Current Style Inspiration: Faith Hill channeling 70s Cher with Beyond the Valley of the Dolls Hair and Make-up.
Listening to awful country music from the late 90s: a happy by-product.
Whenever I see Christina derping around with her new gold-digging scrub of a piece, I get sad because I thought Christina and Jordan were the OTP forever and I don’t care that Michael K called him “bat boy.” He seemed like the best. Datalounge is making fun of her ass right now and it just makes me SAD. Come back, Christina. COME BACK.
I watch The Voice (just because I have to freelance re-caps, really, I don’t let myself get emotionally invested in such trivial mainstream pablum. YOU’RE CRYING) and I just want to give her a hug and just like help her put her boobs away (expert right here on that particular conundrum) and scale back on the spray tan and maybe just watch some VMars or Buffy for a bit.
I secretly think that her new skeezy man is just a cover up for the fact that she and Sia are totally together. That would be my OTP.
My City is Not your Drive-Through (Rant of a Resigned Montrealer)
Every year the rising temperature calls visitors and Montreal ex-pats back to the city. Many come for Jazz Fest, Just for Laughs or to chug down “sangria” served at whatever makeshift terrace they can squeeze into. Funnily enough, it is not the fannypacked, Ed-Hardy clad tourists who regularily mis-pronounce the city as MON-tree-awl (and not the native anglicization MUNtreal) that have the most disruptive effect on the city as they’re mostly harmless and inject some much needed revenue into our shaky economy. No, the greatest affliction we Montrealers have to put up with every summer is the return of our most loathsome population: McGill alumni.
Oh McGill (full disclosure, I went there) the ivy clad womb of academia where Americans and Ontarians alike can spend a full four years without uttering a word of french. Their isolation and sense of entitlement is a well-worn stereotype and justifiably so. I love my McGill friends and I love to see them in their cities, but every time they return here I bristle as there are a few things that no matter how frequently I remind them, they do not grasp:
1) Crescent Street is where we Montrealers send the people we don’t like to rub up against eachother so we can keep overcharging them for weak sugary drinks and fried food.
2) Old Montreal is a no-fly zone for locals from June-August (possible exceptions during the week and rainy weather).
3) The city extends past St.Denis, Atwater and Mont-Royal. Most of the great restaurants are beyond the McGill self-imposed perimiter.
4) St Sulpice is a god-awful hellhole. Same for Prince Arthur.
5) Montreal is not some tiny college hamlet.
This last one is really the inspiration behind my rant. I am utterly exhausted from having to explain to my American (and to a lesser extent) Ontario friends that people actually do live and work in Montreal. I find the constant patronizing attitude of reducing my city to some sort of artsy, corrupt den of inquity based on their very-limited undergraduate debauched experience utterly infuriating. Shockingly, it is not every little Montrealer’s dream to grow up and move to the states. Sure, some of us do but staying here, fighting the good fight is not something to be mocked or derided. I love New York, I think San Francisco is beautiful and there are many other cities in the states that I really like but I prefer Montreal. I love Montreal the way you can only love your hometown: warts and all. I bitch about the cold, the endless construction, the bureaucratic nonsense that turns even the most simple request into a labryinth of red tape and I can continue to do so because deep-down, I love this city.
I look around at friends working in media, advertising and other creative fields, at the work they’re doing, and I’m proud of the contributions my fellow Montrealers are making. They demonstrate that trying to make a living in these fields, while difficult, is not futile.
I understand that because the education is cheap, the women are beautiful and the drinking age is low we attract a certain set. Fine, but don’t pretend for a minute that you understand Montreal. You can’t spend four years in a ten-block unilingual radius and even begin to understand the city. I have lived here almost my whole life and I am still trying to negotiate my place in this city, every day.
Popular Signs of Intoxication (or why I am too old to smoke pot)
Me: I want to watch something….bad. There should be explosions and a simple, easy to follow plot and maybe magic? or ghosts? Monsters? What’s the most recent Nick Cage movie?
M: Ummm, Ghost Rider?
Me: No…I mean the worst one, the one he just did. I want to watch that one.
M: REALLY? Drive Angry it is.
And I passed out four minutes in. Ladies and Gentlemen: My Friday.
Okay, so I didn’t get that internship that I wanted oh, so badly but I’m putting on my big girl pants and just applying to everything now and hopefully some one will hire me (please? I’m awesome, I promise). I’m not licked yet and I will be re-applying (stalking) this fantastic company until they just give up and let me fetch coffee.
But in much more important news: MEET MY NEW PUPPY!
His name is Shep (shelter named him, btws), I call him Sheperdoodle or Scheperdee.
He’s a husky/collie/golden mix and we drove all the way out to St. Lazare to adopt him. We finalized the adoption today and I’m so happy!
He’s great with the cat, he snuggles and is very attentive.
AND LOOK AND HIS LITTLE PUPPY FACE!
Hello? Is it me you’re looking for?
Gearing up to adopt a dog (hopefully, if my landlord approves us) in the next week or so. Between Animatch, Sophie’s and SPCA I’m legitimately concerned that I won’t be able to adopt only one and that I’ll turn into some awful pet-horder.
example conversation:
Me: Oooh! Huskies! I love huskies.
Matt: We can’t have a husky in an apt, it’s not fair and they’ll cry all the time.
Me: Oh. How about two huskies? They have to be sold as a pair! They LOVE eachother!
Matt: ……………
for Vivienne Westwood.
Oh no. Oh honey. Oh no.
You really are such a pretty lady but (as one busty gal to another) I don’t think we need added volume up to, hrm?
