Thursday, October 29, 2009

Kebler's tree was a sweatshop

Normally I hate Halloween. Now, friends, you must be thinking: "What kind of a Scrooge Mc-Jack-o-lantern are you?" To which, I reply, "Boo-humbug!"

Yes, I hate Halloween. There's always so much pressure to come up with a "good" costume and now you can sexify any costume. Lobster? How about a sexy lobster? Piece of sushi? Let's bring sexy back!

Well, I say no. If I had it my way, I'd be this for Halloween. Or this brilliant piece of paper mache art.

Alas, my construction skills are subpar. More importantly, my time-management skills are poor. My sewing skills aren't bad, so I've resorted to being a garden gnome. I got a green apron, a flower, made a pointy hat, a mushroom and a beard (the pattern I found here) et voila!

All I need is a pipe and a jaunty idiosyncrasy, and I'm set!

Tuesday, October 27, 2009

Guess who's back? Slim Shady's back.

I was kind of afraid to log into Blogger since it's been a while since I've written. I go through these periods where I'm super keen to update a lot, and then I go through sloth moments where motivation is about as rare as the albino squirrel that inhabits Trinity Bellwoods.

So an update of my life is in order.

Act I: I moved house. I went from a lovely little Portugese-style maison to what I've fondly dubbed, "The Babe Castle."

This house is huge. I'm talking monolith. The ceiling is high up, the walls are never-ending and I have to stand on stools to reach the cupboards. I'm like Alice in Wonderland. Going from one place where everything was small and compact to a ginormous house. Hence, the "Castle" bit. The other part? Well, I happen to live with babes. Statuesque gods. Both my roommates, who are a couple, are babes. They're fun and do interesting things and are fun and interesting to look at. Babes.

And I'm the elfin jester.

I reside in The Babe Castle, and it is glorious. Best thing is, it's in an awesome location---I like to think of it as the food mecca of the city---and the rent is more than reasonable. Oh, and there's a washer and dryer in our house, so there really is no reason to ever leave. Except maybe to gorge myself on all the food around.

Act II: Achey, break-y heart attack. Without going too much into detail, someone who was important to me, let me down. Again. This wasn't the first time.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me thrice? Never. Well, maybe. I am a sucka like that.

At least you left behind your rolling papers and a CD. Ha. I win? Petty yes, but you gotta pick your battles, right? Um...

Act III: I went to Montreal. Not a big deal. Not the first time I've been. Not the most exciting city to visit.

But allow me to wax poetic about Belle Montreal for a second here. It's been a while since I've gotten out of this city, so it was nice to hop on the train and go. (Thank you, Via Rail!)

Montreal is belle. It's charming with its rolling hills, houses with spiral staircases, delicious pain du chocolats, bike lanes that actually make sense, charming vendors at Jean Talon market, especially you, Mr. Scar-under-the-eye-selling-purple-cauliflower (this is all fiction, of course. Not at all based on reality), stylish residents and cheap rent.

The other thing I love about Montreal (and travelling in general) is its randomness. I somehow found myself at some mini rave/party/horrible electronic music shindig and ran into two people from my past. Those two weren't connected in any way, but this freaky deaky shit seems to happen to me a lot. Especially on the road. "Beaver" I met about a year and half ago in the Newf, and Heather I went to junior high with in Alberta. Go figure.

Epilogue: Happy ending avec Prince Charming, a bicycle and an east coast? Or tragic suicide involving both poison and hari kari and (dis)honour?

Only time will tell. This play is still being written.