M

What happens in the bathroom, stays in the bathroom.

2010-05-16T20:01:00.001-07:00

I would be the worst supermodel ever. It's true. To start, I'm not exactly a gangly, gaunt tangle of limbs and sinew. I also don't have that particular type of skeletal ugly beauty that seems to be so popular.

Side note, my friend once compared having sex with extremely skinny people to f*cking a bag of antlers.

Anyway, my career limiting supermodelhood is not limited to my looks. It's also the shoes. I'm not sure how walking on two chopsticks and the tip of your big toes is possible, but doing it with the aggressive bashing that supermodels seem to be required to achieve would also be a challenge. I'm also kind of amazed they don't use supermodels in stilettos to drill for oil. But, you know, I'm an engineer. I think of these things.

Besides footwear and aesthetics, I just can't rock a fuzzy toilet seat cover. I can't. I wish I could.

My Mountain

2010-03-16T16:11:00.001-07:00

There's something about the first few steps up Mount Royal every spring that feels like coming home.
Mount Royal and I have been close for about seven years now. The very first time I went for a run was on Mount Royal. First 10k I ever ran was on Mount Royal. I started mountain biking there. I had my first major crash in the cemetery. I know every turn of every trail, every bump. I know it's 11.3km around the cross, and back down. I used to go to cross practice near the top, and do hill repeats up Camilien Houde. I know the steepest parts of the carriage path are the second turn and the short hill by Beaver Lake.
I went for my first spring run today. A lot of the path still has snow on it, and the going was slow, but it's like seeing an old friend. We fell back into a wordless rhythm, and I know there are good times ahead.

Mileage Markers

2010-03-14T20:01:00.000-07:00

Today was my tenth St Patrick's Day in Montreal. Granted, it's not really St Patrick's Day, but the parade Sunday is pretty well the de facto celebration. Somehow, I've been no more than 10 minutes away from the parade route nine times and never made it out. To the biggest parade in North America! So, this year, I decided it was time to finally do the parade thing.
Mistake the first was forgetting about daylight savings time, which meant that when I walked into the pub at 9am for breakfast, it was really 8am. Those who know me know that I am not a morning person. I am not a morning person to the point where I breathe fire and threaten bodily harm until I've had my first two cups of coffee. So trying to choke down a Guinness before noon did not go very well for me.
I made it down to the parade in the pissing rain and the freezing cold, and stood, shivering, on a corner, for approximately eight minutes until I ducked into the nearest pub.
I started off the morning with some of my oldest Montreal friends, but somehow as the day went on the crowd shifted to rugby folks. I played rugby last year, and I had fun, but I've decided not to play this year. Time commitment, financial commitment, not enough game time, injury... there were lots of reasons I decided not to play this year. By 4:00, everyone was wasted and having the time of their lives, and all I wanted to do was go home, change out of my cold and soaking socks, and take a nap.
I used to be the first person up for drinking before noon, and the last person to be bodily dragged out the door at 3am, but I guess I'm growing up. Damn.

Skating towards Silence

2010-02-07T20:11:00.000-08:00

I went for a run yesterday. As I was trucking through the park, a girl skated across my path. Strange part was, she was on the sidewalk. Stranger, it wasn't really all that icy.
I find the weather these days a little disconcerting. Facebook tells me that everyone on the East Coast of the States is getting hammered by an epic snowstorm, yet in Montreal we can see the grass. Don't get me wrong, it hasn't gotten warm enough for the snow to melt, but it has been windy enough that it's all blown away.
Montrealers take a certain pride in the harshness of the weather here, but lately we've been stunned into silence by the dump which dropped South of the border.
It makes me wonder about city bragging rights. Coldest winter, hottest summer, most snowfall, most rainfall, most crime, highest, second biggest Mardi Gras, most wild monkeys, best hockey team, meanest bouncers... all that's fine and good until your town gets dethroned by another city. Then you have to hang your head and bow to the perceived betterness or worseness of another city. Strangely, you rarely hear people boast about how great their city is. Pride seems to come from the crappiest parts of living in a town. New Yorkers take pride in how dangerous it is. People from Phoenix boast about how hot. Australians can get killed by everything, everywhere they go. But you never hear people say "hey, we've got a really nice park, you should move here."
I'm not sure what Montrealers are going to be saying on business calls to the States this week. Usually we start off with a fifteen minute "well, let me tell you about the weather," but we really don't have a leg to stand on this week.

Things I'm Bad At

2010-02-03T18:57:00.001-08:00

When I left for Australia, everyone was excited for me. The question I got most, though, was interesting.

"Ooh, are you going to go surfing?"

No. No! Why would I do that? Before leaving for Down Undah, I put in the effort to learn how to scuba dive. I bought a wet suit, snorkel, mask, and fins, and spent three days in the pool learning how to be neutrally buoyant. I figured this might be my one and only chance to see the Great Barrier Reef (coral bleaching and whatnot) and I wasn't going to miss it, come hell or high water (har).

Surfing is one of these activities I think you are just inevitably going to suck at when you start. You're going to fall. You're going to get tossed. You're going to get tumbled when you miss your wave (or whatever the slang is). There will be water up your nose. I'm sure that, with practice, you could get good at it, but the question is why? I live in Montreal. The closest ocean is six hours away. The closest surf is a plane ride. Surfing is about as useful a skill as knowing how to catch and fillet a penguin.

So, no, I didn't even attempt surfing. And I'm OK with that.

2010-01-31T14:20:00.001-08:00

I loved Australia. Let me just say that. I loved the heat, loved the people, loved the accent. I loved the sand, I loved the dingoes, I loved the water. The month I spent in Australia was probably the best stand-alone month of my life.

It would be impossible to pick a single highlight of the trip, and my natural voice is sardonic, so I’m going to be sardonic.

I was strongly urged, nay, commanded to visit Fraser Island. Fray-zah, as I am told it’s pronounced, is the world’s biggest sand island. You need a 4 wheel drive to get around. There are no paved roads, very few toilets, and the ocean is so rough that they tell you of your impending and guaranteed death should you stupidly try to swim in it. There are signs warning parents to keep hold of their kids. For all the stuff in Australia that can kill you, Fraser seems to have amassed a particularly potent and concentrated collection. I arranged a tour, and jostled and bumped my way out of the Brisbane Central Bus Terminal towards Fraser, a good three hours away. There was a friendly Korean couple with limited English, an Austrian godmother/godson pair, a young Australian couple, and the three most horrible bitches I’ve ever met in my life. Now, I realize there are many candidates for the title out there, but I really think I’m not exaggerating here. These girls were awful. The queen bee of the three was a bony, translucently pale blond from London, flanked by two admittedly beautiful brunettes from Brisbane. The type of girls who can float through life on looks alone, and apparently don’t have to learn things like “common courtesy” or “not being an evil bitch from hell.”

I must stop and say, before I continue on my tirade, that I loved Fraser Island, and made some lovely friends of my fellow travelers. Evil bitches from hell would not have ruined it for me.

So back to said Evil Hellbitches.

As we went around the 4 wheeler introducing ourselves, Hellbitch Minion 1 mentioned that she was getting married on the weekend. Congratulations, I said, you must be excited. She looked at me and shrugged. I asked about the wedding. “It’s small,” she said “only four people.” When I asked about who the four would be, she, and I can’t even make this up, put in her headphones and pretended to fall asleep. I know she was pretending because the 4 wheeler was about as comfortable to sleep in as a dryer full of cantaloupes. That was the extent of my conversation with the Evil Hellbitches, which is pretty incredible, considering that I spent the next 72 hours crammed into a vehicle the size of a minivan with them, and shared a room with them at night. They, quite simply, did not want to interact with anyone that wasn’t them.

The first thing we did when we got to Fraser was go to Lake Wobby. Lake Wobby is a freshwater lake full of fish that will eat the dead skin off your feet. People, apparently, pay lots of money for this in fancy salons in Asia. I, personally, am skeeved out by this, but really enjoyed the swim and the sand. Our ubiquitously Australian tour guide suggested we stroll up to Lake Wobby barefoot. It turned out to be a 2.6km walk away, and the sandy path had the occasional uncomfortably pointy stick hiding in it. But it was worth the walk, even with the blisters on my feet ripping open and bleeding (don’t worry, I’ll save the graphic detail for another post… stay tuned!). The sky was blue, the trees were green, and the water was lovely. Queen Evil Hellbitch, however, could not agree less. She moaned all the way up and all the way down. And for the next two days, she complained about Lake Wobby. Every time we would set off to walk to something else, she would cross her bony arms, narrow her eyes accusingly, and ask if this was going to be like Lake Wobby. She suffered more than anyone else on the planet has ever suffered. The world was against her, and she made sure we all knew it. When she was perched in the passenger’s seat up front while the rest of us jostled around in the back, she was the one moaning from motion sickness. When we went to the beach, she was the only one who got sand in her suit, and that sand was specifically of a variety particularly irritating to her pale, squishy, English bum. The sun burnt her alone.

The thing I could not understand was why exactly, if sand and sun were so irritating to her, she would come to the world’s largest sand island. They don’t really hide the fact that it’s an island made entirely of sand in the promotional material.

I will post soon about how fantastic Fraser Island is next, I promise.

wine (without the "h" for once)

2010-01-27T19:47:00.000-08:00

I just got back from a month in Australia. It was fantastic, sandy, hot, sunny, salty, and all in all probably the best trip of my life. It'd be difficult to pick out a highlight of the trip, but wine tasting in the Hunter is definitely one of them.

Know what I learned? "Wine tasting" is really "getting drunk for free."

I had my days, in university, of Notre Vin Maison. Notre Vin Maison was my introduction to red wine. At $6 a bottle, this "table wine" is drastically overpriced. I've had balsamic vinegar that was less acrid. But it was cheap, I was young, and so Notre Vin Maison it was. It was a step into the real wine territory I left behind after my Wild Vines days (otherwise known as "booze for two-year-olds"). Over the years, I evolved to Taja, a Spanish red of some sort or another, and probably the first decent bottle of wine I ever bought. I discovered Masi and pinot noir, cabernet and Jacob's Creek. I wouldn't say my palate became refined, but Notre Vin Maison slunk its way out of my collection.

But, as my acceptable per-bottle price crept into the double digits, I never really got interested in white wines. I had a glass here and there, but just couldn't get past the dry papery feeling in my mouth. But in the Hunter, since it was free, I drank white wine. After 5 or 10 glasses, it starts to get really good! I did honestly discover a few new types of wine that I enjoy... I tend towards the sweeter whites; reislings, traminers, and gewürztraminers (I really just like saying "gewürztraminer"). Not to yammer on about my wine tastes, really, but I was surprised at how much fun you can have toodling around on a bike and getting lit.

Wait, really? That surprised me? Nah, it didn't.

quack

2010-01-26T20:30:00.000-08:00

I am back. Sort of. Maybe? Let's giv 'er a whirl, shall we?

I have become a fan of Mondays. Don't get me wrong, dragging my sorry self out of bed at some pre-dawn hour to shuffle off to work is not, you know, my preferred activity, but I have discovered a remedy.

Beer.

My routine is set in stone. It's fossilized at this point. If I drag myself through Monday, I leave work and go to yoga. My yoga community has become like my family here. Sometimes I love them, sometimes I hate them, but I know they'll always be there. When I first started doing yoga, I was pretty sure that the Sunday morning teacher could smell the hangover on me (probably could) and I was the only one in the room emitting it. Wrong with a capital "rong." I was, mistakenly, under the impression that yoga people ate vegan, drank no caffeine, pondered the Yoga Sutras, and meditated fifteen hours a day (those people exist, more on that later). My yoga people are not like that. We are a loud, beer-soaked, foul-mouthed group of people. Granted, predominantly women, but I get a kick and a half out of sitting around and cracking up with them. I'm not the kind of woman who feels overly comfortable in large groups of women, and if you told me five years ago I'd make the decision that I get along better with 8 yogis than my rugby team, I would have laughed in your face. But I do.

So Monday is now not my least favorite day of the week. But, as a result, Tuesday morning isn't the height of awesome, either...

So Mondays I get to go to the pub and shoot the shit with my people.

M is...

2008-09-30T19:37:00.000-07:00

I've noticed, since I joined facebook, that I've started to think of myself in the third person. I also seem to constantly be telling myself what I'm doing.
I remember reading a blog post about a girl who had started thinking to herself in "lolspeak" during the lolcats craze. "I'm in ur bafroom, uzin ur floz." "I'm in ur kichen, nawt replacin de milks." I think I'm doing the same thing with my facebook status.
In the morning;
"M is... really not feeling like going to work today."
"M is... considering calling in dead."
"M is... getting in her car."

It continues all day.

"M is... thinking a coffee break would be nice."
"M is... wishing she were outside!"
"M is... considering stabbing herself in the eye with a fork."

Any song lyrics I hear seem to be the perfect fodder for facebook status updates.
"M is... stopping the hearse on George Street, outside some damn saloon."
"M is... even better than the real thing."
"M is... wondering how many thousands of dollars of titanium she could steal from this place before they caught her." Wait. Disregard that. Definitely not a song lyric.
"M is... back in black."

After work.
"M is... f*cking tired."
"M is... going running."
"M is... giving up on the run and wandering around aimlessly."
"M is... scooping tomatoes into her dinner."

But, I do make it a firm rule not to update my status too often. One of my friends is perpetually updating his status, as often as every five minutes. My news feed tells me everything he does, from arriving at brunch, to the topic of conversation over brunch, to paying for brunch, to leaving brunch, to the gas he passed after brunch.
I don't want to tell you people that much about me. I have to maintain the mystery.

(Yes, it's been a while. I'm trying to get back on the horse.)

They don't make 'em like they used to

2008-03-19T21:41:00.001-07:00

I am currently 280 some odd pages into East of Eden. What a fabulous book.

Steinbeck spins the plot lazily and carefully, developing the characters individually and in the context of each other. It's refreshing to read a book that I feel like if I put it down now, I would still walk away with something... depth and emotion of the characters, understanding of a time... of course, I can't put it down. It is a book written from another time, just on the brink of the modern era, where time didn't matter so much. Nobody watches the clock in East of Eden, and life just flows lazily past.

And, I'm totally hopped up on cold meds, which makes me kinda loopy.

And on the umpteenth day, God created Xenith.

2008-01-17T21:10:00.000-08:00

I took a break from blogging because I thought I was losing something. My early posts were funny. Well, maybe not to others, but I sure cracked myself up. And that's all I really care about.
But somewhere along the way, I kind of lost track of things, and myself in the process. It's got nothing to do with the interweb, but in the last two and a half years, my life has slowly gotten away from me. So it's time to tear some things down and build some things up and try to get back to somewhere that I can once again wax philosophic on the advantages and disadvantages of growing a third arm.

That being said, you may from now on refer to me as Xenith. That's my American Gladiator name. Not Xena, warrior princess, but Xenith... which is like Zenith but cooler because it has an X instead of a Z.
When I was a kid in the mid-ninties, I used to watch the American Gladiators. I freakin' LOVED it. I wanted nothing more than to run through the Gauntlet in a pink spandex suit while pursued by fifteen steroid-pumped women with pecs bigger than my calves. That was my dream... to fight with giant Q-tips, to dodge tennis balls fired at me from afar, to roll around in a giant hamster ball. Joy is a giant hamster ball.
But alas, the hour-long television drama rolled around, and gone were the days of the Gladiator. And I graduated from high school and university, got a few jobs, and suddenly I'm 26 and don't know why I'm doing it any more.

Finally, I have a reason to live! American Gladiators is back on! The likes of Malibu have been replaced by Wolf and Helga, but I have to hand it to the producers for keeping to the original feel of the show.... just plain, old-fashioned trash talking and running into each other. Oh, and this time.... they added fire.

2008-01-10T15:46:00.000-08:00

I am.

still.

conversational landmines

2007-09-01T14:49:00.000-07:00

Wow, seriously, that post from two years ago is heating up now! Anonymous vs. Anonymous... the battle of nameless, faceless posters!

I was thinking the other day about how there are certain things that I will just never ask someone. There are certain loaded questions that I think it's nobody's business to ask, due to the potential landmine the answer may be. The thing that surprises me is the nonchalance and flip manner that people ask each other these things.
Par example;

"Why haven't you guys had kids yet?"
This is a bombshell. I have, in the last three years, have had three friends miscarry (that I know about). It is an extremely difficult and emotionally wrenching experience to go through, and one that most people prefer to go through with only their closest family and friends. You can never know if a couple is unable to conceive, has discovered a health problem in their genetic line, or just had an unfortunate miscarriage. It is also none of anyone's business but theirs.

"When are you two going to finally get married?"
Same goes here. People these days may not be marriage people, or one person may be pushing the other person to pop the question... this is so potentially loaded, I can't believe how flip people are with asking it.

"Why don't you drink?"
Man, let me tell you. Of my friends who don't drink, here are the reasons.
- I lost a family member to alcoholism.
- I have a lot of alcoholics in my family, and I don't want to be like them.
- I am an alcoholic.
Do people think this is something someone they don't know well enough to know these things about wants to share with them?

Anyway, all this to say, think twice before asking people about these potential landmines... does anyone know any other bombshells people rattle off like it's conversation about the weather?

