My fingers feel like barfing.

Sometimes I lament the fact that I don't live in England. Mostly just because of the TV they have. Well, that's the only reason actually.

Watch the below and weep. What do we have on TV in Canada? Air Farce? Corner fucking Gas? Just typing the titles of those shows made my fingers feel like barfing. Even having reminded myself of the existence of those awful excuses for television programming, makes me want to projectile vomit my brain out of my mouth hole so I can forget about the fact they are really on TV. People get paid to write and produce and make sets and stuff for them? Everyone involved and everyone who watches should all be rounded up and caged into holding pens with rabid monkeys. You and I are sinners, merely for having awareness of these deformed monstrosities of television. Cleanse your soul with the below links:

Jazz Trance

Miso, miso, oriental prince in the land of soup

Mirror ball suit

The moon is an alabaster retard

A tasty yellow beef

Regaling Trumpets Ahoy!

Broo broo broooo! (sounds of trumpets announcing the arrival of good news)

I applied for a reduction on my student loans from the government, a feat which required much mathematical calculatorations and a year's worth of planning and photocopying of documents of photocopies, documented by photocopied photocopies....it was a process is all I'm saying and it bloody well worked! It bloody blood worked! The government is paying 10 thousand dollars of my student loans! I still owe more than that, but 10 thousand less than I did yesterday. Huzzah! Huzzah! Let the roasting of toasts and the beast's feasting begin! Feast you beasts, feast!

It's totally my bag, man.

I made it from an Ikea seat cushion cover. Take that Ikea!

Hasty, but better than nothing.

Top freaking Notch Morrissey

Happy Birthday Morrissey!

Morrissey will always be fantastic. I did have the chance of hugging him(smelled like cedar and incense, like church), but to have a conversation before one of us dies...that would be top freaking notch.

As a youngster:
Here.
Highlight:
Child to Morrissey: "Where are we going?"
Morrissey to child: "We're all going mad."
Child: "I thought we were going to Kew Gardens."

All growned up:
Here.
Highlight:
Jonthan Ross: "Do you like having new friends?"
Morrissey: "I don't like people to be honest."
JR: "How many friends have you got?"
Morrissey: "Seven."

Now everyone go have a piece of cake in his honour.

Have I mentionned how I like where I live?

On top of the merits I've already sung praises of, in regards to where I live, there's a lovely long bike path around the river also. GO here to see the boring pictures! HERE

Jaw Knee Mar

I'm compiling a list of things that sound like Johnny Marr. So far I have 2. One of them was discovered by Joby during a "discussion" with a French "person". Ha ha, I am only kidding about the the second set of quotations.

Ok so Johnny Marr:
a) J'en ai marre (french for "I've had it, I've had enough, I'm fed up etc)
b) Zhang Yimou - Chinese movie director. It's pronounced sort of like Johnny Marr but without the r at the end. - John eemow.

So yep. Sort of a weak list so far except for number 1 but who knows what treasures lie in other languages, revealing the universal significance of former Smiths guitarist.

I plucked a bunch of Lilacs from the tree that grows outside the church beside my work building. That's right, I stole from Jesus. It was raining and the branch was hard to break so, as I struggled with it, I shook the collected drops all over my head and then my bangs got all curly and queer looking when they dried later. Queer as in odd, not gay. I miss the old usage of queer. It's a perfect word for describing what it is. Something not quite odd, bizarre or strange, something a little less than all those. Queer. It's meaning is subtle. I really like it.
So my payback for having taken church lilacs, was having queer bangs all day. Oh and I was totally allergic to them. The lilacs, not my bangs.

Fake it till you make it.

I'm a firm beleiver in fake it till you make it. I mostly apply this to completely mundane situations like using the bathroom in an establishment when you are NOT a paying customer. You walk in like you're meeting someone, no hesitation and head straight for that bathroom. Few people want to walk up and confront someone who looks like they are confident in what they are doing. It's a fun game.

I apply this style to watching youtube videos at work. I put in my headphones and just use one and play it like it's part of my job. I don't try to hide it and no one questions it. If I tried to be all "hey, I'm feeling guilty about this so I'll be discreet", someone would call it. Instead, I just put on a concentrated look, maybe hold my finger to the earphone like I'm getting a newsflash: "This just in: kittens playing with yarn sure make for cute video." I haven't really watched any kitten videos. Maybe I should. Maybe I should.

Asking asking, always multi-tasking.

