those 3 little words

holy shopping, batman. holy fucking shopping batman is more appropriate, but that would be four words... but seriously, it's just so good. today was all to myself and i browsed oxford street (horrible on a saturday) and went to h&m. there are no words. really. it's just...so...good...i kind of need to be alone right now...
oh wait, i am alone. right. this is a city for sharing and i am in dire need of some mates. i am going to my first party on monday, hopefully that will be good for me. the problem is, how do you meet new people when the people you have already known have achieved perfection? tell me that.
i am going to bed with visions of skirts and tops and boots dancing in my sleep.
ok and i am developing an accent and it is not british. or maybe this is just the first time i have ever been so canadian-sounding...i am very self-conscious when i speak.

there must be an airport nearby...

It's weird getting used to the English language. When people approach me I am still ready with a je ne comprend pas. It's hard for me to accept living in a place where I can actually speak the language. I am still uttering awkward pardons and mercis all over the place. I am assuming this will quickly pass.
It feels like summer here. I wear a jacket and scarf when I am out (it's habit, I cannot help it), but I often end up stripping down to just a t-shirt. It is such a welcome break from the frigid onset of another Montreal winter. Nothing personal guys, but I am SO glad to be missing it.
The weirdest thing I find is the housing situation. It is so normal for two or three people to share a room. Every bed is a single and people are often sleeping on the floor. It's just so different than North America (at least my North American experience) and I tell fantastic stories to the peeps about how I used to share a 3 bedroom flat with only one other person. Their eyes are wide as they oooh and ahhh.
The division of class is pretty remarkable, as well. While there are millions of people flat-sharing like I just described, there are many many many who live in mansions. If you are rich in London then you are very rich. Rich anywhere else could only be middle class here...The wealth is kind of sickening.
I am going to be poor, but this is ok. So long as tea remains incredibly cheap my heart will be warm.
I need to look for a job and an apartment.

to my beloved(s)

my intention was to write each of you a make you cry on an airplane letter that you could read while i was crying on the airplane. but i ran out of time. i still cried on that airplane, though. believe me when i tell you.
leaving was so hard, it was almost impossible. never before have i wanted to duck into a corner and hide quite like i did as i walked through the airport. it's weird with 3way gone, but montreal is my home. that city (and you guys being in it) has done more for me than i ever would have thought possible.
a couple of weeks ago i realized that on the best day of his life, h. could never be my family the way that you are. even if there were three of him. and now i don't even know what to think. i would be lying if i said that i don't care what happens, but i would never doubt my ability to get through it.
anyways, here i am. i am already smitten with this town which is a huge relief. i even think the air smells fresh! it's madness. last night there were fireworks that i could see from the balcony and i am pretty sure they were lit for me.
i think about you all, all of the time. you are in my hearts and on my mind and except for a few (very few) select others, you are all that matters.
love,
ham pancake, esq.

A Quote...

This is simply too good not to share:

She'd never imagined it like this- when she'd thought of someone (a woman like herself) losing her mind, she'd imagined shrieks and wails, hallucinations; but at that moment it had seemed clear that there was another way, far quieter; a way that was numb and hopeless, flat, so much that an emotion as strong as sorrow would have been a relief.

The Hours- Michael Cunningham

That's Turboarlottetown. T-U-R-B....

I am leaving in 3 days. 3 days and I am going to the countryside tonight for 2 days. I am a ball of nervous energy about to implode. For all of the dear darlings close to me, it is a blessing that I am getting out of town for a couple of days.
Today was my last day of work and it was un-fucking-believable. Not in a good way, in an unfucking believable way. It is way too difficult to explain what my job is like, you REALLY need to be there, but the supervisor in charge of training is incredibly special. Special like I cannot believe that her obvious learning disability is not more of an issue. However, the last few days have had some really solid moments. Like when Tina, the crazy woman that no one likes called directory assistance and thought that Turboarlottetown was an actual city. A Canadian city, no less, just one she had never heard of...and later when Tina asked a slightly darkish skinned boy to sing in Arabic, and he had to tell her that he does not speak Arabic. She asked the most obvious Quebecois boy I have ever seen to sing in Arabic... gold. These are the memories that I carry with me.

A Girl Called Jeff: In Memoriam

I had to have my cat put down this past Friday. It was a really hard decision to make, but it was just her time. Actually, her time was Thursday night, but after an unfortunate encounter with those bastards at Co-op Taxi, her time was postponed.

I adopted Jeff in January of 2001. She was already 2 and a half years old and I was soon to learn, came with more baggage than middle-aged, divorced house-wife. She was skittish at first (who can forget the time she did a break-stand on MeatHead's foot?) but she sooned warmed up and became one of the most over-affectionate, annoyingly dependent cats of all time.

You have to remember that when Transfer, Crosswalk and I get together, it is literally the Special Olympics of pet euthanasia. Seriously, those who know us well know better than to ask about the passing of Molly the Mouse in 2001. And they also know to keep us the hell away from their own pets...but I digress. This should be all about Jeff.

As she learned how to love, she also began to get sick. A lot. She was originally diagnosed as having irritated bowel, but as we soon learned her sickness could come on at anytime. We also discovered that she took a perverse pleasure in making herself sick. With plastic. You could put a plastic bag on the kitchen table, leave the room for a minute and come back to find Jeff sprawled out on the groceries, hauling on that plastic like nothing else. She would then wander off and throw up within a matter of minutes. And she did this daily. Sometimes twice a day. We tried our best to get all of the plastic away from her, but she was incredibly clever. The only reason we knew her vomit was still being brought on by plastic licking was because the dyes would color her bile.

