Elucubrations

On Wondering Why.

2011-10-24T23:20:00.000-04:00

I have been around the block too many times, at 35, to expectanything. I should know by now that when you have expectations, they areusually shattered. Not to be pessimistic, or anything.

But this time, I am hoping things will be different. I amtrying to be free, to be happy, and to accept that not everybody is at theexact same spot in ‘Being’ as I am. It still hurts, though, when the person youthought was rocking your world is apparently not doing that intently or withpurpose at all. What they are doing, though, is carelessly wafting throughlife. They have chosen (by their own admittance) to not make choices in life. Theyhave chosen not to commit. You like their bohemian lifestyle, theircarelessness. You like that they get up to go get chocolatines on Saturdaymorning, that they make chocolate coffee for you when you are still in bed andthat their restaurant-owning neighbours have soup delivered to your door forlunch.

Your choice (and between the lines, mine, oh My LoverlyLoverlings): to play along or to be stuck once again expecting something youfeel you won’t be getting soon? Argh. Tobe 20 again, and to not care about these things.

On Water Expeditions and Counting Birds.

2011-10-05T20:50:00.000-04:00

After the umpteenth hiatus in my blogging life, here I am. I know you'vemissed me, I have missed you too...

So...let’s see. Oh! I went on a cruise to the Caribbean! It was magnificent.It was very touristy, but still magnificent. For my first trip as an adult, itwas totally worth the investment! Not that I wouldn’t enjoy a Japanese/Hawaiian/Moroccangetaway...Oh Future! What holdeth thee in store for me?

I was with a very cool friend who had tastes similar tomine, and I’d go on a trip with her anytime, anywhere. You know, when it’suncomplicated? Just like that. But that was SO long ago! Now, alas, autumn isupon us, my Cute Little Fall Blossoms, and I fear summer has taken its finalbow, at least until next year. It was a good summer, though. But this fallpromises to be even better.

There is this new thing showing its face, unexpectedly butwith astounding great timing. I don’t know where it’s going. All I know is thatit feels good. It speaks to me in a cryptic, complicated language unknown to methus far. It pays for dinner when I extend the invitation, buys me some wine,and tells me my vanilla perfume is intoxicating. It counts birds with me whenwe are trying to fall asleep (sheep are too common). It seduces me via textmessages. I am smitten. I am cautious, but smitten. We’ll see. Good night, Loverlies.

Melancholy Mademoiselle

2011-07-21T19:23:00.001-04:00

This week, my SuperSweets, I feel lonely.

I have no clue as to why I feel this way, I just do. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's the awesome weekend I had with a friend. Maybe the introspection is getting to me. Today, I had a sudden rush of adrenaline when I actually considered dishing out a lot of money to go on a cruise to the eastern Caribbean with a friend. In two weeks. It's a great spur-of-the-moment, fuck-it-if-I-don't-have-a-passport-I-can-get-one-really-quick instinct. I walked into my boss's office with a sense of elation and my heart was racing as I listened to him tell me it was my decision. There's a little voice in my head which is telling me not to do it. I have, as I think I've mentioned before, always followed my instincts. But the idea is nagging at me with all its might. It's screaming and kicking. I think I just need a change of scenery. I want to get the hell out, somewhere unknown. I am *this* close to booking a freaking swanky hotel for the weekend and ordering everything off the menu, but that would be a waste of money.

I have unfinished business here. I have things that are on standby. To quote Dolly Parton, of all people, and according to my iPhone's Fortune Cookie app, " to get the rainbow, you must suffer through the rain"...or something like that, anyway. I want the rainbow now. Bad Mademoiselle. Bad, Fool Mademoiselle.


“There is no coming to consciousness without pain.”		- Carl Jung

Funny thing is, no specific event triggered this mood. It just fell on me, like rain. Like a shroud. I tried to shake it off. I put on my happy cheery face whenever people are around. But melancholy creeps out. It never stays under the plastic tarp you try to apply over it. So the moment I am alone, it seeps out of the walls, the furniture, my pores, it seeps out and takes over. I cannot wait for this episode to be over. I feel like a fraud. It'll pass, just like the rest.

Benefits of Having Too Much Time on Your Hands When You live Alone with Two Cats and an Obnoxious Cyclops Pink Dog Doll.

2011-05-28T01:16:00.038-04:00

Greetings, you bunch of Cutesy-Pies,

You must concur - that was the longest blog post title ever. Love it, right? Me too. It is way past my bed time, and I cannot sleep, so I figured “what the heck – I’ll show them what I am thinking of working on tomorrow because I need a project and I’ve been putting this off for way too long”. Intrigued? Good. So am I (glad we agree on so many things, things are looking good between you and I. Maybe we should take this to the next level). Let’s see where this takes us.

Months ago, on a bright, sunny, awesome day on the south shore with my Most Loverly V, I ordered (well – she ordered) some fabric off eBay. A quick look, shall we?

Yum, right? I think so, anyway. So I was ready to commit to a long project, go figure, and I decided quilting would be it. I actually thought of hand-quilting, but then I remembered only my sister has this kind of patience and goddammit, I have a sewing machine, so for my first quilting project, it would have to suffice. So here I am, almost a year later, and these one hundred and twenty-six squares of fabric have been sitting all alone in one of my craft drawers, silently moping and hoping one day, I would fondle them and assemble them into one crazy, awesome united entity, My First Quilt. Since I live in quite the confined quarters, my craft drawers are in my room, and I swear I could hear them scream at me at night. They would bellow at me from the fourth drawer, and although muffled, their yelps sounded awful. The drawers they live in are see-through, too. So in visual terms, it looked like this (can’t you just see them scream?):

Then this guy (who lives on my bed between two striped cushions during the daytime, but totally gets his ass hauled to a pile in the corner of the room during the night, because he would just bite my ears off, I swear) started sniggering and generally projecting an unpleasant vibe:

So that was it. Tonight, I got home after a yummy Mexican dinner out and decided it was time I kicked myself in the ass and did something about the nocturnal fabric screams (wow – that would sound so wrong in another context). So out of the plastic drawers the yummy fabric squares came.

Tomorrow, I will :

Wake up too early as per usual on Saturday mornings;
Remember it is Saturday;
Yawn, smile, yawn again for good measure;
Fall back asleep;
Wake up again about five minutes later;
Get up, make coffee and have breakfast but keep my jammies on instead of getting ready for work;
Maybe go for a shower, maybe not;
Set up some sweet tunes;
Open the windows and curtains even if it’s going to rain;
...and whip out the ironing board, the straight pins and my sewing machine, and I am totally officially starting My First Quilt.

I am scared. But I promise I will post progress pictures. I am accountable now, as I have committed to you, my Rainy Day Ghouls. You Lucky Bastards. ;)

The Day After Friday the 13th.

2011-05-14T10:27:00.001-04:00

Oh you Tender, Nougat-Filled Crunchies,

Hello. How’ve you been? Good. Me too.

It’s Saturday, the day after Friday, which yesterday happened to be the 13th of the month. No big deal, it’s just cool to acknowledge that it was Friday the 13^th yesterday. On to the meat.

Last night, after having gone out to socialize with a few friends (which was really cool, no matter how low-profile it was), I sat at home watching an episode of Alias. While I was doing that, an idea occurred to me. I have this list, you see. Those of you who know me best know that I keep lists. The lists all have awesome, hip titles such as “Things to do”, “Albums to buy”, “Things to watch/cook/ignore/ponder”. Okay, these last four I just made up. But I do have a To Do list. And it bores the heck out of me. I regularly want to chuck it and completely overlook the consequences that would have. So in my great tiredness-induced wisdom last night, I decided to spice things up a bit, go completely crazy, and I wrote each item of my To Do list on separate pieces of paper, so I could pick one item at random and do it first thing this morning. Theoretically, I pat myself on the back for having such a great idea. So this morning, I picked an item from the paper bag. So I allowed myself some Facebook time this morning, checked my e-mail, paid my Visa online, had two coffees, lit some candles because it’s rainy out, put on some music, pet the cats and let the dishes soak in the sink before I wash them later on today.

I hear you asking, My Sweetnesses. So what? What’s The Problem?

The Problem is - none of these items I just enumerated actually figure on my To Do list.

That is NOT what I picked this morning from the paper bag. I am supposed to be going through the six huge plastic containers that are piled in my living room to sort my daughter’s clothes and give them away. I can’t bring myself to do it. She died almost five years ago, and I still have not found the courage...

I’m going to go pick another item from the paper bag.

Sorry for the sad post. It’s today’s mood.

TGIF.

2011-04-28T21:50:00.000-04:00

So...is it Friday yet? Cause I'm looking forward to Friday. I like Fridays.

Princess Stuff.

2011-04-11T21:37:00.000-04:00

Appreciated Homies,

Today, after the Weird Dialogue with Little Person Living Inside My Head (I swear I still have not lost my marbles), is a cute princess crafts session. My niece’s birthday, the youngest one who is turning three, is on the 18^th, and so this coming weekend, there is a birthday party going on. I’ve decided to make little Princess packages for all four girls, my two nieces and their two cousins. Pictures for you, My Loverlies. How happy are you, right?

The Materials for the crafting. From left to right, in the front row (like this is a Prom picture): princess stickers, glitter which looks like strings of diamonds, silver sticky letters, acrylic paint in bubblegum pink, eucalyptus green, powder blue and straw yellow (all Ceramcoat),yellow and white ribbons and silk paper for wrapping, a gift bag for the Birthday Girl's present and paper mâché hearts, in their raw, brown form. In the background, from left to right, my paint box on top of which rest two of the paper mâché hearts which I have already painted, a case of Corona (which has nothing to do with this post - ahem), and the noodle boxes I got to put the Princess heart-shaped boxes in (why am I reminded of a Nirvana song?), nestled in green silk paper.

Anabelle's Gift Bag, containing two books: one about Sirens and one about Imps.

The Princess Boxes, once they are done. The noodle boxes, decorated with princess stickers on all four surfaces, are meant to nestle the four princess heart-shaped boxes, each identified with the girls' initials (from left to right, Liliane, Anabelle, Éva, and Clémence). The Princess boxes are filled with real fruit gummies. Yum.

Ipso Facto.

2011-04-11T20:22:00.000-04:00

Little Person Living Inside My Head: Hi. I thought I’d barge in here, because I’ve got all the passwords and stuff, being the Little Person Living Inside Mademoiselle’s Head and all, and let you know how things have been lately. You need to know. I’ve been relegated to the role of, um, Bookkeeper or Something, and so that makes me the only entity, aside from Mademoiselle herself, able to tell you what has been going on inside her head lately. So bear with me: I make things interesting. First, you need to know I have been fine, thank you. I value your friendship for asking. I always knew you came here for news about me, not Mademoiselle’s constant rambling.

And now, on to the other things. So, you should be warned, this is not a pretty or a funny story, and Mademoiselle has had it rough. She spent more than one evening getting used to being alone, and the evenings where she was not alone, she was wondering how come she wasn’t able to be alone. She would curl up into a little ball and –

Mademoiselle: Uh - what the hell are you doing?

Little Person Living Inside My Head: Um. Talking about stuff.

Mademoiselle: What stuff? My stuff?

Little Person Living Inside My Head: Yeah.

Mademoiselle: How dare you?

Little Person Living Inside My Head: I’m entitled. I am standing on the inside, here, and I see that all these nice people are waiting to get the real deal. You have to let me do this. I am your best voice. Trust me. Look – I am not wearing a loincloth, today. I am wearing a toga. A soft, silk blend toga.

