Don't aint be merry.

We did it. We packed and closed up our house in one day. A fun filled day of no arguing or stress (lie). It's done, we are in K-dub and onward ho. (who you callin a ho, ho?)

Christmas eve day and I'm listening to New Order and Sesame Street Fever, eating cookies and wrapping gifts. I'm also rapping gifts. Bustin' out some sweet little freestyles for my homies (more lies).

I will try to gain at least 10 pounds so that I'll have a challenge of more weight to lose in California. Eating cookies and drinking myself sick on eggnogg is a chore but it must be done if I want to meet my goals of not fitting into my pants by New Year's. Goals are important.

Happy Holidays suckas! I pity the fools that ain't be merry!

Purple monkey dishwasher

This morning, since the ladies sitting near me on the train were screaming at the top of their lungs, well, ok they were just talking loud, I decided I might as well practice my french listening skills. From what I could understand, one of them was talking about someone who died in their sleep. Except she kept giggling so maybe I misunderstood? I distinctly heard, translated of course, "...feel asleep and just didn't wake up." Then, right after that, from what I understood, she spoke of someone who "glided" on the karate mat and now is paralyzed and that they are hoping they will get their feeling back but don't know. Except again, she kept giggling. Probably I missed a key word somewhere or something so I decided to tune them out and listen to the English people behind me instead. They were talking about some elderly lady who had died at the Christmas party but no one knew for a long time because they thought she was sleeping. "Ah hah!", I thought, they must have all gone to the same party! Maybe this woman had been to karate class before this bilingual Christmas party, paralyzed in a chair from "gliding" on the karate mat and fell asleep and died. Makes perfect sense. I am good at french.

Note to self: shut-up brain.

Quebec is testing the limits of my winter coat today. My coat is loyal and true up to -20 degrees Celsius. Below that, my coat is all: "I'm leaving, I need to find myself". It's -23 with the windchill today. I'm feeling sorry for myself with my cramps clouding my judgement. Should I punch that stranger in the head because I just don't like their face or should I curl up in a ball in a corner somewhere and cry for 10 hours? Should I eat that chocolate that my colleague gave me even though it will make my cramps worse or should I eat it even thought it will make my cramps worse? (notice there is no other option in this case)

I'm just not playing enough scrabulous these days. That's probably my real problem.

You know, I am really bad at seeing the bright side and letting go of worry and just enjoying stuff. I really, really suck at that and I really wish I didn't. Somewhere along the way, I must have learned that if I don't worry, stuff will go to shit. Is that true? Probably was at some point but not anymore. Must learn new way to think. Note to self.

Snakes on rye

Alright so the freak out has been somewhat quelled. Starting to sort of sleep again. Feeling less like a rabbit in the fox part of town. Holy snakes on rye though, is it ever cold! Real christmasy, not like that fake ass winter we had last year where it didn't even start until february. Christmas without snow is incorrect. So at least there's no worry of that this year.

Man, my brain is so full of the lists of all the little things to do I don't even think I could type a blog without turning it into another list of things to do:
-buy candy and eat candy
-pack all the cutlery in case there is none in California
-wash the windows with a toothbrush meticulously for no good reason
-battle the darklord

See now, this is just going nowhere...

Freak out, uh huh, flash flash flash.

I am the official owner of a ticket to California. A jet plane ticket don't you know. I only hyper-ventilated for 3 days before and after the purchase of said ticket. My heart rate is almost less than that of a pig in a frying pan now.

I don't adapt well to change. Easy and going are two words that are never used in consecutive order when describing me. I'm not sleeping in fact. I don't lie awake with specific worries, just a racing heart and a brain that keeps jerking me back to crouched, conscious readiness. Waiting to spring from attacking tigers or what have you. Useful when you are spending a night in a jungle but no so useful when tucked in to your queen sized Ikea bed and your alarm will be ringing in 2 hours and you've already been up for 3. Deep inhalation, deep exhalation...and tense up, I mean RELAX DAMN YOU! Not you, me...

Er, so anyway, I leave for Ontario in 2 weeks from which point I will then have 2 weeks to relax over christmas and new years and then fly fly fly and hopefully not die die die to California. I leave 2 WEEKS!!!!??? It's all a blur and I have accomplished nothing other than buying a ticket which is a good start I guess. Still have to pack, close up the house(drape everything in sheets like they do in the movies and put out mice, squirrel, raccoon, skunk and bison traps. I sure as shit don't want to come home to a colony of mice procreating on the floor and bison hanging out on the couch watching PBS (bison are a lot more cultured than you'd expect). I also have to ensure that my landlord won't slough off the duty of house checking onto my permanently stoned and drunk neighbour or the other morphine addicted neighbour. Not that I think substance abusers don't make great house sitters but...Actually I don't think they make great house sitters, or neighbours. And they hate me so...what was my point? My point is I'm paranoid about various issues and doing little about it. YES! Proactive!

Man, I don't know. I need to just chill out. I'm trying. I considered the old frying pan to the head the trick a couple nights ago but I think I'm working out some better ways. I hope.

Apples and ink.

Have I already mentioned how changing to a new ink colour for my pen can totally refresh me for at least a few days. It's that easy. Actually this new one with the grape purple flow ink has enthralled me for an entire week now. That's the sort of complex, sophisticated lady I am.

If you live in Canada, you will also be up to your hips in snow. It hit like a barn owl on speed last night. We live at the bottom of a steep hill so when the snow blows, it all piles up in front of our house. It insulates well but if you have to actually leave the house, you are thigh deep in snow. Pictures to be added soon. Check back in a couple of days.

Speaking of cameras, jesus on a cracker do I ever wish I had mine at the grocery store yesterday. There was this kid. This totally weird 10 year old girl wearing what looked like her grandmothers fur jacket. It was so obviously an old lady fur coat. Hip length, puffy shoulders, full on fur, long fur. Her glasses were steamed up and her nose was dripping while she furiously tried to unwrap her chocolate bar with her ski mitts still on, she was outside in the parking lot you see. If that wasn't enough of a sight. We noticed she had some odd contraption that she was sitting on and pushing around. It was a walker with skis attached. It is so obvious that someone old died in her family and her parents figured, well, what the hell, might as well make some toys out of granny's worldly posses ions. Or maybe the kid specifically requested this contraption be made for her. Either that kid is going to grow up and be the coolest gal ever or she will live alone with 43 cats and eat Kraft dinner from a fishbowl everyday.

I have a favourite brand of apple. I discovered it when they handed them out for free at the building I work at. It was the best apple ever. T went shopping that weekend and just happened to get the same kind but didn't pay attention to what kind he got. So now I have to try every apple available. Because I am not very bright, I just realized this by the way, I have been buying 3 or 4 apples each week, to try to find it. Why I am dumb is because I buy 3 or 4 of the same kind per week instead of buying 3 or 4 different apple types. If I did that, I could find the right one faster. It's not Macintosh, nor Gala. It might be Spartan or Empire....the quest continues.

Hard candy and white cotton undies.

So, I am training my replacement at work. Today, they asked that I leave her to her own devices to see how things go. This means I have nothing to do all day. Not a thing. I'm in the spare office so I feel like a big man, having an office all to my self and a big window overlooking Montreal. I guess this is what executives feel like. Your own office, no actual work to do or at least someone to do it for you and you sit around, surveying the city or blogging about your candy cane collection until it's time to assess whether someone is doing a good job for you or not.

I think I will also get gout and order the beheading of some peasants while I'm at it. The thing is, even though it was more or less an order not to work, I still have to pretend that I am working somehow. I mean, they don't want to come back and find me knitting or playing with Hotwheels on the carpet. Which is annoying because it's 3pm and no one has checked on me all day and there is so much I could have done had I known. I even brought my paper and ink to knock off some stellar christmas card but alas, I am not truly free to do as I please. Still, the office to myself is nice. Montreal is grey and cold and snow dusted. I should just wander around The Bay.

I recently did an underwear drawer re haul and went to The Bay for replacements. I bought a slip to wear under skirts so they wouldn't ride up on my tights but it was so hard to find. There were only 3 kinds of slips in the entire lingerie section. They were in the old lady part, with the cotton night gowns and industrial beige bras that have padlocks and kidney and spleen support built in.

I decided that this time, I would go for the nicest, whitest, cotton underwear I could find in the spirit of minimalism. With my slip, and white cotton underwear, suddenly, the idea of a long, loose flannel night gown started to seem appealing. Might as well look for a hard candy dish while I'm at it and some terry cloth slippers and a nice little book of crosswords to do while I'm waiting for the grand kids to come over...

Way, way east of Montreal, the big grey clouds are parting to reveal a sky that is the palest robin's egg blue. The smaller, white clouds there are touched with pink as the sun has already begun to sink. It'll be pitch black by 4. Tonight, the fire place will be aglow and the bed will be warmed by yours truly early. It's hibernation time. Get ready for me California. I will be coming soon.

Stay in bed and order in.

