HYSTERICAL IS THE NEW CALM

My brain has been taken over by little dudes in hard hats waving picket signs which read GET TO WORK. They always appear around this time, the end of the university term, and this year they've each been issued a police whistle which they're not afraid to use. They get extra agitated when I do things like draw shapes on the window, look up random celebrities on IMDB, or... write blogs. Hence the current dry spell. Back when the madness stops!

A Youtube video worth 1,000 words

And, in case you haven't seen it yet, the original:

Montreal Under Siege

Took a walk yesterday and did my best to aestheticize the effects of our latest winter storm and ignore the fact that we're already ten days into March and I still have to wear my giant winter boots.

Ever since it became a near-certainty in my mind that I'd be leaving Montreal by the end of this summer, I inevitably started seeing it through nostalgic eyes. I think there is this giant, bright red switch in my brain with a sign above it that reads "EXECUTE SENTIMENTALITY: USE WITH CAUTION," and some devilish little nymph is having a rave up there, flicking switches without discretion. Which would explain why I get weepy while I'm waiting for my bus, because dammit, I'm only going to have 127 more chances to wait for that bus before it's all over! I miss that bus stop already! The same happened in London before I took off after my undergrad. I even started feeling attached to that grimy little apartment that I sublet for the last couple of months.


As for Montreal: I've begun to totally love the way that my grocery store never has fresh produce, and the sidewalks are never clear, and the kid above me never stops running in circles while flinging all of her toys onto her floor/my ceiling. I will even miss the tow trucks with their dying-animal sirens! What will I do without those things! But seriously, I will miss, with heart-squeezing immensity, the view from my bedroom window, where I have probably accumulated 10,000,000+ hours of daydream time over the last year and a half. One day I would like to write some sort of personal essay about all the bedroom windows I have stared out of in my life. They are all unforgettable! At Gascon, I stare at the clotheslines and watch the old couple hobble up and down their deck and hear my neighbour start up his massive diesel truck twelve times a day. Where does he go??? I'll never learn the answer to that question, because I'M LEAVING! This little alley, the Gascon universe, will continue to fill with snow every winter and garbage - er, flowers - every spring, long after I've left. Someone else will look out of this window, and curse that kid upstairs, and wait half an hour for the bus, and track questionable smells in the kitchen, and fish around the toilet tank for the faulty chain. There will be no more pitter-patter of Tycho feet in this apartment! Actually, that's a moot point, since he hasn't done much pittering OR pattering lately. More accurately: there will be no more heavy snoring of Tycho in this apartment! I can't bear to think about it. On the other hand, I can't wait to start the next adventure. Why must I always be such a melodramatic contradiction!

Soon I will explain how I came to spend about five seconds at a hotel in Ottawa this weekend, long enough for this to happen:



Oh, and this:


Actually, I'm not really sure how that one happened.

fearin' no pooch!

The past few days have been 100% consumed by WRITING LIKE A FIEND to make up for a weekend of total indulgence. Montreal's Dearest, Darlingest Viv is leaving soon to hike the ENTIRE APPALACHIAN TRAIL over the next six months (suddenly air guitar 3x/week doesn't seem so exercise-y), and Saturday was her goodbye bash (even though a series of unfortunate events have prevented her from leaving until after easter). In the true spirit of sending Viv out with a flourish, we kept the party going long after she was sensible enough to go home, and consequently Sunday was spent moving very, very slowly around my brain, prodding here and there with a long stick. It kind of weakens me to think of living on in Montreal without V, so my words here are brief but heartfelt: I will miss you, Sugar Sister! Please don't attach your GPS device to a squirrel! That little red dot on our computer screens will be all we have to cling to!


So you know how I cooked that lasagna last week after having a thesis-related crisis? Well now I am being punished for my evil procrastinating ways! I have eaten lasanga twenty times a day for the last century and I still have barely made a dent in the pan!!! I am in a lasagna purgatory (ha, the first time I spelled that I wrote pugatory. I wish!). I dream lasagna! I see lasagna! I taste lasagna! I AM SO SICK OF LASAGNA! 18 x 9 inches are too many inches for me!!! The worst part is that I switched pork for beef when I was making it, which was not a smart switch, although I saved $0.78. That's three gumballs! Three gumballs and then BACK TO THE FRIDGE BECAUSE THERE'S STILL MORE LASAGNA!

Ok... feeling kind of self-conscious here since apparently no one cares what I had for lunch. But I can't help ranting about this because my pop culture radar tells me that having a big lasagna AND a big orange cat should be a no-brainer, but T has shown very little interest! I guess he knows better than to get involved in my messes. Also, what's funnier than a big orange cat who eats lasagna? THE BIG ORANGE CAT'S CONSPICUOUS ABSENCE! If you haven't already gotten one of The E-mails about it, then I highly recommend that you go discover Garfield Minus Garfield - you won't regret it. And while you read... perhaps some lasagna? I have extra.

Speaking of cats, if you haven't already seen the LOLCat Bible Translation, then you might as well cancel all your appointments and hunker down RIGHT NOW, especially if you are at all schooled in general LOLSpeak!

I iz in teh valli of dogz, fearin no pooch,
bcz Ceiling Cat iz besied me rubbin' mah ears, an it maek me so kumfy. (Psalm 23)

All right, see this picture?

See how my hair is all wavy & nice? I want my hair to look like THAT at will, without too much work. Right now I have two hair looks: straight and up. Actually three, if you want to add my "just had a shower, too lazy for products" Gorgon look. I recently asked D if my hair looks sexy that way and he paused and said, "sometimes." Very diplomatic, that guy. I think my hair looked the way it does in the photo because I had spent hours out in the sun and the summer breeze. Sadly, those aren't conditions that I can willfully reproduce! Help!

-- Off to contemplate baldness

Love That Cat.