Mademoiselle: Which makes you completely trustworthy.

Little Person Living Inside My Head: Yes.

Mademoiselle: No.

Little Person Living Inside My Head: I think this argument is pointless, and that now, your Faithful Throng of Readers will think you are crazy. Voilà.

Mademoiselle: I do not wish to share this part of my life right now, thank you. My readers (all three of them) will understand. You are no marketing major, so buzz off.

Little Person Living Inside My Head: Fine. I will let you do this in your own time.

Mademoiselle: Thank you.

34-45

2011-04-08T18:34:00.000-04:00

There are many reasons why I should not worry about my age. For one, I am young. I am very young, too. I’ve got at least more than half the time I’ve already spent on this earth left. I’m not quite halfway yet, but I feel I am getting close. It’s scary, but reassuring.

At this point, I should be worrying about the future, paying for my mistakes, and living unabashedly. Check, check and check. Look forward, keep the course, and brace for the best (and worst, you never know).

So...why the fuck do I get pissed off or, at least, slightly irritated when, in an online survey for a group I belong to, I have to check the 34-45 box when asked which age bracket I am in? Damn.

Hiatus

2011-02-23T18:32:00.000-05:00

Greetings, my Loverlies...

You have been most patient. You always are. And I thank you for that. (Mind you, it's not like seventy-five thousand of you are awaiting my posts. Ahem.)

I have been away, as you have noticed, and have now purchased a computer, for the sole purpose of keeping you up to date! Well, not really, but take it as a compliment anyway. Yay for computers, as they enable you to have some kind of contact with the outside world, once in a while. I should not whine, though, because I've also bought an iPhone, which enabled me to also keep contact with the outside world while I was waiting to find a reasonably-priced laptop.

Quick update: I've left The Man. That's all I'm going to say for now, but fear not, my Sweets, for I am fine. I've moved out of my dreamy four-storey condo, leased an apartment, and have my two Furries with me. I have started A New Life, and am slowly getting used to it. Voilà for the update, as they say. Who are they, anyway? And why are they putting their noses into everyone's business? Just asking.Never mind.

So, a short post today, to ease you into it. I would not want to burn your retinas just yet. I've got some stuff in store, but you must be patient as you always are. To quench your parched eyes, here's some of what I did this weekend, and thanks for your patience.

Cheers! And yay! I'm skating now!

The Cool Feature & The Great Bookscape, Official Uncensored Second Edition.

2010-12-07T20:02:00.000-05:00

Dearest Loverlings of My Heart,

Yes! Victory! I have discovered the Blogger feature which enables me to add up to ten of you to a mailing list of this humble blog. Do not adjust your sets: you have read right. Whenever I publish, ten of you lucky happies will receive an e-mail. I am not sure yet whether you will receive the full contents of the post, or if you get a cool teaser, or if you get an automatically generated message such as:

Dear Blah,
Mademoiselle has just published a new post on Elucubrations (whoop-deee-doo, really), and so, you know, whatever, check it out if you want. If you're not in the mood, we think reruns of either Frasier or The Golden Girls are on. Or you can try bouncing a ball on your nose, although don't make the ball too big, it may hurt a bit. Let us know how it turns out. No, no...not really.
Cheerio and best regards and sincerely and all that,
- The Guys at Blogger.

So, I have no idea. I've put three of you on the list so far (lucky bastards!), let me know how it turns out.

Also, I forgot to tell you this: I am doing something which I've already done, but which I really, really want to do again. Are you reading a book these days? ANY book counts. (Yes, even a do-it-yourself fix-your-car book.) Oh - sorry, the Little Person Living Inside My Head had returned from a very, very long vacation, and is attempting to squeeze herself in here. Gimme a minute. Sorry. Look the other way, if you want. This happens in written form.

ME: Hello, Little Person Living Inside My Head. What's up? Oh - nice loincloth, once again.
Little Person Living Inside My Head: Hi. Thanks. So my fix-your-car book works? I'm trying to blend in and participate. You know, with your Throng of Readers and all.

[Editorial Note: Since writing "Little Person Living Inside My Head" very often is a bit tedious, I will shuffle the letters and give it a name. Hang on. *shuffle, shuffle, shuffle*. Ah - very nice. Little Person Inside My Head will henceforth be known as Limpy. Simple. Efficient. Editorial Note over.]

ME: Nice. You disappear all this time and hop back in here like - I don't know, like you are welcome.
Limpy: I am welcome. I am an extension of you. Plus I'm funny. So, suck it, right?
ME: Right. *sigh* What do you want?
Limpy: I want to be a part of your thing. So my fix-the-car book is okay? You sure?
ME: Yes.

Okay - we're back. Where were we? Yes. Being Readers. I suspect most of you are Readers, even if it's for business. Get your book: I'll wait...seriously. Go. It's on the nightstand/living room table/dryer/backseat/the roof.

Got it? Good. Those of you who have been following since 2006, good for you. Do it again.

Grab the nearest book.
Open the book to page 123.
Find the fifth sentence.
Post the text of the next 4 sentences as a comment to this blog.
Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest. Even if it's up on the roof. Weirdo.

Now - do your Loverly Duty and let me know what it says on page 123. I'll let you know what mine says if you respond. Cheerio, and all that, sincerely.

Close the door, please.

2010-12-04T12:06:00.000-05:00

In my simple yet complicated uneventful life, some things happen which I would like to redo. Things I say to people (foot in mouth situations), judgments I have passed on opinions and the opinionated, and generally, things I regret. That's normal, right? So far, so good. Life, however, my Assiduous Compadres, is not built as such. You know that. I knew that. Everybody remotely sane (hereby excluding many, many people, unfortunately) knows that.

This even applies to my crafterly pursuits, believe it or not. I'll start knitting something, carefully choosing my yarn, and I'll spend three or four weeks working on it, loving it, fondling it, and being proud of how awesome it's going to look. Generally, just so you know, I knit things which are shaped like rectangles. One morning, I will wake up, sit on the sofa, open the knitting drawer, pull out my project and start pulling on the yarn to destroy it. I am no longer satisfied, and no longer have any interest in finishing it. I feel no pain. I wind the yarn back onto its ball, and begin a new project. This may seem harsh and pointless. I understand why you may think that. At this point, the rectangle thing is probably ten or twelve inches long. But to me, this is a form of control: I decide and assume the decision. I control the outcome, and I have to power to undo something I have done. It feels good, even if sometimes it is slightly guilt-tinged and can make me wish I had spent my time on something I would actually finish. Okay - now those of you who want to hypothesize and try to apply this theorem to other things in life just to see if it works, be my guest. It works. *wink*

Today, I have things on my list. I have been putting them off for a very long time. But first, for your enjoyment, and as a sort of 'case in point' thing, here are the things which have been started and not finished.

All in all, fifteen projects which, in the last 5 years, have not been completed. Maybe I should stick to one thing at a time. I think I'm going to go start something new.

Grievances.

2010-11-18T20:44:00.000-05:00

We have been wanting this for so long.

Sometimes, we have been patient. Sometimes not so much.
We have made sacrifices and have had to give up very, very important parts of ourselves.
These has been doubt and there has been loss.

It is happening to loved ones - we are genuinely happy for them because we truly care - they are our friends - but our inner selves, once the giddiness has subsided and the hugs are given, glaze over, take a deep breath and ask "Why not us? If not now, when?"

Does one have to grieve endlessly? Really? Is November making this worse?

Fibre Love.

2010-11-14T21:22:00.000-05:00

Last Saturday morning, my Loverlies, I woke up really early.

I don't know why. I would have liked to sleep in. Anyhoo...

I went upstairs, yawned for a while, sitting in the stairs between the kitchen and the living room, scratched behind a few cat ears and slowly made my way to the kitchen after having drawn back the curtains in the dining room. I am realizing, writing this, that I am making my house sound huge. It is. I live in a mansion, have I not told you? I have sold most of my estates, such as the chalet in Switzerland and my pad in Hamburg, but have yet to find a suitable owner for the one in Brazil. It's...I don't know - it's too beautiful, although it reminds of my villa in Costa Rica, but I cannot part with it.

(Several hours later)

Hello, Loverlies! How are you? Been here long? What? I was talking about my estates and I was using my John Cleese voice? Oh, dear. I am SO sorry. I sleepwalk. That happens. Let's start over.

Last Saturday morning, I woke up really early. I'm talking 5:15, which is my weekday wake-up time. I went upstairs, sat in the stairs, scratched behind a few cat ears and slowly made my way to the kitchen to make some coffee. I was planning on sitting in the living room to watch a movie until The Man woke up. He sleeps through almost anything, but I was feeling rather lazy and looking for an excuse to sit in my jammies and sip coffee, so I chose a few Pixar classics and sat down, headphones on, with my knitting. Just as I was starting the movie, I heard some scratching noises coming from the corner of the living room. "Come on, Ezio. Lie still. The Man is asleep. Don't start now..." I begged him. But Ezio was doing his groundhog pose, sitting up on his hind legs, looking at my knitting cabinet intently. I swear, he does this. The hind legs thing.

I walked over slowly, and sure enough, there was a weird scratching noise coming from inside the drawer. "F*%@ing mice", I thought. I cracked open the drawer ever so slowly, baseball bat held three-quarters of the way down in my left hand, ready to wield the Fury of Almightyness into their helpless little faces and completely smash my beloved knitting cabinet. Well, not really. Knowing me, I would have collected the mice by their little tails while making gentle cooing sounds and put them in a shoebox for the day, given them human names such as Edward, Elliot and Ingrid and fed them some grated carrots and pieces of cheese. I would then have taken them to the park and set them free.

What really happened, though, as I know you are all sitting on the edge of your chairs, is this. I cracked open the drawer, and here is what saw:

"What the heck?" I thought. So I took a closer look. It seems my embroidered Squibbit is loving my Sock Monkey. (the Monkey's not really, technically, a Sock Monkey which I made, but he used to live on a sock, and I saved him from Doom and am keeping him for some other project. Turns out he was showing the Squibbit how to monkey around...ahem...) Don't they look happy?

They look almost as happy as Ezio does with his white ribbon. He looks like he's going to a wedding or something. I got this off a gift wrapping and he loved it, so I put it on his collar for 15 minutes. The Man would like me to tell you that I have a mental illness, although I am not sure what he is referring to.

Musings.

2010-11-06T08:31:00.001-04:00

In life, my Dear Handsome and Sexy Loverlies, there are times when you say: "Hmm. I really should do something about this."

So you talk about it to a few, select people. They look at you in a very polite, kind of sideways fashion, and state the obvious (although what they are truly doing is attempting to get rid of you and your weird, over-imaginative way to see the most trivial of events): "That is very interesting - you should write about it!" You feel gratified. You feel like your overly active imagination finally has heard its call, and ultimately, you think "I knew it. There is something to be done about this."

I've been a user of my city's transit system (i.e. the bus, I'm just trying to make it sound fancy) for as long as I've lived here. I don't drive alone yet: I'm working on it. The bus is a microcosm. It includes everything society includes, albeit at varying levels of accuracy and intensity, but it's all there. The happy and the unhappy, the intriguing, the snobs and the hippies, rich and poor, people who take showers and others who don't. Mysterious people, bullies, and old farts who want to teach you lessons on life and how you should follow their precepts to be just like them. (You knew when they started talking that you did not want to be like them).