To the Bride and Groom

2007-08-02T15:03:00.000-07:00

First things first... I got my first random hate comment! It's on my old blog, from a post dated 2005, but it's there nonetheless... and on my birthday, too! Check it out.

Back to our regularly scheduled "winge-ing," whatever that is. I wouldn't want to disappoint!

My friend N married R this weekend. I was maid of honour and had to give a little speech. I scratched my head for days trying to figure out what to talk about. Then, I had an idea! N is a Montrealer, born and bred, and R is American. Easy-peasey! Here's what I said.

N and R, I am so honoured to be here on your wedding day. I wish you both a long, happy life together.
As most of you know, we are not only joining two families today, but two countries. As someone who has spent the formative years of her life in both the US and Canada, I feel it is only fair to offer you both some pearls of wisdom and words of warning.
R, you must learn how to cope when the snot in your nose and the tears in your eyes freeze. You must also learn how to answer seemingly endles questions about living in igloos and being the 51st state.
N, you should learn to recite the pledge of allegiance.
R, you should learn to sing "Hockey Night in Canada."
N, you must learn that if you follow a searing insult with the phrase "bless your heart," it's no harm, no foul. Example: "well, you're just as dumb as a brick, bless your heart."
R, you should learn that if someone calls you a "tete carre," it does not mean a "nice young man."
N, you will have to get used to being asked for ID, because you'll be carded til you're 65.
R, you should be ready for when the waiter offers your child the wine list in his high chair.
N, you need to watch all the Saved By the Bell reruns, including the "I'm so excited" episode.
R, you should rent all the seasons of DeGrassi Junior High on DVD, to gain an appreciation for such iconic groups as Zit Remedy.
N, you should learn that the beer here in the States is like being in a canoe; it's near water. (note: the original joke is "how is American beer like having sex in a canoe? It's fucking near water!" but I figured that wouldn't fly with the grandparentals.)
R, you need to consider that if the speed limit is 100, it's 100 kilometers per hour, not 100 miles per hour.
N, you should be prepared for your town to shut down for any of the following reasons: a high school football game, a college football game, a strawberry festival, or a 4H club show.
N, you should learn that Smarties are not chocolate candies akin to M&Ms, but small round sugar candies given out on Halloween.
R, the capital is Ottawa, not Toronto.
N, remember that once you cross the Mason-Dixon line, all bets are off, because you're in the South (sorry, Suley!).
R, you should be prepared... when the US Economy sneezes, the Canadian economy catches ebola.
N, you might want to consider carrying a gun.
R, you should get used to your army consisting of two Tonka trucks and a BB gun.

The Rabbi warned us yesterday that on their wedding day, the bride and groom are royalty, and can do no wrong. Well, R, that's all fine and good, but for you, it expires at midnight. For N, it's good FOREVER.

All the best to you both.

I think it went pretty well.

our bad

2007-06-12T17:44:00.000-07:00

I am moving to a new position at work at the beginning of July, so I am enjoying a nice period of lame-ducking. Quack, quack, swim in circle, quack. It's working out for me. And I've been having what I haven't had for a long time... fun at work. This is directly linked to not doing my job, but that's neither here nor there.

Today, I feel like I outdid myself. My friend R is a upstanding young Englishman. I always get quite a kick out of finding out how the American revolution was taught in British schools. As American schoolchildren, we are taught that the poor, oppressed Puritans hopped the puddle so they could have religious freedom. They hung out with some native people, planted some corn, ate some turkey, and all was good. Then, the big bad British Empire came and tried to tax the poor, nice Puritans. Bad British Empire! All they wanted was to worship freely! They weren't an extremist cult, or anything like that! Anyway, a while later, we threw some tea in the Boston Harbor as an act of patriotic defiance, Paul Revere went for a trot at midnight, some guys wrote a Constitution, McDonalds started making Freedom Fries, SUVs were born, and the rest is history.

Rich's version of the American Revolution? "Yeah, you guys got whiny about taxes or something, and then threw our tea in the water, so we decided... meh. And went home."

I decided that there have been far too many years of misunderstanding and poor communication, so I decided to right it. I wrote R a letter.

Dear Mr. R,
We, the People of the United States of America do sincerely apologize for throwing your tea in the Boston Harbor (H-A-R-B-O-R, not H-A-R-B-O-U-R). We realize it was not very nice, but in our defence, you were really pissing us off. All we wanted to do was create a society where rich, white, xenophobic zealots could have democracy and religious freedom. And by "Democracy" we mean "if it's convenient for rich, white, xenophobic zealots," and by "religious freedom," we mean "as long as it's Protestant." We did think that by saying "all men are created equal," we were clear that we meant "all rich, white men are created equal, and everyone else can go to hell," but I guess we will just chalk that up to growing pains. Anyway, we know you were really counting on using us as a mill for materials, but it really was not convenient to us. But about the tea, we really do feel sorry about that. So please accept this Earl Grey teabag as an apology. We hope you enjoy the F-L-A-V-O-R.

Our bad.
The Citizens of the United States of America.

Maybe I'm an asshat. But I sure made myself giggle.

hijab and women's sports

2007-04-19T20:25:00.000-07:00

Walking home from a vegan meal at one of my favourite restaurants this evening, I had a heated debate with my friend T about recent activity surrounding a girls' soccer league in Quebec. The issue is the league has a rule that players are not allowed to wear anything on their heads, and a Muslim girl who wears hijab wants to play in the league, wearing her veil. The league, on the basis of the rule, has told her she must remove her hijab. The debate, as I'm sure you can understand, rages on.

I have strong feelings on the subject, although I'm not entirely sure what they are.

T strongly feels that if you want to join a group, you are signing up to abide by the group's rules. In his opinion, making an exception to a rule so that a Muslim girl can wear hijab, is the same as allowing a fundamentalist Christian to be excepted from a college curriculum for music which includes music by homosexual authors with homosexual themes.

The North American society is flawed in many, many ways, however I think the intent of the American Constitution is a good one (I'm not too familiar with Canadian founding principles). The idea that we can all live and function together, separating religion from the governance of the country yet still allowing religious freedom, is a pretty good one. That a Muslim girl can learn and succeed alongside an atheist and a Jew is pretty amazing. I also think that Democracy, in its true state, is pretty amazing. Today's blurred definitions of Democracy aside, the principle is sound.

However, Muslim women are immigrating to this continent for the first time from places which are not so privileged. I do NOT believe that it is the place of our governing bodies, be it the Police, the Army, or a soccer league board, to decide how people can and can't practice their religions. Unless the practice of a religion is harmful to another human, is derogatory to another human, or impedes on another in any way, I do not think it is the place of a ruling group to determine this. I think that racists, homophobes, and people with religious prejudices have a right to their opinion and their beliefs, and a right to gather and demonstrate. I think they are WRONG, but that is my opinion. However, I think that gay bashing, shouting racial slurs, and religious persecution are all reprehensible hate crimes and should be punished accordingly.

That being said, I take the example of a Muslim woman who asked to be exempted from a nude drawing class at her university, which was a mandatory part of the curriculum, for her religious beliefs. I do not think she should be exempted. University is voluntary education, and the university cannot ethically sign off on a degree stating that she has completed the requisite coursework of the arts program without the nude drawing component. As a counterpoint, I do think that a Muslim parent should be allowed to remove their child from classes in high school covering nudist art. High school is mandated by the state, where university is strictly voluntary.

Many recent Muslim immigrants are trying to find a way to make their home culture and our North American culture work together. Unless it is a bonafide question of safety, I do not think it impedes a girl's ability to play soccer on her team if she is wearing a veil. How is fair for a soccer league to decide who does and does not have access to team sports?

I think the beauty of our system lies in our ability to question it. Once we lose the forum to question the ruling bodies that we, as an electoral population, have put in place, we lose everything.

Thoughts?

but... I'm an idiot!

2007-04-03T18:58:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that I don't particularly love my job. I am well aware that I make good money and am able to afford to live much more comfortably than a lot of people ever will, and I don't take that for granted. But at the end of the day, I feel like I'm working for the enemy; my company is not particularly green, and our product, as a whole, doesn't do much to help the greater good. That being said, I have *sigh* restarted my job hunt.

However, sometimes the job hunts you.

Like today. I was innocently sitting at my desk, mourning the end of my coffee (truly the second-worst part of every day, the worst being the five minute metro ride with traffic... very crowded), when the phone rang. Long story short, it was one of my suppliers, offering me a core position in their company. What?
No, really, what?
Apparently they haven't figured out, from our few meetings and regular phone conversations, that I'm only 25, and don't have the experience to take on that kind of role. I also am an idiot.

Certifiable.

Here are some examples of how I'm an idiot.
- I continually knock over drinks. Only when I'm sober tho.
- I have more toys in my apartment than I do chairs.
- I drink more beer than I do juice.
- I take sick days to go for bike rides.
- I do this on Wednesdays. By myself.
- My favourite movies include (but are not limited to) Wayne's World, Mortal Kombat, Happy Feet, Dr Strangelove, and various mountain bike movies involving guys riding giant bikes hucking themselves off cliffs.
- I think poo is funny. Really funny.
- I write postcards on my feet.
- I giggle quietly (and not so quietly) to myself at various times in the day when people say things that a twelve year old would find funny (ie, "you can have a two way with a nozzle and an orifice, or a three-way with two nozzles and one orifice, or a three-way with one nozzle and two orifices, or a four-way with two nozzles and two orifices or...." had me almost in tears. As did the lesson at university about effective head.)
- I usually have one of these with me.
- Yawning dogs make for hysterical laughter.
- If I'd passed all my classes in university, I could have graduated almost a year early.

I should put this all on my resume. For sure I'd get more offers.

I like to laugh

2007-03-24T13:57:00.000-07:00

OK, I'm going to have to admit it. I have had two brief forays into internet dating. Neither have been particularly successful. I've had two perfectly tolerable evenings with two perfectly nice guys that were perfectly wrong for me.
I have to admit, there haven't been many profiles that have sparked my interest. I'm a no-bullshit type of chick, and someone who is looking for someone "to take salsa lessons with," well, really isn't going to work for me. And the guys looking to ride up the mountain on a sunday afternoon... unless you're planning on bombing down the singletrack with me, no go. There are the guys who start off with "I have a good job," or "I'm very successful," and include a picture of them in a leather jacket leaning against some fancy car.... no. Honestly, I give up. Internet dating just isn't for me.
But the thing that just kills me is these guys who describe their ideal girl as someone who "likes to laugh." I've been looking for the profile of that person who "hates all things laughter associated," and I haven't run across it yet. If laughter is such an important criteria, there must be people who don't like it. There must be people who have profiles that say "I'm looking for a plain-looking, slightly overweight girl to watch paint dry with me, and watch WWII documentaries with. Must hate to laugh, and avoid it at all costs."
I'm having a lazy Saturday, and am sitting on my ass watching TV and drinking coffee. I just saw a commercial for funereal services, and this woman was talking about how happy she is that she got to choose her music and the particulars of her service. "I picked music that I thought really represented me. Like the Eagle's Hotel California, and Gloria Gaynor's I Will Survive. I'm someone who loves to laugh." First of all, playing "I Will Survive" at a funeral seems like a bit of a tasteless joke. I'm not saying I wouldn't do it, but that's my sense of humour. But if I were describing myself, I'd never say "I love to laugh." I might say, "I have a bit of an unusual, dry, twisted sense of humour..." but I wouldn't put "laughing" as one of my activities.
Anyway, just a thought.

enough!!

2007-03-15T20:45:00.000-07:00

Enough! I have had it! The weather, she's making me crazy!

What to do, what to do......

I am going to rectify this situation. Come Monday, there will be details.

the latest and gre.... worst.

2007-03-05T19:18:00.000-08:00

*edit*

I decided to remove the posts on this particular subject because... well, nothing is ever really private on the internet, and I wouldn't want my family to read the things I've been saying.

doors, modern natural selection

2007-02-14T14:05:00.000-08:00

I've been taking public transit for two years to get to work. I have a car, but hug a tree and all that.
About two weeks ago, I boarded the metro and waited for the doors to close. As they slid closed, a guy with his pouffy hair was swaggering towards the metro (henceforth referred to as "Brilliance"). Not one to be thwarted by something silly like the door closing, Brilliance charged the doors, and got his shoulders stuck. He violently shook and managed to shove his upper body into the train, but got his foot stuck in the door. Brilliance figured the best way out of this particular predicament was to jump and kick the door with his unstuck foot. He liberated his trapped foot, but in the process jarred the doors. The metro operators will slam the doors open and closed very quickly to allow people to pull stuck bags/children/limbs from between them, but that is definately not a time that a levelheaded member of society would choose to get on or off the metro. Well, Brilliance had jarred the doors so badly that they were stuck open about three inches, and wouldn't open or close. Rolling my eyes, I nudged the door with my foot, and it slid closed.
Then, from the other end of the metro, there was a big commotion. The doors were firmly closed, but there was a crowd clearly upset about something. It seems that an older gentleman, who I shall henceforth refer to as "Shuffles" (no particular reason, it just seems funny) decided to use Brilliance's getting the doors stuck to leave the metro. Somehow, and to this day I don't understand how, he managed to get his head stuck in the doors. This was all going on in the last car of the metro. I suppose the operator couldn't see what was going on, but was quite fed up with opening and closing the doors and wasn't going to do it anymore. So, people were yelling and trying to pry the doors off Shuffles' neck, as he was screaming and generally freaking out. After about 30 seconds of wrestling with the doors (which I am now convinced are operated by industrial-grade hydraulics) someone pulled the emergency stop lever, and after another fifteen seconds or so, the doors slid open.
The operator was more than annoyed about having to come and inspect what was going on, but we eventually got underway, leaving Shuffles staggaring about the platform.
About two hours later, as I was heading to my friend's place for a late dinner, I hopped on a city bus. Behind me was a man who I'll call Squishy. Squishy was carrying two grocery bags and a pizza box. He was obviously excited about his pizza. I would be, too. Pizza is good. He moved towards the back of the bus and stood near the rear door. The right door of the two doors opens along a rail, with a pole at the end. As the bus started moving, Squishy decided to rest his pizza on the rail. The first stop passed uneventfully, but at the second stop, someone, who I will not nickname, decided to exit the bus from the rear. As the doors slid open, Squishy's pizza slid along the rail and got trapped between the door and the pole. I guess the doors don't close unless they have opened all the way first, so Squishy's pizza was firmly trapped. He pulled and pushed on his pizza box with both hands, to no avail. Growing more desperate, he redoubled his efforts. The box folded like a taco. Sauce dripping out the sides, and cheese, I'm sure, sliding towards the middle of his magled pizza. As I watched his face fall in the way only someone who was excited about food now ruined can, I realized something.

Lesson learned; respect the door.

spiraling

2007-02-11T17:59:00.000-08:00

*edit*

The way things go

2007-02-04T13:45:00.000-08:00

*edit*

Like a Dead Man Walking

2006-09-29T11:15:00.000-07:00

I'm outta here!

Oh, who am I kidding... nobody reads this anymore, anyway. Maybe I'll come back. Maybe I won't. But for the time being, I'm gone gone gone.

2006-09-23T13:19:00.000-07:00

OK, fine, you're right, I'm a bitch.

Ah well.

ouch

2006-09-17T19:36:00.000-07:00

Maybe someone can help me be objective here.

This weekend, one of my coworkers organized a mountain biking weekend in East Burke, Vt. About three weeks ago, he sent an email out saying he was having a hard time filling the cabin. So, I forwarded it on to two of my biking buddies, M and J. M and J are a couple who introduced me to East Burke and have since moved almost two hours away. They wrote back and said that they couldn't that weekend, but would be in touch about when they would be in Montreal next.

So I went to East Burke.

We had an epic ride yesterday, and after about 35k, I was exhausted and out of water, so I headed out with two of the group to get some lunch and chill out for a bit. Rolling back and chatting on the road, about 100m from my house, I stopped.

Parked in the road, was their car.
No, I didn't mistake it. They have some pretty distinct stickers on it (ie, "your sport sucks").

They actually came to East Burke, six hours from home, on the weekend I invited them, and didn't even so much as CALL?
So I left a nasty note on their windshield. "M/J, POOR FORM! I can't believe you're in East Burke! If you don't come by the cabin to say hi before you leave YOU ARE ON MY SHIT LIST!" I drew a map, and left it under their windshield wiper. I had a leisurely lunch and headed back to the trails.
When I got back, their car was gone. The people who had stayed at the cabin said they hadn't stopped by. I checked my cell, they hadn't called.

I honestly can't come up with a single plausable explaination for this except that they just didn't want to see me.

So, ouch.

But I don't want to end on a sour note. It was a great weekend. I rode some 70km of trail. I felt like myself again. I smuggled 4 bottles of wine and a six-pack of Woodchuck back into Canada. All this for eighty bucks? I can't complain!

2006-09-13T18:39:00.000-07:00

Today was not a good day.

Someone opened up fire in a cegep in downtown Montreal, killing one woman and injuring something like 12 other people. He was then shot by police.

Earlier this week, someone opened fire in a hotel in Toronto a friend of mine was staying at.