You think I ain't be up to no good?? I be all up in good!
What I mean is, I seem to be having a heck of a time finding moments to draw but I made a fantastic bag out of an Ikea couch cover, readied the gardens for planting, made some super black bean burgers and began the reworking of two unwearable sweaters into one unwearable sweater. So hah! I think I'll try to bring the comics to work so I can add to them whenever I have free moments. Multi-tasking little son of a gun is my new game.

Nothing new, but new for me.

Ah dear me. As you know, one of my goals in California was to lose weight. Blah, blah blah. It didnt' work and probably ruined many days with frustration and disapointment. Out of lack of choice, I've started down a new road of acceptance. I've been struggling, like most every other woman on the planet with this stupid, stupid issue ever since I can remember. Being thin doesn't bring self-acceptance, I've been there and it didnt' help one bit.

I have no plan of loading up on jogging pants and a motorized-cart so I can fill up on cheesies and bread sandwiches (bread between bread of course. I have never eaten this by the way, and never will.) I actually already eat very healthily. I can't explain why I'm fatter than not but there you go. I'm accepting it. Buying some new clothes that fit, continuing to eat well and trying to just be generally more active in a pleasant way, in ways that make me feel good. If I was unsure about this strategy, it's really being cemented by my co-workers. Women in their late 30's and early 40's. One never eats. Period. One has a tendancy toward plumpness like me and is trying diet pills and a 700 calorie per day limit ( a child couldn't live of off that.). She has also convinced herself that oranges make her fat and only one specific type of apple doesn't. Another has lost lots of weight by doing 40 minutes of aerobics, weight training and then another 20 minutes of aerobics, five days a week and eating nothing but spinach salad for lunch. We are grown women. It's perfectly acceptable, it would seem, to treat ourselves like some sort of powerless lab rat, employing all sorts of bizarre experiments, just to lose 10 or 20 pounds. And that's all we're talking about here, 10 or 20 pounds. I've not resorted to such odd methods as these, but it's consumed(pardon the pun) me enough that I'm no different, psychologically, if I go on obsessing this way.

The mirror is the enemy. It's always upon looking in the mirror that my resolve shatters and the evil, crazy, weight obsessed moron in my head chips in her "opinion"(and it's a her of course, because we all now that only certain gay men really want us to be as skinny as we are trying to be and for some crazy reason, women enforce it worse than anyone else). If anyone ever talked to me like that voice does, I would punch them in the teeth. I know it's nothing new. I know entire cities could be filled with essays and self-help books and manifestoes etc. on the topic. What can I say.

I can say that I bought some new clothes that fit, so I don't feel like a stuffed sausage and I will put them on and avoid the mirror and try to take good care of myself and see how it goes. I have a feeling that I may prove to myself that I can feel good. I must work hard to punch that voice in the teeth and the throat until she can no longer tell me I don't look good. I just want to feel good. Since I know being thin does not feel good if you are killing yourself mentally or physically to get there, I'll try a new route. I can already feel the rising panic and indignation of the witch woman in my head, but she is on my shit list now and I dare say, I will be the death of her.

Squawking Vs.

It's been sunny. Cool in the mornings and warm in the afternoon. Sort of like California, only without the rotting oranges and pesticide scents. I rather enjoy taking a deep breath outside around our home. Even if the river is about as polluted as the Ganges, it's still water and somehow it doesn't smell. It almost seems to filter out the air somehow. I like the early morning damp freshness and the late evening cool. I went for a walk last night. I spied in all the homes as I walked by. They all look so cozy at night, with little lights flickering and people in repose. It was so quiet.

The past few mornings, I've walked to the train while geese flew overhead in their big sqwuaking V formations. I had a desire to be able to hang out at their level for a bit, just to see what it's like. It looks so communal and purposeful, but I'm sure all of us commuters look like that from above. Filing on and off the train in droves. It seems as though it's even busier than usual. I had a nostalgia for it while I was gone. Central station and the 9am rush. Feeling in the center of things. Feeling like you're part of a greater whole, knowing you're not the only one off to toil in an office for the day.

With all the jobs I've had in the past, the trek to them always had me feeling so isolated. As if everyone else around possessed a special freedom excluding me. Sentenced to go alone, to work in the bookstore, or the pottery store or wherever it was I was being paid minimally for my time. I miss walking though. I've always walked or biked a substantial distance to previous jobs. Especially in Toronto. Living in the east end, I had a lovely route along the back streets and through the park. The commuter train takes that from me. I trade my daily work walks for living in peace outside of the city. I can still skulk around in the evening but it's a different sort of walk. A promenade if you will. Will you?