Oh by the way, this is what every young lady in Montreal looks like:



Moving on, after 2 weeks of the shittiest luck ever, involving unsolvable medical annoyances, yelling at doctors, missing trains, canceled trains, a traumatizing movie and more missed trains, I am pleased to announce the successful completion of a perfect saturday. It started off a little shaky. I usually prefer to clean the place as soon as possible to get it feeling like a proper place to live after a week of neglect. Admittedly not the most fun thing to do on the weekend. Then there is the matter of grocery getting, which usually comes next and we were about to get our boots on and brave the snow when I decided, screw that. Let's go back to bed, bring in the tv and the dvd player, order some damn food to be brought to us and watch the Royal Tennebaums for the zillionth time because that movie gets better each time it's watched. So we did just that mi amigos. Our food arrived and we had to answer the door in housecoats-at 2 pm in the afternoon.

The delivery man politely averted his eyes and comments. Onion rings, spicy fries, vegetable subs and a vegetarian club sandwich with rice milk chocolate is a recommendable meal to consume in your bed, while watching Wes Anderson on a cold and snowy Saturday.

It was nearly dark when we finally decided to haul ourselves out of bed. We had been venturing out only to keep the fire stoked, which had toasted up the house nicely, so we pulled the tv back out, turned on the christmas tree, had some hot beverages and geared ourselves up for an evening trip to the grocery store.

The night was mild and the sky was clear with a few stars twinkling, the store was empty, save for a few single men shopping in the frozen food section and some teenagers, waiting for their friends to be done stacking cans of crushed pineapple and pickled pigs feet on the shelves. How leisurely it was to stroll through the empty aisles at our own pace. We called a cab to take us back home and enjoyed the spoils of our conquest, despite still being slightly full of all the fried goodness of our earlier meal.

Ah yes, sloth and gluttony doth perfection make. It's not like that. We usually eat so careful and work pretty hard. That was the first time in forever we took a whole day to just relax and laze about "indulging our fancies", as they cavemen used to say.

A most agreeable saturday indeed. What I would like to take from that into the next week is the feeling of ease and light-heartedness a bit of rest and attention to desires can bring. Remind me because I might forget quickly. I shall approach the coming week as if my pajamas and slippers were on and my pillow and blanket were at hand whenever I needed them. Sort of like a crazy person. Crazy like a FOX, who's having a lie-in. Er...G'night.

Tight pants and wings.

In the mall below the building where I work, there are handsome young men in tight pants and soft, cream-coloured, fisherman knit sweaters with big angel wings on their backs, handing out promotional postcards. Sometimes I love Montreal.

Sgt. Pepper's Bee Gees style.

I love the look of a tree covered in snow. This is lucky because I get to see 20 minutes of it out the window of the train these days. Snow has arrived indeed. I’m really starting to realize that having to only endure a month of this, and then sitting out the rest of the winter in California is a good, good thing. Although, I had a dream last night that we arrived and had a truly awful apartment to live in. Stupid paranoid brain.

On another topic, the award for cutest little cd in the world goes to Nighttiming by Coconut Records. Which is essentially Jason Schwartzman and friends. It sounds like he spent a month listening to Sgt. Pepper’s, but the BeeGees version, and watching episodes of the Monkeys and then went into the basement and recorded an album. It’s the first time I’ve thought of the BeeGees cover of the Sgt. Pepper album in ages. Takes me waaaay back. My precocious enjoyment of this album is due to having a sister 8 years older than me. I remember going to the theatre on a Saturday afternoon in downtown Kitchener and seeing Xanadu. I couldn’t have been more than 7 years old. It pretty much blew my mind. I haven’t seen it since but thanks to this adorable cd by Jason Schwartzman, I am so totally going to listen to the Bee Gees version of Sgt. Pepper and rent Xanadu. I suggest you do the same!

Oh and I am pleased to announce that there is a new distraction as I wait for the train in the morning. A very tall, businesslike man who everyday, while waiting for the train, closes his eyes and practices walking backwards, as if he were on a tightrope. One foot directly behind the other. Either he is a tight rope walker from 9 to 5 or he's a little kooky. My guess is OCD. I feel like congratulating him for being so funky. Whatever the reason. Walking backward with your eyes closed is one of the best ways of waiting for a train that I've seen for sure.

IIIIIIII can't stand it, I know you planned it...

I haven't been able to blog in a while because I'm training the gal who will be replacing me while I am in California "finding myself". She's beside me all day, except for right this second so I'm typing super fast to say that...

I can't remember. I think of things but if I don't blog them right away, they disapear from my damaged brain.

All I remember is that somehow, something happened that made me decide I should start the blog quoting Beasite Boys - Sabatoge.

So listen all y'all it's a sabatoge... but I really can't remember what or why.

new topic: I will be hell of years tomorrow.

Also, this has been a week of malchance. Remind me to explain.

Some Epson salts will calm your humours Milady.

I went to the drug store to look for hydrogen peroxide. They have it in this little section in the back that's the "old-timey" style pharmaceuticals. Rose water, Myrrh essence, Calamine, Espsom Salts. I felt like I should be wearing a monocle and "perusing the wares" in search of a tonic for for the humours. I intend to buy everything they have in that section a little bit at a time until I have a full 19th century pharmacy in my own bathroom.



So the other day I went to a great sale at the Legion down the street and a yard sale just across from it. Here are my rad finds:

Ayep

Yesterday morning, I grimly left the house at 7am, my spirit was lifted ever so slightly by the tiny sparse snowflakes falling from the sky.

This morning, frost covered the ground. It's okay. Everything is okay. Winter's-a-comin'. Ayep. Birth, death, great circle of life and all that.

On another topic. Long weekend. Yesssssss. Only for me though, me and all others working in banks. Poor T. No rest for the weary(aka engineering student).

The new lady at work eats an incredible amount of variety store items. She is always crinkling some plastic wrapper and nibbling while talking on her cellphone to her boyfriend about his brother or going to New York City to shop or endless, endless appointments being made and cancelled. I'm not sure what she does exactly but I bet she gets paid 10 times what I do. Okay, maybe 5 times. Do I actually care though? Not actually. I would hate her job whatever it is. That's the spirit Godzilla bun!

Okay so that's twice now that the word spirit has worked into this day's blog. I'll make sure to add it to my labels so anyone doing a religious search will find my blog. Or maybe I should replace spirit with a substitute word. Spittle.

It lifted my spittle. That's the spittle!

Ayep.

Ladies and Gentlenerds

I had four hours of sleep last night. In fact, I can't remember the last time that I didn't wake up for a couple of hours in the middle of the night. I'm not actually sure how I've been dragging my ass through everyday. Especially today. It's only 11:00 and I already feel like if I blink too long, I will be rendered unconscious.

Yesterday, upon leaving the house, I thought I had lost my gloves. I couldn't find them and you have to understand that I act like a head injury victim. I put everything in it's own place that doesn't change or else I have no idea where it is and can't find it so if something isn't there, it's probably because I lost it. All I could conclude is that in a slight breach of habit of not putting them on before leaving the train to go home, I had lost them on the train. I. was. devastated.

Ridiculous I know, they are just gloves but it was like abandoning a helpless pet hamster to a horrible fate to me. My precious, cashmere, grape purple, from Boston gloves, lost, no doubt in the hands of someone else. ON the hands of someone else. Metaphorically, someone had found my hamster and was wearing it on their hands. I thought I could get over the pain of losing something I liked so much but what if I saw them on someone else. What if I saw the callous human being who found them and kept them for themselves??? What if I confronted them and they wouldn't give them back. Just the possibility made me shake with outrage for the injustice of it all. Over reaction you say? No fucking shit!

T suggested I put off the grieving process until I went home and verified that they were not just misplaced. I couldn't, I couldn't, I couldn't! I mourned those gloves all day like nobodies business until in utter desperation, I tried clinging to a shred of hope. But upon returning home, I looked and saw that they were not there and that my hope, as I suspected was hollow. I actually broke into tears, on my way to the bathroom, as I gave up finally, on the fate of my gloves. There, on the bathroom counter, for no reason I can specify, were my gloves. Was I happy as hell? Indeed I was.

What is the moral ladies and gentlenerds? Is there one? Random luck, hope, cynicism and love of a worldly possession...where does it all lead us to. A nap on the spare office floor I think.

Eccchhh.

People are gross.

I had a doctor's appointment this morning. Missed lunch, so I picked something up from the food court before going to work. It was packed. Packed with hairsprayed, oily, make-uped ladies sucking french fries from their fingers like little mouth vacuums and bloated men with greasy hair packing forkfull after forkfull of meat into their meatholes.

I was unaware how much mayonaise could be included in a lunch time meal until the woman in front of me ordered an eggsalad sandwich(with mayo in it) and mayo on the bread and out of the 10 salads she could pick from, she chose the two with mayo in the dressing. Why not top it off with a mayonaise shake and some hard mayo candy. She looked like a jar of mayonaise, like when it's been of out the fridge for a while and starts to go a bit yellow at the edges and the jar sweats condensation. She looked like that, but with more lipstick.

Everyone piling in the junk, sitting on their synthetic fibred, stinky asses, smacking their gobs as they prattle about work and family and how they went to the price club and got a great deal of some big tubs of mayonaise.

Jeux sans frontiers.

FRO-OST. Frost. This morning. Frosty. It begins.

So I think my iPod is trying to tell me something. For the past 4 times that I've gone to work, between the train station and my building, my iPod plays Games Without Frontiers while in shuffle mode. What is my iPod trying to communicate to me? What is the special message?