A lot of my friends went to Dawson. Thankfully, they're all older now, but 10,000 parents had a moment of terror today. And someone lost a daughter.

What is the world coming to?

why you little....

2006-09-06T19:11:00.000-07:00

It's no secret that I hate doing dishes. Loathe. Despise. With all that I am and all that I will be.
But, this summer, after The Great Roommate Fiasco of 2006, I made a pledge to myself.

I, M, hereby solemnly swear that there will be no fruit flies in my kitchen this summer.

A perfectly spic and span kitchen, for me, is an unattainable goal. But a weekly spritz and wipe of the counters, dishes every other day (or so), and a general putting-awayness... this was a goal I thought I could succeed at.
And I did! I did, for four months, no fruit flies! Then, along came last night. A quick bowl of chili on the way out the door, and a moment of carelessnes... a pot and a can left out, unrinsed.
And this morning, the telltale cloud. 15 or 20 of those little bastards must have been just lying in wait for me to make a mistake. Waiting, watching, plotting... ever so patiently. Then, they fly in while I'm not looking, have a mad orgy and BAM! I wake up in the morning and there's a damn army of them.

I have failed, ladies and gentlemen. God help us all.

back (baby's got)

2006-08-30T19:21:00.000-07:00

YO!!
I am back. Wired, cabled, and civilized, at long bloody last. Joy!
So much to tell, so many half-composed entries in my head that, well, will probably stay there. Half-composed. But hey, better half-composed than half-decomposed.

I went to BC for my friend's wedding in August, and had a moment of clarity. Not at the wedding, but halfway down Freight Train at Whistler. I have to live there. I have to move to BC.
So, I have a fifteen-month (fourteen-month now, I guess) plan to pack up, get out, and not look back. I'm reaching my end of tolerance for Montreal.

Stories to follow. Go check out my new pics. Soon, I'll actually be able to edit them, and stuff!

2006-08-22T18:30:00.000-07:00

I am getting ye olde internet installed on Tuesday. I will return (with a vengance!) then.

Oh, and I'm gonna move to BC. More later.

2006-07-25T19:09:00.000-07:00

I had a dream last night that I was fighting with the passenger in my car and made an illegal left turn at a T intersection and took out a car and some pedestrians.

It was a bad dream, and I've felt guilty all day.

I can't turn on the news any more. I can't hear about children dying in the rubble. I can't hear about the impending death of our planet. I can't hear about the latest health crisis. I can't. I am too weak to change anything for the better.

heels: of my feet, on my feet, and me.

2006-07-20T14:39:00.000-07:00

Heels.
Fucking heels.
I am hereby putting my foot down. All of it. At the same time.
No more heels.

My dear friend H is going to be blissfully wed in 2 and a half weeks, and Saturday was her stagette. The last staggette I went on I ended up laughing in the face of some guy who tried to convince me that he was a running back for the Als. Then I got picked up by a cabbie. (Rephrase: a cabbie tried to pick me up.)

Would that this had been so tame.
In summary, there was a mop. There was a ruler. There were massages and imitations of bracing-for-impact poo position. There were matching waiters. There were marbles. There was $130 that materialized from said marbles. There were strippers. There was a bottle of expensive port consumed straight from the bottle in a park full of junkies. There were hookers. So. Many. Hookers. (Not an invited part of the party or anything... just who you have to weave through when you're walking home from the strip club at 4am.)
And there were the heels.
Now I am a strict hoodie/jeans type of girl. But I decided that, because I love H so much and she is a pointy shoes/cropped pants/fitted jacket/makeup type of girl, I would, get this, dress up. Skirt and heels. Well, I lasted the walk over to where we were meeting before dinner before my feet were bleeding. Literally bleeding. This did not bode well for the evening, so I borrowed some flip flops, and managed to survive (the alcohol dulled the pain so I didn't realize that the flip flops were causing their own bleedy spots). On waking up on Sunday, I had throbbing pain. It was in my head and was due to the hangover, but my feet hurt too. So this makes me throughly anti-heel. Fuck it, I am not going to have broken feet when I am 80 so that I can wear so-called "cute" shoes now.
Fast forward to Tuesday. It's about 90 and humid, and I don't have summer work clothes. I'm fed up with sweating through lunch every day. And although I don't think it's overly appropriate, screw it. I'm wearing sandals to work. So I went to buy some new ones. The salesman was perhaps the most aggressive and, well, stupid salesman I've ever dealt with. I'm going to paraphrase the conversation.
M: Hi, I'd like to try these in an 8 1/2. (holds up brown flat sandals)
Pushy Salesman: How about a 9?
M: No, I'm pretty sure I'm an 8, 8 1/2 at the most.
PS: How about black?
M: No, I'm pretty set on brown.
PS: Why?
M: Because I like brown.
PS: What's wrong with black?
M: Well, most of my clothes are brown.
PS: You can wear black shoes with brown pants.
M: I'd rather not.
PS: Why?
M: My mom told me you shouldn't.
PS: Well, I wear black shoes with brown pants all the time and people tell me I look great.
M: I'm really set on brown.
PS: (huffy) fine.
*Brings out shoes in a black 8 and a brown 9. The black 8 fits, the brown 9 doesn't.*
M: Well, do you have any other BROWN shoes you could reccomend?
PS: How about these? (holds up brown heel sandal thingies)
M: No, I don't really want a heel.
PS: Why not?
(oh hell, do I have to go through this again?)
M: I just don't want a heel.
PS: But these are comfortable! I tried them on. They don't hurt at all.
(M gives PS a kind of "seriously, dude?" look)
PS: I try on all the heels. It's so I can tell women if they hurt or not.
M: OK, well, nonetheless, I don't want heels.
(M eventually finds a pair of flat brown shoes on sale. Without help.)
M: I think I'll take these. They're 25% off the lowest price, right?
PS: I guess. Do you want the discount?
M: No, I think I'd rather pay full price (thinking this is an obviously sarcastic remark).
PS: (rings up the shoes at full price)
M: Are you serious?
PS: You said you didn't want the discount.
M: I. Want. The. Discount.

This, right here, is why I don't go shopping. The guys at the bike shop aren't like this.

flashback to grade six

2006-07-20T08:09:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in the airport, the cell I borrowed ringing off the hook. I'm going to be FOUR HOURS late to a meeting because I thought I lost my passport this morning and missed my flight.
Chalk this up to another doopid thing I've done this week.

global citizen

2006-07-13T20:33:00.000-07:00

I'm finding living in this day and age to be frustrating. So much goes into every single decision I make; trying to not make things worse is draining.

Coffee? Gotta be fair trade.
Fruit? Should be locally grown and organic... which do you sacrifice if you can't have both? Eat something that's full of chemicals, but that didn't burn more than 50x its weight in gas to get here?
Cleaning supplies? Should be earth-friendly, but they're more expensive and don't work as well.
Toronto for the weekend? I want to take the train to save the fuel, but it's cheaper and faster and more convenient to drive.
Late for work in the morning? Should ride my bike, but my car will get me there on time.
Saving my money? Threw it all into nameless mutual funds, then realized I don't know what companies I'm supporting. Need to find a financial advisor who understands my hangups.
Grocery shopping? Fresh spinach is packaged in heavy plastic, as is everything else you want to buy; from herbs to potato chips.
Colourful inexpensive sweater? Made in China by 4 year olds.

My job isn't making the world a better place, and at every turn something I'm doing is hurting someone else. I just want to exist, and leave no impact.

Any suggestions?

A list

2006-07-08T09:05:00.000-07:00

Top ten things that have happened since I posted last.

10) Purchased my ticket to BC for friends' wedding in 4 weeks.
9) Finally took a day off work. Was reprimanded for not emailing in an update at 7:45am. Calmly explained that I was on top of Mt Washington and, gosh, the wireless was down that day.
8) Hiked Mt Washington. Got into a very potentially bad situation on the hike down (Huntington Ravine)
7) Learned that ego/testosterone driven boys should not be allowed to pick the trail alone. And that when the topo lines on the map all mush into one red blur, it's probably freakin' steep.
6) Learned that one should ALWAYS have a rope that can static weight 200lbs on it when hiking. ALWAYS.
5) Made two new and awesome work friends. Happy to have like-minded individuals to lunch with in the sea of plaid and sized-up iron rings on fat fingers.
4) Went to Boston for the weekend for 4th of July. Discovered the BEST BAR EVER, got riproaring drunk, and ended up listening to how some guy named Barry saved the Canadian Navy from certain death.
3) Completely lost my cool in a meeting on Wednesday and spent Thursday and Friday expecting to be fired. Got a raise instead.
2) Spoke some French, osti.
1) Decided to buy the Nikon D50. Today. Because I can't handle not owning it anymore.

I need internet. But it's going to be a few more months now because I'm going to be paying for that silly camera. But, oh, is it going to be worth it.

bulletin!

2006-07-03T22:35:00.000-07:00

Before you ask, for those of you who read post secret and know me....

No, it wasn't my postcard.

Yes, this was worth booting up my computer at 1:30am to write.

bum!

2006-06-23T09:35:00.000-07:00

It is F1 weekend in Montreal.

&*$%#^&%^*. This is how I feel.

F1 weekend is the most utterly chaotic, rediculous show of consumerism and excess you will ever see in your life. Truly. All week, the traffic flows into town like molasses. Ferraris, Porsches, Mazerattis (which I can't even spell), and the occasional T-Rex clog the bridges. You can't ride your bike anywhere because you can't breathe the air (and if you could, you'd probably get run over by a disoriented tourist anyway). There are big-haired tire chasers from down south, and businessmen with so much money they don't know what to do with it. There are gold-digging women in slinky dresses. Streets are shut down. Beer companies are dying to get a piece. The whole thing just makes me sick.
My original plan was to trek down to Maine for the weekend and go biking. Rolling, paved roads and less pollution. But that fell through at the last minute and now I'm stuck, like a gerbil wrestlying a porcupine. Perhaps tomorrow I'll go camping, but for tonight I'll be in the city for sure. However, there is an upside to this. There is a plan! There is action. The main money-soaked street of clubs in Montreal, Crescent St, is closed to traffic this week. The bars set up outdoor terraces and the whole place is just clogged with people. Jacques Villeneuve owns a bar there (NewTown) and most of the race teams set up tents. The place is full of wannabe high-rollers trying to show off. I am going to go tonight. I am going to not shower, I'm going to wear my dirtiest clothes, and I am going to beg for money. (Side story, I was planning this yesterday with a friend, and he was sad that he'd be less convincing, as he'd just shaved and had a haircut. "Don't worry," I reassured him "I've seen plenty of shaved bums.") I'm sure if I go late enough at night that I can hoarde a few hundred dollars at least. Whether I'll use it to pay off my Visa bill, or donate to an environmental charity, I don't know, but I'm going to go, damnit. I think. Or I'll just stay out of the way. But the concept of going out and begging on Crescent St really amuses me.

In other news, I've been tagged. TAGGED, I say! Oh, the humanity! Fine. I will humour your tagging because I am having a lazy St Jean Baptiste Friday and am feeling mellow. But don't think you're not marked, DO YOU HEAR ME???

5 Items in my Fridge
Peanut sauce, stir fry from about two weeks ago, various curry pastes, a few blocks of tofu, and a few bottles of J's home brew that, I admit, I'm scared to drink.

5 Items in my Closet
Camping gear, 2 giant rubbermaid tubs of a random collection of bike parts, my (magnetic bike) trainer, boxes that I honestly don't know what they contain because I'm storing them for a friend, and an immigrant family who cleans my kitchen and does my laundry. It's a big closet.

5 Items in my Car
At least 10 bottles that I haven't taken out of my car because gas stations never have recycling, rubber floor mats with flames on them, a bag of greasy bike rags and three types of lube (don't be dirty-minded now), a pair of heavy boots, and the O Brother Where Art Thou CD.

5 Items in my Purse
Purse?

I will not tag, as I'm not a regular enough blogger to be taggin', but, you know, tag yourself.

avian ex-lax

2006-06-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

*edit, long stupid post deleted*
My brother has been ragging on me for two weeks now, because I called him two weeks to tell him a joke. It goes like this....
Q: What's the difference between a poor marksman and a constipated owl?
A: A poor marksman shoots but can't hit, and a constipated owl...
*editing continues*

One of my coworkers has really got me thinking lately. I met him on the bus in February probably (I take the bus to work in the winter because I hate driving in Quebec in the winter and it's better for the environment) . I didn't see him again until April, when we met up on our bikes on the F1 track. We've been riding a few times since and we've really hit it off. Part of it is I have so much respect for how he lives his life. What 31-year-old do you know that makes good money and doesn't own a car? Nor a TV? Nor a cell phone? If you ask him why, he shurgs and says he doesn't need it. His girlfriend works in sustainable urban development. She is a badass chick who's tough as nails and I can't get enough of. She warmed my heart when she went on a 45 minute rant about people climbing Everest "for charity." What the hell is that, she raved, you need to go do some freakin' $50,000 hike to raise $2,000 for an orphanage? A true hero would just give the whole $52, 000 to charity and walk to the grocery store!
Last night, I met up with them and two other friends who didn't really know each other before. It was odd, all my separate worlds colliding on the rooftop terrace of a trendy gay bar (complete with jacuzzi and pool... which I wouldn't go in if you paid me). As we were trickling out, I asked W what he thought of C (the girlfriend), and he said "I LOVE her. She's enough to turn me straight." C was laughing so hard a W at one point that she drooled. And MK (the guy from work) was deeply into conversation with CB (another university friend) about her thesis and its frustrations. It all flowed. It was good shit. And good shit, as we all know, is the reason I get up in the morning.

excuse me, do you have a mint? or perhaps some binaca?

2006-06-07T16:53:00.000-07:00

Email from me to a coworker today: "I hate this thing with every fiber of my being. In fact, I hate it so much I'm going to eat a tapestry so I have more fiber in my being to hate it with."
But I'm not going to whine about work. Work is work, and that is all. Who wants to read about work? I'm playing frisbee at lunch now. That helps.

I appreciate all your kind words of concern about my ass. It's looking a lot better these days, although since I last posted it got considerably worse for a while. I went to the doctor. I got to moon an MD! That was fun. I've had these big nasty calcified bruises before, but this one, thankfully, wasn't at risk of generating a blood clot that was going to creep into my brain and kill me because, hey, your ass doesn't have any major arteries in it! Who knew? I also cut my fingernails down to the very shortest they could go so that I couldn't inadvertantly scratch my itchy mosquito-bitten arse during the course of the night. I think my buddy J said it best... "he who go to bed with itchy bum wake up with stinky finger."

Indeed.

So yes, my ass is better. Thanks for asking!

state of the union

2006-05-31T18:03:00.000-07:00

And by "the union" I mean, "my ass."

I went mountain biking yesterday with some guys from work. They definately have a "take no prisoners" approach to biking. My club from years previous (now disbanded) was guys who were equivalent or better riders, but they had a much more lax attitude... wait for everyone to catch up, don't kill anyone, etc. I'll spare the details of the ride, but I had to haul ass to stay within spitting distance of them. I've nicknamed them the Third Floor Death Squad (they work on the third floor). Anyway, following the heavy rains and the sudden muggy weather, we are now living in an area of the country absolutely infested by mosquitos. I didn't know mosquitos swarm, but oh my, do they ever. We rode in about 5 minutes before returning to the cars to apply another layer of bug juice. There I made my fatal mistake. I sprayed my ears, my hair, my neck, my arms, my legs, my jersey. All twice. But I did not spray my shorts.
For those of you not in the know, mosquitos can bite right through spandex (yes, normally I wear baggies, but I forgot them).
So about twenty minutes into the ride, I looked down and there were no fewer than five mosquitos burrowing through my shorts. Repeat every time I looked down. By the end of the ride, every time I stopped I was two-handedly scratching my ass (brilliant behaviour in front of coworkers). Coupled with a nasty crash to the right where I twisted my ankle (didn't unclip) bruised the inside of my knee (top tube), hammered my hip (log), and bashed my wrist (tree)... man, it's definately a good thing I'm not a swimsuit model. So, to give you a mental image, I have a bruise that starts halfway across the side of my thigh and wraps around the back. It's about eight inches long and is starting to calcify. It's about the colour of a blackberry with spots of raspberry around the middle. Add that to the lunarscape of red and white mosquito bites (I lost count at around fifty, just to give you an idea) and my ass looks like a damn war zone.

Everyone's stupid, and victory by flatulance

2006-05-27T09:29:00.000-07:00

Maybe you haven't detected it lately (ha!), but I've been really pretty fed up with work. I constantly feel about this big (squish thumb and index finger together, and squint), and I'm starting to wonder if I can do anything right. I got so paranoid that I finally went to my boss last week and said that I was a bit worried that I'm next on the chopping block (he fired someone about four weeks ago). He reassured me that I'm doing fine, and that I have nothing to worry about. But, a day later, I saw the HR woman walking into his office to have a closed-door conversation with him, and immediately I was paranoiaville all over again.
But, thankfully, I have a bitter and jaded coworker who has shown me the way.

Everyone's stupid.