Trying is the thing.

Oh ma gawd. I'm back at work. Or rather I was earlier today and yesterday. Everything is exactly the same. Eerily so. It's making me feel as if I hadn't been away at all.

Back on the daily train ride again. I've been reading. This is the first time I've read Katherine Mansfield. She is hilarious! Some of the funniest, writing I've read in a very long time. Gorgeous and funny writing. I see now why Virginia Woolf said she was the only writer to incite her jealousy. As I was saying though, back on the old train everyday. I dislike people so much when I have to interact with them but observing them, well gosh, it's one of my favourite things. I especially love to observe friends. Lovers and couples are boring. They are together through a biological imperative to procreate. Chemicals and hormones cause them to abide one another but what about friends? Fascinating. Two random strangers connecting and forming a bond for no observable purpose. Then again, what do I know about anthropology. Perhaps there is some sort of biological benefit to the universe from friend-bonds, but if so, I choose to remain entirely ignorant of it. I like the nonsensical magic of friends. I want to be able to stare and stare. Beside me this morning, two heavily made-up women in their forties, across from each other with high heels and manicures, leaning in toward each other conspiratorially, lowering their voices to tell a scandalous detail or an embarrassing truth. Couldn't I just stare at them? Couldn't I listen closely to their talk? They are relating even though they don't have to. I wouldn't want to talk to either of them individually or befriend them myself in any capacity, but to watch...

Did I mention that I'm back at work? I am. I can't even figure out myself how I feel about it. I know that I don't want to make all the same mistakes. I want to enjoy my free-time more inspite of the fact that I must work most of the days. I want to guard an inner calm and happiness that can't be cracked by the doldrums and dramas of work. I want to stay removed from work life as much as I can to reserve energy for my real life. I want to walk and run and skip and laugh, tee-hee, like that. I want to keep drawing comics. I want to come home after work and feel as though I still have something to give. Ha! I know, I know. Good freaking luck. It's been two days and I already sort of feel that one wrong turn in my head and I'll be weary like an immortal donkey. All these hopes I pronounce, so often failing or falling low of the bar, but still, trying is the thing right? Of course it is.

Montreal + Melissa 4 ever

I'm soooooo glad to be home. I love my country-smelling, cluttered little home on the river in Quebec, Canada. I love Canada. I love Montreal. Ever since I can remember, when I wake up in the morning, the first thing I think is, "oh crap". Waking up Monday, the first morning back, I was actually happy. Smiling happy. Oh listen, the red-wing blackbird is singing-happy. I didn't think "oh crap" even once that day, even though I had to put away all my luggage and vacuum and stuff. Grateful. I feel grateful to live where I do. Grateful to be Canadian. Yesterday, I walked around Montreal with butterflies in my stomach like a high school crush. My crush was on the city.

Ahh, she sighed contentedly.

So, I am putting California Coasting to rest. I'll leave it up, but no more updates. I will continue to draw and am thinking I might try to throw together a little website for viewing that whole deal. In a while. In a while. Right now, I have to go write "Montreal + Melissa" on my binder in liquid paper and surround it with a big heart.

for the heck of it

Just fer the hell of it, I decided to make a new blog -California Coasting - for California reporting.
If you find the reverse black white design too annoying, let me know.

I'm here.

(Please see giant post below for the story of getting here.)

California Day 1. I'm liking it. I really am.

The not working anymore part has finally clicked in my head. Four months. I will be free all day to do as I see fit. Today has been a nesting day. Putting away clothes, arranging things in drawers, trying to figure out how the hell to get out of the maze of courtyards and onto the street. We are living in a corporate housing, gated city complex type thing. It actually looks pretty spiffy but confusing as hell.

I've already started to relax into some little comforts here. Cushy carpet, brand new everything, the freedom to sit on the couch, listening to Boards of Canada and type up my blog with my only list of tasks for the day being: to find our mailbox,take a look at the fitness centre and maybe walk around the "park" with its "fitness trail", which in reality, is a really big lawn with a sidewalk around it but that's okay.

I think I will really be able to get something done here. The comfort will enable productivity. I can feel it already. I was tempted only briefly into watching a Mexican morning show with men in drag and a very buxom weather lady but that was just while I was tidying up.