Here is the politically incorrect portion of today's post. Often, on my car, there is a couple who are...intellectually challenged? Is that the right way to say it. The man appears to have mild Down's Syndrome if that's even possible, and the woman just seems to be really un-smart. Every morning he sits while she stands beside him, gazing adoringly at him in a way that at first, made me think she was his mother. However, the way she runs her fingers through his hair and kisses his forehead is un-mother-like enough to persuade me she is in fact, his girlfriend, or not.

He seems to enjoy the attention as a very young child would. Unreciprocated. He has a book everyday that he reads without looking up at her. Why does he always get the chair? Why doesn't she get pissed that he ignores her for his book? Is she his mother? Does she not mind because she is lacking in sharpness? I want to know how very, very uh, clinically dim people function in a love relationship. Surely they feel all the same emotions and have the same needs? Or do they? Are they just less articulated or do they have less needs as certain things just wouldn't occur to them? Is life more simple for the simple or more confusing? Do they lack complex emotions or are they just unable to process them? I want to hang out and observe them at home. Does this make me, what's the right way to say this...creepy? An ignorant jerk?

What do I have to go by except TV portrayals like Corky from Life Goes On or whatever that show was called ( I really liked that show by the way. Even with Patty Lupone being in it. How weird am I?), or some made for TV movie about 2 intellectually challenged parents who give their son a peanut butter, sponge and dice sandwich for his school lunch and tell each other they love each other by saying "My shoes hurt."....wait, that was a comedy sketch by Bob and David...

I have to admit that I have been trying to quell the inappropriate urge to type certain words because I was brought up with them as an integral part of my schoolyard vocabulary. Like the Catholic urge, that can't be shaken, even by an ex-catholic, to administer sacred rights in a pinch, the slang bubbles in my vocal cords, waiting to be released. However, I am an adult now. A sensitive adult with a sense of the appropriate and moral restraint.

On another topic. I noticed that the cold was so dense and thick this morning, it retarded the ability to be warm in my home. Oh, oh now. Not right. Not right at all. Very very bad. Seriously, does anyone need me to give them some emergency communion?

It's funny how you are a Catholic unless you are excommunicated. Even if you profess to be an Atheist, you are still technically a Catholic. Even if you drink yourself stupid and shout at children and use Jesus and Christ as an adjective, (ie: If you don't hand me the Jesus remote I'll shove the Christing TV up your hole.) you are still a Catholic. At least that's what I got out of Catholic education. I believe all of Newfoundland and Ireland knows what I'm talking about also. I don't think I'm the only one.

How scary are you?

I just took a German manners test and got a perfect score. Not sure how to feel about that. Want to try it? Go here.

Philistines

I saw a band once, Sloan, and in the middle of the concert, the lead singer stepped forward without the microphone and re-enacted the scene from Magnolia where the nurse orders a bunch of porn magazines from a delivery service. No one could hear him because he had no microphone. He kept motioning for everyone to be quiet so they could hear what he was saying but no one was listening. He ended up getting angry and calling us all Philistines. I wasn't insulted though. It didn't apply to me. I listened. I got it.

Miso party

There are too many women in this office now. Our ovaries will now have to do battle for the title of dominate pro-creator. Plus it's really boring, not because they are women but because they are no fun. Now excuse me, my dehydrated tofu bits have re hydrated in my mug of miso soup. You know what that means...MISO PARTY!!(cue:oom ts oom ts oom ts dance beat and a siren and coloured moving spotlights.).

Er, so....Yes I'm looking forward to going to California but who will vacuum and dust my house? It will be decaying and decrepit upon our return. This is what concerns me, entropy. That and re hyrdated tofu.

I can tell I don't have PMS anymore because this morning, an obnoxious 18 year-old sitting across from me on the train, stepped on my feet twice and knocked my knees about a hundred times as she put things incessantly in and out of her bags and tried on three different pairs of shoes she had with her. Three. 3 days ago and I probably would have strangled her with her own hair but today I actually didn't even care. In fact, I cared less than normal as this month's PMS was so exhausting that I just don't have any energy left to be annoyed. That'll last about 10 more minutes. Just a little sweet spot in the stormy world of Godzillabun's inner life. Don't you wish you could be here to share in it?

SUV punchin'

My new hobby is punching SUV's while they cut me off when I'm crossing on a green light. It happens a lot here in the financial district of town. Big asscocks(male or female) in their suits, one hand on the wheel, the other holding their cell:"Ya, so buy low at 5 basis points and send me a hooker. One of them foreign looking ones. Ya, I'll see you tonight, make sure the kids don't bug me."

It fills me with rage. As they are almost running me over, I punch the side, usually just past the back door, that's how close they are to killing me. I'm starting to punch harder and harder each time. Sometimes they brake because either: a)they are concerned they hit something or most likely b) they are incensed that someone touched their precious status symbol. If it's in the garage being fixed, how will anyone know they are rich? How will anyone know they have money to burn?

I fucking dare one of them to ever speak to me about it. Green light, pedestrian, I have the FUCKING right of way. Get OFF the phone and look the fuck out for pedestrians, fuck.

Well, I think that's enough swearing and anger for today (it's not really though, I still have plenty. Thank-you hormones.).

Hallowiener. I should paton that.

I thought of a bunch of things to mention on my way to work and now I've forgotten them all. I also had an idea for a Halloween costume and I've forgotten that as well. So, I'm doing pretty good.

I'm having one of those days where I want to turn Incredible Hulk-like and crash through a wall, Kool-Aid Man-like.

I think my Halloween costume idea had something to do with being bloody. Of having a lot of blood on my face. Coming mainly from my eyes. Like, a face full of blood. But there was another part to it that made it really funny. Looking completely normal in all other aspects except for inexplicably having bled profusely enough from the eyes to cover most of my face in blood? No, I don't think that was it. Something like that I guess. Maybe I forgot it because my subconscious realized it wasn't the best idea...Maybe I should be Mary Poppins with the Ebola virus since I already have the outfit.

You know, come to think of it. I also have a Sound of Music dress. It's the exact style of what Liesl wore and it looks like it was made from Austrian drapes. Why has Julie Andrews influenced my wardrobe so much?

Or maybe I should try some stream of consciousness brainstorming for a good idea:
Wiener, candy cane, shock therapy, soup ladle, yellow brick road, slime, ancient Chinese secret, slum lord USA....uh, I don't think this is going anywhere.

Maybe I should try rapid fire costume ideas instead of just words:
Linus Van Pelt at age 55
A tree full of squirrels, on fire
A ghost in a bikini
Siamese twins who murdered each other

NOW, I am getting somewhere. I could use any of those. It worked. Feel free to try to use these yourself and send a photo of it. Actually, please, I am begging you to choose one and do a photo.

Maybe I should try to brainstorm a career in the same manner:
Sidewalk Technician
Pasta Detailer
Environmental Aligner
Underwater Compliance Inspector

Ya, not working as good.

Hghhhh. I should NOT be at work today. I should be in a cabin with a cat and some clay. I'd hand build jugs and share my toast with the cat.

I guess, checking bank accounts and scanning shipping documents is just as good, NOT.

A spoon full of sugar.

I look like frigging Mary Poppins today.I don't know how it happened. I think it's the hat. I didn't plan it. Oh well.

Here's the basic idea. Christ this scanner at work is poop.

Venus is rad.

Last night, or rather, very early this morning, I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. So I left the bedroom and went to sit by the window to look at the river. The sky was cloudless and low on the horizon, shining like crazy, was Venus. I took this (unfortunately blurry) picture just to show how bright and big it was. The blue cast it has in the photo is accurate. Like a light-blasted Sapphire in the sky.



I put on my hat and wrapped the blanket around me to go out on the deck. I looked up high behind the house, above the trees and saw the stars were filling the sky. So clear. In the first minute I say 3 shooting stars. Right beside Orion, was little red Mars. I knew if I had a telescope, I could have seen Saturn too, just beside Venus. Knowing it was there was good enough for me. I saw it once, through a really big telescope. It was just hanging in the sky, purple and blue, with all the rings, just like in a picture, but it wasn't a picture. I was seeing it as it was, floating in the universe, 1279 million kilometers away from earth. Did you know all of Saturn and it's rings would fit tightly in the distance between earth and the moon? If you didn't, now you do.

Anyway, I felt pretty awesome, standing on my deck at 4:30 in the am, hearing absolutely nothing but the rushing of the river, looking at planets and shooting stars.

When I went back inside and fell asleep again, I dreamt a I saw a UFO in the sky. It looked sort of like a constellation but it was too perfectly arranged as a rectangle. I tried to whisper to T to come see, but I was paralysed. I fell asleep in the dream and when I woke up (in the dream) my skin was sun burnt from seeing the UFO. Thank you X-files for implanting details like that in my dreams. Happily, stargazing early this morning was nothing like my dream. Although it did remind me of another dream I had as a child that I still remember because of how scary and realistic it was. Venus was huge in the sky. As I stood there paralysed(again), in my parents backyard, it started to spin and spin so fast, I could hear it on earth, a pulsing, out of control vortex. Scared the bejesus out of me. It's funny that I should love stargazing so much but always have nightmares about celestial what-nots.

