened on my birthday?
For the first time ever, was duped and surprised by 4 lovely ladies, including my sweet room mate. I was baked 3 "chocolate marble" cakes... which they fucked up the swirls. So I guess they were more like chocolate brownie slabs. My brilliant Jewish friend A (it had to be Jewish) managed to fool me into really thinking nothing was going on and totally put me off. I never suspected a thing. The rest of them hid in my roommate's cramped, stuffy closet and came out (Tom Cruise, take a cue here, you 5-foot-nothing Scientolofreak midget) to surprise me once I was lead back, unsuspecting as fuck. Birthday shots, everyone on my floor knocked at midnight to sing me happy birthday, was told to keep it down by the floor R.A.s with alcohol (prohibited...) in hand. Was quite tipsy by then. Boys came in and we talked and drank and Facebook stalked hot guys (I've never felt so straight in my life) till 3 in the 'mo. A rare slice of vacuous, girly bonding time. Another sentimental first.

I used to be a fucking critical bitch (still am) when it comes to people, but I now know it's still great to have good, kind-hearted and caring people in your life, despite their naivete or lack of maturity. I will miss her once we move out at the end of our first year in April.

You're boring as fuck. So you didn't do anything to start you big two-ty with a bang?


Clubbed. Danced wildly enough to attract attention of a few manwhores, and basically had the rest of my night's booze paid for. Considering it was me and 2 other tiny ass girls, I was lucky they were hot enough to keep having guys hit on them while I was slowly forgetting how to use gravity. Needless to say, at the end of the night, a couple of kind strangers asked the cops to drive us back to the university, while my friends made sure I didn't land face-first into a snowbank. I woke up the next morning with rug burn all over my chin and areas around my mouth. Fuck making out with guys with beards.

Slut. So have you lost your virginity yet?
No. While withholding the dirty stories and alcohol-fueled escapades, I can still reassure you that I am a girl with moral standards and sexual ethics. And by sexual ethics I mean that I can still have carnal desires as per basic human nature, but I would never give into urges no matter how big the temptation (of big cock HA HA HA).

So in a nutshell, I don't fuck around.

(Note: May have also become a better liar with my two sensible decades on Earth.)


Anyway, it's back to the daily grind tomorrow. Hopefully I can get my fucking sleep back on fucking track. God, it feels delightful to be an online potty mouth. Don't worry, I'm still an amazingly nice person with a beautiful soul on the inside. It's just the crust that has rotten a little.

Busy, busy, busy

I have no reason to eat bunnies, but that doesn't mean I can't think of doing it.

Not one to make a long story short

But I thought I should pop by and say something.

I've been thinking a lot about relationships, and how fragile and easily they wither, age and just disappear (no wait, you mean I have farted on about this before? Multiple times??). I know most people don't even remember the last time they've spoken or sent a short message to their ex-classmates (you know the one, you spend all of your recess/lunch breaks with her so you might as well call her your best friend) from high school, but nobody is going to know if you really care unless you act.

Trust me, you'd think it's awkward, but if you find yourself creeping on their Facebook pictures, scouring their Twitter timelines and get disappointed each time you load their blog and they haven't updated since, you care. You probably even miss them.

So e-mail, text, tweet, instant message, whatever. Do something which shows you still remember them. Do something which shows you still miss the memories of youth you both shared in class, after school, with each other (your pathetic annual Facebook birthday wall posts don't count! Even worse if you're not creative enough to go beyond "Happy birthday!!! :D").

I know this doesn't really clue in with most, but try to think about the people who sat in front of you, behind you and three tables away. You've probably had to do projects with them sometime, and in those 4 years you should have learned enough to know the area they live, how many older/younger siblings they have and what wallets they carry (because you were broke that one time and you really needed the $1.20 for the chocolate candy you craved and you were like, omg, he's still using a No Fear velcro-lined polyester wallet...).

Because when you're both adults it's going to seem a long way ago, and rekindling that friendship with the same innocent ease would be impossible. Life, family, your S.O., your job, your first house - all these things will keep your adult mind busy and are real excuses for leaving friendships to dry up in the dust. Never your bridges, but also never leave them weathered and left to be eaten up by the sun and rain.