The sky is overcast and it's cool but every once in a while the sun peeks out for a second and I get and idea what it will be like soon. I wore my spring coat out to go fetch my late luggage which had been delivered to the main office for me. It feels like spring. In the leasing office they had fresh baked chocolate cookies with pink smarties in them. I ate two. I'm looking to appreciate what there is to be offered here. Luck has handed it to me and for once, I would like to gracefully accept.

I'm off to take photos of our place. Starting off small. Cookies and cushy carpet. Good place to begin.

Nightflight (Afternoonflight) to Venus(California). Warning: Long, long Blog ahead.

Note: This post actually takes place on Monday January 7th.

Waiting is always the worst part. T left yesterday. Today I am on my way. My stomach turning knots until I finally get inside the airport limo and then I know I am really going. I look to my trusty iPod to calm myself. Thank you Smiths, Lily Allen and Loney Dear, Elton John even. You all played this morning while we drove to the airport and made me feel like everything was as it should be. My own music video of my life.

I paid an extra $25 when buying my plane ticket to have access to the "exec" lounge. That's what they call it too. "The Exec Lounge". No they don't, but that would be funny. Hoity Toity So and So's Lounge would be even funnier though. Somebody should have told me there would be a free soup and salad bar with sunflower and pumpkin seeds and olives and free chips, more importantly. I would have filled myself up on that instead of walking to the other end of tarnation to buy a cucumber sandwich from a very tired looking woman who, I feel, was well beyond caring about tip-top hygiene or correct food handling procedure.

Actually, I was so discombobulated when I arrived at the airport that I almost completely forgot I had access to the lounge. Then I saw the sign and remembered. I'm glad. All the free stuff they had completely distracted me from the nausea and the cold sweats induced by thoughts of flying. Free TV, internet, the aforementioned chips and salad bar, juices and teas and BOOZE. Hell of booze. Whole lotta booze. Totally un monitored and totally free. Sorry to disappoint you but I had none. No booze equals no barf, hopefully.

Also free were newspapers, and magazines. I grabbed the last copy of the Walrus - too bad for you, hesitating woman, eyeing the same time as me! I snatched it right away. I saw good reading as my lifeline to sanity during the flight. All niceties out the friggin window today. In fact, to further that point, I should explain that last night, I went out with my sister to get a pita sandwich at an Egyptian restaurant. We had to wait while they made 300 chicken shwarma pitas before they did ours and as a result, I noticed this morning that my coat and scarf were saturated with onion stench. I reek. Normally I would be embarrassed, but this morning I just think, "Tough luck, sucka!" about anyone having to sit anywhere near me. My nerves are just a little too shot from thoughts of possible, impending death scenarios involving fiery planes to have room for polite conduct. It's terrible, I know. Grabbing last copies of magazines, stuffing myself with free olives and unapologetically stinking like a big, fat onion.

I "smuggled" in two valerians past customs so I could take one just before boarding and have an extra in case I needed a double shot. Think I'll take that now. One last visit to the executively appointed bathroom and I suppose I best be off to the gate to board. Up, up and away.

* * *

Toronto to Denver

It took off and I didn't die! Thank you Jeebus, for giving us technology so that I can watch Superbad on my own little screen to take my mind off worst-case scenarios, the mildest being that my cup of peppermint tea will spill and scald me during turbulence which, by magic of mention has just commenced. Turbulence ensues. Not happy, palms sweaty, sentences fragmented.

Alright self, get it together. Employ some tricks to calm down. Picture an intelligent, professory type lady with librarian glasses and a chalkboard and a pointer to explain turbulence and how it's perfectly normal and safe. I don't actually know the physics of turbulence so I'll have to make it up...Uh, ehem (say in professory woman voice) "At certain points during an aerocraft flight, pockets of air turbulence may be encountered. When this occurs, gentle harmless breezes may bump the plane in a way that feels extremely alarming but is actually 110% okay. In fact, it's actually good for the plane and full of vitamins and minerals...." So good. That is totally not working. I will turn again to the potty mouth dialogue of Superbad to calm me, Oh, PING, seat belt signs off. Turbulence done for now.

By the way. I can't really say that Aircanada sucks too much ass, although they are known for sucking much ass. My flight was on time, I was able to soil the executive lounge with my common-ness for only 25 bucks, I hardly had to wait at all to get to the gate from the online check-in and that Steward just keeps going up and down the aisle seeing if anyone needs anything. It's the fourth time he's come round offering water in the last hour. "Air Canada: Fly with us and drink much water. We totally don't suck ass!" (Why can't I run my own ad agency? I would like the world so much better if I were in charge of it's publicity campaigns.) Maybe they put stuff in the water. Quaaludes to keep us all docile? I'm down with that. Ha ha, get it? "Down" with that. I'm so smart.