If I led a carefree life, I would get up at 4:30am every morning to look at the sky. I'd also have a kick ass telescope. One with little red beeps. Oh ya, and I'd be in a dark sky sanctuary or northern Russia or something. Gotta work on that whole independently wealthy thing...

It's okay though. Now it's day and the pumpkin soup is cooked and the squash is baking so I can't complain.

Sad old sack of nothing, begone.

I had to tell someone on the train last night that you can't pick and choose your morality. I ran and hopped on the train about 30 seconds before it left and had to squish in because it's always packed tight at rush hour. Still though, there was room for one or 2 more people to pack in. 2 girls tried to get on but a big asscock in a suit blocked them at the door and said: "Take the next train." and turned this look out that I imagine was similar to that which Mussolini gave as he threw his espresso in the face of his butler for being too hot or too cold or not medium enough.

I said to the man: "That wouldn't have worked on me, I'd have pushed past you."
He replied: "I'd have pushed you back." and the ridiculous woman with him said "Yeah!".

Let me stop for a second to add the information that these were not petulant teenagers as their dialogue might suggest. They both had to be well over 55 years old. I suggested to the man that "Maybe you should hire a private limo if you want that kind of control." He gave me a look that I imagine was similar to the look Kim Jong II cast when his doctor informed him that he was clinically diagnosed as a creepy, freak of nature.

I put on my Ipod and thought, ignore. Ignore. This was made difficult by the fact that it was actually a gang of office workers. A gang of giving-anglos-a-bad-name, loud, obnoxious, infantile office workers. Making sad attempts at proving how "fun" they were, especially suit man and his lady sidekick. He was particularly fond of doing his "Indian man" accent which I'm sure anyone of southeast Asian decent, really appreciated.

I continued the plan of ignoring until they started up about a purse that was on an overhead rack.
"Someone left their purse behind!" "Take and give it to the train guy!" "NO, grab it and call them on your cell!" "Just take it home and take what's in the wallet" "HA HA HA."
Ya, real funny.

One of the cronies finally reaches to grab it and a woman sitting across the isle gets up and takes it from her. It's her purse. This crowd of fools immediately starts in on her in a loud voice:
"Well why didn't ya say something?! We've been talking about it for five minutes!" The other one pipes up "Oh look at the look she's giving us." "Last time I try to help someone" Suit guy says" Oh look she's harping to her friend about it."

At this point I can't take it anymore. I had to say something.
"Maybe she doesn't speak english and doesn't understand why you are handling her purse."
They all stare at me processing this. There is a whiff of understanding on all their faces that this is possible. Then defence mode immediately kicks in with suit guy huffing that he wants away from his spot, he's had enough he says. "Who do you think you are?" he asks me.
"Who do you think you are? You block people from getting on the train. You have no right to do that. You upset a woman who doesn't understand why you are taking her purse and then you get angry at her about it. Maybe public transportation is not the best answer for you if you can't conduct yourself properly."
He says: "YOU should hire a limo because I don't want to see you on this train again."
I say, "You can't pick and choose your morality sir." as he's leaving.
His female sidekick is left. She is the sort who is 50 years old but wearing a 14 year old's jeans. The biggest attention whore of the bunch. "Love me! Think I am cool and funny!!"

She comes sidling up to me giving me this hip-cocked stance and her challenge glare. The sort a 12year old bully gives to the new girl in class during her first recess. Thing is, no one has ever bullied me. I'm still keeping ultra cool. I'm actually quite proud of the composure I'd been keeping considering how ultra pissed I was. I looked her straight in the eyes and said, very calmly: You are a bunch of fucking assholes. She starts shifting her weight from foot to foot. She was not expecting it. The lesser cronies are all backing off. She is alone with just me and I'm not inching one fucking bit on this. They were terrible people. Cowards who run in a bunch and mock and bully others. All the worse for being old and still acting like this. After scrambling in her head she comes up with this:
"Who's talking to you anyway?"
Brilliant.
I had my fill. If I'd have stayed any longer I would have start shaking from anger.
"You have been talking loud enough for the entire car to be in on your conversation so it should come as no surprise." I say and leave. As I'm waiting in between cars for everyone to get off before I make my way to the back of the train I hear her say:
"Oh there she is. What did I tell you?"

What did you tell? That I was hiding in fear from you? Ya, that's why I called you on your bullshit in the first place, sad old sack of nothing.

You'll notice that part isn't in quotations because I didn't say it. What more can be said to a lost cause such as these people were.

Here is what I can not stand. Bullies. Inane, obnoxious bullies. That shit does NOT fly with me.

dredging the bottom of the barrel

Uggh! Apple! So foreign to my taste buds. Can't eat real food, must eat cookies, chips and pie!

So I had a little rampage for a week there. I actually don't think I could eat another cookie or chip even if I suddenly developed the metabolism of a cougar, I'm so oversaturated with junk food. That's not true, if I could eat it without getting fat I would, but anyway I'm not a cougar (I kind of am) so I need to eat some freaking vegetables. This apple should be sweet enough but it tastes like a lemon compared to cookies. I don't think the decaffinated coffee is helping it taste any better. Decafinated? Are you mental? Yes, I thought we had already established that.

Well, I'm getting more riveting by the hour. So much exciting and useful things going on to blog about. Rainy and cold. I like cookies. Endless entertainment.

Things I could do.

Seriously, that last post was so insipid! I can't help it if I feel groovy.

I can't help it if I think eating pumpkin pie for breakfast and dinner is a good idea because it tastes good and life is a collection of beautiful moments strung together, fleeting and delicious. Can I?

Oh I'll crash. I know, but that's something to worry about when it happens.

Meanwhile, the mist has rolled in over mull of Montreal. I feel like staying home and watching Harold and Maude under a big blanket with a fire going in the wood stove (as opposed to on the kitchen table for example). I feel like meeting at the cemetery gates to talk about Keats and Yates (I'll have to read them first). I feel like taking a trip to Prague, where I could drink strong tea in a 300 year old, apartment building with cathedral windows, looking out onto a square. I could hole up in a cabin in Alaska and chop wood and walk for hours everyday and draw stories by candlelight every night. I could meet my knitting group after work today and knit while eating avocado salad and spaghetti and then go home and put on my pajamas and read in bed. I could. Doesn't it all sound good?

Insanity of the brian.

I am nuts. I must be.

I've been feeling really optimistic lately. Surely I have lost my mind! It's the only explanation. The pharmacy in my bathroom might be helping. All vitamins and supplements and a little bit of heroin. Ha ha. Really though, I'm deriving so much pleasure from the simplest things lately. It's really quite pleasant. I'm noticing all sorts of tiny things and really appreciating everything. Food tastes great and I don't care how many calories it has, the weather is beautiful and fall-like, a new bar of soap that smells like coconut makes having a shower super great, the river's waves rippling on to the rocks make me privileged to have such a great home. I feel so lucky, I'm almost scared to say. I normally wouldn't say so due to superstitious fears of hexing myself, but I feel like admitting that I have it pretty good. How boring of me!

It's so rare for me to feel at ease like this. Therefore my only conclusion is that I have insanity of the brain. or the brian. I have insanity of the brian.

Tension like sausage.

Tension, thick as sausage. That's work lately. It's like a big, fat, juicy sausage back here. Everyone except myself is involved. My work is solo, I don't have to collaborate or I'm sure I'd be in the midst of drama also. But, I'm not. Hah ha.

Today the manager wants them all to have a meeting. Everyone is pretending they are too busy. Bock, bock, bock. They should all just have it out with each other but no one wants to be the first to "express" themselves. I'm going to suggest they all get together and make paper turkeys by tracing their hands on construction paper and then decorate each others turkeys in a way that shows how they really "feel". Wouldn't I be awesome if I really made that happen?

The sausage is hovering and rolling around in here and it's 1pm, the suggested time of the meeting but everyone is quietly pretending they don't notice. "Hey, y'all having that meeting to slice up the sausage or what?" is what I am yelling in my head. "Because the overpowering scent of frying pork and spices encased in intestines is stifling me people!"

Inflammatory rhetoric on heels.

Word on the street today is that there's a gonna be a fire drill. A chinese fire drill! No not really, just the regular kind. That means walking down 28 floors with a million other people and today I am wearing heels. Prosthetic heels. I've needed them ever since I lost my own in an unfortunate juicing accident so it's a good thing I wore them today what with needing to go down all those stairs. Hardy har har. I'm wearing high heels. The one pair I own that I only wear when I feel I need to do penance for all my sins.

I wore them yesterday too and thought to myself, these are a stupid thing for upright, human beings to wear. They do look good so maybe only people in wheelchairs should wear them. They can have them look good but not require the shoes to actually function. DAMN, high heels suck. They really are aesthetically appealing, I get that, but no go on the whole, needing to actually walk issue. I'm sure there are seasoned high heel wearers who claim it's just a matter of knowing how and getting used to it and that they won't even take a pee in the middle of the night without slipping on their heels, but I think getting used to wearing high heels is like getting used to being a hunchback or having an 5 inch rusty nail stuck in your skull. It can be done but why do it if not necessary? So why AM I doing it?

I bought them because I didn't have a pair and I thought it might be fun to try every once in a while, plus they look awesome. I paid enough money for them that now, even with the understanding that they suck for walking in, I have to wear them to get some damn use out of them. They aren't like a sweater or a pair of pants I can tear apart and make something new with. I argued with T that he shouldn't be too judgemental about the retardedness of people that totter around on them. Girls just want to have fun and all that, but I would have to defer to him on this one, now that I've tried it out.