That's it. It's brilliant. People say shit and do shit and are shit, and all you have to do is take a deep breath and think "everyone's stupid." Go ahead, try it. Breathe in, breathe out. Everyone's stupid. Don't you feel better? It works as a litmus for people's stupidity. We tell everyone our departmental motto, and the ones who are on the (very short) non-stupid list will say "ha, ha! That's funny! Everyone is stupid!" and the rest will say "hey, that's not fair! I'm not stupid!" Response #2 is an affirmation of stupidity. Anyway, honestly, muttering "everyone's stupid" to myself fifty times a day has reduced my work stress to just plain giggles, and I'm feeling much better. I reccomend to everyone you try it. Say it with me now, everyone's stupid!

In other news, in preparation for the May 31 ban on smoking in public places, I am organizing M's First But Not Last Annual Pub Crawl for Health. Blacken your liver while keeping your lungs fluffy and pink! I'm very excited by this prospect, as my prior technique was to take classes that would enable me to fart on command. If a table of smokers was ruining my evening, my plan was to go up to them and rip some serious ass. Then when they started yelling about how gross that is, I'd say "hey, you're making me breathe your air, so you're gonna breathe mine." I rather liked that idea, but of course, laws work much better than farting.

Smelly Dog Farts & the Like

2006-05-22T18:45:00.000-07:00

I was down in Vermont for Victoria Day weekend. This weekend is generally known as "May 24" (24 being pronounced two-four, by loyal, beer drinking Canadians), and is a good weekend to launch the boat, hang with the family, barbecue, and all that good, beginning-of-summer type stuff.
Generally.
However, due to the whole raining tigers and bitches (upgraded from cats and dogs) thing, this May 2-4 was a pile of staying inside and watching TV.
When you stick a bunch of twenty-somethings in a house in the woods with nothing to do, you end up trying to stage a picture that looks like a stuffed dragon eating a dog. Then the dog yawns and you go into hysterics. Then, an hour or two later, the dog farts, and it's not nearly as funny. My friend's dog, Annie, who is a coon hound, apparantly got into the compost and ate some fermented potatos and asparagus. I have never smelled more rancid, putrid, unholy ass in my entire life. That dog farted and all four of us had to go outside. I gagged. My eyes watered. I cried. Honestly, never in my life.
So, that was my 2-4 weekend. Smelling dog pooter and taking stupid pictures.
God bless Canada.

victory is mine!

2006-05-19T14:23:00.000-07:00

OH YES. OH HELL YES!

*happy dance*

injustice!

2006-05-15T12:14:00.000-07:00

I took today to sit in coffee shops and catch up on the immense backlog of work I had to do, and drink expensive coffee, and be away from the ringing phone and the pesky coworkers and the stress of my job. It's been good. I don't think I want to go to work ever again.

The "reason" for my absence from work today was that I had to get a Quebec driver's license, which entails gathering a pile of documentation and dragging myself out to the West Island. Stupid Quebec bureaucracy... sometimes I wonder if I live in North America or Mainland China. I am, as it says in my sidebar (which, yes, I am aware that I desperately need to update) 24 years old. Being from a small town in Ohio, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, as soon as I turned 16, I started driving. My parents were sick of hauling me around, and I was sick of being hauled. So that makes me a driver of eight, going on nine years. No accidents (except that stupidity in the parking lot last year), only one speeding ticket (I was 17). I'm a safe driver. So imagine my surprise and insult when Quebec issued me a probationary license until I turn 25, because, apparantly, they don't have proof that I've been driving for more than 24 months (this was not part of the pile of documentation they asked me to bring), so I'm on freakin' probation for the next two months, until my birthday. Every time I think Quebec's government can't get any stupider, they throw me for a loop.

In the meantime, I went for a ride yesterday. Perhaps I mentioned. Anyway, I've been having some trouble with my road bike headset making creaking noises. I've taken it apart, cleaned and greased everything, and put it back together, to no avail. I was supposed to go for a ride yesterday with one of my non-biker friends (he was going to come for the first bit and then I was going to take off on my own). But as I was getting ready to go, I realized that my headset was loose. So I called him to say I wasn't going to be able to go straightaway, because I needed to pass by the bike shop and get it checked out.

"Why don't you just ride one of your other bikes?"

What?

Now, do you think that I would have five bikes if they didn't all have a distinct purpose? NO! I can ride my mountain bike on the road as much as I can drive a tank through downtown LA, and I can ride my road bike on the mountain as much as a Cheshire cat can survive in the plains of Africa. This is simple, people, simple. I'm a minimalist... I have five bikes instead of nine because five bikes is what I need to meet my basic needs....

I can't even keep a straight face while writing that. Oh, I am so rediculous sometimes.

the latest and greatest

2006-05-15T05:26:00.000-07:00

Today, I am "working from home." "Home" means a Starbucks in the Plateau, because, as is the theme lately, I still don't have internet at home. I think I need to just buck up and pay up, because living alone with no TV and no internet is, well, freakin' lonely. If my phone dies I'll probably be found six months from now, rocking back and forth in the corner, mumbling about 90210.
I never watched 90210. It really didn't hold my interest.

I guess I've been going through a bit of a rough spot lately. I'm really worn out from work, and there are some added stressors in my life that are leaving me a little bit worse for wear. I keep trying to solve my problems by going out and being social, but then I'll have these... I don't know, attacks or something, where I suddenly can't be around people. I feel like I'm a toxic presence in social situations, a ball of nerves and hypersensitivity, and I bring people down. I try to pretend that I'm happy and good and all that, but sometimes I just can't fight how I feel. I think I need to figure out what the hell is going on.

In other news, I went for a 4 1/2 hour ride yesterday. That was good stuff, because I didn't have to think. I'm very anti-thinking lately.
Got the Visa bill for the Blur the other day. Holy heart attack.

Today's solution to all my problems.

2006-05-09T11:30:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting in a business airport, waiting for the itty bitty plane I'm taking back to Montreal to get ready to go. This is fucking surreal sometimes, I tell ya.

There's a lot of nice things about working for a company with the resources to allow me to hop on a plane at the last minute to go take care of something on the West Coast or in Europe, or wherever else things may need to be taken care of. I get to stay in some pimp-daddy mofo hotels, that's for sure. And I get to eat free food. I seriously can't tell you how much fun it is to go out to dinner, order an appetizer, soup, salad, main dish, dessert, and beer... and someone else pays for it. No guilt. Freakin' right.

But this morning, as my hair was getting stuck in the blow drier, and B (who drove in and crashed in my (free) hotel room... conveninently on her way to her sister's graduation) was laughing her ass off at the fact that I'm a "businesslady," I gotta wonder, what the HELL am I doing? I mean, I had a good long laugh last night because I had no pants on. Pants (and/or lack thereof) are funny. Poo is funny. Farts are funny. So what am I doing pretending to be this corporate drone? My solution to all this is to come into work with no pants on and fart.

Ha!

no smorking

2006-05-07T17:43:00.000-07:00

I'm perched on a bench on the freezing cold 12th-story terrace of my building because this seems to be the only place I can pirate someone's wireless connection. So this is going to be short. Because I'm cold and tired (good tired, 7 hours of riding tired) and need to get crackin' on making those tacos that are just calling my name from downstairs.

For the record, I have never once ever in my life, even in the folly of youth, smoked a cigarette. I never will. Smoking is my #1 dealbreaker in a potential mate, and I've seen all the horrible ugliness smoking creates. Alls I'm saying is the one thing it has going for it (and this is one very small thing) is that smoking does give you these breaks in your day when you're not doing anything, probably not even talking, because the only activity is thinking and smoking, and that is kind of cool.

It's bloody mofo cold out here.

Today, I am a Pink Floyd song.

2006-05-02T15:28:00.000-07:00

That whole thing about a ship of fools that's finally run aground is just rolling around in my head today.

Two posts in as many days? I'm so kicking this no-internet thing's ass. Sure, it means sitting on my ass in a coffee shop, but really, what else do I have to do?

It's grey and cold and raining today. Normally, this would be weather that I would not appreciate. But it's matching my mood and my demeanor perfectly. I match. At least I've accomplished something today.

Work is wearing me thin (yet surprisingly, my ass just grows and grows...). In short (as short as it can be), one of my coworkers was fired a week or so ago for what was relayed to us as being "performance-related issues." The guy was a tool, but not that much of a tool. So, naturally, being that I put inordinate amounts of pressure on myself (and for once, it's not just me, it's everyone I work with), I feel like I am next on the chopping block. I've tried having the "you're being unreasonable" conversation with myself, but really, I'm not so sure that I am. Add this to my list of failures. I'm taking my toys and going home, kids.
I really want to succeed at this; if for no other reason than to prove to myself that I can, but the pressure... wow. I'm not sleeping, I'm down all the time... and I got hung out to dry today in front of senior management by some holier-than-thou, no-life-outside-of-engineering goon. Then, the guy realized he was wrong (which I not only told him, but presented him with documentation, and he still hung me out to dry), and sent a "this issue is now in the hands of another department" email, to which my supervisor responded "no worries." No fucking worries? Seriously? I have worries! I have many many worries, and I don't appreciate the first mention of my name being in front of senior management as the bad seed who didn't do her job!

OK, OK, I'm done now. I am.

Let's see. In other news, I walked home last night and cut accross the park... a little bit of an interesting experience. So serene, but so not. Guy digging through trash cans pulling out dozens of beer bottles, guys on benches drinking beer out of bottles and throwing them away... strange, lurky-type characters peeking out from behind trees, one guy looking for a light. Four guys outside my apartment building doing sweet nothing (at 1:00am on a Monday night), and the occasional girl in flowy skirt and uncomfortable looking shoes riding a shitty old bike. Although it's the preferred time for the wierdos to come out to play, I love night. I miss night. This whole "working" thing takes night away, and I miss staying up til the sky turns that just-before-dawn blue-black. When it's silent. Before the early-morning runners hit the ground at the break of dawn, before the bakeries start to open, before the delivery trucks roar to life. I want my night back. I think I should take up smoking, so that I am forced, by my addiction, to spend an hour or so of every evening lazily hanging over my balcony railing, staring out at nothing, and contemplating whatever crosses my line of sight. I don't have any calm in my life right now, and none of the chaos is the kind I treasure. I need something to bring me back, and although I love riding, I don't do it often enough and it's like building a sand wall on the beach to stop a tidal wave.

Enough of this. Go read Pearls Before Swine. That shit is worth your time.

&?

2006-05-01T17:33:00.000-07:00

Blur, World.

World, Blur.

Make nice. You're going to be seeing a lot of each other.

So, I picked up my new bike on Friday. Credit card recieved from bank, promptly maxed out. I can make this work, but it means sacrificing many creature comforts such as expensive alcohol, cable/internet at home, and driving to work (most days). I am okay with this. It is a small sacrifice to make for the complete and utter sweetness of my new ride. It is a wholly unnecessary addition to my ten-wheel stable, and I love it already. I may be guarded with my heart... brick walls ten feet high with broken glass around it and whatnot, but the Blur, the Blur I love like a newborn child. Wholly and unconditionally.

So long as the bitch doesn't break down.

Other than my new bike, and the few precious hours of peace it will provide me every week, life continues to be out of control. I will NOT let the purchase of said bike stress me out, but there are a few unforseen "complications" in my financial situation which arose over the weekend (ie, back taxes on all my income from Old Crappy Job... New Sweet Job bumped me up a few tax brackets and now I owe the Canadian government four figures in back taxes. This is what you get in Quebec for being a relatively successful twenty-something with no kids. You get to pay for your ex-roommates mid-life crisis and everyone else's drinking money. But that is another rant for another day. ) which are contributing a massive pile of suck, which I seem to be the uncontested queen of these days.

Speaking of my ex-roommate, we had our first run-in the other day. By "run-in," I mean, I went to go pick up my mail. She asked for the check for the $450 I owe her. I told her that I don't have it (which I really, really don't). She got bitchy. I don't care. That's pretty much it. Everyone I've spoken to about this has said "screw her. She screwed you, right?" But we all know that I'm going to pay her because I did agree to. And if I were in her situation (which I hope I never would be because I hope I'd never kick my roommate out on her ass with no warning), I'd hope that the other person would have the decency to pay me back. I will be the better person, but I'll be the better person in my own sweet time. I'm not going to make myself uncomfortable or sacrifice any of the plans I've made to pay her off. If she hadn't kicked me out, I wouldn't have had to spend the money to move and re-furnish an entire apartment, my rent would be a whole hell of a lot lower, and I'd be way more than $450 richer. So, I'll pay her when I'm good and ready. And if it puts her in a tough financial situation, so fucking what. That is not my problem.

I have a long vomiting of work stress that I need to do, but it's a beautiful evening and I just woke up from a nap, and I just clicked through the pictures from this weekend, so I'm feeling zen again. So the work rant will wait. And you, probably, are happy. Because work ranting is boring and nobody likes to hear it. However, when the work rant does come, I promise that I will charactarize the pertinant characters in a way that will be humourous to us all. Maybe one will explode! Wouldn't that be fun?

Ah well. This is that.

if I were in a band, it would have "chaos" in the name

2006-04-25T19:16:00.000-07:00

Shit. Fan.

My apologies to my two readers, who today (in my first ever non-work telecon no less) told me that my lack of blog updates is unacceptable. I realize I need to get internet at home. I also am a cheap bastard who just bought a bike she can't afford (oh yes, women can be bastards, we just have to be that much more bastardly).

Life is full tilt and stagnating at the same time these days.
Living alone is taking some adjusting. I've done it before, and I moved in with a roommate partially because I was tired of it. Add that to the list of things I'm pissed at old roomie about. Old roomie is turning into the 800lb gorilla... it's the problem I have to deal with (largely to get my mail and drop off the FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY FUCKING DOLLARS she says I owe her for electricity, which, because I have some shreds of decency, I am not going to stiff her on, but there is a big ass part of me which is fucking tempted... I get points for thinking about it but not doing it, right? Question being, would it be evil of me to only pay her for the $450 minus half the cost of my move? But I digress. Back to the gorilla) and don't have any desire to. It's become a sort of test for myself... I don't need her in my life and I don't particularly want her there, but if I can find it in myself to get over this and get back to some semblance of a friendship, I've won. I've triumphed. I've beaten myself and I didn't kick the dog in the process.

Bah. People. Be gone, all of ye.

I got a solid 8 days of riding in last week... even started getting into the swing of riding to work (yay environment and HA on you bastards charging $99 for a bus pas or $1.20/L for gas), but then the cold-as-a-witch's-left-titty-and-or-pissing-rain weekend from hell came, and we're right back to 5C and windswept. I went for a slog in the rain last night (felt mighty hardcore, I did), however, and saw some little green budlies, so hopefully in a week or two we'll be sliding headlong into summer and I can forget, for the time being, that November through March even exists.

*insert rant about the bank here*
(You don't need to read it, I'm sure you have your own bank-angst, but suffice it to say I am FUCKING LIVID at the bastards at Royal Bank of Canada, a bank you should never, ever, under any circumstances, sign up for an account with, even if they have your mother hostage. Or offer you a free T-shirt.)

Other things, other things... Not really. Need this cold raininess to go away and the bank to stop being a breeding ground of bitches so I can get my new bike out of hoc and go riding and forget about it all.

Don't let the bastards drag you down.

my peeps

2006-04-17T15:01:00.000-07:00

Easter is hippity and hoppity and happy family time and stuff. I had a lovely dinner yesterday evening with friends and friends' family and whatnot. It was very civilized, with a charred sheep baby and all.

But you know what my absolute favourite part of Easter is?

Peeps.

You know Peeps. They're those little marshmallow chicks (or bunnies), coated with flourescent blue or pink or yellow sugar. They are absolutely vile to eat, but somehow they always end up in your easter basket. I assume this has something to do with the fact that they're roughly three cents for fifteen dozen. I should write a dissertation at some point on disgusting "traditional" holiday food that we choke back because, well shit man, it's tradition. Peeps would fall into that category. Along with fruitcake. But I digress.
The fun of Peeps is not, as you might think, in the eating. No, I will save the eating for the tiramisu and the cheesecake and the lemon merangue pie (all three of which I ate last night). The fun of Peeps is in the microwaving.

Go, find that pack of Peeps you know you have sitting somewhere. Take one, stick it on a plate, zap it for about 20 seconds.

Go ahead, I'll wait.

You're back? Wasn't that the BEST GODDAMN THING EVER? Oh, hells yes! If you're keeping kosher for Passover or don't eat marshmallows or something, you should really consider taking a five-minute moral holiday for Peep-microwavin'. I do every year.

If you don't have any Peeps, here is what happens. I may go on about how good it is, but man, this chick went one step further by documentin'. And there's a Peep Joust site online. But photos don't do it justice, just go zap your Peeps. Trust me, it's all good.

yay materialism

2006-04-14T08:00:00.001-07:00

So, I am moved in.

My entire life is still in boxes, the Ikea furniture is still unbuilt, my clothes are decorating the floor, but I put my stuffed gecko on the shelf above my TV and arranged all my photography books in order of size and my cookbooks in order of food-type/frequency of use..... so everything else, really, is gravy.

And I have some news!

I BOUGHT A NEW BIKE! (as if you didn't see that coming)

So, goodbye D50, goodbye going out for dinner, goodbye buying coffee for friends, goodbye everything but paying off my bike. And riding it. These two things are all I am going to be able to do. But that's OK because, shit man, it is so purdy.

