M

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.

The way things go

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

*edit*

spiraling

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

*edit*

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.

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.

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.

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.

a run for his money

2006-09-24T19:40:00.000-07:00

"I don't get that guy," I said, putting down my fork. "He has got to be one of the most miserable people I know."
"Oh, I don't know. Sometimes, you give him a run for his money."

There it was, laid out on the breakfast table between my apple-cheddar crepe and his bacon and eggs. I am a miserable person.
Miserable women run in my family. My Aunt A, my mom's sister, who always wanted kids. She married a guy in the 70s so he could run off to Canada and dodge the draft. They never had kids because he didn't really want them, and around her fiftieth birthday left her for a 25-year-old cocktail waitress. Now, she lives alone in an apartment downtown, spends at least two days a week with my mom and dad, and works at a job she hates.
My mom's other sister never married. She found a partnership with food and is quite heavy. She's done some amazing things in her career... really, really incredible things, but she works too much. After her long days, she comes home to her two cats and cooks a gourmet dinner, which she then proceeds to eat.
My mother, bless her heart, has sacrificed so much for my brother and I. We had a stay-at-home mom. But all we heard our whole lives was that she could have been a lawyer, could have been a human rights advocate. She's got some awesome accomplishments under her belt, but I think she feels that, at the end of the day, she has under achieved.
My brother's sister is in a loveless marraige with two terrors for children. The last time I saw her, I remember looking into her eyes, resting under her perfectly coiffed hair and surrounded by very tasteful makeup, and thinking "she looks dead inside."

My life is pretty goddamn good. Really, really goddamn good. My parents put me through school. I did well enough in school to get an engineering degree. That's turned into what pretty much everyone would call a "good job." I have friends. I have hobbies. I'm busy.
But, there's this beneath the surface, sneaking feeling, that something just isn't right. I know that a lot of that is that I'm fed up with Montreal. It's time for a change of scenery, that's for damn sure. But I think there's a big part of me that just won't let myself be happy. I don't know why... maybe that Catholic guilt thing? (I'm not Catholic, but you know, I have some friends who are.) I have an inability to trust people.

But, all that aside, I don't think I'm miserable. I think I'm OK. My friend's a moron.

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.