Today is a grand day, for I am launching a new series. It's called: *drum roll*:

Guess What I Saw/Heard/Did On The Bus!

Wait. I don't like that title. It's too...I don't know. It doesn't work, you know? I don't actually ever do anything on the bus, except read, observe people, and listen to music. Sometimes, if I'm taking the bus with someone, I'll talk to them. Let me think about it. Maybe it'll be something a little more playful. Something like...

The Bus Chronicles

Ah. There. I could write a book, but not in these conditions (this was taken as I finished writing this post, at 6:50 this morning: sorry, it's a bit dark, but you get the point):


We're the Blog Police. Fear Us...Are you done yet?

Magnificence.

2010-10-29T19:35:00.005-04:00

Today, you computer-using Legion of Lovelies (all four of you), you are blessed with two tributes.

First, I will celebrate my favorite backyard with pictures I took last time I went to this magical getaway which, happily enough, is about twenty minutes away from my house. I last went one week ago and it was - for lack of a better word - magnificent (hence the title of this post). Thank you to V for her hospitality, her patience, her love and the way she sets a table and gives life to plush toys. She makes my life even more delicious than it already is. (Huh - a third tribute which I had not even planned for...)

I will then link to a great hommage to language which was put into the most eloquent words I've heard and seen in a really long time. It's not so much the words themselves individually, but the way they are knit together, the seamless musicality, the yumminess, in short. So sit down, take six minutes and thirty-three seconds to savor this literary soup, and let me know what you think. It goes down really well with hot chocolate, a Pinot Grigio or whatever you have at home, and it is completely up to you to decide which will accompany this feast best. Personally, I favored the classic: a martini. It is Friday evening, after all. It (the literary soup, not the martini) was concocted by the great Stephen Fry, who, among other things, is endowed with one of the most pleasant voices I've ever known.

Without further ado, enjoy the yumminess. First, my magical getaway:

Wasn't that extraordinary? I am in awe. You can smell the leaves and want to jump in them too, don't you? And now, I give you dessert, because you ate all of your plate: have you got your glass of something yummy? Click here, and cheers. *ching!*

In retrospect: Easter Eggs

2010-10-23T19:05:00.001-04:00

Remember a few months ago, when I told you about my Easter egg-making extravaganza? Well, here's how it turned out (thank you to the photographer extraordinaire for the lighting and also for caring enough to take pictures of the first Easter eggs I make as an adult):

Hideout.

2010-10-17T09:56:00.001-04:00

Since Ezio joined the family, Boo has had his patience tested over and over again. I think that's why he escaped for a few days at some point: to get some perspective and mull things over. Boo has acquired a bad ass personality, and he shuts down Ezio with one paw to the head. The funny thing is, Ezio always comes running back for more. Loves it. He doles out most of the abuse, though, and is frequently caught in the act of booting Boo from a quiet spot or generally acting out to piss Boo off. I mean, look. Case in point. He always has the mischievous face, even this morning:

We've never seen the two of them be affectionate to one another and I know you can't force these things (I've tried taping them to one another with duct tape and locking them in the bathroom, to no avail), but I still feel bad that Boo gets kicked around like that. I was fascinated when I saw Ezio wash Boo's face yesterday. Boo did not move. He had his teeth bared, but kept still as as statue and let Ezio do the grooming. He eventually turned and - lighting quick - whacked him upside the head, when Ezio bit his ear. I know he has reached wit's end when he goes here (the little one doesn't have an inkling that this place exists):

The top of the kitchen cupboards: perfect hideout.


It worked. That little runt can't find me now. Mwahahahargh. Sucker.

Sometimes, Boo lets his guard down and migrates back down to earth with the rest of us. He still loves his spot on The Man's ugly blanket.

I swear: one day that blanket will 'accidentally' burn or be used for the rag it is. As long as it makes him happy, I can't take it away from him. I am not that mean and controlling. So in the meantime, I bleach the hell out of it in the hopes that the fabric eventually disintegrates. It's the only thing I can do about it...it's a slow, tedious process, but mark my words: I will prevail. Oh yes, I will prevail (okay, I don't really hate it that badly...ahem).

Maddies.

2010-10-11T14:00:00.000-04:00

It was eight-thirty on Saturday morning. I was looking forward to the evening 's celebration of The Man's birthday. We celebrated it three times, this year, because he turned thirty-three. We didn't really plan it that way, to be honest, it just kind of happened. So there I was, sitting in front of the PC, trying to figure out what to serve with ze apéro. I had almond-stuffed queen olives and pretzels, but I needed something homemade to go with the stuffed mushrooms I was about to make. Two of our friends were bringing champagne, imported directly - via suitcase - from France. And I stumbled upon a recipe which, lo and behold, required ingredients which I already had in the pantry and fridge. Well, almost all the ingredients. Behold - the madeleines aux herbes!

Wait. Before I proceed, a disclaimer:

I have a camera now. That, my Loverlies, means that I take pictures of absolutely everything. And since 2005, when I started blogging, I promised myself that when I got a camera, I would post pictures of food, knitting and flowers. And cats, obviously. So tough luck for you, you must suffer through the pictures. They are part of my art. Disclaimer over.

Where was I? Ah yes. Behold - the madeleines!

I had never made madeleines. I had never eaten madeleines. How adventurous am I, right? To make something you've never tasted! Oh, the boldness! The courage! The sheer nerve!

I had heard about them, of course, and was intrigued when Ross flaunted his mad madeleine-making skills on Friends. I even own a madeleine baking mold, but have been pushing it back in the cupboard because I was scared of it. I thought, for some reason, that they were very difficult to make. Well, I have succeeded, and the result is moist, browned to perfection, and I must specify, this is a savory version of the more classic, usually sweet little cake. The result was perfect, if I may say so myself, even if I had to substitute a few ingredients. The recipe is on http://www.ricardocuisine.com. Enjoy.

Live Things.

2010-09-25T08:15:00.000-04:00

As promised, Legion of Unwavering Fans, here's my balcony (in July). Right now, it looks nothing like that. Enjoy:

In the evening. Very cozy.

Delicious yellow tomatoes...

My herb garden, with (bottom to top): lemon thyme, chives, miniature purple basil, rosemary and more lemon thyme.

The little flowers that could: they saved my not-so-hot flower boxes this year. They're still alive and kicking right now....and they're the only ones left. I am definitely getting more next year.

The small, yellow flowers you see on the right were very nice at the greenhouse when we got them. They are edible: I tried them once in a salad but wasn't overly impressed. They were supposed to stand about one foot and a half tall: I was looking forward to having a bit of a wall of flowers to give us some intimacy on the balcony. However, the wind flattened and bent them and they kind of hung there all summer, half broken and sad.

The ensemble, not yet grown in. The other hanging plant on the right is basil. Notice this is your first partial view of The Man, enjoying his morning coffee in his jammies.

Simpler Moments.

2010-08-20T19:15:00.000-04:00

Happiness. Total abandon.

When in Doubt, Post on Thy Blog.

2010-07-04T11:55:00.002-04:00

Campanula Lactiflora

There are many things in life which really impress me. I am, I must admit, easily impressed.

For example, everything which stirs passion in people really impresses me. You could be having dinner with me and casually state that your love of staplers has moved you to purchase, collect and organise them in order of make, model, size and colour, and I would be completely flabbergasted. Honestly, I'd be curious as to why you haven't taken to, say, collectible cars or hockey jerseys, but I'd impressed all the same. Casually having a sip of that fine wine I would have bought, I confess I would also reconsider our friendship or ever inviting you over for dinner again. I'm just saying, there are such things as sociopaths and limits. Just kidding. I don't mean to judge you, or anything.

Cool collections? Let me illustrate.A friend of mine collects iron rests. I think that is what they are called. Way back when, they used to have those on the ironing board to rest their irons on to avoid burning the board. Now we have those fancy schmancy irons which, in addition to being electric, have the useful feature which allows you to stand them up and you don't have to hold them or anything. Back to my friend's iron rests. They are magnificent! That is a collection I have the utmost respect for, because as useless as they are nowadays (unless you still use vintage iron irons just like in the olden days), they are really beautiful, add some serious curio factor to your home (because you have them lined up on a shelf or on small nails on a wall in an esthetically pleasing way), and they are an interesting conversation piece. Case in point: I've just written a whole paragraph on them and it's not even my collection. Kudos to my friend for providing me with this material to work with!

Another thing which impresses me to no end is nature. I am impressed by its raw power, and by the way mankind thinks it masters it and then gets it in the face (such as the BP spill in the Gulf of Mexico). I am taken aback by its fortitude and fragility. But on a more down to earth note, I have always wanted a backyard of my own I could lose myself in, just to be a little more in touch with nature. I think I have explained before that our backyard is shared with the other 24 units where we live, so there is no privacy, really, and decisions regarding said backyard must be voted upon by the co-owners. Luckily, I have friends who have really nice backyards, where I periodically escape.

The Man and I were at our friends' place yesterday afternoon, and they have the most beautiful yard I have ever seen. It's huge! It's got woods in the back, and a garden (which I got to water, with a huge smile on my face the whole time), and little glass lanterns hanging from a tree in the middle which also supports two hammocks. It has a dining table and a picnic table a little further. It has potted plants, hanging flowers, and lots of grass. The flowers in the gardens could be little fairy houses, and there are little fairy houses set among the flowers. They are, in fact, bird houses, but the birds have all these trees to live in and don't tend to live in houses on the ground among the flowers, especially not when there are a bunch of cats roaming around. Fairies, on the other hand, love little houses among the flowers. Or so the Pixies told me. Anyway. I was in heaven yesterday. I laid in the cool grass after a copious lunch, looked up at the leaves stirring above in the trees, walked barefoot in the moss, making a mental inventory of all the things growing, and took deep breaths with my eyes closed. It was quite literally magical.

I felt alive. And it was very, very good.

Boo & Ezio.

2010-06-26T10:48:00.001-04:00

Boo. Now seems huge, more graceful and mature. Great mentor for Ezio.

Ezio. Includes thumbs, folded ears and ruckus at night. Cuteness Factor: Eleven.

Still figuring out territory issues and buddy boundaries.

Antipodes.

2010-06-07T13:12:00.002-04:00

Last Friday started off very brutally and ended with a happy surprise. Now you get the title of this post. You don’t need to read this if you don’t want to, it gets graphic and I just need some sort of outlet. Warning: there are no Little Pixies that Rule the World in this post, nor are there references to Boo, my awesome Cat who talks like James Mason.

Early in the morning, I heard noises in the entrance hall and staircase of my building. People going up, people coming down. Stamping their feet. Running. Then I heard an engine running outside my bedroom window. Newspaper Guy comes around 5 a.m. It wasn’t him. So I looked out the window and saw an ambulance, a cop car and a fire engine. I instantly freaked out. About 5 minutes later, one of the firemen took out the gurney from the ambulance and laid a blanket and pillow on it. By this time, I had gathered something had happened to my upstairs neighbor, as he had undergone surgery a few weeks back. I thought he wasn’t feeling well, and that he needed to go back to the hospital. I just did not expect to see him like this. The ambulance tech was practically jumping up and down on him, trying to revive him. He was not responding, and I’m guessing they had been trying upstairs too. He was grey, he was dead, and I lost it.

Why did I stay at the window? I couldn’t look away: I’ve known this guy almost 4 years. We spoke 3 days before in the garage. He was my neighbor. With all my might, I was willing him to open one eye: to turn his head away from me, to breathe, damn it, breathe! He was not my best friend or a member of my family, but his death hurt me deeply. And the image of him, dead on a gurney outside my bedroom window, will haunt me for a long time to come.