So the moral of the story is: Don't bypass the engine room with your bucket of water during a fire, especially if you are wearing heels because then you will be a double stupe. see: chinese fire drill

I never knew what the heck a Chinese fire drill meant until today and now I see that it was coined by patronizing jerks, yes that's right, the British. They produce great comedy, music, literature and racism, all stuck together on that little island with their British teeth and damp wallpaper. And yes I do see the irony of this paragraph.

File under: Oh no you dihdent!

A propos our conversation on Brandy Alexanders, I couldn't help but purchase one of those little mini bottles of brandy while I was buying one of those big bottles of Di Sarono. It said on the bottle to put in coffee for a good time (or something to that effect) and I thought to myself: "Huh. I've always wanted to drink at work." So I made some chicory coffee substitute and slipped just enough Brandy in that sucker so that it wouldn't impair me but I could say I had done it. Drinking on the job.

It's funny because I am so not a drinker of alcohol or coffee. Apart from the occasional gin and tonic or amaretto on ice, I'm pretty straight edge most of the time. I'll tell you what though, my fake coffee with booze is quite pleasant and devilishly inappropriate. Like shoplifting one chocolate covered almond from the bulk bin. Real renegade stuff.

C'mon now. It's like eating a liquor filled chocolate at work. It's not like I'm hiding in the storage room with a shaker and a mini fridge hid behind the "daily work may 2004" box. Seriously! I don't drink normally. Ah now I'm sorry I even told you.

Brandy Alexander and Espèces de Dinde

Poor old blog. Hast thine writer abandoned ye for the ease of facebook status updates to speaketh on her behalf? Must thou endure bad shakespearesque mockery?

It's true that Facebook is sucking the attention span out of me. Everything is in little bits like Sesame Street. No long, meandering, self-absorbed rants... But then again, no one reads poor bloggy anymore for the same reason. Joby? Are you there? My one readership. You are resisting the steel-cabled strength of Facebook allure. I salute you and I encourage your corruption at the same time because Scrabble is stronger than anyone's will.

Also, I'm super boring these days.

Thanks to Feist I've been wondering what exactly is in a Brandy Alexander. God that song is catchy.

Ingredients:

1 1/2 oz Brandy
1 oz Dark Crème de Cacao
1 oz Half-and-half or Heavy cream
1/4 tsp grated Nutmeg
Mixing instructions:

In a shaker half-filled with ice cubes, combine the brandy, crème de cacao, and half-and-half. Shake well. Strain into a cocktail glass and garnish with the nutmeg.

[edit] Alternate recipe
Ingredients:

2 jiggers dark crème de cacao
1 jigger brandy
1 pt. vanilla ice cream
1 c. crushed ice
Mixing instructions:

Put all ingredients in blender. Cover and frappé until sherbet consistency. Serve in small brandy snifters with nutmeg sprinkled on top. Yield: 6 (3 oz.) drinks.

Alright then, I will have to admit that this sounds like a remarkably tasty drink although I would make it with soy ice cream. SO there.

Speaking of soy products. As it's Thanksgiving this weekend, we are on the prowl for a Tofurky. Quite tricky to find here and all the more tricky to explain in a second language. "Uhhh, c'est un espèce de dinde qui est fait de tofu." To someone who has no idea what a tofurky is this is an alarming and confusing description. Someone, at a health food store even said to me: "This exists?" Well yes it does and it's very tasty. The thing I'm sure everyone imagines and even I myself imagined before I saw it the first time, is that it is NOT in the shape of a turkey. Nor does it taste like a turkey or have the consistency of a turkey. It's a mound. A big mound of chewy tofu with a core of rice stuffing. Ha ha, and it's tasty as hell so turn your noses up if you are so inclined. More tofurky for me.

It's strange though. I can't process that it's October already. It's still quite warm even though the leaves have turned. I have a love hate relationship with this time of the year. I find it the most exhilarating and exciting change of season. Maybe because it means my birthday and christmas are on the horizon, or because I prefer orange and red leaves to green?

I don't know why I always get so thrilled when autumn comes but at the same time, the days get shorter and I can feel the old coffin lid of darkness closing in on me. I'm ecstatic during the day and then at dusk, I physically feel the light being dragged down as it disappears like the force of gravity has increased and I get all panicky like someone is throwing dirt over me at the bottom of a six foot deep hole. Once it's gone down and it's all the way dark, I adjust and feel okay but MAN, that 45 minutes at dusk is killer in the fall and winter. I should hate those seasons but I don't. I love them. I love you fall and winter, even though you partially kill me.

Perhaps I should greet each dusk this season with a Brandy Alexander.

Phlegmatic humours.

Egads.

I am feeling weary today. My humours are distinctly phlegmatic.

On the other hand, take a gander at my 2 latest sewing projekts(it's the way "cool" people spell...



I'm pretty pleased with my damn self.

Boston Days 2 and 3: A boring, I waited too long to write it Retrospectus.

Bloody hotel and it's broken internet. I really wanted to document at the end of each day while it was still fresh in my mind but...wait a minute. Why didn't I just type it in Word or write it out by hand?? I figured the internet was down so blogging impossible. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that I was so exhausted at the end of each day from Bostony goodness that I could barely think straight.

So anyway, let me try to remember what I can.

Can I just say straight off, if I haven't already, how great seeing a city on your own is? It's great. You just don't have to compromise! I really enjoyed having a vague plan that I was free to change or adapt as I saw fit.

I began day 2 with the plan of a) eating some damn seafood by the sea
and b) following the freedom trail, a marked trail of red paint or red brick you can follow from downtown to the north end. I said in my first post that the riverside park stretched for 4 miles but it was waaay longer than that. It spans the whole northwest part of the city and divides Cambridge from Boston. The freedom trail is the one that is 4 miles. You can follow it and stray when you like. All the historical buildings and places along the way have plaques and explanations.

I saw the graveyard with the victims of the Boston Massacre where Paul Revere is buried (cheery). I saw pile of churches...Boston is insane. It looks like a crazy person designed it. Like a wealthy person who had lots of beautiful buildings and parks but then went sort of nuts and threw it all together in a crazy way. Everything is just everywhere. I liked it. Really relaxed, organic style of putting a city together. Lots of gorgeous architecture and winding streets. As crazy as it all is, it somehow seems right.

The metro is hilarious! Sometimes it's a bus, sometimes it's a street car, sometimes a real subway car. The lines are all over the place, it's all so haphazard but still manages to be pretty fast and efficient.

Have I mentioned yet how bloody friendly everyone is?? Holy crap, this is by far, the friendliest place I have been. I guess it's a particular contrast to me being used to the coldness of Montreal folks but still...everyone I talked to was so happy to help, people make way for you on the street and hold open doors and smile. Even in the touristy parts. I was impressed. Even with my socially inept and big weirdo style of asking questions, people were still nice. eg: I go up to the man selling tickets to a trolley ride in the middle of a busy tourist section and say:
"Do you give out free information?"
He gives me a puzzled but not unfriendly look.
"What I mean is, I would like to know a good place to get seafood. Not expensive, not grilled salmon with a bottle of white wine seafood, but like cheap but really awesome, those-in-the-know seafood."
He didn't even flinch after this spiel. Just reflected for a moment and then drew on my map where to go. I followed his advice and got exactly what I was looking for! I ended up way in the east end in a shipyard that has a hidden restaurant called the No-Name. Sort of in one of the pier buildings that you would NEVER come across without knowing where it was. Right on the harbor. Fishing boats and seagulls, the whole works. You can see in my photos the freaking ginourmous plate of fried seafood they brought me. I thank you friendly trolley ticket man, for giving me the goods instead of telling me to go screw myself.

I also happened to fall in love with Boston's little Italy. Much smaller than Toronto's for example but waay kicks Toronto's ass. I'm not sure I can put my finger on it exactly. Just so much character. I brought Tennessee back in the evening to have dinner there and again, we ended up going to the exact right place. I felt like I was in Moonstruck. A little mom and pop place with alfresco ceilings and and bustling waiters in black and white speaking in heavy italian accents. I had perfectly cooked penne with perfectly cooked vegetables and T had pesto and gnocchi, also perfect. Afterward, to fulfill T's only desire in Boston, we walked a few minutes over to the north east of the city to the harbour to see the Atlantic. A bay still counts.

Day 3 saw me walking across the bridge to Cambridge to see MIT. For some reason I expected it to be this one building with a bunch of guys in khaki pants holding calculators standing outside of it. It's huge! It goes on for blocks with a million buildings and a million people. I strolled on a little but it was super hot that day(by the way, day 2 and 3 were the most perfect, crisp, fall weather days.)and Cambridge is actually not a very interesting place so I said to myself, Hah. I can do whatever I want. I'm going back to Boston. So I took the tram back and went to Chinatown instead where I had an amazing Buddhist vegetarian lunch and bought some oddly flavoured candy (prune and pine, I have still yet to work up the courage to try them.)

