gone completely mental and stuck her foot through the glass mail chute (endangering the poor postman's fingers when he

comes to collect the mail at the bottom of the chute tomorrow).

'But, Phillipe,' my mom kept wailing. 'Why here?' But there was nowhere else for Grandmere to go. Things were just as bad,

if not worse, at all the other hotels in the city. Grandmere had finally decided to pack up and abandon ship . . . figuring, no doubt, that as she had a granddaughter fifty blocks away, why not take advantage of the free labour?

So for the moment, anyway, we're stuck with her. I even had to give her my bed, because she categorically refused to sleep

on the futon couch. She and Rommel are in my room — my safe haven, my sanctuary, my fortress of solitude, my meditation chamber, my Zen palace - where she already unplugged my computer because she didn't like my Princess Leia Screensaver 'staring' at her. Poor Fat Louie is so confused, he actually hissed at the toilet, because he had to express his disapproval of the whole situation somehow. Now he has hidden himself away in the hall closet - the same closet where, if you think about it, all

of this started -amid the vacuum-cleaner parts and all the three-dollar umbrellas we've left there over the years.

It was an extremely frightening sight when Grandmere came out of my bathroom with her hair all in curlers and her night

cream on. She looked like something out of the Jedi Council scene in Attack of the Clones. I was about to ask her where she'd parked her landspeeder. Except that Mom told me I have to be nice to her - At least until I can think of some way to

get rid of her, Mia.'

Thank God Michael finally did show up with my homework. We could not exchange tender greetings, however, because Grandmere was sitting at the kitchen table, watching us like a hawk the whole time. I never even got to smell his neck!

And now I am lying here on this lumpy futon, listening to my grandmother's deep, rhythmic snoring from the other room, and

all I can think is that this strike better be over soon.

Because it is bad enough living with a neurotic cat, a drum-playing Algebra teacher, and a woman in her last trimester of pregnancy. Throw in a dowager princess of Genovia, and I'm sorry: book me a room on the twenty-first floor of Bellevue, because it's the funny farm for me.

Friday, May 9, Homeroom

I decided to go to school today because:

1. It's Senior Skip Day, so most of the people who'd like to see me dead aren't here to throw things at me, and

2. It's better than staying at home.

I mean it. It is bad in Apt. 4, 1111 Thompson Street. This morning when Grandmere woke up, the first thing she did was demand that I bring her some hot water with lemon and honey in a glass. I was like, 'Um, no way,' which did not go over

real well, let me tell you. I thought Grandmere was going to hit me.

Instead, she threw my Fiesta Giles action figure - the one of Buffy the Vampire Slayer's watcher, Giles, in a sombrero -

against the wall! I tried to explain to her that he is a collector's item and worth nearly twice what I paid for him, but she was fully unappreciative of my lecture. She just went, 'Get me a hot water with lemon and honey or I shall destroy all of your

Bippy the Monster Catcher characters!'

God. She can't even get the name of my favourite show right. I'd like to know how she'd feel, if I didn't pay attention next time she starts in about the Genovian bill of rights, or whatever.

So I got her her stinking hot water with lemon and honey, and she drank it down, and then, I kid you not, she spent about

half an hour in my bathroom. I have no idea what she was doing in there, but it nearly drove Fat Louie and I insane . . . me because I needed to get in there to get my toothbrush, and Fat Louie because that's where his litter box is.

But whatever, I finally got in and brushed my teeth, and then I was like, 'See ya,' and Mr. G and I fully raced for the door.

Not fast enough, though, because my mom caught us before we could get safely out of the apartment, and hissed at us in this very scary voice, 'I will get you both for leaving me alone with her all day today. I don't know how, and I don't know when. But when you least expect it. . . expect it.'

Whoa, Mom. Have some more PediaLyte.

Anyway, things here at school have calmed down a lot since yesterday. Maybe because the seniors aren't here. Well, all

except for Michael. He's here. Because, he says, he doesn't believe in skipping just because Josh Richter says to. Also

because Principal Gupta is giving ten demerits to every student with an unexcused absence for the day, and if you get

demerits, the school librarian won't give you a discount at the end of year used-book sale, and Michael has had his eye

on the school's collected works of Isaac Asimov for some time now.

But really I think he's here for the same reason I am: to escape his current home situation. That's because, he told me in the

limo on the way up to school, Lilly's parents finally found out about how she's been skipping school and holding press conferences without their permission. The Drs. Moscovitz supposedly went full-on Reverend and Mrs. Camden and are

making Lilly stay home with them today so they can have a nice long talk about her obvious dis-establishmentarianism

and the way she treated Boris. Michael was like, 'I was so outta there,' for which who can blame him?

But things are definitely looking up because when we stopped by Ho's this morning before school to buy breakfast (egg sandwich for Michael; Ring Dings for me) he fully grabbed me while Lars was in the refrigerated section buying his morning