I had my day planned out, but couldn’t just carry on as if nothing had happened. I had to leave. I was crying, pacing alone in my living room, wishing I had not seen what I had seen. So I called my friends and left. I spent the day with them. It made me feel better. When I came home, The Man told me he had an errand to run and he’d be back in an hour. When he returned, he asked me to close my eyes and sit on the sofa. He gently placed something in front of me on the floor. When I opened my eyes, there was a black basket with a fabric drawstring top, closed. When I opened it, two little blue eyes were staring at me from the depths of the basket. I closed it again. I started crying. I said to the The Man: “Oh no! Boo is going to kill him!” I looked again, and the two little blue eyes mewed at me. Two little beady blue eyes, in a furry little head with folded ears, the sweetest stripes ever and a spotted belly, and four thumbs on its little paws. We called our new little baby cat Ezio, in honor of the character in Assassin’s Creed, Ezio Auditore da Firenze. The Man had been planning this surprise for over a month with a couple of friends of ours. I had held this little furball when he was two days old, and had fallen in love with him then. But he would never be mine, or so I thought…Now I fall in love with him every time I look at him. I know, it’s corny. But true.

Thanks for putting up with the corniness. When I post pictures of Ezio, you’ll fall under the spell too.

Last Friday started off very brutally and ended with a happy surprise. Last Friday was the first time in my life I cried in panic, in sadness, in surprise and in joy, all within less than twelve hours.

Growing Things.

2010-05-16T21:56:00.002-04:00

I’ve never really purchased tools, they were always kind of acquired through different mergers and acquisitions. After we merged our apartments, The Man and I, almost ten years ago, we realized we had lots of everything. We have two hammers, and many screwdrivers of all sizes. The Man owns several micro-screwdrivers for computer geeks. Okay, not just for computer geeks. I’ve fixed a few sunglasses with them. My screwdriver, however, was the kind where all the bits are conveniently stored in the handle – efficient. We somehow found a one and a half foot-long screwdriver in our toolbox, and still don’t know where that came from. We had two dressers, identical, funnily enough, and two pails, and…you get the point.

Since we’ve moved into our really nice condo, I’ve proudly dug my very own flowerbed which, I must admit, is really cool. I was scared. The farthest I had ever been in growing things were the flower boxes I wasted money on when we rented our apartment years ago. The balcony was way too windy for lupins and the only thing I could grow in there were geraniums. Tough little fellas, albeit sticky.

In my 20 by 4 foot flower garden, I have tulips and astilbes, and a bunch of other flowers which I vaguely know the names of in French. The other flowerbeds in the common yard are tended to by a company we pay with our condo fees. But not my garden. It’s all mine. I weed it, water it, and no one is responsible for the way it looks but me. I’m kind of proud of that even when, like today, the weeds are taking over.

So today, besides buying a nice basil plant, I purchased a tool. I think it’s called a border cutter. It will enable me to cut the grass around my garden ever so slightly, which I will do at a 45-degree angle inwards, so that everything looks neat and well taken care of. I will weed, and turn the soil over, add a little bit of top soil, and see what I can separate and what I can add.

I love my little private space, and am looking forward to this week’s nice weather.

Dust.

2010-05-13T22:16:00.003-04:00

Sunlight is flirting with the floor, sweeping over the lines and mocking the hour and the trance she has settled into. It teases the dust into shape, making little rainbows of sparkles. Whispers of things past roll by, and the colored specks fall back down in a heap. There is hope, she thinks, half awake. She stretches, looks around, and sighs. What now?

You are not old yet, Silence whispers back. Give yourself some time to figure things out. She rolls over and closes her eyes. An unknown voice crawls into the folds and wakes ancient fears, making itself so present and pushing past the mundane. It breaks the calm: it shouts.

Wake up, now. Stand up and take charge.

Eggs eggs eggs.

2010-03-31T22:03:00.002-04:00

Once upon a time, when I was a child, Easter meant thinking hard on religious themes, being confused about it all and then and going to church for what seemed like a super long time. On Palm Sunday, a week before, I was really excited because that meant that nice lady with a fluffy cardigan gave me a palm branch to make a little woven box with, the meaning of which was completely lost to me. All I was hoping for was that my grandfather would give me his palm branch once it was woven. He was really good at weaving his little box into shape, and I'd try to mimic his moves with great care. (I would not be able to do it today if I had a gun to my temple. Well, I would probably come up with some variation.)

My grandfather had this smile in the left corner of his mouth - I suspect his mind was struggling between being kind of frustrated with me wanting his palm thing (thus not getting the meaning of it all) and finding me cute. I was, after all, the first grandchild in both families. They're always the cutest. He evidently tried to explain the whole thing to me, and I was so impressed about the part where people laid their garments and palm branches on Jesus' path I would think about it every time I walked on anything remotely leaf-like outside. I think I probably got caught once walking on my clothes on the floor in my room. Just kidding.

Nowadays, Easter becomes an excuse to eat chocolate or have a family gathering. To me, it is a great holiday, for now I get four days off to do fun things. This year, we're going to our friends' home for part of the weekend, and the weather is supposed to be lovely. We're talking twenty-two degrees and sunny. Smells like skirts, t-shirts and good music to me. Also sounds an awful lot like little paper umbrellas in drinks and dancing barefoot in the grass. (Although, at this time of year in our neck o'the woods, no grass, alas. It's okay, I'll settle for dancing close to the muck mixed with snow that will one day become grass.) Anyhow, I was talking about Easter. Sorry, I got distracted with this weekend's thing. Back to Easter.

I have been looking for a very cool recipe to make for our weekend feast. I have not found anything that made me go 'wow', so I've changed my mind. Instead, I've decided to make Easter eggs. I told The Man I would be wasting six eggs from the fridge. He smiled and said: "Oh cool when my mom did that when I was a kid it looked like a serious pain in the ass." And so off I went, trotted into the kitchen, opened the fridge, picked the nicest brown eggs from the crate (or whatever it's called), and poked holes top and bottom. Found a bowl, and blew the crap out of them to empty the shells. It was really fun. It brought me back to my childhood, to my kindergarten class, I think.

Tomorrow I will paint the eggs with acrylic, in nice patterns, and coat them with matte medium to make them nice and shiny. I'll make a nice gift basket for my friends and I'll be happy to have made an Easter thing while conjuring so many happy childhood memories.

Right now, there are six eggs drying in my dish rack and I'm working really hard not to stay up till two in the morning to paint them now.

Growing Old.

2010-03-27T15:23:00.004-04:00

Loyaux Fidèles,
Hordes de Lecteurs et Lecteuses adorés,

Voilà une note de Boulet qui se passe de mots...Enjoy!
Cliquer ici pour voir la note.

Psst...en passant...vous aimez le nouveau look printanier?

The Dream Kitchen Counter.

2010-03-26T18:52:00.007-04:00

There are times when I think to myself it would be very, very nice to have a different kitchen counter. Like tonight, for instance. If I had a different kitchen counter, I would be there right now, leaning on my elbows on its ceramic top, deciding what to make for dinner, listening to some cool jazz, and looking out into the dining room. Right now, I can't do that, because there are cupboards in the way. White melamine cupboards. If I lean on my elbows, my forehead leans on the overhead cupboards. Not so sexy.

They are fine, really. They are newish. They are clean. They have nice stainless steel handles. They provide storage space. But - and this is what bugs me - they close off the kitchen. Plus, when I stand at my current kitchen counter, using the sink, all anybody sitting at the dining room table will see is, well, my breast area. I try to work around this slight embarrassment by leaning over and pretending I am ordering a chocolate sundae. People sitting in the dining room do not usually get the joke, so I have to explain. I know. Embarrassing. I actually have to look under the cupboards to look towards the table. Enough complaining. At least I have a) a kitchen and b) a dining room table, let alone a dining room. And breasts. I have breasts, too. I'm a lucky gal.

My dream kitchen counter involves a few things (aside from the fact The Man does not know about my dream kitchen counter):

A ceramic top. Did I mention that already? The ceramic is, preferably, terracotta. Or something equally cool (I know, it's very 2005, but I like the look);
Drop-down halogen lighting with nice coloured glass lampshades, preferably elongated hand-blown glass. Red. Or - yellow. Oh no - blue. For a warm look. Not the white, cold neon lighting I have right now.
A built-in sink. And one of those nifty pull-out hose things. To spray people with.
On one end, open shelves that go all the way to the ceiling, to put plants on. And eventually, any other knick-knack The Man decides to leave there. He does that.
On the dining-room side, along three-quarters of the length, a recess so I can have two stools there. For making conversation while making dinner. You know, entertaining. Like this:
"Oh yeah, listen. Super simple. I marinated these scallops overnight in lime juice and I'm just going to sautee them slightly with these shallots and a bit of Pernod. Oh - pass the anchovy paste-filled olives, please? Thanks. Sorry, I drooled. Haha. Yum. Want some wine? So anyway, I'm thinking of painting this big ass landscape with a very defined Italian slash Mediterranean feel to it, and just having these huge cedar-like trees in it. Can you hold this for a second? Thanks. What? The painting's already been done? By whom? Oh. Modigliani. Right. Haha. I'll stick to Squibbits, then. Can you give me that thing you were holding? No - not that one. The other one. Thanks. Oh! DOWN! GET OFF THE COUNTER! NO! BOO! OFF THE COUNTER - you little %!*&# - sorry. That cat loves olives, go figure. Wait - Honey? Can you bring up some chairs? What? You're killing zombies? It's okay, babe, hit the start button, they'll wait for you! Haha. That man loves his zombies. So...tell me all about being a plant. Do you like being a plant? Is it a quiet, peaceful life? Do you panic when your soil is dried up? I'm sorry, I know I only water you - what - once a week? Yeah. Is that OK?

All I need now is to keep saving up that non-smoking money to make it happen.

On Lamp Posts

2010-02-26T22:31:00.002-05:00

On many a night-time walk, I have been creeped out by lamp posts suddenly turning off when I walked past them or under them. I have always taken this as some kind of sign: my mood must have been so dark or negative, I had surely caused this haze of light to extinguish. I invariably get a shiver down my spine, and try to think happy thoughts all the way to the next lamp post, to avoid turning that one off, too. To date, I have not yet made two turn off in a row. Which surely means my control over my mood is exemplary.

This has happened to me while I was walking with friends, but it has most often happened as I was alone. My most recurring happy thought usually involves Dumbledore and his Deluminator.

Tonight, however, a pleasant surprise: as I tread carefully over the ice on the path between the two buildings leading to my street, I noticed it was unusually dark. I looked up, and thought "Hmm. Burnt-out lamp post bulb." And as I finished thinking that, it turned back on.

I will take it as a sign things are looking up.

Creative Juices.

2010-02-25T18:43:00.003-05:00

Good evening, Awaiting Gorgeousnesses!

First of all, I'd like to say this:

WOOOO! We beat Russia 7-3! I didn't actually get to watch the game last night, but man, I wish I had. And now, we'll crush the U.S. in the finals. It's the logical thing to do, right?

And now, to quote Monty Python, for something completely different.