On my way back to the Backbay part of town where our hotel was, I tried out the bathroom at the Four Seasons. There was a separate room in it for a huge red couch that looked fancier than the couch in our hotel lobby. Everything was marble and the towels for drying your hands were as close to cloth as paper can get. In a way, it's more extravagant than real towels because you just throw them out. There were also trained monkeys that powdered your nose and a machine that polished the cuffs of your pants and embroidered them with the Four Seasons logo in spun gold.

Being right across the street from Boston Commons, I took one last little rest before having to meet up with T to leave. Once again, Boston Commons is a beautiful park with big weeping willows and ponds and little white picket bridges. Boston really is a gorgeous looking city. SO much green space and water front parks, old buildings and friendly people. I give it a thumbs up.

I stopped at one last place to buy the angora gloves I saw while browsing the first day. They are the colour of grape juice and and were on sale, my souvenir of Boston.
So long Boston. Smell ya later.

Boston Day 1

Boston, Boston, home of things Bostonian. Boss-ton.

I am stupid with exhaustion. Woke up at 5am to begin the trip here today. Figured I would type her up anyway or I never will. Fresh in my mind. First day. Fresh. First. First fresh.....zzzzzzzz HUH? Oh.

So yes, Tennessee and Jean-Francois kindly allowed me to tag along on their trip for some electronic conference about giant robots that build tiny robots...I am making that up unfortunately. They are here for a conference nonetheless. So I am on my own for seeing wuz up wit B to the Oston. I am probably not making a great deal of sense.

Anyway, so far, so good. Our hotel is super swank in that you can pay 5 for a can of vegetable juice plus a 3.25 delivery charge plus 15% gratuity fee plus 5% sales tax plus 1% admin fee. I am NOT kidding. Anyway, so I won't be ordering any juice but the view is awesome and we are right downtown. I can see the big, creepy Christian Scientist, U.S. headquarters. I went there to see this big stained glass, world map thing but they told me I could only go with the tour and the last tour had begun. I said:
"Well can I just join in, there's only 5 people and it just begun a minute ago."
"No, I'm sorry, it's an audio-visual tour actually and it wouldn't be fair to the people who had waited."
"By audio-visual you mean someone is talking and pointing at things?" (like what the hell was she going on about? It wasn't like some robot was shooting a laser powerpoint presentation into the sky)
"I'm sorry maam you can not join a tour that has already begun."
"So is this what Christian Science is all about?" I was pissed. Tired and pissed. Like I need someone to hold my effing hand in a big, stained glass world globe. Anyway, serves me right for trying to observe something related to religion.

Casting that off, I went for a 3 hour walk across the river and back and along the shoreline, following the 4 mile, absolutely beautiful park trail. Found my way back, got some hummus from the grocery store and head back to the hotel to crash for the evening. Saw Fox news for the first time. Geeyad! It's the sort of America that they make fun of in the Simpsons but it's not the Simpsons, it's real. Geraldo Rivera, O.J Simpson, child molesting senators...all sensationalised for entertainment value under the guise of "Hard News". I mean, why am I describing it like no one's ever heard of it. It's just that it's new to me. The U.S is new to me. It's so strange to have observed their culture my entire life through TV and movies and music and books and only just now be seeing it for real. Boston looks just like a movie set. A TV town. So American.

I feel like my head is full of hardening cement. Sooo tired. Is 7:45 too early to go to bed? I am such an elderly lady! I'm going to knit my sweater and watch more bad tv. More Boston to be observed on the morrow.

Chokolat smartees

Ba-boom. Autumn. Kazowy. Kerplonka. Zwip, zwip, kazinga. That is how fall has arrived. 28 degrees one day, 18 the next. Goodbye summer. Nice knowing ya. Smell ya later.

I'm in the sort of mood today where you go into the bathroom at work, and even though you have to pee really bad, you still take a second to stick your face really close to the mirror, tilt your head back, open your eyes wide and stick out your teeth like you are a vampire. You know what I mean. Then hunch over you computer in your little back corner at work and giggle about it. Then eye that open bag of trail mix you bought from the drugstore with unsalted peanuts that must have been swept out of abandoned squirrel nests and fake Siberian smarties made with "chokolat" and you wonder if you really are desperate enough to try eating them again. You decide, nope, but don't throw them out because you never know when some stale peanuts and raisins will come in handy. What if those squirrels mutate and grow 28 stories tall and demand offerings? You are always thinking one step ahead. You congratulate yourself with a handful of trail mix.

Carved in candy.

This morning was flamboyant person day in Montreal:

A man with a lime green bow tie that perfectly matched the lining of his tailored suit, hurling a newspaper at a cab that wouldn't stop to pick him up.

A young woman with a Maxim magazine body, tottering on 4 inch stilettos, not quite managing to pull off wearing them with white lace socks and skin tight jeans, but trying hard nonetheless, hiding her insecurity behind paris hilton sunglasses.

Okay, so that's only 2 people but I saw them within seconds of one another so if felt like an epidemic at the time....

I gave notice yesterday at work that I would be leaving at the end of December to go to California for 4 months. It's done now. It's been said. The die is cast. Carved in candy.

I am in suspicious disbelief a little about the whole thing, as is my wont when pleasant things arise. Work was agreeable about it. They understood and even spoke of rehiring me when I return, if possible. We'll see.

I need to use those four months well. I want to produce something finally. No more excuses. I can't feel guilty about working because it won't be allowed. It would be illegal, which is hilariously delightful to me. I will have no choice but to fill my hours with the very thing I have spoken of wanting the time to do for so many years: Learn to skateboard. I'm only half-kidding.

So I will try to concentrate mostly on creating some body of art but I also want to learn to skateboard dammit. I don't know why I feel that California is the place to finally do it but I've decided so that's that. I guess I should look into how health care will work as I am bound to break something.

So creative endeavour, skateboarding, swimming(pool at apartment and pool weather everyday!) on the horizon. I carve that in candy too.

Why isn't ripping spelled wripping? Way cooler that way.

Devil, thy name truly is facebook. That bastard is such a black hole. I've passed over the event horizon and I'm ensconced in the vortex of time sucking.

So I close thy window, facebook and return to the quiet haven of my blog.

I have been up to things. Finally, I have uploaded pictures from the Wedding of Helen and Laurent. A swell wedding it was too. I don't typically care a great deal for them but I enjoyed this one. It was pretty and fun, like any celebration should be. I miss you already though Helen!

Gape like an ape.

Today, in the courtyard at work, there was a plethora, that's right, a plethora of tall, thin, effeminate men with shaved heads and expensive nerd glasses. They were all sitting alone on benches, one per bench, meticulously chewing their homemade sandwiches. I kept waiting for them to notice each other. I figured eventually, some suspicious glances would be cast or some inquisitive ones at the very least but they absolutely refused to notice one another!

With sandwiches held high in one hand, the other arm wrapped around their own waste, legs crossed, their gazes distant and obstinately non-recognitive(if it's a new word then so be it.).

I wanted to jump up and break the folly: "Look at each other! You are all the same man! You are never out here but here you all are, all at once! You will all go home and listen to Philip Glass tonight, admit your striking similarities!"

I chickened out though and opted instead to gape like an ape because I always forget that people can see me too.

Obviously, I must quote L L Cool J.

I'm goin back to Cali, Cali, Cali. Going back to Cali, hm, I don't think so.

Well I'm not going back since I've never been before, but I am going. Four months. Uh huh, uh huh. And before that even, I'm going to Boston. Okay just for a few days but apart from a couple of hours in Burlington Vermont, I've managed to live 33 years avoiding the United States of America. In a few months, I will be living amongst "them".

Some of "them" are in my stitch and bitch and "they" have helped me to see that not all Americans are to be feared and run screaming from.

In Boston I will drink tea, in California I will see the other sea. Yipee for me.

Effin facebook

All right. Damn hell. I joined facebook. I swore, SWORE I would not but now even T is joining so bloody hell. Sigh.

Fall is falling

Fall is coming, I can feel it. All lovers of fall, like myself, seem to share in overwhelming sensory fall memories at the slightest scent of cool in the air. A million things all bundled up in a half second blip.

For some reason, the fall I am reminded of today, is moving, at 20 years old to St. John's. My first time away from my parents home. I had gone on the back of a motorcyle of a relative stranger who went on to become my boyfriend for 9 years. Together with him and an old friend, fresh after a year of recovering from a mental meltdown, feeling the best I ever had, I arrived by ferry on a crisp, late september evening with the low, orange sun carving the rocks of the island into monuments.

I went with only a knapsack full of things: some clothes, and some art supplies. The most free of possessions and worry I've ever been. I waltzed myself into a pleasant job at a bookstore, a live-in boyfriend and a subdued calm. Waking everyday with the smell of the atlantic coming through the bedroom window, falling asleep each night to the sound of foghorns, buying fresh bread and peanut butter cookies daily from the bakery down the street on the way to work, watching the ships dock at the harbour...

My strongest defining memory is sitting at home, in my first apartment in the late afternoon, alone in the huge, decrepit living room with only an old couch and a stereo and one cd to our name(The Cranberries would you believe. It wasn't even mine.). We had big bay windows on street level and the sun was beaming onto the wooden floor hitting one of my feet, warming and outlining it while the other was cool in the shadows. The dust was dancing in the beam and the voices of kids coming home from school drifted in.