That's the news from here. Happy dance.

change

2006-04-01T20:42:00.000-08:00

Change is good.

No, change is bad.

Well, either way, change is freakin' everywhere.

I have a disease. I guess it must be genetic, because I'm pretty convinced my mom has it too. I have a change disease. It accumulates everywhere. There was at least $10 on my desk, probably $8 on my dresser, $40 or $50 in a shoebox, another $30 or so in a pillowcase under a chair (from my last move), and another (at least) $25 scattered around my floor. I come home at the end of the day and empty my pockets, and I never refill them the next day. It was kind of my dirty little secret, until C came over to help me pack on Thursday.

"M."
"Yeah?"
"I didn't judge you until now."
That was when she found the aforementioned pillowcase (wieghing in at at least 10 pounds).
"You know what's going to happen tomorrow?"
"What?"
"I'm going to talk to N, and she's going to ask me, 'how was helping M move?' 'It was awesome. She's the richest woman I know. I'm going to go rob her bedroom floor.'"

See, back home in Ohiah, we have these nice big machines, and you take your change pail in and dump it in and it sorts it and pays you the money. This is an awesome invention. I don't understand why, here in Ke-bek, we don't have these things. Because now I am stuck with a shoebox, nay, a bootbox, full of change, that I'm sure as shit not going to sort and roll, and will probably just sit around until either the shelf breaks or I move again.

And when the guy on the corner asks me for some change I tell him I don't have any. I'm a baldfaced liar.

Posting might get a bit spartan in the next few weeks, as I haven't set up to have high speed installed yet, and I don't do land lines, so no modem....

The Nod

2006-03-29T20:37:00.000-08:00

**Lame cycling post alert. You've been warned. It's March, they're going to pick up.**

I went for one of my first rides this season yesterday. I took Jake out for a two hour slog on Mt Royal. It was a bit cold, but I was just happy to be out... and you really can't ask for much better cross conditions.
There were a fair number of runners out, but the bikers aren't out in droves yet. There were a few commuters, some guy hammering away on an Epic, and a guy spinning with his dog. Then, was one guy, dressed in spandex and a jacket, on a cross bike. He was going down, I was going up. We made eye contact. He looked at me and bobbed his chin up and down about an inch.

That's it. That was The Nod.

I always forget about The Nod in the winter. It's not one of the key points in cycling. Guys who have been riding for years don't notice it. But there are definately two types of people who ride bikes. Commuters/tourists/hacks and cyclists. You can't tell them apart by looking at their bikes, but you can tell them by their positioning, their cadence, sometimes by what they're wearing (ie, not the most expensive stuff, because that's just a sign of money), who they're riding with and how. I started riding three years ago, and for the first season, I got no nods. Wearing umbros and running shoes and coughing and hacking my way up the hill on the bike I got for my sixteenth birthday, it was no wonder. But I've spent hours and hours and thousands of kilometers on the road and trails. I've crashed into rocks, trees, ramps, mud, curbs, rivers, my own bike, almost a skunk once. I've ridden in heat, cold, rain, snow, ice, and even hail. I've had bumps, bruises, cuts, scrapes, sores, chain bites, numb toes, pained wrists, butt rutt, back pain, and bad knees.

And I loved every goddamned minute of it.

I earned The Nod.

2006-03-27T21:09:00.000-08:00

I apologize to all my peoples for being negligant with updating my sidebar and responding to comments and generally being awake and stuff. I'll be all dilligent after I move.

I drove through Compton with no pants on and all I got was this lousy T-shirt

2006-03-25T09:57:00.000-08:00

I finished work yesterday at around 2:00pm. Surprisingly early! I hopped in my rental car in my work clothes, figuring I'd bomb through LA as fast as possible and hopefully beat most of the traffic before I changed.
For some reason, at 2:00pm, everybody north of LA wants to drive downtown. Everybody. With that volume of traffic, I refuse to believe there was a single bar, restaurant, living room, or movie theater with anyone in it. So traffic was less than crawling. I was averaging between 8 and 12mph. So I decided to get off the 5 and try another highway; and if the 110 wasn't moving, I was just going to drive west until I hit water.
My work clothes, after about an hour and a half, were making me less than comfortable. My pants are a wool blend, and I'm slightly allergic to wool, so I started getting pretty itchy, which was only adding to my frustration with the situation. Coupled with the fact that the stupid, bloodsucking rental car company has outfitted all its rentals with satellite radio that you have to pay extra for and the only station I was getting was the emergency station, I was getting mighty pissed off.
So I figured, hey. Traffic isn't really moving. My pants are making me crazy. I'll change! I had my jeans in the front seat. No problem. So, work pants off (aaah). Then, I realized that putting pants ON while driving is way way harder than taking them off. I didn't want to risk being the girl who has to explain to the police why I got in an accident with no pants on, so I figured I was better off just to wait until I could pull off the highway. Then traffic loosened up a little bit and I didn't want to waste that... so there I was, drivin' with no pants. It's not like it was indecent exposure, but there I was, with my ultra-conservative work shirt and sweater on... and no pants. Praying that a truck doesn't drive by and decide to glance down.
So, traffic finally packed up again and I thought, OK, I'll just get off here and get me some pantsage.
Thought I'd glance at the map to see how far I'd made it.
Guess where I was!

Compton.

Yes, that's right, I've driven through Compton with no pants on and lived to tell the tale.
Needless to say, I did not pull off, and drove most of the way to San Diego with a cool breeze. Aah.

teaosporin

2006-03-23T20:46:00.000-08:00

So, I'm on this major business trip right now. Staying in a freakin' five-star hotel in a room with a balcony with grape arbour and shit. I have been in meetings saying things like "this is unacceptable," and stuff.

Seriously.

So, I've got my laptop with this wireless card thing in it and this special little key thing that allows me to uplink to our network back in Montreal. The battery lasts about an hour and a half. So, an hour and a half into this gutting session I'm taking part in, my battery is about to die.
Rewind about a month. I had a cut that I was worried was going to bug me, so I had thrown a few band-aids and a tube of Neosporin into my work shoulder bag type thing. No biggie. A little while later, I ran out of loose leaf tea at work, so I threw a bag of that in, took it out at work and threw it into my desk drawer without looking at it. I've since been drinking another kind of tea, so I guess I hadn't realized that the bag had ripped open a little bit. I also usually only put my lunch in my work bag, so I didn't notice that, at the bottom of my bag, there was a hell of leaking Neosporin tube infused with tea brewing.

Until I pulled out my laptop cable to plug into the wall and it's covered with white spoogy looking stuff with brown flaky tea leaves, which undoubtedly look like drugs.

Dude, I am SO professional.

?

2006-03-20T22:19:00.000-08:00

I have questions.

Where is WWL?
How is J Stizzle?
What happened to Sweet?
And what happened to E?

And where are my pants?

Oh, you transient blog people.
Ah well, on to the flavour of the week.

2006-03-19T20:37:00.000-08:00

I'll eat when I am hungry and I'll drink when I am dry.
Get drunk whenever I'm ready, get sober by and by.
And if this river don't drown me, it's down I'll mean to roam
For I'm a river driver and I'm far away from home.

box

2006-03-18T13:11:00.000-08:00

I'm slowly getting going on the whole packing process. It, of course, sucks big donkey nuts. I have so much stuff, man.
As I was loading some books into this box, I took a look at it. At least fifteen layers of tape. Sides held together with a band of tape around the outside. "P's clothes," "M's food," "lamps," and "kitchen" all scratched out on the outside for "M's books + camera."

This is the story of my life.

I lived in the same apartment for three years with a rotating cast of great roommates. Then, some stuff happened in my life and I decided it was time to live alone, so I moved accross the street for my last year of university. I graduated in 2004. I moved July 1st to Villeray to save money. That roommate and I did not work out. So, October 1st, I moved to the Plateau. Living in a gorgeous 1 1/2 with a view of the Olympic stadium and a broken toilet turned out to be less perfect than expected when I found out the entire building was full of alcoholics on social assistance. TVs blaring at 4am, constant smell of stanky booze in the halls, loud crashes in the middle of the night. I think what did it for me was when I came home at 1:30am the night before a fairly important interview to discover that the woman downstairs had passed out, drunk, with an overflowing toilet which leaked through the floor and ceiling and was dripping all over the enterance hall. I called the cops to make sure she wasn't dead.
So, February 1st, 2005, I moved in with soon-to-be ex-roomie. July 1st rolled around, and she asked me to move with her to this apartment. It's bigger and cheaper, and as I wasn't on the lease at the old place, I didn't have much recourse. So I moved. Now, April 1st, I'm moving again. This is going to be my 7th apartment since 2003, my 6th since July 1st 2004.

I am so sick of moving. But, really, at this point, it's just funny.

scratching an itch

2006-03-16T20:45:00.000-08:00

The tree-hugging vegetarian side of me feels bad. Since roomie took on her new "evening activity," and especially since she kicked me out, she hasn't been around the apartment much. This has been happy times for me, but Shitty Kitty is looking frazzled and acting very strangely. I swear on my grandmother's grave I haven't done anything mean to her, besides locking her in a room for an hour (with food, light, water, and shitbox) because I needed a break from the incessant whining noise that comes out of her. Today I tried to pet her, but she's really skittish and wierd. So I thought maybe giving her some treats would calm her down. She's shut up and I think calmed down, so I guess it works.

However, where I put the treats, I will fully admit to doing so for my own neanderthal amusement.

first contact

2006-03-14T20:19:00.000-08:00

Today was the first day I've seen roomie since my eviction last Tuesday.

I don't believe we have yet exchanged a single word. Not even for me to tell her that I am, in fact, moving out (confirmed) next Sunday. Shit, next Sunday. Aurgh. Life into boxes again. Good thing I've learned not to throw them out. Ever...

In other news, I went for my innaugural outdoor ride of 2006 on Saturday. It was temperate and mild and I just went puttering around on my cross bike (yay knobby tires on ice, yay yay yay). It felt good to get the legs moving and the wind in the face again. I'd forgotten how much I love riding. I almost develop a fear every year, that I will somehow cease to love riding, that it will become something I do because it's what I do, not because it's something I love. But as soon as I got out of the city and got rolling, it all came back to me.
Then today, it's -5 and dumping snow like nobody's business. Spring, man. You are such a tease.

I need to do a lot of introspection in the next little while. I think I might be at a critical junction in my life, where I need to make a decision. Me and my hurt feelings, we've always been good friends. I keep them near and dear to me, and angrily push people away. It's not good, but sometimes I think it's easier than getting hurt. I am so flaming mad at roomie right now, but I think if I can get over it and forgive her and salvage some remnants of a friendship, it might be a good thing for me to know that I'm even capable of that. But for the next 18 days, I just need to coexist, and avoid saying something really hurtful.
Then I'll go sun myself on my 12th floor terrace while I think it over. Perhaps with a beer in hand.

roller coaster... of house

2006-03-13T20:24:00.000-08:00

Bleurgh, today sucked nuts. And totally rocked, depending on how you look at it.

Work was absolute chaos. We are understaffed at three people in my position, and today the other two were absent, and a decision I made a few months ago came back to bite me in the ass. Not that I'm going to bitch about work, much, but I wanted to set the tone.
Roundabout 2:00 for what I thought was mere formality, I called the landlord to confirm that my credit check was OK. In broken French about an octave higher than I normally speak, I chipperly (is that a word? Well, it is now...) asked the lady when I could come by to sign the lease. "C'est deja loue. Le propriateur a choisi l'autre monsieur." Say what now? It's freakin' rented already? How is that possible!? You bastards! So I pouted a bit and hung up and then got hit by the emotional just-lost-sweet-apartment ton of bricks. Fuck, la, I have to go through this searching thing all over again.
So I moped around and complained to all my coworkers about my plight (maybe, in hindsight, not the smartest thing I've ever done... work/personal life separation, there, champ). I stopped charging time at around 4:30 and started surfing the web for apartments. It was just depressing, and by the time I left at 5:30 I was really down in the dumps. So, of course, I came back to roomie... why the hell is she doing this to me? Doesn't she realize that this apartment is my home? Bitch bitch bitch...
Then my cell bleeps at me. Just as I was on the other line whining about losing super apartment. It's New Landlord. "On a fait un erreur, madame, l'appartement c'est a toi." WHAT?! It's mine again!? Jesus murphy, I about blew a gasket.
So, in the end, it's OK. The move is back on. Rooftop terrace and pool with park view are still mine, mine, mine. My shit still has to go into boxes and move accross the city, but hey. At least it's moving somewhere.

take your crisis and shove it

2006-03-12T15:39:00.000-08:00

So, I spent most of the week couch surfing... I just couldn't handle being at "home." Rather, at the place where I pay rent. I started apartment hunting on Thursday last week. I saw about seven places between Thursday night and Saturday afternoon... all of them were either priced right and crappy, or overpriced and pimptastic. I walked by one dilapadated-looking building, and huffed "that place looks sketchy, I'm not going in." My ninja friend convinced me to give it a shot (ack, gag, I'm one of those people that links to their friends), and I'm glad I did. I found an apartment (tentatively)!

It's a huge 3 1/2 (for those of you who don't speak Montrealish, that's a living room/kitchen with a separate bedroom and (duh) bathroom. Somehow, that's "three" rooms around here. And if you live in a one-room apartment with a closet and a bathroom, somehow, that's a 2 1/2. What's the "two," the closet? Arg. Anyway, I digress. I found an apartment! It's a huge apartment that overlooks a big park. There's a 12th floor terrace (perfect for watching the summer fireworks) and a small pool. I'm going to shell out the extra $60/month for indoor parking (oh yeah). It's a little more than I wanted to spend, but I think it's going to be a very good thing.
So, provided that they approve my application tomorrow, I'm going to be OK.

Then, I come "home" and look at all my piles and piles of shit and realize that I, again, am going to have to freakin' pack up and pay movers and move. And I get down and angry and come up with little vindictive plots to make roomie's life hell...
But then I realize that this is probably going to be the best thing for both of us. And although I think that she is a card-carrying citizen of the nation of suck for throwing this at me at 11:30 at night on a weeknight with no warning, in the end, I win.

Because I get a pool.

kicked in the gut

2006-03-08T03:22:00.000-08:00

I did start writing a post about my weekend.

But now I'm a little distracted.

11:30pm last night.
Roomie: M, we need to talk about the apartment. It's just not working out for me. We clean differently. I love you as a friend and I want you in my life, but...
M: are you kicking me out?
Roomie: I guess I am.

Warning? No. List of things-that-if-you-don't-pay-attention-to-I'm-going-to-go-nuts? No. Just a "get the hell out."

I'm fucking homeless again.

Again.

alive...

2006-03-06T20:41:00.000-08:00

but just barely.

There is a long, long post coming about this weekend, but for the moment I need to be brief. Looking back at the pictures, the frozen, dangerous hell of Saturday night seems to blur, but will I be going winter camping again any time soon?

Hells bells, no.

Stay tuned. I'll elaborate once I get my legs working again.

pile

2006-03-02T21:21:00.000-08:00

I am going to go.

Here is what the "getting ready" step looks like.

Holy. I have to carry all this stuff with me for three days? Man. I am going to be tired on Sunday. Don't worry, though... the small Nalgene (which you probably can't see) is full of whisky. Freeze my arse off for three days without something to take the edge off? Hardly.

check out my website: getabrain.com

2006-03-01T20:42:00.000-08:00

So, in light of the fact that it is supposed to hover around -15 (colder with windchill) this weekend, I am fence-sitting on the whole camping thing. I called one of the guys to tell them, and they are fence-sitting as well. We're going to make a call tomorrow night, but unless it warms up about 10 degrees, I am probably going to exchange the camping trip for a day hike.
However.
I did bumble up to MEC (Mountain Equipment Coop, Canada's version of REI, except their store brand is high-quality, no-frills, low-cost stuff) and bought the necessary accoutrements. All the stuff I picked up is stuff that's been on my "you know, I really should buy this" list for about a year now. New long johns (hallelujah, the ones I was wearing would have fit two of me), thermal shirt, gaiters, two Nalgenes (lost about four in the most recent move, along with my super warm mitts), wicking underwears (yes, I pluralized it. Because "underwears" is a funny word, and "underwear" is not.), and some other random stuff. The big price item was the coat. Down. Orange. Hells yes. In combination with the trail-slut red hiking boots... game on. The price tags are still on it, but I left something in the car and ran outside wearing just it and a t-shirt and I was fine. So, if we don't go, I should probably return the coat... but it is so warm. And so orange. I may just have to keep it. Warm and orange. Warange. I like the way I can't put my arms quite all the way down... there's kind of a soft pouffy feeling in my armpits.
Away from the coat.
I asked a stuttering frenchman at MEC if he had any advice, any little tricks I should know for winter camping. I assume the guy is an ice climber; he had the build and seemed to know his shit. He was fairly helpful, save for the part where he suggested I put an empty bottle in my sleeping bag at night, in case I have to "go." Then he got all confused and embarassed, because he realized that that's a lot easier for menfolk than womenfolk. He reccomended I ask a girl what they do. Um, I think you suck it up and get out of your sleeping bag and hit the can. My favourite was the first tip he gave me, though... it started with "when your hands freeze...." When. Not if.