Last night, as I was desperately trying to breathe through my nose (which - by the way - is a thing we take for granted, I assure you), I had a great plan. Since I'm the living incarnation of Germville right now, I decided to spread the joy, or at least scare The Man into thinking I was spreading the joy. I wanted to leave him a note which said: "I've sneezed on your pillow. Sweet dreams honey! xoxo" But I got kind of carried away and wrote him a full-fledged, 8-page book on tabloid-sized (11" X 17") sheets of paper. I had an absolute ball! I've promised myself I would scan it and try to post it here, just to show you guys I can draw.

It includes pictures of a naked princess with pink hair, germs bouncing on a bed and a rhyming story, so, I mean, it's a surefire winner, right? It was worth the three hours it took me to make it, just to see the look on The Man's face as he read it. I'll try to get it on here as soon as possible. I'm kinda proud of it.

Cheers, Legion of Fans!

Wands at the Ready

2010-02-18T19:39:00.004-05:00

Greetings!

This, my Avid Rabid Neglected Bunch of Followers (I give you guys way too much credit...or do I?), is my first attempt at No Draft (although you would not know this, but I do. So that is what counts, here).

You have read right: I usually write my posts in some word-processing application, then carefully read it through to make sure there are no typos, then copy/paste it into Blogger. I have been doing it this way since 2006. It has, so far, been very useful, as I sometimes start writing and suffer interruptions of some sort, which results in my hitting CTRL-S and leaving the unfinished post be for a few - ahem - days.

But - fret not! - not this time. I am writing directly into Blogger. Can you feel it? Can you feel the raw, primal and uncorrected flow? (Okay - I just erased the word 'fantasticness' which was in place of 'flow').

Enough about that. Here is the 101 on what my life has been in the past few days. I'm doing it point-form, because if I don't, your eyes will start watering, and then I could be held responsible for your visits at the optometrist, and we all know that would not be a good thing. Here we go, in a completely random procession of fascinatingness (I knew I'd get some kind of 'ness'-ending word in there somewhere...):

I have been re-reading Harry Potter, and am currently, after a month, at Book 5, also known as The Order of the Phoenix. My desire/need for escape is overwhelming, and the experiment is proving useful. As soon as I crack the book open, I instantly tumble into Harry's world and forget everything else that may be going on.
I have been feeling rather blue, truth be told, for the past two days, and cannot identify the reason why. Let's put it, for the time being, into the X-Files category. I am sure things will clear up shortly. My life is good, I am blessed with incredible friends and a great, loving family, and I have no reason to complain. (This Little Devil on my right shoulder was hissing into my ear, telling me I am surrounded by depressing, sad events, but I just flicked it into the candle.)
I went to lunch with a great friend of mine today, whom I am convinced is a Pixie of some sort (although she is a lawyer in the real world) and had a glass of wine with the chicken. Then I went back to work. Then I left for home at 5:30 and forgot my keys on my desk, so rode the bus all the way to The Man's office to get his keys. It took two hours.
I just finished a Martini.
I am wondering whether it would be a really Evil thing to have another Martini. I had a shitty day, but I am trying to be really positive about it, so I think I deserve the finer things in life. I think I am thinking this through too much. I'll be right back.

Ahhhh...How liberating! The Magic Wand of writing (if this can be considered as such) has worked its magic again in my soul. I just needed to touch base. Forgive my whining, and thanks for tuning in. See you soon!

A Trip at the Vet's.

2010-01-14T18:23:00.002-05:00

Just for the record, this is not my cat. :)

2010: A Knitting Odyssey

2010-01-11T19:29:00.004-05:00

Hey Boys and Girls! (But mostly girls, from what I understand...ahem. It's okay.)

I am back. I took a break. This is not my first official post of the year, I just meant this as a teaser. You know, in a drum-roll type of manner. I actually have to go make dinner, because, no matter what the time at the bottom of this post says (I have NOT figured that out yet), it is close to 8 p.m. and I have not yet had dinner. Fascinating, I hear you whisper, your thousands of voices quivering with pity.

What I did want to say, though, before I go reheat my Irish Stew (I know, pretty yum), is that this year is the Year of Knitting. I will try new stitches and patterns, and teach myself crochet.

Don't get me wrong, it won't be just the Year of Knitting. It'll be the Year of a bunch of other things which I cannot discuss right this moment now because, as you may have heard, the Little Pixies That Rule the World have embargoed anyone revealing anything before eight o'clock today. I know. Sucks to be you, doesn't it?

Well, look at it this way, Legions of Loverlies: at least, you'll have something else to look forward to. Besides that other really cool thing you've been looking forward to.

In the meantime, please accept my warmest wishes for a Healthy, Happy, Perfectly Wonderful New Year, and see you soon!

Cheers,

Mademoiselle (and Boo) xoxo

A Valid Question.

2009-08-27T20:15:00.001-04:00

Holiday.

2009-08-04T11:32:00.004-04:00

What, my Loverly Loverlings, is sweeter than being on vacation (even if it's only for one week)?

I'll give you a moment to think it through.
Take your time.

For me, anyway, it's very simple. There's no schedule. Sure, there a few projects, some of which have been put on the proverbial Back Burner for some time. But things happen at a natural pace, a laid-back, what-time-is-it pace, and I enjoy that very much.

This morning, for example, I spent a few minutes checking a few things on Facebook, sipping my cup of coffee while The Man shoots some people in the game he's currently playing. He's got his headphones on, so I don't know what's going on. All I know is when he gets shot, he goes "awww man I didn't see that guy coming - he scared me!" and I nod or do the " awww man that's too bad" face. We have a good balance, there.

We're slowly revving up to go buy what we need to paint the bedroom and fix a few things around the house. We spent a really nice weekend with The Man's dad. On Friday we had dinner at Café du Clocher Penché, and I had some of the most scrumptious Ris de veau I've ever had. We then attended the Cirque du Soleil's street show, Les Chemins invisibles.

Saturday, we thought we couldn't beat the restaurant from the night before, and we were wrong. I had reserved a table on the very charming terrasse at Poisson d'avril, in Quebec's Vieux-Port. I had snow crab and surprised The Man and his father unit by completely showing this crustacean who was the boss. I even managed to make it look easy (for a girl who hadn't tackled crab legs in over 15 years). After dinner, The Man declared, and I quote: "Ok, that's it. From now on, I'm always going to order what you're ordering, because your plate is always better than mine." Wisdom, my friends. Wisdom, right there.

We went to Moulin à images that night, and to Grosse-Île on Sunday. A great weekend. Now, it's time to don the painting gear and get cracking. Slowly. With a what-time-is-it stance.

Three Things I Know.

2009-07-06T17:16:00.002-04:00

One day, I will have children, although right now I must work hard and consciously on accepting the lingering doubt that I ever will;
One day, I will look back on today as just another one of those faithless moments in my life;
I will be okay.

Un p'tit coucou à Romain...

2009-05-31T12:14:00.005-04:00

Une découverte pour moi, et maintenant pour vous, Adorés Lecteurs...un lien vers un billet BD de Romain Ronzeau, qui m'a fait rire aux éclats ce matin. Merci à Boulet pour la découverte!

One...two...Five!

Après Boulet, Raphaël B....et tant d'autres (que vous pouvez voir là, à droite, sous "Mademoiselle Follows"), je crois que les talents que je découvre, ça vaut la peine que je vous les partage. Click away, les amis!

True Story.

2009-05-31T12:12:00.002-04:00

Inventory.

2009-04-11T09:16:00.003-04:00

On the needles right now:

- a baby blanket I started months ago for a baby who is now all grown up;
- the cuff of a glove for The Man which I started months ago and am not sure I'll finish;
- the first 3 inches of an alpaca wrist warmer for my little neighbor, which I started last summer;
- about half a fuzzy scarf, striped moss green, lime green and beige;

Goddamn it. Why start if I won't finish?
Okay. I'll finish the scarf first, it's almost done.

Thanks, guys.

Note to Self.

2009-04-05T10:11:00.002-04:00

It’s been so long, Throng of Followers. Miss me? Thanks. For the record, this post was originally written March 27th, just so you know.

I’ve missed coming here. This, after all, is my reflection pond. This is where I sit, pretend to crack my knuckles and write whatever comes to mind. I’ve truly been negligent and for that, I don’t apologize. Instead, I reflect upon the meaning of my writing here. I have left more and more time hanging between my entries (or posts, whichever you prefer), both for technical and temporal reasons. Technical, because I don’t have my own computer. And, as I think I’ve mentioned before, the computer I share with The Man is, well, a shared computer. And it’s inconveniently located. No intimacy here, except when I am alone in the house. That doesn’t happen very often. Oh – and the temporal reasons are just an excuse. I do have time off from work over 14 hours a day.

I discovered today that I need to be alone to write. I am not at home right now, as I am visiting family and have been alone all day. I kissed my relatives goodbye as they left for work this morning, and the first thing that came to mind when they closed the door, after deciding a second cup of coffee was a good idea (which it wasn’t, but that did not prevent me from having a third one later on) was hey – I could write today!

And so here I am. I don’t have a particular topic to cover, although the second thing I thought of after the coffee thing was a title for the post. Here it is, just for the hell of it: “On Self-Awareness, Denial and Apathy”. Yeah, that’s the whole thing. The whole thing is the title. I later (15 minutes ago, and seven hours later in the day) decided on “Note to self” because after all, and honestly, I think there are very good chances I will be the only one reading this post after it’s written. I know of two people who read Élucubrations. The others, if you exist, well, hello and welcome. And thanks for reading.

The other title I had thought of (the long one, remember?) actually had topics to cover in it. It was almost self-explanatory. I wanted to talk about Self-Awareness because of how I am – almost freakishly - aware of myself these days. I had a thing or two to say about Denial, because someone I know is neck-deep in it. And I wanted to write a few thoughts on Apathy, because it’s a freakin’ pandemic and I wish I could do something about it. But then I thought fuck it – too heavy.

News? Ok, news.

Nothing new, really. Except for my not-so-new kickass job. And Spring, too. Spring is here. And apparently, it’s here faster where I am sitting today than in Quebec City, two and a half hours away. With Spring comes my birthday: I turned 33 a week ago and it was a rather quiet affair, just the way I needed it to be. I received Wii Fit as a gift, which I highly recommend. When I plugged everything in the morning of my birthday (it was just like Christmas – I got to open my presents at midnight), the Wii actually wished me happy birthday. And I took a virtual jog in my living room with everyone who’s ever played with us. There’s something pretty cool to jogging along behind a small bobbing character (not too fast – you’re not supposed to catch up to them) and see the avatars of people living thousands of kilometers away wave at you as they jog along or meet you, running in the opposite direction. Of course, I did not want Wii Fit to jog. I’d rather do that outside. But I had to try it, and running in one spot for an extended period of time is not too shabby, cardio-wise. Of course, I am probably out of shape, not a good basis for comparison. I wanted Wii Fit for the yoga training, the ski-jumping and all the other fun things you can do. So voilà. I is a Happy Camper.

Happy Spring, everyone!

Monkeys Postponed.

2008-11-27T19:17:00.011-05:00

Well.

Monday came, the new post didn't. Sorry about that.
I'm experiencing slight computer problems. Eech.

I promised you Monkeys. I promised you Blurbs and Banter.

You'll have to forgive me for postponing these entretiens to a later time. Thank you for your indulgence, Loverly Ones. I owe you one. (Actually, I owe you several. But we'll discuss that topic some other time, too.) This is a blog, I am entitled to some indulging.

Since Tuesday evening, I am being jubilating. I am being happiness. I am being yesyesyes.