The cd came to an end and I sat there, just watching the sun beam play on the floor, listening to the kids, feeling the outside air cool the room as the sun moved beyond the window down behind the houses. I felt the happiness of the naive. I was alone in my first place and the sun was gentle and the air was brisk and the ocean was near. It was fall. The calm season, the quiet season. After the brilliant buzz of summer and before the sharp white of winter, fall falls, warm orange and deep red and dusky blue, wool sweaters and early sunsets blazing fire, crunching leaves and cold ground, It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown!

So the first hints of fall always immerse me in this dreamy state. Like diving under the wave and seeing all the bubbles and seaweed and fish, the world above the sea forgotten. The wave of fall has come and under I happily go.

Mincing and waltzing.

At lunch today I saw this ancient woman mincing, yes that's right, mincing around the financial district of Montreal. She was dressed like an insane billionaire heiress. I'm sure that's just what she was. She looked so out of place. I imagine when she got dressed in her 17 bedroom castle with her pet cougar lazing by the liquid gold fountain, her outfit seemed perfectly "de rigeur". Waltzing around like that on the streets of Montreal though...a bit of an odd effect overall.

Her husband didn't seem to think there was anything unusual about her ENORMOUS hat and eccentric dress but he did seem a little nervous in the service about everyone else for some reason.

Say in crochety old person voice: I remember when...

Yipee! I just found a new way to bear work. Here.
I can plug in my earphones and suddenly, scanning shipping documents seems almost fun. As a big fan of my own country's music, I was particularly pleased to download their podcast #116:Rewind the 90s. Let me digress for a moment:

There are chunks of time that define my musical tastes.

Age 3-9 (whatever my dad's records were-Doctor Hook, Joe Cocker, Slim Whitman , whatever was playing on AM radio-Donna Summer, Alan Parson's Project, Ian Thomas, whatever 45's I could buy from garage sales-Elvis Presley, Connie Francis, Jim Reeves, and whatever my sister was listening to- Bee Gees, Bay City Rollers.)

My consumption of music has never been as dedicated and feverish as this stage of life. I remember holding my 2 dollar microphone, plugged into the white cassette player, up to the mono speaker of my alarm clock on a sunny summer day when I should have been outside playing...but music was on the radio, and I loved it, and I needed to record it for later.

Age 10-13( a whole new world of 80's british pop and videos. Awesome, awesome videos. Kate Bush, Peter Gabriel, Duran Duran, Nik Kershaw, The Thompson Twins, basically the sound track to any John Hughes film. Eyes opened to the idea that certain music was "cool" while others, not so much.)

Age 14-17 (Hello Morrissey and the Smiths. You are my world. These three years were fully dedicated to the worship of Morrissey. Ok, there were also some REM, Billy Bragg and Echo and the Bunnymen in there, but the Smiths were my oxygen.)

Age 18-21 (The Smiths broke-up. I mourned and then tentatively stepped my foot outside of the protective circle of my Smiths world into some experimentation with other music. Decided I would give in and buy cds instead of vinyl- a painful transition. Decided I would give in and listen to music that might even go against my "scene". I grew up(or rather, reverted to childhood when I just didnt' give a shit what anyone thought) and realized I didn't need to worry about cool or ever sensor my own taste-Iron Maiden, Elvis Costello, Pixies(YEAH!), Cocteau Twins.)

Age 22-28 (Ah sweet renewal of music joy. Thy name is Halifax music scene. Sloan, Superfriendz, Thrush Hermit, Inbreds, Local Rabbits...so much good music. Out and about in my cords and converse one-stars. Good times. ) That's what the above mentioned podcast is all about. Happy, fuzzy warmth for me. This time is the closest I ever got to the frenzy of music buying and listening I did when I was a kid.

Of course, my music evolution hasn't stopped but it's been a while since I've had the excitement of some the above mentioned times.

I guess I'm getting olden.

The future is written.

I saw a couple on the train this morning. They must have been 19 or 20 years old. They had the interaction of a flirty brother and sister (like all barely-past-their-teens couples do), laughing and having sword fights and talking about Harry Potter. She wanted to buy the newest book. He told her, "It was going to be part of your gift but it's not out in french yet." She reached to where he was sitting across from her and stroked just above his knee while leaning forward a bit, hesitantly, wondering if a kiss was in order. He only watched her and she leant back defeated. Right away, with fresh resolve she gave his leg another stroke and leaning forward again, he met her and they kissed.

She was a super cute little french girl with a studded belt and thick dark-rimmed, nerd-chic glasses. He was an anglo and must have been a little older. You could tell he was in charge. He talked loud and sent pictures from his cellphone to hers. The "doodle doo" of her phone went off every 20 seconds as he chose a new photo of himself to grace her with. "Time to call my brother and wake him up.", he said. "Why?" she said. "Because I'm up so he should be too."

He had a metallica shirt, full lips and long flowing locks. To say she was smitten would be an understatement for sure and to say that he wasn't aware of her smitten state would also be a blatant error in fact reporting.

Can I get back to his hair for a second? Only men manage to have this kind of hair. Shiny, soft, ringlety tendrils with no split ends. It's because they don't wash, brush, style or even touch their hair. It just grows and looks like they burst forth from the bosom of nature's bounty. I want 20 year old, Metalica man hair! I wouldn't mind some of the blind arrogance also.

Thing is, she'll eventually break up with him when she realizes she's smarter and will go on to become an oceanographer or something of the sort. He will still be wearing his hair long even when he starts to bald and he'll forget about her, but she will remember him. She'll just be sitting around drinking coffee in her kitchen when she's 43 years old and something will make her think of the long ago boyfriend, the one who thought he was king, the one with the blue eyes, full lips and beautiful hair.

So many people hate Morrissey but he understands. So does Virginia Woolf.

Due to some recent conversations about books, in particular, character studies, I've been thinking alot about extroverts/introverts and interaction between people. I have been recommending Night and Day by Virginia Woolf and trying hard to explain why. Now, I think I know why I love it so much. It's about 4 introverts who try really hard to live a truth but fear their truths are unacceptable to others. They struggle to hide or bend it but in the end, realize that it's just a matter of being honest and accepting the consequences. Sometimes the consequence is that many turn away but sometimes, it's the only way to find someone to really understand or at the very least accept.

I'm really unskilled in the art of setting people at ease. I have a tiny handful of long standing friends and a very compatible boyfriend all of whom, by some miracle, find me tolerable. I try, try, try to get along with the world, but it seems no matter how hard I strain to be inoffensive to others, I never get it right. I've been thinking and thinking, why is this? Am I too introverted to be comfortable with others? Am I a misanthrope who can't hide the strain of interaction? Is my personal unhappiness too great to conceal? Am I just an abrasive, negative, annoying jerk? I think it may be all of the above but I wonder how others feel about themselves.

Since adulthood, I've really valued honesty or rather, openess in interaction. A small bit of conversation yesterday touched on the idea that there is an art to knowing when to be honest and knowing the difference between truth and honesty (or the distance from truth to honesty as Superfriendz Matt Murphy sings it). I think this refers to interacting with others. The idea that people aren't really looking to be "outed" about hidden truths nor do most people want honesty if it hurts. That, I understand and try to respect, but I have been wondering what effect it has on others to be honest about oneself. Is it as repulsive as plunging someone else's depths? Actually forget honesty, what it really comes down to is a need to express myself and I like to do that honestly. I don't like to hold back my own feelings. I don't think I could deal with life if I had to hide more than I do. As an introvert, I'm isolated already. As an unhappy person, I'm disenfranchised already. If I can't tell the truth about myself to others, I can't see what could be gained from being out in the world at all. Yet, rather tragically, I think it might be the biggest barrier I have between myself and others. Maybe I've got it all wrong, but I think not.

I don't think it's the expression itself that's offputting. It's when the honesty is about unhappiness. Truth is, I conceal more than I let out. A watered down honesty of sorts. Maybe I'm less successful than I believe at filtering the truth. You ask me how I am, I say "Eh. Alright." Honest. Not feeling great. No point lying. I can't hide it anyway. Sometimes, the real answer is; "Awful. I feel Awful. Terrible. I am wildly unhappy with myself, fellow human. To spend time with me is to spend time with a broken, broken person."

I know many people feel this way. Maybe, many even conceal it succesfully or find ways to combat it and give something to others that I can't. I don't for one second claim that unhappiness lends itself to one way of being only. Perhaps it's the half honesty that could be the worst barrier. The people that are able to hear the full-truth answer and stick around after, are the only ones with whom I can let the unhappiness fall away. The freedom to express without fear is the only thing that allows the better parts of me to see the light of day. With everyone else, it's nothing but strained negativity and resentment at having to shield them from myself. How do others do it? What do others want from themselves? What do they push for and what do they hide and why? I suppose I read books in part to try to understand - How do others get by?

I guess, in the end, what most people see in me, is the strain of "filtered" honesty. They don't see the whole truth, which is actually more palatable than the watered down version. Strain is not fun to be around. It's not fun to be under either and yet, with most, I cannot reveal. I don't think they want me to. So the great cycle of social reaching and retreating continues. Trying, failing and retreating. Trying, failing and retreating. To those of you that have stuck it out and remained, allow me to express my honest appreciation of you. Perhaps I will get it right one day. I will find a method of honesty that is comfortable to me and palatable to others. Perhaps I will lessen the unhappiness some day. Maybe then, honesty and truth will be welcome.