Ah well. A life lived in fear is no life at all.

icicles and other warm treats

2006-02-27T20:06:00.000-08:00

Friday night, I am piling into a car with four smelly boys and driving to the Adirondacks, where I will freeze my patootie off. Yes, I am losing my winter camping virginity, and I must admit, I am quivering with anticipation...
Ew. I am so gross sometimes.
Anyway, yes. I have been meaning to pop my winter camping cherry (damnit!) for a while now, but now the fact that I need to buy a whole pile of gear... and fast... is here. Down jacket. Booties. New long johns. New socks. Tails for my snowshoes. The middle of nowhere when it's -20 is no place to fuck around and try and be tough and save money by not buying the proper gear... so, another big fat pile of money moving away from that bike I keep telling myself I'm saving for.
Bah.
Anyway, should my camera not freeze and the battery not die, I should have some very interesting pictures for you this time next week.

mememememe

2006-02-26T20:28:00.000-08:00

I been tagg-ed! Dangit!
This is probably a good thing, as I was rolling around a few ideas for what I was going to write about. One was about the rediculous yoga class I went to this morning, where the instructor decided it was "partner yoga" day. One was about how these days, I don't feel like I've grown up, I just feel like I've slowed down. And one was about how I've taken another large step in the systematic alienation of all my close friends, moving me yet another step closer to being the crazy lady in the house falling down at the end of the street, who will die alone in the spring and rotfor months until the spring when someone finally notices the smell and scrapes my gelatanous remnants into a Hefty bag wearing biohazard gear.

I'm not overdramatic. Really.

Four Jobs I've Had In My Life
- Sailing instructor
- Selling knives
- Building conveyor in a brewery
- Quality Engineer

Four Movies I'd Watch Over and Over
- Wayne's World
- Mortal Kombat
- The Collective
- Robin Hood (Men In Tights)

Four Places I've Lived
- Montreal
- Small town (way) outside of Cleveland
- Small town (way, way) outside of Buffalo
- Cochabamba, Bolivia

Four TV Shows I Like to Watch
- Family Guy
- Drop In
- Grey's Anatomy
- Corner Gas

Four Favourite Places I've Been on Vacation
- Lake Titicaca, the Peru side
- Lyddington, England
- Barcelona, NY
- Mejas, Spain

Four Websites I Visit Daily
(excepting the links in my sidebar)
- This One,
- This One,
- This One,
- And my company's website. Lame, but true. It's how I get people's contact info and stuff. Bo-ring.

Four of My Favourite Foods
- Anything thai, especially with peanut sauce or red curry.
- Mango on a Stick.
- Empanadas.
- Anything chocolate. I seem to be in a bit of a moose phase. I made cinnamon-ginger brownies tonight. Mmph.

Four Places I'd Rather Be Right Now
- On a bike (outside).
- Georgian Bay, Ontario.
- The Gorge (local hangout in one of those aforementioned small towns).
- In the water. Possibly at Cala Luna, Sardinia. Swimming is the best.

Four People I feel Sorry For Because They're Getting Tagged
- That kid in third grade that I caught up to on the playground when we were playing that chasing game.
- The guy who passes out on the street in an area full of spraypaint-happy drunkards.
- The dead guy (well, his toe at least).
- The guy in the discount store who spaces out for a second and is suddenly worth $.99, much to the amusement of his discount store coworkers.

Well, that was theraputic. I'm off to place #5 on the "places I'd like to be" list; bed.

twizzles and sticks

2006-02-20T20:17:00.000-08:00

There's something about Canadian women's olympic hockey. Fuck, I love it. I don't know why, but I feel like it is truly the essence of sport.
We had a few (two) people over to watch the usual Sunday night shows, and ended up watching ice dancing afterwards. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard. The idea that an "athlete" could wear a pink and green maypole-ish outfit and get dinged by the judges for her "twizzle" is just absurd to me. Yeah, twizzle is actually a term in ice dancing. The commentators will say things like "ooh, their twizzles were a little out of synch on that last pass..." The hysterics started when I made an off-colour comment about "crazy, bendy sex" that the couple with the matching last names must have. Little did I know, they were brother and sister. Normal! Then, there was the dropping. There were five solid oops-babe-sorry-I-dropped-you-on-your-chiffon-wearin'-ass-on-this-cold-hard-ice moments. We must have annoyed the hell out of the neighbours chanting "fall! fall! fall!" at the top of our lungs and then screaming with laughter when they did.
Now, I'm not being stupid enough as to say I could be an ice dancer. No way, man, my twizzle is all off. I'm sure it's incredibly difficult. But there's something about ice dancing that is just so silly. It's like figure skating without jumping. Or something. I dunno. But watching the vasoline-toothed, nylon-wearing women and the vasoline-toothed, nylon-wearing men prancing around seems so anti-sport. To me.
But the Canadian women's ice hockey team. God, they get me choked up every damn time. There's something so awesome about the fact that they have the medal ceremony right there on the ice, with the losing team looking dejectedly at their silvers, strewn equipment all over the ice... families that have sacrificed so much bawling in the stands, and every Canadian that can possibly get themself to Italy singing tunelessly along to the anthem. The girls are drenched in sweat and can't stop jumping up and down, and then a few usually burst into tears when they recieve their medals. There's none of the swagger of, say, the American track athletes at the summer games, or even the men's ice hockey team. I knew one or two players on Team Canada a few years ago, and I've seen how they live; student life at best. They get very little funding from the government, and most of them work except in the year before the Olympics. They sacrifice left, right and center to get to where they are, and it is truly love of the sport; not something they happen to be good at and discovered they could get cushy sponsorship deals by doing. The NHL is all fine and good, but they rest plumply on their seven- and eight-figure salaries in between training. Doesn't move me quite as much.
And there's something about such dedication to a sport that means so much to a country that, well shucks, roundabout this time every four years or so, just gets me right choked up.

blow job (a boring post about the weather)

2006-02-18T22:19:00.000-08:00

Friday was crazy. Crazy, I say!
I was out of town on business in Ontario on Thursday. My flight back to Montreal was supposed to leave at 6:00pm. At 9:00, we were just taking off, after sitting in a two-and-a-half hour line to get de-iced. The airport was down to one runway for takeoff and landing. It was most rediculous. We flew an hour and a half and landed in freezing rain. Then, someone took our cab, stranding us out in the middle of nowhere for an additional half hour.
I was hard pressed to keep my peppy-young-professional face on, but I think I managed.
Perhaps.
Friday, I woke up to -10 (probably closer to -30 with windchill). I almost bit it on the stairs leaving my apartment, and then went off to work. At around noon, I looked out the window and saw one of the lamp posts outside springing around in the wind like it was made of rubber. Someone mentioned that winds were up towards 110kph. Then, the roof of the building next door started falling apart, and pieces of it blew into the parking lot and took out a few cars. The windows in one of the buildings actually blew out, and security sent everyone who sits within twenty feet of a window home early. Paid. (So not only do they get to sit by a window, but they get to go home! Grr.) The city is now pretty thoroughly covered in ice. The wind blew anything resembling something fluffy or snowish away, and now it's just rock-hard ice. Everywhere. There's no slush by the curbs, and the bus makes a shattering noise as it crunches to a halt. Shuffling down the street as fast as I could, I'd occasionally kick a loose piece of ice, which would skitter along the rest of the ice, making a sharp noise like glass on glass. This kind of ice, it's something I've not seen outside of Quebec. I'm sure it exists in places like Indiana, Manitoba, Russia, and Siberia, or any other barren wasteland, but it's different than the stuff that comes out of the freezer.

It's funny, to think that my freezer is actually heating up the stuff inside it.

I moved to Quebec in 1999. I remember my first Montreal winter, and my first real cold day. We had an 8:30 broomball game, and my roommate had to pick up her shinpads from the hockey rink. I remember hearing her pants making this strange snapping sound as she walked. It took me a while to figure out that they were frozen. This time of year, it's cold on a level that people who haven't lived it can't understand. As you breathe (if you were dumb enough not to cover your face up to the bottom of your sunglasses) your breath moves away from your body, and then falls, as the moisture in it freezes. If you were dumb enough not to wear sunglasses, your eyes freeze, and you'll have to turn away from the wind for a few seconds and blink a few times to get them to unfreeze. You'll get a strange feeling in your nose and throat (mucus and snot freezing) and a strange taste in your mouth (ice, as the spit on your tongue freezes). As you shuffle along, raging cursewords in your head, your thighs will get cold and turn bright red within a few minutes. The soles of your shoes will freeze right away. Beer, chilled on the back porch, is frosty cold in under ten minutes and starting to crystallize in twenty.

It's damn cold these days.

ack!

2006-02-13T19:27:00.000-08:00

*implode*

kittycide

2006-02-06T21:19:00.000-08:00

12:34am.

Roomate has new... um, evening activity, and therefore has not been home much this week. Cat has not stopped meowing for at least six hours. I am at my wit's end. I need sleep and the pitiful whining will not stop.

She has food. She has water. She has a cleanish shitbox. I even pet her for a little bit.

I fucking hate cats.

teetering at the edge of the grid

2006-02-05T20:20:00.000-08:00

I went down to Vermont to visit my friends C and C this weekend (if they were a music factory, I bet there would be some good vibrations... yuk yuk).
They live in a little house that was originally built off the grid. It has propane lights/stove, and all the fixin's to stay up when the world ends. It's since been brought into the 21st century, with DSL, supercable, drywall, plumbing, and all that good stuff, but you can still lie on their couch and watch the clouds dust over the mountains in the back yard.
I guess it's not technically "their" house... they're housesitting for a few months for some crazy lady, but it's a damn nice place while it lasts. Maybe the crazy lady will decide to stay in crazyland for a little longer and they'll get to keep the house. To get to it, you have to drive on this sketchy mofo dirt road for about 6 miles. Some of the ruts in it (due to the recent warm weather) were so deep that it was kind of touch-and-go with the car getting stuck. My all-wheel-drive Subaru.

Freakin' sweet.

I spent Saturday snowshoeing around the ascents off Notch Rd in Vermont. I was following some crampon marks up to, I guess, the start of an ice climbing route. Up was going fine for about 20 minutes or so, until I realized that, unlike the people who made the tracks I was following, I am not an ice climber. Therefore I was going to have to go back down. Alone. Through the steep, ice-crust-on-wet-snow-covered-in-ice-pebbles, way that I got up. That was dicey at best. I kind of did an ass-first bear crawl down until I passed the big boulders, then free fell until I came crashing out on to the road. Interesting time. If I hadn't been alone, it would have been the perfect little chute to go completely kamikaze down, but when I hike alone I'm mega conservative. Unfortunately, as I am an idiot, I left the battery charger to my little camera in San Diego, so it crapped out after I took one really lame picture of one of my boots. God, I love those boots. They're trail-slut red. They go brilliantly with my 1986-green jacket. I am so pimped out, I can't even look directly at myself. It's like Medusa, but instead of turning people to stone, I turn them to chrome.
Anyway, last night I had extremely violent, scary dreams. I don't normally dream, and when I do, I usually forget them either by the time I wake up or soon after, but this one was different. I was horrified to think that I could have thoughts beyond dealing out the occasional well-merited ass-kicking, but then I realized the reason I was having these terrible thoughts was that the crazy lady's cat was chewing on my face. Just one more bit of proof of my ongoing theory that cats are actually the devil.
Well, I guess I should get some sleep. And by "get some sleep," I mean "read this until I fall asleep."

2006-02-02T20:52:00.000-08:00

Flex day tomorrow!
Weekend away!
Three whole days without using my brain-muscle!
Yay!

death row

2006-01-31T20:33:00.000-08:00

After having a complete loss of composure on Friday, I'm back at 'em. I joined the Y, finally, after months of procrastinating. I went to a spin class. I'd forgotten how stinky them thar things can be.

I had a unique experience on Monday. Coming home from work, I sat down next to a man heading home from a construction-type job. Maybe he was a contractor. He was wearing a big shop coat and had a big, yellow, beat-up tool box with him. The tool box was covered in greasy finger prints and dings and gouges. He looked tired.

As soon as I sat down, I swear, I felt my chest constrict and my breath get shallower. It was like he was smoking. And not holding a cigarette and in the act of smoking... it was as though he were actually a huge burning pile of tobacco, carefully shaped to look like a man. He had a terrible cough. It shook his too-thin frame, rattled around his chest before breaking out. The man must be worn ragged by that thing. He kept burying his face in his jacket during his hacking. Maybe it was just the movement or maybe it was actually the smell of the air coming out of his lungs, but every time he coughed, I got a fresh faceful of smoke.

All I could think was "I'm sitting next to a dead man."

I was glad to get off the bus.

like margarine in a skillet

2006-01-29T20:22:00.000-08:00

That is how my meltdown went.

woe is me!!

Ah, well. Back at 'em tomorrow. Keep on clawing your way up that slippery slope of sanity, eventually you'll make it, sweaty and sore, to the top.

I really hope pregnancy can explain this one away.

2006-01-26T21:24:00.000-08:00

I take public transit to work. I own a car, and it would be faster to drive, but due to my twenty-something need to make myself feel better about... well, myself... I take the BMW (bus-metro-walk).
Today, I caught the bus at around 5:50 from work. Not too late, all things considered. It lands me at the metro station. From the metro station, it's a nine minute metro ride til I switch modes again. The metro rolled into the station, and I plopped down, as I usually do. I'd just finished Player Piano, so I was out of reading material.
A late thirties-ish woman sat in the seat facing me. She was about a foot and a half away, facing at a right angle to me. Normal circumstance thus far. She was average looking in every sense of the word. Not tall, not short, not fat, not thin, not dressed in any way to turn heads. Bo-ring. I probably normally wouldn't have even made the distinction between her and the cinderblock walls of the metro station.
Until she reached into her purse.
She pulled out a block of cheese, white cheddar by the looks. It was about 4" square, and just shy of an inch deep. About the amount of cheese I'd use if I were making pizza for four people. She unwrapped it, and took a bite. And another. And another.
Now, I get hunger. When I get off my bike after a four hour ride, it's all I can do to keep from licking the sidewalk. But this chick just went to town on this cheese block. Bite, chew, chew, bite, chew, chew. She didn't even come up for air. "She'll wrap it up and put it away," I kept thinking. "After this bite." Bite, chew, chew, bite, chew, chew. By the time the ride was over, there was no more cheese. She ate enough cheese to make quesidillas for approximately eight ten-year-olds.
I don't know why, but this whole thing skeeved me out so thoroughly, I considered skipping dinner with my friends to go eat a bigass salad and throw out all the dairy in my fridge.

Man. People are so freakin' wierd.

misdirected rage

2006-01-23T21:26:00.000-08:00

OK, yes. This is a rant. But it will be brief.

I am sick and tired of this stupid "romantic" notion of drinking a $100 bottle of wine out of paper cups. Mugs, fine. Simple glasses, fine. But paper cups? They always show this on stupid TV shows with no plot or cheesy movies starring fluff actors who hide the fact they can't act worth shite with airbrushing and big explosions and stuff. I loathe that sound of paper cups brushing together in a "toast" amplified through sound equipment (it's probably done later in a studio anyway... did you know that the sound of ET walking was a man walking in women's clogs on a sweater that had been left in Jello as it solidified? This is a cool fact and therefore is not my point.). I am sick and tired of this rediculous notion that someone would have the foresight to buy an expensive bottle of wine, and not the foresight to bring some freakin' glasses. Or mugs. Or bowls. But seriously? Paper? Just drink it out of the bottle, people. Please. For my sake.

Back and bad.

2006-01-22T11:29:00.000-08:00

Ah ahm bahck from Southern California.
I am still in disbelief that Yesterday morning, I was driving on the highway, the thermometer reading 55, and today, I was skiing on the mountain, the thermometer reading -10.

Arse.

So, I wrote blog entries in my head (noIamnotcrazythankyouverymuch) all week, but I've kind of forgotten what they were about.
Brilliance!
So, I posted some new pictures on flickr. Here is the summary of my trip, in photographs.

Arrived at LAX at 1am Western time, which is 4am Eastern. Checked into hotel, passed the heck out. Drove to supplier in the morning. In this:

I realized I could never, ever, ever live in LA. For one, taking two hours to drive 24 miles is just not acceptable. For another, I can't handle the rampant consumerism and disregard for the environment. You don't see many suped-up SUV's in Montreal. That is due, I'm sure, largely to the fact that people generally can't afford them, but it really bothers me that someone would be driving a jacked-up Hummer in LA. LA! It never snows there! Ever! Why in the hell would you even need All Wheel Drive, never mind a bleedin' TANK! My friend D, from Montreal, is living in San Diego. He says that people probably drive SUVs to get through the mist in the morning. "Excuse me, sir, but we cannot allow you on the 405 unless your car comes equipped with a mist setting."
Bitches.