As some of you may know, I've been through a rough patch, baby wise. we've lost 3 babies so far, and am sick of it. I was beginning to wonder what kind of tumor ate at my insides, what thyroid malfunction fucked up my body, and which food I should ingest to make sure my blood iron was good enough. And folic acid and all that. And good stuff. You know, for baby-making. You get it.

Well yesyesyes, jubilation and happiness! The tests I took in the Fall have revealed nothing is wrong with me physically. This is, to say the least, extremely relieving. Phew. We're now heading into Genetic Investigation Territory (I know, I know - so CSI of us!) to figure out what's up. My doc said for all he knows, we could have just hit a streak of bad luck. So, pardon my Inuktuk, Fuck bad luck. It's been 3 years, gimme a baby. Why can Brittany Spirit and Angelina BradPitt and freakin' Girl-Next-Door who thinks self-indulging can make you with child have twelve kids, and not I? Goddammit.

So voilà. I know some of you out there care (B, you should know I carry that angel everywhere), and so would like to know.

As for the excepts from my book, well, that was just bullshit. :o)

Giving Thanks.

2008-10-09T18:52:00.006-04:00

I'm not into God things. I believe in the Little Pixies Who Rule the Universe.

But I am hereby Giving Thanks anyway.

I am Giving Thanks for my family, my friends, and all who surround me with love. I am also Giving Thanks for those who don't like me. I am grateful for the questions, doubt, and uncertainty they instill.

Other Things I Am Giving Thanks For:

- Fuzzy animals
- Hot chocolate
- Manhattans (Oh.My.Pixies. Two parts Canadian Club, one part red vermouth. Yumness.)
- Fall, with its colours and smells. And hail with sunshine, like today.)
- Work. When it's fulfilling and elating, like my job.
- Brig and Jenn and Marie and especially Estorbo. They are why I write here. (Oh - 'Storbito, Boo says hi. He caught a spider today. He split it in two and claimed you were coming over for dinner. What a sweetheart, no?)
-Girl Weekends like the one I'm about to enjoy. Mom, Sis and knitting needles. (And Manhattans)

The list could go on. But I'll just bore you to death.
Instead, I'll say this: GO VOTE ON TUESDAY! I've actually been following the US election more than ours...hmmm. Dunno why. Probably because Jon Stewart is so sexy.

(WARNING: I am about to express Political Views. Avert thou eyes, Republicans!)

Oh! And I'm grateful I don't live in the States. Marie, I really hope you don't get stuck with McCain and Palin. I have a room here, if you want. You can bring Estorbo. ;o)

Back on Monday with monkey stories, useless banter and fascinating blurbs from my new book, "Oh What Now". Ciao, Legion of Fans!

Pause. Blink. Movement Anticipated.

2008-09-21T11:04:00.001-04:00

Delicious Sunday morning. Lukewarm coffee, because I got sidetracked reading yesterday’s paper. Meowing cat. Food bowl contains food? Check. Water bowl fresh? Check. I’ve no idea why he’s meowing. Oh – wait – the patio door is open. He wants out. That’s why.

Snoring boyfriend. Check.

List of things to do? Don’t get me started. I was discussing this with a coworker the other day...how our List of Things That Must be Done keeps getting longer and longer. If we let it bother us, it really nags and becomes unpleasantly present. Always in the back of our minds. After ten minutes comparing notes, we concluded we needed to tell the list to shove it and get on with our lives. Only one life to live, and all that. Right?

My list isn’t written down. It used to be. This morning, I’ve been debating whether I should write it down, just to get it off my mind. Is it guilt in not doing everything that’s on it that bugs me? Is the fact I’m afraid to forget some of the things it includes? I don’t know. I don’t even want to over-analyze this. Here I am doing it anyway, just in writing this post all about it. So I’m just doing random things this weekend. I was lazy all summer. I didn’t cook/bake/clean up, or barely. When I did, it wiped me out.

So now, since it’s Fall, I’m going to do like I usually do every change of season, and make resolutions I won’t keep.

Just not now.

The Eye.

2008-08-29T17:30:00.003-04:00

I do it on the bus, on the street, and also when I’m being driven around. I even do it in restaurants, at the grocery store and in my backyard. I get some perverse satisfaction from it and feel guilt at the same time. Sometimes, no one suspects I’m doing it, and I sometimes get caught. I am a people watcher.

I like to observe and imagine what fascinating/boring lives my fellow humans enjoy. I glance at what the woman on the bus reads, week after week. She pulls out a bookstore bag from her purse, which is huge, by the way – I suspect her lunch, shoes and wallet also fit in there, as well as maybe a change of clothes – and I’m always intrigued by the titles she pulls out. She was reading something by a Japanese author two weeks ago, and is now learning Sanskrit, or something that looks a lot like it. I look at the forty-something guy who looks like a movie star and wonder what’s in his i-pod. I wonder why his right arm looks like there is no muscle in it, and find him very thin and pale. Maybe he’s sick. He smokes Camels and has an Elvis do. He dresses impeccably and never smiles. He looks lonely. I sometimes feel like sitting next to him and putting a hand on his arm. Maybe he would like that and he would smile a bit.

Through the little old lady’s grocery bag, I am surprised to see she buys fair trade coffee and sun-dried tomatoes. I am also surprised when she gets on the bus and refuses every seat offered to her with a big smile and holds on for dear life, grocery bags and purse flying all over the place. She bobs her head and looks really happy. I think she knows something we don’t. She has that mischievous smile, like a five year old who’s up to no good. And she also leaves the grocery store weekdays between 7:15 and 8:00. Sometimes she has grocery bags two days in a row, sometimes she has one of these net bags with some clothes in it and no groceries.

I don’t know why I like it so much. I think of every little spy game I play as an exercise in creativity, because all by themselves, with no effort on my part, several life stories unfold before my eyes and I collect details about them. I piece together facts and learn things. I worry when the little old lady isn’t there. And relieved when she’s there the next day. I smile when I see the girl with her boyfriend on the bus, because I can tell they’re in love. When he isn’t with her on the bus and she talks to him on her cell phone, she blushes and smiles. When he is there, he has a spark in his eye (probably from all the glitter she wears, mind you) and looks at her like a shy teenager.

I wonder if someone on the bus also spies on me.

Oh – complete change of subject. The winner of my easy/lazy contest is Tortuga - she won three Squibbits! The quote was from Lord of the Rings.

Have a great weekend, my preciouses.

Things that Are, Things that Were, and Some Things that Have not yet Come to Pass.

2008-07-19T11:51:00.002-04:00

(Note of July 19: This was meant to be posted Friday, July 11. Some obscure malevolent Technical Glitch prevented its publication, but fret not, O Lucky Fanlings of my Heart, here it now is.)

There are very few things which I am unsatisfied about. I have a great house. I own (well – technically, the bank owns) my very own love nest in which I can relax, think, take refuge and enjoy the finer things in life. I have The Man. He is my rock which rocks, both in his stability and gentle swaying motion. He protects me, counsels me, occasionally makes fun of me, is an excellent source of sarcasm and laughter, puts up with my quirky little self and most importantly, he loves me. Very nice for me. Tasty and all.

I have friends I would do anything for. I have a loving, caring family and ties which the most devastating events would not sever. I have a magical cat. I have no idea where he’s hiding right now, but I know when he emerges (probably from the top of the cupboard in the bathroom upstairs), he’ll be happy as a clam to see we are home on a Friday.

(Editorial note: I just asked my half-asleep Man why we use the expression “happy as a clam”. His answer from beneath the blanket, in his sexy raspy morning voice, between two deep breaths: “Never complains – always keeps its mouth shut.”)

I have a kickass job with stellar colleagues in a great business. It’s new - if almost two months working there qualifies as new, it’s satisfying, and I am learning as I go. It is very, very rewarding. Yesterday the power went out at two in the afternoon. It was very, very quiet. Everyone was at a loss: “What do we do when the computers don’t work?” I had cleaned up my hard copy files the day before. Pfff.

Someone pulled out a camera, and everyone in our department assumed sleeping poses at their desks. We sent the results by e-mail to our Vice-President. Heehee. Yay.

Oh - an easy/lazy contest. Three Squibbits to the first person who tells me where the title of this post was pilfered from. Good luck. Don't cheat.

Get Your Dialogue On.

2008-07-09T20:29:00.004-04:00

Again this year, The Man and I are privileged individuals. We get VIP passes for the Festival d’été here in Québec. That’s right. We’re VIPs. We marched onto the terrasse section last Thursday night, really excited to finally see (after 15 years of faithful fanship on my part) Marseilles hip hop gods IAM. Ohhhhhh the Magic. The Poetry. The Yumminess. Followed, at 11:30, by the most wonderful fireworks I’ve ever seen. They were magnificent, huge, loud, colourful. Two hundred fifty thousand people all chanting “oooooh! and “aaah!” at once, to celebrate the city’s four hundredth anniversary.

And the sea of people – ohhh the sea of people – was quite impressive too. All trying to get in or out of the walls in the old city, buzzing about and interspersed with baby strollers, motorbikes, old ladies, drunk teenagers, and a family of tourists from Jersey trying to get through against traffic – human traffic - in their freaking minivan. No, seriously. I almost walked up to the van to knock on the window - which was tightly closed, thank you very much, so as not to get any locals intruding on their air-conditioned bubble of safety in this throng of people. I would have said:

Me: “Man, hi. Listen. You see this? This is thousands of people going this way, like this (gesturing with both arms towards the back of his perfectly waxed and shiny minivan)…”
Frustrated New Jersey Guy: “Yeah, I’m trying to get through, here, and uhh…well it looks like I can’t get through, it looks uhhh…blocked. I can’t get through!”
Me: “…you see, while you, in your apparently justified attempt of making it god only knows where – are going that way, you’re poisoning us with your fumes. You’re not even moving.”
Frustrated New Jersey Guy: “Yeah, uhuh…but I’m trying to get through, here. Because of all these people, I can’t get through.”
Me: “You look surprised that people are not responding to your fuming look. Why do you look mad? You drove into this!”
FNJG: “ Yeah, I think the hotel is that way. Can you help me out, here?”
Me: “Yes. Absolutely. (Big, huge smile) Stop the car, turn off the engine, and wait it out, man. Lock your doors. We’re going this way. Oh - and the streets are closed off, did you know?”

I often do this – usually on the bus on the way to or from work. I imagine how a conversation would have turned out if I approached complete strangers. Sometimes, it takes exciting paths I did not expect, and I end up having this very detailed scenario/dialogue play in my mind. I always end up surprising myself. (Note to self: invent mind recorder. Possibility of replaying favorite parts of imaginary dialogue potentially interesting.)

So, with complete confidence and intelligent lines, I strike.

Completely Confident Me: “Hey - come here. Sit down. Here - have a glass of wine”
Super Hunk: “ Uh…”
Completely Confident Me: “ Come on. It’s St-Émilion.”
Super Hunk: “ Yes? Ok. One glass. Haha.”
Completely Confident Me: “Hop in my paint-jobbed solar-powered Mini Cooper and let me take you to my surprisingly huge mansion on top of the mountain over there, where the palm trees grow and little green people pop out of the bushes on their segways to serve us cold beer on rubber trays.”
Super Hunk: “I’m...not sure I understand what you’re talking about.”
Completely Confident Me: “Yes, yes – look over there! See? See? The mansion? Mine. With green people. Segways. Come.”