Real fruit candy shells, and Bulgarian transvestites.

Why is Autumn the only season with a nickname?

So bored. Here's what I get up to at work.

Can you BELIEVE that shit? Wow. So modest. Modesty. Modestness. Baaaaarrrrffffffff.

I am back at work after having had a long weekend off to entertain my visiting parents and I am not happy to be back. Today feels like the longest, most excruciating day on record. T is in Washington this week so it'll be just me and some overpriced "natural" m and m type candy tonight. Actually, they are really superior. The coating is made from fruit dyes and flavours so it tastes like orange and cherry and the chocolate is just real chocolate. No car wax coating or petro chemical lubricants or whatever the hell. I'm sorry, they just are really good little candies. ANYWAY.

I went to the beach this weekend for the first time in years and years. It was great! Big long sandy beach, lots of trees for shade, all the crowd at the other damned end of the place and warm, shallow waters that extended way out into the lake. Hurrah! I used to live in the water from morning till evening when I was a kid and discovered I could still happily do the same. No pictures because I suck.

Har.

1 hour and 12 minutes left of work.

I also saw the penis of a Bulgarian transvestite singing star, but I didn't go looking for that. Honestly! Seriously and for real. Blame perez hilton.

1 hour and 8 minutes.

Let's see, I have to pee, that should take a good 2 minutes. I could stroll around for my 15 minute break- 17 minutes killed. Maybe make a cup of tea...I don't suppose I'll get up to anything actually proactive like looking for a new job or begining a masterpiece or doing bicep curls holding staplers as weights. I could stare out at the St. Laurent for a while and reflect on all the crap from people's toilets on Nun's Island being flushed directly into the river. The plumbers made a mistake and 8 years later, they realize it.

Scene: finishing touches on plumbing in condo, 1999:

"Hey man, I am baked like a ham. I know I got to connect these pipes somehow but I can't read the plans without all the lines coming off the page and climbing up my arm and trying to get into my brain through my nose holes."

"It's pipes for peoples shit? What can happen? Just connect it somewhere and it'll go there. Who cares!"

" What if I connect it, like, right back to where it came from into some kind of eternal loop, like the snake eating its tail and then like, there's this rift in the fabric of reality created by infinite shit and like, it totally rearranges the universe?"

"Lets go get some tacos!"

So they hooked it up and all the people's shit went directly into the river and we all lived happily ever after.

How in the christ, did somebody not notice this sooner?

Oh ya! 55 minutes and I haven't even taken my bathroom break of leisure yet. My life is rad.

Victor!

As in winner, not the guy name.

So I threw another damn party that I couldn't tell you all the perils of planning because it was a surprise party for T and he reads this blog. Anyway, here are the photos:


Turned out pretty good if I may say so myself and I may, because this is my blog and I rule. Let's just leave it at that because I got 5 hours of sleep last night and I'm cranky as hell.

Koo koo for Iceland

With very little to do at work, I fell back on my standard daydream of planning a trip to Iceland (someday...someday.) I fond these beautiful pictures from this woman's flickr page here

I just love everything about the look of this place. I don't just want to visit, I want to live there. I want to learn Icelandic and wear wool all year round and have sheep in my backyard and drink hot cocoa while watching the northern lights and swim in aqua blue spring water and smell the spring from the mountains and watch the starlight twinkle on the snow in the glow of a fire in winter...

Longing. LONGING!

Iceland, originally uploaded by LiseMac.

And this will be my house.

More Iceland

Blue Lagoon, originally uploaded by LiseMac.

Here! I want to go here!

Still more.

Gullfoss, originally uploaded by LiseMac.

Recent crops

Recent crops, originally uploaded by monsterteeth.

Ya, getta load of this rad crop of vegetables, grown by my very own self. Tasty and satisfying. Makes you feel like you are some kind of genius! Whoever planted the first garden must have felt pretty damn cool.
What I imagine happened back then:
"Hey, check it out old-timey friends. I discovered gardening. You can totally put seeds in the ground and stuff you can eat grows out of it ,if you water it. Let's party!"
"Wow, those edible plants and vegetables you grew are so rad. I want to party with you!"

"It feels so queer when you are near, dear."

Man, it has been raining like tears from a kitten's eyes, a kitten that's really sad and cries all week from a cloud above Montreal. So far, this summer, only twice have I longed for an air conditioner at our place. That's good isn't it? Reminds me of a Tiny Tim song (any of his songs instantly put me at 4 years old, sitting directly in front of the speaker, staring staring staring at the album cover while it played.)



Anyway, it reminds me of him singing: "The ice caps are melting, ho, ho, ho-ho. All the world is drowning ho-ho, ho-ho, ho-ho."

Elsewhere, in the life of me, I finally got something out of one of Montreal's excessive(and I do mean excessive) number of festivals. Bob and David, yes THE Bob Odenkirk and David Cross of Mister Show fame hosted an evening of sketch comedy during the Just for Laughs festival. I wish I could have taped it somehow, it was extremely funny. There were 4 or 5 acts and every single one of them was incredibly funny. I even had some eyes tearing, doubled over in pain, oh my god make it stop moments which are, I dare say, hard to come by. I won't bother trying to describe the acts but let me just say a new catchphrase I will be incessantly uttering is : "You can't smell that?!!! Smells like pepper!". Perhaps, next time I see you in person, I will explain further.

Or not.

Pride and Prejudice and Jello or "I think that it's catching on, I'll move out to Saskatchewan."

Leave it to Joel Plaskett to write a lyric rhyme for Saskatchewan.

Oh lord. Earlier today, I walked in on one of the bosses around here, in a compromising position in the ladies room. First of all, let me mention that she is a type A sort of lady. Always on her phone telling people what to do, always impeccably dressed, "fashionably" underweight and unashamed of telling her 14 year old daughter that she is screwing up because she is not losing weight on her diet. A real piece of work.

So, as I was saying, earlier today, I charged into the washroom with my usual, deliberate manner and found, in the reflection of the mirror, Boss lady, staring at herself in the mirror with dress lifted up above her waist. Whether her self-regard was of a nature of admiration or admonishment, I cannot say. Either way, I skipped the pleasantry of greeting her and just headed on past into the stall. She hadn't enough time to react to being caught and therefore left promptly without a word. What could there have been for either of us to say? Except for me maybe saying "See anything good?" or whistled "Whit wooo!"...

I have officially become interested in Austen's Pride and Prejudice as of today. At first, I thought to myself: "It may not be in my disposition or stile to chuse reading this annoying example of George III english, nitwit society hoo haa." Then I got caught up in the damn thing. Elizabeth just stuck it to that bastard Mr. Darcy after his arrogant and insulting proposal and, I dare say, will find a way to shame all involved for their deceit of Jane. Uh huh. AND, now I can't stop speaking in the manner of these characters.

Just now, again in the bathroom (all the good stuff happens there) another colleague of mine, to whom I am not entirely well-disposed, entered the washroom rapidly as I was reaching across her path for my toothbrush. "My apologies to you for barring your way." I said. She gave me a weird look and threw her bag on the counter as she rushed for the stall. As her bag fell, she called out, "Just leave it on the floor." to which I replied, "Nonsense, I will retrieve it with pleasure." I hardly speak to these people at work and when I do open my mouth, it is only to say things of this nature. It amuses me so.

I am too affected by what I absorb. I am what worries Tipper Gore. Don't hear much about that crazy lady these days do ya? Unless you happen to be dining with Jello Biafra. I imagine his rampage against her is ceaseless. That's what I imagine when I imagine Jello Biafra. That and him flying a kite.

PS: I just sent off an email request to the americans to open an account for some business in Saskatchewan except, when writing the address, I called it Sasquatchewan to see if they would notice. Hee hee. I DO find myself awfully funny...

gaylord on high

Sonia wins 3RD Place. They had a last second eff up and their sub did not perform as well as in the qualifying runs, but even functioning at less than its best, they won 3rd place out of 28 teams beating MIT and Cornell. So congratulations to S.O.N.I.A. Anyway, now T is on lists, American lists and they have come hunting for his fresh talent, sniffing like dogs for tasty meat.

I'm on lists too. Lists of people who suck! Ha ha ha....heh....hm.

Meanwhile, while T has been exercising his talents and forging a career, I have been watching epsiodes of Northern Exposure and must admit that I am ridiculously pleased to be doing so. I basically want to live in that tv show and if that makes me a gaylord on high then so be it. If only quirky little towns really were full of super cool, eccentrics and not small-minded, conservative dinks.

Seriously though, I get up to a little more than fuck all during my time alone. Why heck, my garden is growing kick ass. I have yellow beans and tons of lettuce now that I have erected an inpenetrable verminator fence. Peppers and peas, zuchinni and spinach, I am obsessed. I get up a half hour early to have time to water and admire my garden and think about it during the day. Coo-coo.

I also forced myself to sit down with a damn pen and some ink and draw fer christ's sake. It's been a while and I discovered I have some odd things coming out of my brain and onto the page but I'm really enjoying it. Perhaps I will scan and post for your perusal into the mind of yours truly. Might as well do something with them right? Am I right? Oh YA!