I am apparently a C-cup. 34C, to be exact. Well, I didn’t. This whole time, I thought I was a 36B. Well now, don’t I feel stupid. Actually, no. Not really. They’re almost but not quite the same thing, except one makes me feel better about myself, because we all know that nobody cares about anything having to do with women aside from their breast sizes.

I hate taking the bus even more than I hate taxis.

I hate that every time I take a bus I’ve never taken before to somewhere I’ve never been before, the speaker and display that are supposed to let me know where the hell I am are both broken. Not my favourite kind of guessing game. You can never see the street signs from whatever awkward position you’re stuck in, and can’t anyone in this godforsaken city put the numbers on their buildings somewhere visible? Not that when I don’t know where I am there are ever even any buildings facing the street I’m going down, so it wouldn’t help, anyway. I don’t care if I’m at 800 E something-or-other. What is the actual name of this something-or-other street, and how far north is it? Suck suck suck. Oh, well. What it really comes down to is this: broken busses (shut up, spellcheck, I like to spell busses with two esses, and your bullshit squiggly lines aren’t going to change my mind) cost me a whole five minutes of precious time today, and I am livid. The end.

I prefer to stay in one place all the time, so I don’t have to deal with any sort of conveyance.

NYC Cabbies May Strike Over GPS Devices – Gizmodo

The GPS devices will only end up “broken”… just like the card readers in every cab in the entire city of Chicago are “broken”. Goddamn, I hate taxis. (Here’s a tip, though — ask if the driver accepts credit cards before getting into the cab. He will say yes. When he then insists that the reader is broken, without even checking it, when you get to wherever you’re going… tell him to go fuck himself. Free ride! Well, if you don’t value your bodily integrity etc. etc.)

Look… I can understand someone spelling my name wrong if they’ve never seen it written down. Maybe even if they have seen it a few times, if it’s not right in front of their face, and I’ve never corrected them before. But there really isn’t any excuse to spell it wrong if they’re looking right at it. If you’re writing me an e-mail — my name is in my e-mail address. If you’re quoting a message of mine, it’s in there, too. If we’re in a chat room together, my frakkin’ name is before everything I say. If it’s a reply to some shit on a message board, wells, I almost always use my real name as my username. By spelling my name wrong in any of these situations, you’re proving to me that you’re an idiot, and not worth my time. Unless there actually is someone named Candace following me around on the internet that I’m somehow not aware of.