And on, and on, until I usually find really interesting (or raunchy) things to say that I wish I could remember, just to try them out on The Man. That's usually the moment when I snap out of it, and I get off the bus, and crank up the volume on my i-pod for the five and a half minute walk to my new office. Yes! New Job rocks! Yay! I'll tell you more about it some other time.

Last Friday night, we saw NOFX at the summer festival. Punk rock is, I must admit, one of the few things I like because it’s completely chaotic. It kind of felt like we were too “clean”, not trashy enough to be part of the thousands of people shaking their fists and howling the lyrics to the 2 to 3 minute songs booming into our chests. Aaaargh...but to feel alive! It's a good Summer so far, Army of Fans, it's a really good Summer.

Another Thing.

2008-06-21T09:45:00.002-04:00

I got so absorbed with the duck story, I completely forgot to tell you I’ve accepted my non-ability to draw comics. It’s okay, not everybody is good at everything. I’ll leave drawing to the pros. Tortaluga, thank you for believing in me.

I am concentrating on “sculpture” these days, and am happily (and finally - been wanting to do this for a loooong time) building little mini Squibbits. What? What’s a Squibbit? Okay. Here’s a Squibbit.

I went to my favorite craft store with a friend. I explained to her what I wanted to do. She suggested a bunch of different materials and was very patient. I settled on a few possibilities and am currently experimenting. Results look promising.

There are a couple for you in the making, Brig, I’ll let you know as soon as they’re in the mail. If only I had a camera, I could post pics of them. Someday, perhaps.

Ducks. Happiness.

2008-06-21T09:00:00.004-04:00

This is what I love to do every time El Daddo in law invites us to the cottage. Ducks love me.

I know, you're not supposed to feed the ducks.

But they're out there, in their secret lairs, with their surveillance system and their radar perfectly adjusted, and they wait in silence. You walk out to the water. You stand on the dock, smiling contently. You think "Ahhh. Now that's calm if I've ever seen it." Then the jetskis come by at one thousand miles an hour, disturbing the mirror-like surface of the lake and you pretend they're not there. You think “Ahhh. What calm and peace. Fuck you, over-tanned loud holiday people, and the jetskis you rode in on.”

You are absorbed by the tiny baby fishies, curious and eager. They are cute. They swim around and shake about. You think “Cool. Tiny fishies.” You remember the time you went to that lake with all the distant relatives you didn't know at all, and you ended up having a great time observing the fishies swim above the white dishcloth four of you held taut in the water, standing so still it hurt.

You are too busy contemplating the horizon and ignoring the jetskis. You dip a toe in the water and immediately want to throw yourself in there, clothes and all. Too bad you're still holding your luggage.

And that, Multitude of Avid Fans, is when the ducks commence Scenario Alpha, dubbed Operation Hot Dog Bun.

You were an easy target, contemplating and wading about in your memories. The short antennae, aptly concealed in the water plants scattered about the reeds, were extended the minute you walked to the waterfront. The satellite relayed your position with pinpoint accuracy and the signal was transmitted all the way from headquarters in a split second.
« There she is. We’ve got her, Commander. Teams Charlie and Tango move now now now!»

And they quickly and efficiently put on their cute masks, and climb inside their capsules. They materialize right in the corner of your eye. You put your luggage down. Someone throws a hot dog bun at you. It’s all part of a well-choreographed routine.

And as you sit in the grass, fourteen ducks, small and old, fat and young, waddle your way, and climb on your thighs, cocking their heads, not to lose sight of the Revered Hot Dog Bun of Yumminess, and you laugh. You’ve not been this happy in a long time.

Want.

2008-04-16T17:28:00.005-04:00

The wall is right in front of me, and I have several options.

I could either sit on the ground, with my back against it, attempt to climb it with a ladder of some sort, or just back up a few hundred paces, take a swig of water, get a running start, and jump right over it. Whoosh. Just like that, in one swift motion.

(Damn – I’d look good.)

I like that wall – it’s making me think.

Tired of metaphors, Immense Crowd of Faithful Readers? Okay. So am I.

I’ve been delving into the wonderful endless universe(s) of blogs and have recently discovered a fascination for comics. You know, graphic novels, like. They make me laugh out loud. They make me think. I’m reading V for Vendetta these days. Whew. Good stuff. And with my reddened eyes full of tears, I had a – you know – a eureka moment. Where’s my drum roll?

I could draw my own! (Note to self: staring at a screen for over an hour: not good)

That’s right. I have tons of paper down in my craftycraft room (yessss, Ladies & Gents, I have one of those.) not to mention a table I never sit at. And a good lamp. I have a shoebox full of pens that are, at this point, probably planning a riot, since I never use them. Don’t I have everything I need? What? Technique? Pff. Technique schmechnique. I can doodle.

So you see the wall, now?

Either I:

a) Keep enjoying the warm fuzzy rays of other people’s drawings. Extract the goodness like coconut juice and store it somewhere in my brain. Or;
b) Learn some tricks of the trade. Take some drawing lessons. Talk to the people I know who have drawn for at least as long as I’ve known them (phew – 17 years…). Ooooor;
c) Just. Draw.

I’ll keep you posted and let you know how things turn out. You wanna vote? You can vote, if you want.

http://www.dccomics.com/sites/v_for_vendetta/

Croix de Laiton.

2008-04-06T10:11:00.002-04:00

au loin courent les images fluides du temps imparfait
les grises faucheuses emmènent avec elles les aurores

un courant de figures excentriques les séparent
la raison et la haine partagent le sceptre

ô chanvre imparfait le silence est mort
douce croix de laiton enterrée sous la glace noire

fibre de ma chair chair de ma peau peau de mon air
aire de repos simple sourire ô mon bourreau

rage des mots je découvre le sens des sons
immobile je me confonds

au nord d’ici quelque part très loin
les couronnes d’or encerclent les pins

l’aurore scintillante amènera le froid
au nord d’ici, quelque part très loin

me sens rongés par la folie se défont
et ils coulent je me noie dans la houle

le feu des éternels brûlera ce soir
les sacrifices spirituels sont terminés

aux rebelles du soir je lève mon chapeau
aux vampires infidèles je soupire d’ennui

The Thing in the Box.

2008-04-06T10:08:00.003-04:00

It's there.

It's in the box.

The box has been sitting on the floor for days. The oblong metal keeps its secret under its lid, which neatly snaps into place when gentle pressure is applied. I've been sitting here for five minutes, looking at it.

There's my first knitted glove in there. I'm going to knit now.

Fitness Test.

2008-04-04T19:59:00.002-04:00

Ugh.

It's Friday, Ladies and Cats. And Friday - especially in the evening, after a full work week - is a good time to play Wii Golf with one's spouse, kick back with a martini, and take things easy.

Goddamn my life is good. Why do I ever complain about anything?

Have a cold one, friends. Enjoy.
And yes - Boo still owns me.

Boo.

2008-04-03T17:54:00.003-04:00

See here, Don Estorbo: this is

The Boo Who Owns Me.

(no lies. he completely owns me.)

Obviously.

2008-03-24T07:35:00.003-04:00

It's been a while. Hello. I am still here.

I've been up since 4:30 this morning. I don't like it. My new mattress is calling me, but I know for a fact I'm just going to end up lying there, wiggling, and I'll wake the man up. I know, because I did this from 4:30 to 6:00.

Then I got hungry.

So I got up, tiptoed out of the room, put my penguins PJs on, and turned a few lights on.
I had a bowl of cereal and typed random things into google and youtube.

I learned how to fuse plastic bags to make a messenger bag.
I learned how to apply makeup on my eyes from a charming girl with a great Scottish accent.
I squinted, trying to fix the out-of-focus picture as a weird-looking couple wanted to teach me how to knit mittens. (I never actually got to the knitting part, because the guy was too creepy. And the picture was out of focus.)
I pet the cat.
I tried to come up with ideas for my first watercolour. I got a watercolour kit for my birthday.

I am trying to be interested in something today, so I'll try a bunch of different things until I can stick to one and do it for a while. It's one of those days. Ugh.

I've pretty much been living under my rock, keeping to myself. Finding people annoying or weird or rude. Depends on the day.

Are you still there?

Recycling Spies.

2008-01-12T10:27:00.000-05:00

As a follow up on my last post, for anyone interested, I did not finish all of my knitting projects. I finished one of them. I completely unraveled another (which was halfway done but had a very obvious mistake in it) and started two new ones. Nice going, don’t you think?

Okay, on to the topic at hand. It hit me like a brick last Wednesday: my neighbors, if they are so inclined, know me very well.

For instance, they now know that my teeth enamel needs special care, that we’ve quit smoking (ahem – again), and that our noses are sensitive, so we get the three-ply lotion tissues when we have a cold.

They also know how many kinds and boxes of tampons I go through in a month. Great to know when you meet your neighbor on a brisk evening walk – “Heeey hi, so I notice you’ve gone Super-Plus, eh? How’s that going? Cramps? Any cramps at all? No? Hah.”

They know where I bank, what periodicals I subscribe to and that we are amateurs of red wine and martinis. In fact, they know when we’ve gone on a bender and finished the bottles in the bar. They probably think we’re alcoholics by now.

Is there such a thing as recycling spies or is my lack of nicotine turning me into a paranoid wreck? A purely rhetorical question, obviously, as I already know they’re watching.

Hee hee. Just kidding.

The Omission That Never Was.

2007-12-23T08:38:00.000-05:00

In the past hour, I’ve caught up on the blogs I read, I’ve checked my e-mail, and I’ve had two cups of tea. Oh – and I’ve determined two things:

Thing the First: I want to finish all unfinished knitting projects that are lying around before the end of 2007. That’s five knitting projects at least. I’m pretty sure I’ll find some I didn’t even know I started when I open my knitting bin.

Thing the Second: It takes fifteen tablespoons of sugar to fill my sugarbowl.

I woke up with a start at 6:00 this morning and got really irritated because I had to go to work. I know it’s Sunday – and I knew this when I woke up. But I had forgotten to activate the autoreply on the general e-mail at work telling people we’re away and will get back to them as soon as we’ve returned. So that was a really crappy thing to realize on the second day of your holiday. I was getting ready to get dressed, let the man sleep, take the bus, and go to work to fix this, when I had a brilliant idea: test it first...what if you did activate the autoreply rule? Hmm. Yeah. Fat chance, I thought, you did everything else you had to do, tied all the loose ends and had to forget something. So I tested it. And it answered! Phew. No going to work for me today.

My penguin pyjamas are keeping me warm, the tree is lit, my tea is getting cold, and I’ve got some serious knitting to do. So I’ll catch you all later.

Happy Holidays to all, with my best wishes for peace, good health and discoveries for 2008.

2008? Holy crap. We’re 8 years into the future.

Captain Grilled Cheese and the Vegan Lasagna.

2007-11-29T23:34:00.000-05:00

For the first time in my life, please sit down, O Witty Funny Sweet Ones, I made lasagna.

As you have guessed from the title of this post, I made Vegan Lasagna, complete with non-cheese. We’re having a potluck lunch tomorrow at work and one of our buddies is vegan. Non-cheese is quite the funny product. The package says – literally – “it melts!” when actually, as I found out five minutes ago when I pulled the dish out of the oven, it does not. But the vegan lasagna making was very pleasurable. It entailed making spaghetti sauce without meat. Instead, I made green lentils to throw in for texture. I had never made green lentils, either. So, Younglings, massive amounts of newness were experienced.

