Alright - one more that will be crossed off the list of "Things Laura Can't Do": parallel park. So many years, so many tears, and all it took was a foreign country and a vehicle twice the size of the parking space. Watch out cars and trucks of all makes and sizes - I'm comin' for you mofos and I'm gonna parallel park you but good! Fo' shizzle.

In other news - French teenage boys, more so than other teenage boys, need a good ass-whuppin'. Seriously? I'm too old for this shit. First, myself and both a female and male guide were walkin' and we hear these guys heckling us from about 50m back or so...and then they started throwing snowballs (like, brainiacs, don't be starting snowball fights with CANADIANS, freakin' Einsteins) and then they start chasing us. So we ducked into this store, you know, just to avoid us kicking their asses - and we bump into them on the way out, and they're, like, 17 years old! And 4 feet tall! And they're all "Mais, on s'amusait, c'est tout" (translation: "Our mothers smoked cracked while pregnant"). And I'm like, dudes, someday, some Canadian girls are gonna pound you, but good. Fo' shizzle.

And then, last night, the same female guide and myself were walking home (after our second VICTORIOUS QUIZ NIGHT YAY! but more on that later) and this car followed us in reverse for about four blocks, with the driver trying to chat us up. We just ignored him and his buddy, of course, but then they pulled in front of us when we were trying to cross a street, and then a block later he jumped out of his car. Before you guys get too scared for our personal safety, he too was 17/4 - that is, 17 and 4 feet tall. And my coworker happens to be a kickboxing instructer and I happen to be addicted to rage-ahol...er, I mean, I play rugby. But still, it's a weird feeling, especially when he started calling us all sorts of names after Ann told him, in both official language, goodnight and go fuck yourself. Ah, the joys of bilingualism. Fo' shizzle.

So - quiz night. Anyone who's worked at BH or Vimy will be familiar with this, but there's an Irish pub called "The Ould Shebeen" run by John, the ever-charming Irishman who loves Canadians because we drink lots. Every Thursday night he holds a 30-question quiz, and I believe (although I could be mistaken) that the guide teams usually do anywhere from alright to ass-kicked. However, last week we tied for first, but because it was late and he didn't want to do a tie-breaking round, John awarded us the victory. And then this week, we returned to crush the other teams into oblivion. For real this time - although technically we are, with two victories, on a winning streak...so think of me this coming Thursday where we will either be showered with praise or booed until John's throat is sore. Fo' shizzle.