* * *

Watching the Office now. If I had known I could watch all this stuff on the plane I wouldn't have needed to bring on that library of printed material. 2 free magazines, a newspaper, a learning German textbook and a new fiction book (Kate Atkinson). Why was I thinking I would possibly need that much to read to get through six hours of flying? I guess some people would have doused their anxiety with free booze while I figured learning another one of the ten million verb tenses in German would be the ticket to relaxation for me. I do wish I'd taken more free chips though. Chips would be more useful to me at the moment. Oh NO WAY! They have the Quebec version of The Office. "La Job". Oh, they don't write their own episodes, they just do the british ones but in french. That's poopy.

Anyway, The Descent begins. Dare I look? Only if we are just about to touch the ground, else I shall shit a brick.

So we descend and I get to do this all over again in an hour. Crapsack!

I'm over the wing (Dad, you'll have been glad to know),so I totally have that going for me right? And how is the descent? Rocky, scary...cue professor woman again...nope, she aint got jack for me. What's ironic is, it might actually help to look and see us getting closer to the ground and see that no engines are on fire and there are no demons chewing on the wings or what have you. However, each time I try to steal a glance out of the window, I see nothing but sky and I'm all like, "Beeyatch!? You crazy?? Don't be looking OUT that window!". For some reason I become a sassy lady in my head when instructing myself away from psychological harm.

There's also a voice saying: " C'maaawn. Take a look ya chump! Whatsa matta? Too chicken? Bawk bawk bawk!". The voice that encourages me to freak myself out is a "good fer nuttin" type of guy, with a New York accent, from a 1940s movie. As it should be, of course.

Bloody hell! How long does it take to land a freakin plane?? Oh, TOUCH DOWN!! BOO YAA! Blind up, there's Denver. Jesus, I'm in Denver. That's bizzare.

* * *

Denver to San Jose

I totally lucked out seat-wise today. Toronto to Denver I had no one beside me and same on this one. I'm at the very back in the aisle and no one is in the middle and the rest of the plane is full. Little miracles. Thanks random luck!

Tired enough and calm enough to ignore take off and turbulence in-flight. I'm even going to take a peek as we now descend because it's California so what the crap, right? I think I should see it.

Teeny look and... holy shit are we ever up high. It's dark so all I can see are little lights but I can tell we are up really effing high. I've been in complete disbelief for months about being able to step foot onto California soil. I was about to say that I haven't been around much so it's hard to process the idea, but that's not even true really. I've been across the Ocean and back twice, seen 7 countries of the world, lived in 4 provinces and 6 cities. San Jose will be number 7. So no biggy right? Take'er as she comes.

I'm totally looking again. There are big clusters of lights which I presume are towns separated by darkness which I presume is nature or merely some sort of California void. It's easier to look at night. Twinkling lights can't hurt anyone no matter how high above them you may be. My little Christmas tree at home is brought to mind. It's under a sheet in our quiet little house waiting for us to return. A sigh of fondness goes out to Quebec right now.

I looked, I saw California's twinkling lights from really high above and my brain didin't explode. Now the lights are bigger and I see streets...now I see cars and traffic lights...Bloody hell! I'm in California! No foolin! I'm here.

Mares eat oats.

Ha, challenge to gain much weight-check mark on that. Did I place any other challenges on myself for the holidays? No I don't think I did. So success to me.

It's been a while. Laziness compels me to highly summarize the past 2 weeks. Food, sleep, stir craziness, skiing on ancient cross-country skis and eating out constantly. Probably more or less reflects all y'alls holiday experiences also.

T leaves tomorrow morning for the big C. I leave on Monday. Sleeping here in my parents basement, I already miss my view of the river and my bed but hopefully America will distract me enough to keep me from pining. I feel sorry for whoever will sit beside me on the plane. I am taking the window seat so I can keep the damn window covered, I will pee constantly, requiring maneuvering past them with my huge ass in their face and I will be white knuckled and tense enough that any sudden movements on their part could warrant a knitting needle to the groin or eye, whichever is closest at hand.

Basically I am a happy-go-lucky optimist with sunshine beams radiating from my, well, I already talked about my ass so let's move on.

One more day for me to wait folks. One more day before I am off to begin something new.

Don't be haters, wish me and T luck yo.

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.