I never loved her any less. Even when she threw up on my bed every day for a couple of weeks. She was still my darling. This month she had licked all of the hair off of her stomach and was starting on her tail. She was sluggish and listless, she could no longer keep any food down and she was rapidly losing weight. It broke my heart, but I knew it was time.

Jeff, you were too beautiful for this world. xoxo

i get paid $75 a day to do nothing but this...

I am on a computer all day at work, but every even mildly entertaining feature is denied to us. Pinball is on some computers, but you can only really get away with it if you are sitting in the back and even then it's a gamble. That's why it is truly amazing the triumph of spirit that can be witnessed in the face of such sheer and utter boredom. Behold!! Webdings!!

It's happening!

I just received an e-mail that my Visa application has been approved and is being sent to me within a matter of days. I should be out of here by this time next week. I am still in shock. Woot!

you can take a picture of this

Fall has come to Mo-town with a vengeance. The beautiful days are already forgotten as the chilly winds set in and the rain continues to fall. Ha. Fall.

I am feeling nostalgic. Back in Montreal, I am going through the boxes that I packed so hastily 3 months prior. I am reading the old journal, I am sorting through the old pictures. The journal is scary, as it dates back to December of 2001. Scary because it seems like not that much has changed. Sure, I am older, hopefully wiser; I live in a different city. But the ideas are still the same and horror of horrors, the writing reads the same. What am I going to do with my life? Complaints about the boyfriend du jour followed by declarations of devotion to the boyfriend du jour.
The old photographs make me feel content. Especially the ones of me with my ex. Although we have drifted apart and although I may have certain opinions about some of the choices he has made since I let him go (ha!) I can look back on that relationship fondly. Finally. For a long time it just made me feel bad, like I had wasted the better part of three years on a meaningless exchange of half-felt emotions. But no more! What we had was special. It was good (at times). We lived together, we actually did love each other. We travelled together, which means a lot to me. We were so young and excited and curious and easily impressed, nervously exploring the terifying streets of Brussels, and the much more beautiful ones of Paris. Isn't it ironic that it took me two years past the end of the relationship to realize that it was a good thing. I certainly did not recognize this fact at the time. Still, I am glad he is gone. Best of luck to him and his new wife.

The subjects of my photographs have not varied so much over the years. Sure we've mixed up the supporting cast, but the heart and soul of the group has remained. My group of friends, the real friends, the four of us, are chronicled in our photo albums. Of course, we have sometimes drifted, a face may not be seen for months, or even years at a time, but we are all there.

For the record, this nostalgia is not a longing for the past. Quite the opposite. It is a happy acknowledgment of the past and a very hopeful glimpse of the future. That's all now. I can't write anymore.

good form

Montreal is hot this week, unbelievably hot for October. Indian Summer, so they say. I think summer is being lengthened because I was never supposed to spend another fall in this city. But that's just my theory.

I have am now working for the first time in months. Why do the days seem so much longer? Seriously, what is up with that? I start work (menial beyond description) and all of a sudden I am getting more done. I am going to bed maybe an hour earlier, but I get up at least five hours earlier. Who knew there was so much day to be had?
I would love to write all about the new career path, but unfortunately I signed many a confidentiality agreement. I'll still share the interesting bits, but nothing good has happened yet. Nothing. Not a thing.

Except I am training with a girl that I knew (of) since we come from the same small town. And I only know (of) her because she got a tatoo of her boyfriend's name (they got matching ones, in fact) while he was sleeping with my good friend, Bernard. Of course I have not said anything along the lines of, i remember you. your boyfriend used to date my friend, bernardo. That would be bad form, right? I thought so.

I want to leave. I want to leave! I am ready to go now.

one tree sad

It is with a heavy heart that I am now writing about the recent separation of Chad Michael Murray and Sophia Bush, stars of the WB's One Tree Hill. It first came to my attention a couple of days ago and I have been trying to fully comprehend the implications of this monumental split ever since.

I mean, I don't want my priorities to seem at all skewed, I understand that this separation must be an extremely difficult and painful time for them both, but what does this mean for the residents of Tree Hill?? Last time we saw Lucas and Brooke were finally going to get back together. Now what? How awkward must it be to stage a reunion with your ex-husband? I think there are a few valuable lessons to be learned here.

First, CMM is only 24 and Sophia is a child-like 23. You are simply too young! And more importantly you are too hot (especially you, Sophia. CMM, your nose is too bulbous) to settle down quite yet. You naive little things, look what happened to Nathan and Hailey! You really never saw this coming?

Second, you are co-workers! Doesn't the WB have some kind of stipulation in your contract to prevent this sort of misguided union? You really thought this would last forever? Yeah, I thought the NKOTB were here to stay, too. How dare you try to seek out personal happiness at the cost of art?

I really tried not to like OTH, but the plot lines were so good and the characters were all people who I loved to hate. Brooke was a bitch with a heart of gold. Lucas was a moralistic jack-hole (his words). Nathan and Hailie got married in grade 10 (enough said). Dan sucked, Keith sucked. Karen was lame, Deb was a whore. Peyton and Jake were the only people you might relate to or wish to emulate and they had troubles of their own (kidnapping and penal institutes and psychotic ex-girlfriends and illegitimate children, to say the least).

I am really sorry that Sophia and CMM have decided to separate after only five months of marriage. I am sure that their decision to do so was not one that was taken lightly. For the sake of art, let's watch them channel all of their hurt, anger and frusrtation into sexual tension. For the sake of their sanity, the OTH writers need to kill one of them off. I vote Lucas.