Some jerk off thought he would lay the cliche-hammer on me the other day and spat this gem out:
Act while you can, because you're only young once.

Though as much as it pains me when people use these old phrases and sayings, this one stuck... It's niggling at the back of my head, but I guess it has a lot to do with me reaching a milestone in my life. Two decades worth in fact.... SO OLD.



On another note, I've been sick for the past 3 weeks (since the 2nd week of January till now) and it's absolutely disastrous. Missed midterms, lethargy, lack of productivity and just overall feeling of being lifeless and old. Gross, ick, bleh. Maybe this is why I'm asking you guys to seize your gay and don't let your old relationships go to waste, because I'm feeling like a withering old woman myself. I'm turning 20 in a few days god damn it! It's scary and unreal... The only thing that's really bugging me is that my hands don't look my age though. Fuckin' winter. So make sure to moisturize those diamond racks/ sandwich-makers, ladies.


As another update, I've also found a house to live in for my 2011-2012 school year! It's great, since my homeowner Thomas is a complete Polish sweetheart and extremely kind. So far, he's been very understanding and lenient in payments (I've never used a checkbook and ordering one to pay him the post-dated checks actually takes more than a week for the bank and costs $17~ for 100 pages WORTOHFORH).

So yeah, this has been relatively good in procrastinating...I hope everybody back home has been having a lovely Chinese New Year($). I miss Singapore and all the house gatherings and endless white rabbit candies, pumpkin seeds, roasted duck and bak kua. Fuck. All that eating and sweating to keep you happy and relatively slim - WO YAO. Off to go for dinner with a friend.

I MADE THAT FML CAT PICTURE ISN'T IT FUNNY???

Bus boyfriend..I want to smell you again

This was months ago. April, maybe May. We only rode the bus together three times, only two times sitting together. The second I saw you, I smiled brightly, because you looked so nice. You were getting on the number 11 at the Lake Washington bus stop, at 9:35 on a Wednesday, heading downtown. You were one of the few people getting on the bus who had not immediately put out a cigarette or a crack pipe. You looked like the average super-casual tech worker or student. You saw me smiling at you, and your face sort of lit up.

You had a soul-patch-triangle-hairy-thing under your bottom lip, which I will normally not tolerate on white men, but you made it work. You wore drab grayish-blue clothes that were slightly baggy. I had chin-length brown hair and cute sunglasses. I was holding a cup of coffee that, true to Starbucks tradition, kept spouting forth like a caffeinated geyser from the tiny sippy hole in the top, scalding my hands as I attempted in vain to dry off with a flimsy recycled paper napkin.

You sat next to me. There was genuine sexual tension, which is rare in Seattle, and even rarer on the bus. You smelled REALLY, REALLY good. I didn't make eye contact, although I took off my sunglasses so that you wouldn't think I looked like a spy. I might have turned down my Shuffle so you wouldn't know that I was listening to Mr. Mister. I didn't make conversation. I just smelled you the whole way downtown.

What was that glorious smell? It wasn't colonge. I have bought colonge for men before, and they don't make men's cologne that smells like this. Was it soap? Laundry detergent? A particularly wonderful brand of fabric softener and/or dryer sheet? I have searched in vain for the scent since meeting you. I want to douse the rest of the bus riders with it. Hell, I'd spray it all over my Shih Tzu if I could distill it. It was sweet, soft, but not girly. It was clean but not chlorine-y.

The next Wednesday, you got on the bus, and you sat next to me. Deliberately. There were dozens of empty seats on the bus, but you chose to sit down next to me. I blushed. You blushed. You smelled even better. You took out a book and pretended to read it. That book everyone is reading, The Kite Flyer or the Flying Kite or something by someone with an Iranian/Afghani/Middle Eastern name. Khaled. Ahmed. Whatever. I nervously asked you about the book. I think I made a really stupid comment about how I can't read on the bus because I get car sick. This must have turned you on. You tried to explain the plot of the book, and you spoke very slowly and not particularly lucidly, in direct contrast to my high-pitched but enunciated prattling.