Anyway, after three days of getting up, sitting in traffic, working all day, sitting in traffic, eating at a restaurant which I didn't choose (and therefore invariably ended in "... seafood palace," or "big stinkin' pile of dead meat") and having a conversation I don't care about (see the aforementioned post about fishing... add to that powerboats and kids, and I've had more productive times talking to the wall.), back to the hotel, pass out, repeat... I was glad to get the hell out of there and shoot down to San Diego for a day. I've got some friends from Montreal that ended up down there for one reason or another, so it was good stuff. Friday morning I went for a run. In shorts and a tank top, and I was sweating. It was beautiful. I'm telling you, if I lived in that climate, I would be so rediculously active. I brought my new itty-bitty camera with me, so my run was me trundling along for five minutes and then taking pictures.... but it was great.

After running, I trundled off to the San Diego Zoo. It was a relatively lax day, but was still full of people. None of my pictures from that are particularly exciting, but they're all up on flickr. Plug.

I love monkeys. Did I ever mention that? Because I do. Monkeys rule.

One thing I was adamant about was seeing the sunset over the ocean, so I dragged D out to La Jolla. Holy snotrag, it was beautiful. So, all in all, I took about 300 pictures in less than 24 hours. I could never ever live in LA, but San Diego is definately something I could, you know, make work if I had to.

So. Of all my 300 odd pictures, here is my favourite.

And, now I'm back in the arctic tundra. Actually, I think I have some nifty pictures of ice that I may or may not get around to posting. But that's for another day. Happy January 21st, everyone, how are those New Years resolutions going?

tick tock

2006-01-18T22:20:00.000-08:00

Top ten things I have learned on this trip, in five minutes or less, because that's how much time I have left on this internet card.

10) If there is a slight chance you will be shipped off to California for work, pack your bags early, because they might put tell you at noon that you have to be on a flight at five.
9) Southern California is, like, 45 degrees warmer than Quebec.
8) Travelling with four married men in their fourties, fifties, and sixties, can lead to slightly uncomfortable situations.
7) If you shut up and observe, you'll learn more, and people will think you're scary. Or shy.
6) If you wear a suit, people take you seriously.
5) They have irons in hotels.
4) You shouldn't pack your laundry when it's wet, even if you do have to catch a flight.
3) I have less than nothing to contribute to conversations about fishing. Especially after 45 minutes.
2) After dark, even in ritzy Marina del Rey, you can't go running, walking, wandering, exploring, photoging, or doing anything interesting at all really.
1) Business travel, even though it's paid for, is way less fun than vacation. However, company credit cards are fun.

Back in the frigid wasteland on Saturday night.

Look out for the couch!

2006-01-15T21:10:00.000-08:00

This week has been full-tilt, don't stop, don't breathe. It's like Lemon has been playing in the background.
I feel like that Jamiroquai video, where the floor is sliding around under him, and the furniture will suddenly shoot away from the wall and he dances around it. I realized, finally, that the thing that's under my skin and gnawing away at me is that I have nothing to hold on to. I've systematically destroyed friendships and relationships. My job is challenging, and I am not rising to the occasion, and I'm putting myself through emotional hell because I can't seem to get my act together. I haven't been as active as I'm used to being. My relationship with my family is strained. I have no passion.
Now, it's not as bad as all that. I'm not despairing or anything. Despair can be a verb, right? No matter. I just feel ungrounded. Really, really ungrounded.

Like the Jamiroquai video.

Anyway, then. I'm moving in the right direction. I've realized the problem. S. Problems. I know I have a massive amount of work to do on... well, honestly, every aspect of my life. Hell, I can't even be consistant with updating Blogly. I need to get active (again). I need to drink more water and less coffee and wine and beer. I need to take classes so I can learn how to lead effective meetings. I need to learn how to manage stress and separate myself from my job. I need to learn not to take professional things personally. I need to learn French, and stop being so scared to be bad at speaking it. I need to find passion. I need to get a wrist support for my keyboard at work so my wrist problem doesn't get worse. I need to work on my relationships with my family and my friends. I need to dump on other people less. I need to clean more. Revision: I need to clean, period. I need to learn my own limits. I need to learn to control my temper. I need to learn to control my temper. I need to learn to control my temper. I need to learn to control my temper.
I just wish I could step back, and look at my life, and say, "well, I'm a royal fuckup, but at least I'm doing that right," and there would be one thing. Just one. Uno. Un. Ichi. Ein.

Due to chaos and lack of resolution at work, I am being dispatched to "drop in" on one of our suppliers in California. It's not going to be fun and games. At all. But if the problem turns out to be worse than we think (which I have a sneaking suspicion it is), maybe I can swing it so I can see my friends in San Diego. Hopefully we'll finish work on Thursday night or Friday morning and I can stay the weekend. I don't know how one swings that, but I'm gonna try.

Virtual insanity....

2006-01-09T21:00:00.000-08:00

Go rent Dot the i.

Don't read the box, don't ask anyone about it. The less you know, the better off you are.
It's some good shit.

I need to get to bed, but I know that's almost pointless. These last few days, since I got back after the holiday shutdown, I've been at a final exam-level of stress. A level of stress I hoped I'd not feel again. I wake up four, five, six times a night. I'm giddy and moody and tired and on the verge of tears... I'm all over the place. I'm unhappy with so many different aspects of my life that tI've forgotten the ones I am happy about.

I'm fucked these days, dude. Just fucked.

It's one thing when you don't have any answers, but it's a whole other thing when you don't have any questions.

To My Dwindiling Population of Readers,

2006-01-08T20:38:00.000-08:00

I've been a bit devoid of inspiration lately.

So, anyone have any burning questions they want answered? Go on, I've always prided myself on being an open book.

It's been a while since I came up with a top 10 list, maybe I'll ponder that at Job tomorrow.

sic.

2006-01-05T20:32:00.000-08:00

I'm home sick. Feel like, sound like, look like crap. Why is it that days when you're a complete waste, you don't have to go to work?

However, this does give me an excuse to do my favourite sleep-time thing. Take NyQuil. Oh hell yes. I will be as close to dead as a person can get without actually, you know, dying. This is a showstopper.
I made it around the corner today to rent movies. That was huge. I rented He Died With a Felafel in His Hand. I really couldn't see too well through the blurry vision caused by trying to hold sneezes in in a public place. A guy asked me to explain to him what "heist" ment (he was French). I explained then trotted home, to pass out about 10 minutes into the movie. Movie, thus far, consists of four guys who live in a house in Australia and have philosophical conversations. Oh, and play golf using bullfrogs for balls. I think I'll give it a second run tomorrow.

Roomie is out of town til Sunday, which has allowed me to fully trash the place. I am a slob, through and through. I keep it under control with the roomie, but if I were living alone, I would definately hire a maid. I know that's lame. We never had one growing up. My parents thought it was rediculous to hire people to clean up after you. We didn't have a dishwasher, either. And part of me definately agrees with that, but at the same time, if I don't have someone to keep relatively clean for, I will not do it. End of story! Plus, you can hire a maid to come twice a month for $25 a visit, and she'll stay for three hours. Three hours of cleaning, people, that's six hours per month. I say that's well freakin' worth it, especially if she brings her own cleaning products.

This entry is a wash. I'm going to go take NyQuil (capital N, small y, big fucking Q) in the original "green death" flavour, and then I am going to pass out and dream of nothing. It will be glorious.

*

2006-01-03T20:38:00.000-08:00

I don't know when along the line it was that I decided it had to be like this.

And I don't know why I can't change.

2006

2006-01-02T10:43:00.000-08:00

We're almost 48 hours into 2006. Here are the brilliant things I've accomplished so far.

- 12am-5am, 1/1/06. Drank self into stupor. In fairness, drinking started in 2005. Was kissed by two men I've never seen before. Neither happened any time near midnight. Self was not a willing participant in said kissing.
- 2pm 1/1/06. Woke up.
- 10pm 1/1/06. Finished dinner. Stood, wearing coat, hat, and mits, for half an hour while waiting for waitress to get her act together to pay. Considered dining and dashing. Instead, left $31 for a bill of $30.80.
- 11pm 1/1/06. Purchased $12 travel mug. Left mug on table in coffee shop.
- 2am 1/2/06. Jolted awake, convinced I had to work today. Wrote ferschnickled blog entry. Crisis averted, today is definately a break.
- 9am 1/2/06. Did not meet friend for breakfast, as I was supposed to.
- 11am-1pm 1/2/06. Watched "Inked" and "Dog the Bounty Hunter," instead of reading or cleaning or... doing anything else, really. Managed to burn waffles (really burn them) in the process. What can I say, Inked is good stuff, I got distracted.
- 2pm 1/2/06. Am still in pyjamas, making list of how I have so far made 2006 a smashing bashing success.

Well, cheers then, everyone!

2006-01-01T23:17:00.000-08:00

Fuck.

I'm having one of those moments. Those 2am panic moments, where even though I know today was New Year's Day, and I therefore have tomorrow off... I still can't sleep because I'm absolutely convinced that I have to work tomorrow, and I won't show up, and then I'm going to get fired. I've called the company switchboard (talked to a very confused and bemused security guard, who said he didn't have any information on whether the staff was in tomorrow), I've texted people (whose phones were off), and sent emails. I need confirmation that tomorrow is a holiday, damnit.

I hate these fucking moments. What I need now is sleep.

Happy fucking New Year.

say fromage

2005-12-30T14:27:00.000-08:00

I bought a new camera.
No, it's not a D50. That will come later, when I manage to squirrel away the money. Because, well, it's a little bit expensive. So for the artsy stuff, I will continue to curse and swear at the Fuji and its .5 second delay and its shitty autofocus.
I got a Pentax WP. It's little, it's light. It's waterproof, and will live in my jersey or camelbak or pocket for biking, hiking, snowshoeing, etc. I realize there is general horror and dissent among the masses, but I figured for my lifestyle I'd get more use out of a bombproof PhD camera (Push here Dummy) than out of upgrading my current artsyfartsy camera. So, for now I will forego that bee-you-ti-ful D50, and when I have spare money to burn, after I buy the next bike (mmm, Cannondale Scalpel... no stop! You're the dirty one! No, you are! Yes, you! OK, we'll go get dirty together... muddy and dirty and bruised and beaten! Yes sir!).
Woot! Back to the 514 tomorrow. *relief*

help?

2005-12-28T22:18:00.000-08:00

Being home.

OK, it was all fine and good.

But then, when you run out of old stomping grounds and conversation with the family... you start going through the drawers. And it's like some sort of movie moment where you have this huge flashback and you realize... I was an idiot.
Holy crap.
Finding the size 400 pants I used to wear, the men's XXL green cord jacket. The pictures from... oh man.
Gah.
Not that I'm done becoming who I'm gonna be, and not that I won't look back to now and say the same thing. Not that I would have listened if anyone had told me then what an idiot I was.
But, hell.
Wow.

Anyway.

I bought a bunch of stuff I didn't need today ($9 for pumpkin waffle mix? Ab-so-freakin'-loutely. A new Digital Underground album? Yes sir! A D50? The verdict is still out, but apparantly these are the sexy new accessory this season...). Things here have changed so much, yet so little. My brother, my little brother, who is still what, eight? in my head, has a girlfriend. Or so I think, because I don't know any normal 21-year-old dude who spends two hours chatting on the phone in his room with his door shut... with his buddies. Who he last saw a week ago. Yes, the little squirt has a girlfriend. Shock and horror.

I had lunch the other day with the full gauntlet of family in town and my childhood best friend (ie, we were best friends from preschool until kindergarden, and stayed friendsish until grade 5 or so). She's living in Baltimore with her wife, and her little sister is busy getting some crazy double-bachelors. My strongest memory of this girl is when she came as a bunch of grapes for halloween... big, purple fuzzy grapes were attached to this leotard, and she wore green tights. I half expected her to show up wearing it. Man, that was a pimp cosutme. I should recreate it next year.

I suppose there isn't much other news... I've been spending a lot of time inside my own head, and basically I want to get back... to my friends and a bottle of wine.

Or perhaps something stronger.

Christmas flew over the cuckoo's nest

2005-12-25T20:42:00.000-08:00

Oh, the humanity.

There's nothing like cramming six adults into one space, when four of the six are used to completely running their lives, and two have been married for, what, going on 30 years now? So unfolds the chaos of Christmas in the family C.
Yesterday was the usual running around trying to get last-minute stuff together, going for a run... Before my Grandmother's afternoon visit. I even squeezed in a run. Yes. Me. Ran. Oh, my poor, aching knees. I'm so sorry for doing to that to you. And I'm sorry that I'm going to do it again. It is unseasonably warm here, so I'm regretting not bringing a bike. But, anyways. So.

Grandmother C swung by with her Hungarian "housekeeper" (read: live-in caretaker, but we are too civilized and formal to talk about anything like, god forbid, an 86-year-old woman living on her own in the middle of the woods needing some assistance.) I was put through the usual gauntlet.

Grandmother C: M, do you still ski and play tennis?
M: Well, I try to ski sometimes, but I never play tennis.
GC: Why not?
M: I guess I've just gotten more interested in other things.
GC: So you're never going to play tennis again? (look of shock/horror)
M: I doubt it, but I might later in life. (Thinking "hell no, it's a sport that MANDATES skirts. Plus, my knees won't stand for it.)
GC: Well, I think it's just a shame, because you're going to meet your husband either on the ski slopes or on the tennis court.

My grandmother is convinced that there is no way to meet a reputable man if you don't meet him gliding down the blue-diamonds in this year's too-tight snowbunny suit, or flouncing around in proper tennis whites, cordially batting a ball to your girlfriend. She also defines a reputable man to be one who is from a proper family and is either a doctor or a lawyer. Well, I like skiing, but it generally involves hurtling headfirst into trees and yelling things like "bitches! I'll get you next time!" And tennis is fine and good, but I'll be hogtied and called a pickle before I stuff balls in my underwear. Well, in front of an audience, at least (what?).
So you probably have a fair bit of disdain for my grandmother now. Yeah, I do too, on a lot of levels. But I've learned, through many shouting matches at various holidays and family gatherings, that sometimes, you just can't change people. Especially when they are sixty-some odd years older than you, have lived through two wars (and lost a brother to one) and lost a husband of forty-something years. But then the stories start flowing.
When my grandfather died, I was in high school. My younger brother, B, is three years behind me. As is the tradition, Grandfather C was a packrat, so after he died it was a therapeutic thing for Grandmother (yes, I refer to my grandparents as "Grandmother" and "Grandfather") to throw out all his years of stuff. Grandfather was a medic in WWII, and came back to his coroner's practice. (Now, keep in mind, this was fifty years ago.) As she was cleaning out the basement, she threw out old work boots, piles of frayed and rotting paper (records), and eventually found a stack of neatly-labeled coffee tins. "What's in the tins?" she wondered, as anyone would. Well, on opening one, she discovered... A brain.

Yeah. A brain.

Grandfather had hoarded brain upon brain upon brain. I guess people are not generally embalmed with their brains, or something. I don't know. I choose to not wonder about how he came upon these brains, but at least there's some consolation to the fact that he was a coroner. Now, as my grandmother is a lady, and ladies do not deal with the disposal of body parts, she called her ever-ready son, my father, to please dispose of the brains in the basement. He thought they probably had some scientific value (all the brains belonged to patients who had died of Alzheimer's. Ironically, so did Grandfather C.), so he thought they might be donated to a school. B's science teacher showed some interest, until my brother (by the time this was going on, I had left for university and B was in high school) showed up one morning with a trunkfull of human brains in coffee tins. The teacher realized that this was probably highly illegal, and graciously declined the brains.
I guess the whole fiasco was solved by getting in touch with the current county coroner, and explaining the situation, who obviously has the means by which to dispose (legally) of body parts.
Or a very sketchy drive to the Cuyahoga river. Your guess is as good as mine.

But since then, we've decided not to do too much digging in her backyard.
You should have seen the Hungarian Live-In Helper's face. "What the hell kind of freak show am I living in?" So that was Christmas eve, with dad's mom.

Christmas day was spent here, with my mom's two sisters, and the four of us. My aunts, Z and A, are both single; A by divorce. So I try to get them really sweet gifts every year because they don't have immediate families to spoil the crap out of them like we do each other. Z, A, and mom were three of five, the other two are men. They grew up in a pretty intense house with all sorts of family history I've never been taught (I'm starting to learn about it now... for example, Grandfather R was an Irish Protestant and Grandmother R was an Irish Catholic... This resulted in Grandfather R's mother threatening to jump out the window the night before they married. Anyway, Grandmother R passed on years ago, and I never met Grandfather R.). But I guess when you're five kids growing up in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, you tend to be friend with your siblings. This results in them basically having their own language, which is mighty confusing to my brother, father, and self.
Typical Christmas around here. We gave each other stacks of books. The winner was the three-volume set my mom tracked down for B; "The Destruction of European Jews." B has read more books than anyone I know (at twelve, he had read most of Nietzche's important works.). Even though it is an extremely relevant set of books, it's not exactly overwhelmingly merry. But he was when he opened them... and my aunt struck up a resounding chorus of the yuletide favourite, "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Genocide." The giving of gifts was followed by the ceremonial political/social debate. I swear, it's like they look for it. I asked my father a very technical question about his job, and it devolved into a debate about subsidized public transportation, which of course turned to agriculture subsidies... oh, it was a mess. Doors were slammed, yelling happened, but an hour later we were all gathered around dinner. It's the usual.
My brother has, in some sort of "be nice to animals" epiphany, become a vegetarian. So this year's meal was extremely vegetarian-friendly. Vegetarian to my mom means store-bought salads and lasagna, but it's the thought that counts. It does, however, annoy me that up to now, I was responsible for making my own meals at family gatherings (I figured it was more than fair. Mom prepared a meal, I chose not to eat it, so I had to fend for myself.). I've been doing this for over ten years now... Probably closer to twelve. But B becomes a vegetarian and suddenly there's 10 additional veggie dishes at the table. But, hey. He's the golden child, and I know how to cook.