It was clear, probably to both of us, but certainly to me, that we were not romantically suited for each other. Nor was there any intellectual chemistry. It was clear as crystal. I had at the time, and still have to this day, a boyfriend that I really love. Chances are, you have a girlfriend who rocks your world. I didn't want to do anything to mess that up.

I actually went home and told my boyfriend about you. I called you my Bus Boyfriend. I normally don't tell my boyfriend about random men who want to hit on me but who, true to the Seattle way of life, don't bother. But I told him about you because I wanted him to be aware that other, completely random men occasionally want to be physically close to me, because this is something that even jealous boyfriends are often prone to forgetting. You probably know, Bus Boyfriend, what it's like when you're with a girl for a couple years. If you know she's faithful, you start thinking, "Hey, I'm the only one who has access to this poon..." Then you start thinking, "Hey, no one else really thinks about this woman but me."

My boyfriend took notice when I told him about you; he felt the slight threat that was implicit in our public transportation liaisons, as incredibly platonic as they may have been. He fucked me really hard for a couple of weeks, realizing that he was damn fortunate to have access to this poon.

The last Wednesday I saw you, I noticed you too late. It was a bad morning for me, Bus Boyfriend. I arrived at the bus stop before having that necessary first cup of coffee. The weather was foggy. So was my brain. You got on the bus, and chances are you looked to see if our eyes would meet, because I felt a pair of eyes burning a whole in the side of my face. By the time I was jolted out of my reverie by your smell wafting by, you had passed by and had seated yourself farther back.

For one entire stop I contemplated getting up and sitting next to you. Then a gigantic man with an apparent allergy to soap wedged me in against the window, and it was all I could do to keep from straining my neck while looking back at you and hoping that you would at least get up and stand behind me, so I could smell something besides the 300-pound armpit pushing up against my cheek.

Then, after that, nothing. I never saw you on the bus again. I never got to inhale your pleasant scent again (Tide? Cheer? Bounce? Something from Trader Joe's?). I smelled a variety of other, less desirable scents that other passengers had coated themselves in - urine, B.O., cigar smoke, booze-breath, copious amounts of Chanel 5 - sometimes individuallly, occasionally all at once. Do you KNOW how many people are drunk when they get on the bus, Bus Boyfriend? On the number 11 through downtown Seattle, 10% of the passengers are intoxicated, and they smell like it. And they sit next to me, Bus Boyfriend. Like you used to sit, only significanly closer and with more chutzpah and less shame.

Besides drunks, I have had the honor of sitting next to bitchy little teenage gay guys who lisp loudly into their cell phones. Old ladies with whooping cough. Girls who can be no older than 12, dressed like complete mini-whores, who put their Vans-clad feet up on the back of the seat in front of them. Children whose faces are completely obscured by snot. Young white men who think they are big black men, and attempt to speak "jive" ("Yo, yo, yo, man - that mah SHIT!"). iPod-wearing business men with long, long legs and a clear disgust for the fact that I have the nerve to take up exactly 50% of the bench seating.

Bus Boyfriend, where have you gone? Please return to remove me from this misery! I don't want you sexually. Hell, I don't even want to talk to you - you can't even discuss the main storyline of a popular novel and you probably don't want to know any more detail about my inner ear and motion sickness. I just want to feel that odd tension again. And I want to smell you. You were my bus sachet, my ego-boosting little bowl of potpourri. Please come back. When you were around, no crackhead could touch me. Due to the ever-so-slight threat that your presence created, my boyfriend nailed me more often and more sincerely than any other time. You made transportation tolerable, you improved my love life.

If you got a job on the East Side, I forgive you. If you graduated from the UW, I congratulate you. But if you bought a car and now drive yourself downtown, shame on you! Shame! Kyrie Eleison down the road that I must travel. Especially on the bus. Without my Bus Boyfriend.

I don't know why. But this makes me miss my parents.