Ah. Family.

Merry Christmas to all, or whatever the heck you may celebrate (a day off if nothing else).
I took mucho pictures, and will post them when I'm not on (gasp, horror) dialup. Seriously, people still use dialup. Shudder.

ho ho freakin' ho

2005-12-23T09:36:00.000-08:00

I been MIA lately. I acknowledge and admit that. And, to the very few remaining readers I have, I apologize. I don't know about you, but I had a friend who started a blog (no finger-pointing here). There was one entry "Bridge over the river Cam," that stayed up for about two months. Every day, I'd read her blog, and there it would be. Bridge over the river Cam. I had nightmares. Trauma. The full gauntlet. It was... *sniff* terrible.

My flight leaves the ground in just over five hours. Going home is always wierd. There my mom will be, sitting by the baggage carousel. She will probably leave the house to pick me up before I leave the house to get on the flight. No, the airport isn't that far away (a little over an hour for her), but she's just paranoid that she'll be late, and that if she is, I will suddenly be tunneled back in time to when I was eight years old. I'll have no idea what to do, and I'll sit down on the floor and I'll cry. I have navigated airports in South America, Europe, and Japan, and she still thinks that all hell will break loose if she isn't waiting somewhere clearly visible to pick me up. She won't even drive in circles by the arrival gate... for fear that something would go wrong.

I have not finished Xmas shopping. Woe is me, I will be braving the malls tomorrow morning. Oh, take pity on me.

Work was a bit of a gong show this week. It always is. I decided to take two of my flex hours (by Thursday evening I only needed two more hours to be done for the week), of which I have about 20, to take today off to pack and clean and rest. By "pack and clean and rest," I mean "get drunk on Thursday night, sleep in, and watch Maria Full of Grace." Po-tay-to, po-tah-to. I was going to take my laptop home with me and catch up on some work, but I stupidly left the keys to unlock it from my desk at home today. I'm an idiot. So lappy-top is on my desk. I suppose that's probably for the best in the long run.
My coworkers were unamused that a) I will not be on call this week during the shutdown because I, unlike them, have family outside the Montreal area and b) I decided at the last minute to flex today. Whatever, people. Lives. They're trendy, go get one.

It's bitchassnasty cold these days, but as I am about 40 IQ points dumber in the morning, I continually leave for work without the necessary accoutrements. This has resulted in one very unhappy M waiting for the bus at 6:30pm, shaking like a middle-class white boy in maximum security lockup.
Meh. Toes. Who needs 'em.

Anyway, I hope to get my act together while I'm home and take some silly pictures of my silly little town.

let it.... %$&*#!!!

2005-12-18T20:55:00.000-08:00

I was going to write a very, very angry post. But I'm not going to. I will let the fact that I read a book that made me very, very angry be enough. My roommate is glad that I am done with it because there was a danger of actual steam coming out of my ears.

Enough of that.

It snowed here. Really fucking snowed. My 45 minute commute turned into 2 hours. There was bout 2' of snow in 8 hours. Busses stopped. Cars got stuck. It was utter chaos. Montreal is usually pretty good about dealing with snow-oriented chaos, but this was a whole new level. Friday morning, I woke up, showered, dressed. The usual. I walked outside to catch the bus. That's where things went crazy. There was a foot of snow on the stairs. I trekked through it. Thre was snow midway up my shins on the sidewalk. Whatever. There was at least 6" of snow on the street. I watched cars spin their wheels, slowly crawl down the MAIN STREET that I live on. It was still dark at 7am, because the whiteout had allowed this kind of creepy ambient light, but nothing really legitimate. After standing at the bus stop for 20 minutes, I knew the bus wasn't coming (it comes every five). So, I grappled back up to my apartment, changed into boots, and fleece-lined workpants, and hiked the 20 minutes through snow up to my knees to the metro. The metro, as it is underground, was running just fine, until I had to exit and catch another bus. Half an hour late. I got to work two whole hours late. And, compared to some people, I was early.
We spent the day watching the snow pile up against the windows, blocking out the light. We watched the traffic grind to a total halt on the road outside, and at around 1:30, I did what I do best. I fucked off home, and took a nap.

Friday night, our planning was immaculate. Through the piles and mounds of snow, came trudging our friends, to our first annual Warm Winter Drinks party. We mulled wine, we drank Bailey's and Jameson. Holiday cheer was had by all. I highly reccomend to you all mulled wine. It is quite the thing. I had the pleasure of seeing a very, very quiet, yet surprisingly not shy, man put a very, very obnoxious girl in her place for a very, very obnoxious comment. I think of myself as being fairly (read, very) immature. But she, wow. She has me by a furlong. I'm not entirely sure what a furlong is, but it's a bit.
I finally got my act together and saw March of the Penguins. Of course, watching the poor things freeze and die, or watch their young freeze and die... well, it made me cold. So I drank some wine to warm up. Then some Bailey's. *sigh* Mom would be proud.

I'm pretty excited to fly home on Friday. I'm going to be at home, away from my pager, for a week. A week! It's going to be an old-fashioned Ohio Christmas. If anyone is passing through Cleveland this year, stop in for some cookies. I'm excited about gifting this year... I have officially broken the bank, but for once, I have money to spend. Granted, I've blasted through my savings, but as my savings have only been around since mid-October, I'm not overly worried. My new spendthrift plan shall begin in January. Really.

Anyway, I best be trapsing off to bed.

Ho ho ho!

Fire in the Hole

2005-12-13T20:21:00.000-08:00

I'm reading something right now that is making me angrier than anything I've read in a long time. I want to say what I have to say on the subject matter when I can form a coherant sentance, so I'm going to wait. But, fair warning....

Two slightly funny things that have happened to me recently:

On Saturday, I went to a big bookstore in downtown Toronto, in search of some new brainfood. It was bizarre. Thumping music (may have been Madona's latest creation). The first floor had no books, just board games, trinkets, stuffed animals, (OK, maybe they had some Harry Potter box sets), tea, soap... name it, as long as it wasn't bound on the left and full of text. The second floor was a packed-to-capacity Starbucks. Finally, tucked up on the third floor, were the *shock* books. I walked past hundreds of "The Idiot's Guide to...", and the latest trendy tae-stair-yoga-lates accessories, and finally found it. Fiction. Literature. Shock, people still read that? I had a hankerin' for some MacLennan. I love MacLennan. He has penned some of the most achingly beautiful words I have ever read in my life. Stuffed between The Shopaholic series and the latest pink-and-green with stupid stick figures slop of chick lit, was Two Solitudes. I looked on the next shelf. I looked up, I looked down. I looked behind a stack of He's Just Not That Into You. Nothing else. "Excuse me," I managed to grab a salesman. "Is this the only MacLennan you have?" "I know," he said, rolling his eyes. "Let me tell you, if Oprah read MacLennan, we'd have hundreds."

Second thing, I was walking to my (un)friendly local grocery store this evening, when I saw two guys pull up in an unmarked, sketchy van, and jump out. They were dressed in black work coats, insulated steeltoed boots, thick black toques, and work gloves. They threw up a ladder, chopped down the signage (already sabotoged, of course) for the PQ, and threw up a shiny new NDP sign. Then they chucked the PQ sign in the van, threw in the ladder, and peeled out. I just stood there and stared, and then laughed myself to the grocery store.

my 1/50th of a dollar

2005-12-12T19:54:00.000-08:00

EVERYTHING WILL WORK OUT FOR THE BEST.

BECAUSE IT HAS TO.

in a handbasket

2005-12-11T20:23:00.000-08:00

I'm going to hell.

Driving back in the snow tonight, I saw a car accident. Major. Car flipped over in a ditch, people running towards it. I probably passed two minutes after it happened. Passed.
I didn't stop.
Granted, there were guys, big guys, there. They probably had cell phones. And thirty seconds later, there were flashing lights in the oncoming traffic. Presumably the emergency response vehicles.
But the point is, I didn't stop.

And I'm going to hell for it.

Anyway.
Weekend in Toronto was good. I got bamboozled into buying much fancy-schmancy tea. I will drink said tea and have good poops. I also bought a gift for my friend, who just had a baby (well, his wife had the baby). He's a riding buddy, and I managed to find a tiny T-shirt with a picture of a trike on it that says "pimp my ride." Brilliant.
I like it when I go to pick up the pieces of something and discover that the thing isn't really even cracked. Maybe it's got a chip in it, but it's there, on the table, next to the thing, just waiting for some glue to be exactly the same as it was before.

Yeah.

I'm gonna go read the Post Secret book now.

I'm going to drink all you fools under the table

2005-12-08T20:51:00.000-08:00

I am ze vorst kint off blogger. I am le terrible! Bah.

Work has been slow(er) this week, so I've managed to hop-skip out the door after just 8 hours every day. I've even been able to eat lunch! This is exciting. Lunch is fun, except when you get dragged to the local brasserie with your coworkers. Mmm, I love leaving my beautiful guacamole-fake meat-tomato-coriander burritos for a salad consisting only of iceberg lettuce and tomatoes and drenched in shitty dressing. Ah well. Bonding with the coworkers is necessary. Even if Inappropriate Guy does insist on telling everyone how long it's been since he got laid last (five months, a figure which I refuse to believe... perhaps 5 months before 1990).

Interesting language misunderstanding this week. Inappropriate Guy sent out an invitation to the whole team, inviting us all to the Xmas party next Friday (we're going curling. I'm sure I'll have some good blog fodder from that). In the invitation, he told us all about the dinner (following curling), where one of the interns, L, was apparantly going to "drink us all under the table."
Now, if your first language wasn't English, you might not get that phrase off the bat.
In fact, you might be extremely offended, because you might think that Inappropriate Guy sent out an email saying you were going to suck off the entire department.

I'm off to Tee-Oh for the weekend. Keep 'er real while I'm gone. Long blog might get written on Saturday, depending on if I feel like entertaining myself while my host is at work, or if I just sleep in and read the paper and drink coffee and play with her computer. It's a 50-50 split.

or life is yours to miss

2005-12-06T21:07:00.000-08:00

Rent.

I heard rumblings about it when it premeired in New York. I caught it four times in Cleveland. My mom gave me front row balcony seats for an April performance for Christmas. Front row balcony. Those are the best seats in the house.

I'm a bit of a purist when it comes to the stage on the screen. I rarely think it's OK. Romeo and Juliet made me spitting mad, for example (who chose DiCrappio?). I refused to see Chicago. But sometimes, it works.
The first musical I really felt was Hair. I got all passionate about the Viet Nam war. I was twenty-odd years too late, but if there had been a march at Kent State in 1995, dude, I would have been there.
I got all wrapped up in theater. I even thought technical theater (set design and construction specifically) was going to be my career. I'm glad I had a taste of what it's like in that profession if you don't "make" it. I didn't want to be sixty and backstage at some community theater with a bunch of prima donnas getting paid $20 a show to crawl around on my hands and knees in the sweaty dust behind the scrim. Call me snooty. It wasn't what I wanted.
I could go on and on about the emotional roller-coaster of high school, coupled with the pretentous wierdness of actors... but I won't.
Long story short, I went to see the Rent movie tonight. They cut out a lot of stuff (including Contact, the sex song. What's that about?), but all in all the vocals were good (save for, and call me finicky, Maureen totally missing that note in her performance act). But the thing I didn't expect was this flood of nameless, faceless emotion from almost ten years ago to come flooding back over me. I bawled for almost an hour straight, from the first Life Support scene, straight through the end. I didn't relive some sixteen-year-old trauma, but I just felt reconnected to someone I used to be, people I used to know, things I used to do.
I was a snotty mess. And I'm emotionally drained and exhausted now, but somehow, I feel better. Don't think I was feeling bad, but one can always feel better.

Oh, boy, sleep! That's where I'm a viking.

meme? youyou!

2005-12-04T10:59:00.000-08:00

I been tagged, yo. Shizzle.
Then, I been tagged again. Doubizzle shizzle.
Thanks a LOT, J Stizzle and Fitenizzle.
*sigh* I just can't fight.

I tripped the main circuit breaker in our apartment last night on my way out to dinner. So my friend, in town for one day from England, came over to see my place. I showed her around with a headlamp. It was snowing this morning, and even though I was awake at 8, I didn't get out of bed until around noon because it was hovering around freezing in my apartment. But, the electricity is back on now and I'm procrastinating on Christmas shopping.
I hate Christmas shopping. As a holiday, Christmas is all fine and good. I don't mind a week or two. But the whole Christmas-MANIA that takes over for two months starts to wear on me. Fortunately, I have been able to avoid it thus far as my life consists of work and home. No travelling about in polite society, no siree bob.
Reading about people's jobs is not particularly interesting, so I won't go on forever. All I'm going to say is this is one of the most high-stress situations I've ever been in. It's wearing on me. If one more person tells me, "you look tired!" I'm going to beat them senseless with their own fist. I tried to take a picture of my eye the other day... they're bloodshot on a consistant basis these days. Couldn't get it to work. Anyway, I anticipate it getting better, because I'll figure out what my role is, and how to be effective.

Anyway. Le meme.

Three things that you wish you were good at but are either not good at all or just so-so:
<>1) Financial stuff. I can't manage money.
2) Holding my liquor.
3) Being a busy busy bee when it comes to my free time. Cleaning up, doing stuff... yeah, no. I really, really enjoy sitting on me arse.

Three of your favorite songs to dance around in ya undapants to:
1) You Can Leave Your Hat On (Tom Jones)
2) A Little Less Conversation (Elvis vs. JXL remix... from that commercial during the Mondial a few years ago)
3) oh, now, it would take away the surprise of me actually dancing around in my underwear if you could tell what I was doing before you walked in the door, just by what song was being played, now wouldn't it....?

The name of your favorite teacher, what grade, subject and WHY (can be a professor too).
I wrote a post about this a while ago. You can check it out on M, Sr.... here.

Three things that you are inexplicably good at, for better or for worse.
Um.
Well....
1) I've been told I'm good at turning phrases.
2) I'd say I'm a pretty good friend. I'd lay down in traffic for most people. But without, y'know, being a wuss. I'd lay down in traffic and then tell the traffic to suck a fat one.
3) Shakin' my grove thing, shakin' my grove thing, yeahyeah.

Your top 3 favorite breakfast cereals, if none, your idea of the perfect breakfast.
I don't really eat breakfast during the week... I grab a muffin on the go or something. I know, I know. Healthy. I do NOT, however, even attempt to face the day without a big, strong coffee. I prefer to drink it black, but since I drink so much the acidity was really starting to get to me... so I throw in one cream now. I've started making my own lattes in the morning... 4-6 shots of superthick, tar-black espresso and a bit of frothed 5%.... nummah.
If it's a casual weekend, I enjoy a nice cheddar-and-green apple crepe. Ooh. So good. Why am I not eating that now?

Top three destinations, places you gotta see before you die and WHY.
1) Greece. No idea why. I just really want to go there.
2) New Zealand. I want to strap on a backpack and head out on a two-month long hike. I need to find someone to do that with. That will definately be in the plans. Likely between this job and the next I'll try to take 6 months to a year off.
3) The moon. For once in my life, I want more than a 4 inch vertical.

<>Name a huge turning point in your life, something that happened and after that everything was different. What was different? Why?
Crikey.
Probably when I up and moved to Montreal for university six years ago. It wasn't anything particularly daring, but it decided the course of my life more than any decisions I've made since. And now I'm still. here.

On a scale of 1 to 10, are you a good kisser? Pursuant to this, does it matter? (what is your opinion)
Well, when I'm home alone on a Friday night, making out with my hand.... I MEAN... aaaaah... crap.
Um, I can hold my own. And yes. It matters.

What is your best feature? Your worst? (intentionally vague here)
Best feature? Um. Well, I'm just 'bout perfect...
No, seriously, folks.
Worst? My temper. I gots me some Irish blood, and it's always just shy of boiling.

Are you a night person or a morning person?
Night. Getting up at quarter to six every morning is one of the hardest parts of my new job. I love the silence late at night. I love being the only person who is up when everyone else is asleep. I love the interesting characters you see out on the streets at 4am... and the deep, deep black right before sunrise. And the feeling when you stay up all night and you're exhausted, but as soon as the sun comes up, suddenly you're rested and have a second wind. And I love the feeling of crashing in the middle of the day, of being unconscious when everything around you moves forward.
Damn, I miss being a student and running on my own timetable.

Fill in the blank: "There is nothing better than _______ after a long hard day of work."

Going for a long, hard workout, coming home and cooking a good, healty dinner, and having a big, fat glass of wine with some friends. Then passing out.

I think everyone has been tagged... I'll try for Atpanda, but she seems to be MIA these days.