I had a great evening, for a Thursday. After work, I took a different bus and went to my yarn store. Mmmm. Yarn Store. I hadn’t been in over two months. I went around every little nook and cranny, petted the yarn, caressed mohair and fondled silk. It was delightful. I was actually going to get a gift for someone. I bought bamboo needles and a nice ball of textured yarn for her to cut her teeth on. But you know me – I had to get some for myself. Mrs. Yarnlady has these nifty Ziploc bags you can buy. They contain different yarns, ends of balls of yarn and experiments gone wrong. So I just got two skeins of mohair and one skein of wool for $10. Not bad, eh?

Oh – yes – I had grilled cheese for dinner. Because I’m lazy. Okay, no…because it’s good.

Houston, We Are Go.

2007-11-15T21:02:00.000-05:00

For those of you who are still following, I have not tried to crochet again. Just so you know. I’m looking for a specific book to help me out, which is probably still in a box. I’ll find it. When I do, I’ll try to crochet again. But for now, well, I’ll do other things.

I find myself at a crossroads of some sort. In fact, I sit there most of the day. I’m able to function in my everyday activities and go through the motions of work and food-making and sleeping and talking to other Human Beings, but in my mind, I am sitting on a gravel road, in the middle of nowhere. And I’m not even scared.

The peculiar thing about this place, if you’ll bear with me, is the incredibly blue sky and – more importantly - the grass. It’s so lush and green! I’m wearing my jeans, the ones I just bought that fit really nicely. And I’m wearing my sister’s t-shirt. I don’t know why, I just like it. So I’m wearing it. The blue one that says Valiquette. I am alone. Somewhere close to me, behind me, there is the sound of running water, a creek, I think.

I am sitting right in the middle of the gravel road, with my legs straight in front of me, slightly apart. My feet are bare. I am leaning on my arms behind me. My palms, flat on the road, are starting to hurt because of the small pebbles digging into them. But I stay. There is a long, thin shadow in front of me, and my eyes run the length of it very often. Over and over again. I do not know where the shadow originates from. Why is it there? What does it mean? Should I try to get there?

Today, I keep my eyes open a little longer. I feel rested, and I am able to follow the shadow for a longer period of time. It’s really, really long. I feel like I’m sitting at one end of Space, looking at the other end. It stretches right to the limit of what I can physically see, somehow. And at the end, I can see there is something, but I can’t make it out. I’ve been working on trying to stand up to get closer to it faster. It takes a long time just to think of getting up: my will is somehow warped. I decide to crawl. Getting up seems impossible at this time. Maybe somewhere along the way, I’ll find something to help me up. I can’t see anything from here – the landscape is perfectly flat and featureless. But you never know.

I’ve taken the habit of lining up the thin shadow to the side of my leg and I push myself forward with my hands toward its starting point, slowly. I will not lose my direction this way. It shifts, swerves, curbs the light and plays tricks on my eyes. So I’ve tamed it and it seems to be behaving now. Every time I come back, I sit back down and shift around until I line up the shadow perfectly on the side of my right leg. It moves a couple of times, I readjust. I start pushing myself forward. I’ve ripped the bottom of my jeans, the sand is sliding in between the fabric and my skin and it’s chapped.

This time, I’ve gotten so close to the top of the shadow I can see what casts it.

There is a post. It bears many signs, which point in different directions. I can’t read any of them, because they are all written in a language I do not recognize, with symbols I have never seen. All but one. I wish I could get up to make sure what I see is right: I can barely read it, for the sun is my eyes. But when I narrow my eyes and concentrate, I can make it out.

This Way.

Crochet, Dammit.

2007-11-03T23:54:00.000-04:00

I sat there. I had the tool and the material; I had the video on You Tube.

I had the will and the couple of beer in me that would make me want to do it. After watching five tutorials and judging them all as interesting in their uniqueness as the last one, I decided I remembered what my friend K had showed me December 31st, 2005. I decided I remembered how to crochet. In fact, I decided tomorrow is when I’ll be making my first crochet scarf. Because if you did not already know, I mainly make scarves. Usually, I knit them. But I am looking to branch out. Who doesn’t?

I have this great collection of crochet hooks. Some are made of wood, most are aluminium. All are idle. They sit in my Boticelli Chocolate metal case of knitting knick-knacks, because I have completely ignored them for the past 4 years. But I bought them at a Christmas Sale years ago and have never, ever used them. Oh I tried. But to no avail.

So the You Tube instructors say slipknot, yarn over, pull through, and yarn over, slip through the two stitches. But I have four stitches on my hook. My yarn won’t stretch, it’s linen. I can’t see shit, it’s 11:30 at night and I spent all day doing stuff around the house. And I’m trying to crochet by the light of the monitor. Maybe I should turn the light on. I want to wrap the yarn over the monitor and strangle it. I want to burn the yarn with a blowtorch. In fact, if I had a backyard that belonged to me, I would. I’d march out there with the barbecue lighter, straight to the fire pit, because for damned sure I would have a fire pit, and I’d light the damned thing – yes, the whole skein of linen – on fire. I think it’s time I did something else. I know it’s time I did something else.

Like forget crochet and go back to knitting.

Tomorrow morning, when I wake up at 7:00, I’ll make spaghetti sauce, and strawberry jam, and banana bread. Then I’ll try to crochet again. Maybe. In the meantime, 8 things I know:

1. I have values and principles;
2. I can write;
3. It’s Saturday but almost Sunday;
4. There are 9 planets in our Solar system (…right?);
5. I have people who care for me;
6. There is always an answer;
7. Things aren’t always what they seem.
8. I can knit, but not crochet yet.

Once Upon A Time...

2007-10-11T20:12:00.000-04:00

...There was this girl.

She liked to write. In fact, not only did she like writing, she virtually lived by it. She needed it to survive. And then, after a few months, she felt this sour, bitter taste far in the back of her throat and thought "Oh - maybe I need to tone it down. Maybe people don't want to read about my daily meanderings, my Élucubrations."

So she waited until she found the right topic to write about. Day in and day out, she held back until the right phrase presented itself. She found everything boring and un-post-worthy. Once in a while, she jotted down words and sentences, figured out ways to make them sound the way she wanted them to, and inevitably postponed publishing them to her blog. She went to see the Beastie Boys in Montreal (yyyyessss!!!) and generally had a great summer. Her man turned thirty and it was not the party she thought it would be, but it was great anyway. She continued knitting the baby blankie for her friends S&M (I assure you...) in Montréal.

Oh this gets tiring, writing at the third person. So for the record, I am alas fed up of waiting, Throng of Readers. I have grown used to your comments and approval, and I found it was lacking in the past posts. So I stopped writing. But I craved the writing so much! The writing is such a joy! To post once in a while and to - maybe - get a response, some sort of acknowledgement! It filled me with joy! So I am back to the writing. How many times have I said this? Many. I admit. Okay. I have not been regular in posting. Please forgive and forget, for this is a tentative new beginning.

How have you been? Well, I hope. Any of you have kids while I was gone? Anyone retire or move to a distant land? Anyone get married, divorced, found new yummy love? Good. Keep me posted. I crave your news. My last question to you was not answered, you bunch of worthless losers, except by my one and only Tortuga. So for the record, the Chicken crossed the road to get to the other side, to slip his card to the hot business guy with the pinstripe suit and the tie and the briefcase. This particular chicken, as my father-in-law would say (he likes to use the word particular) according to Tortuga, did not have a ring on his left hand ringfinger, or wherever it is that chickens place their rings. So she said, and I quote: "Go chicken go." Voilà. And now that the survey results have been communicated, I may move on.

I'm off to play Project Gotham Racing 4 on my boyfriend's XBox 360 while he's gone. So long, Suckers. See you soon, I sincerely hope.

Best wishes, and I'll keep you posted. This time.

Mademoiselle xox

A Quickie.

2007-08-12T19:11:00.000-04:00

I've just realized I like my own writing.
Is that wrong?

In Retrospect.

2007-08-12T09:11:00.000-04:00

In the process of growing up, I sometimes sat and made a quick mental inventory of things I was pretty sure I'd get to witness along the way to adulthood. At ten years old, this list included living in the same city as my Dad and decorating my future cottage on the seashore. At ten years old, I was convinced I would never live to see the year 2000. Not because I didn't want to live to the year 2000, I just thought it was impossible to live to see the numbers change so drastically. It was an impossible concept to grasp.

At thirteen, my list grew a bit to include the New Kids on the Block and my eventual husband. I think that's when the hormones kicked in.

At sixteen, I lived in a new city. I had a very strange sense of the universe surrounding me. I felt like I was entrenched in this giant emptiness. It wrapped me like a wet blanket and I felt exactly like my favorite band at the time said, there was no future. It was probably due to a bunch of family-related issues going on, but I felt out of place, like I had mistakenly been dropped in the middle of somewhere I did not belong. Teenage awkwardness, check. This void surrounding me could not be explained rationally, so I decided I was probably doomed and would have to be an outcast my whole life while taking part in society's weird, useless rituals and traditions to please the people I thought were judging me. I wish I could travel back in time and take my younger self's hand and say "Calm the fuck down. Everything is going to be okay. You don't need to write death poems and funeral odes. You'll see, things get a lot better in seven years." My younger self probably would have started crying and run to her bedroom to write yet another dark, abstract, existential poem.

Seven years went by, a crapload of stuff happened, good and bad, sandwiched in between various phases and the evolution of my personal values and aspirations. Things did get better. The wet blanket of weirdness vanished. I did live, not only to see the year 2000, but also to keep dreaming about the seaside cottage. I've found my husband, although technically, we're not married, and the New Kids on the Block are now but a fleeing sweet smell in my past. Life has its share of eighteen-wheeler-sized surprises, and I am now able to make the most of them.

Yesterday, H and I were guests (and responsible for applauding on cue) at the first Lesbian Princess Wedding we've ever been to - tiaras, plastic high-heel shoes, and sparkly dresses included. Oh - and parents arguing about who should pay for the wedding. Two of our neighbors, aged 4, celebrated their wedding in the backyard. Then we had three funerals for the same bride, and one of the brides (the one who expired thrice) hid behind a bush with the other bride's older brother (who happened to be the priest at the wedding). Then we determined the location of spots to pretend to be sick in.

Life is good.

In Style.

2007-08-09T23:03:00.000-04:00

I took the bus home today, as usual. Unlike regular days of the week, I had a seat on the bus. So far, so good.

What I did not expect, Throng of Fans, was the guy who got on the bus one stop after me. I don’t know why, I always look at people who get on the bus with me. It’s a habit. I like observing people, it’s in my nature. I usually get away with it too, because I am very discreet. Thank the Little Pixies That Rule the World, I am discreet. So the puddle of drool pooling in my lap went unnoticed.

This guy – ohhhh this guy. I’ve always had a not-so-secret crush on the David Usher type, and this pinstripe-suit, awesome tie, briefcase-carrying babe was it. We both sported rings on our left hand ringfingers, but I swear if I hadn’t, I would have slipped him my card. Oh yes. Heehee. Oh – sorry – I’m giggling.

Okay, enough.

I am back, as you might have noticed, after quite a break. I hope you didn’t give up on me…I had a very relaxing two-week getaway and made the most of it. To me, a holiday that includes family, friends, a lake, Uno, Mille Bornes, good food and drink, a fire & marshmallows is a pretty awesome holiday. Yummy. I rest my case.

And now, a first. A poll! I am allowing ten days for you Monkeys to post your answers in the comments. I'll let you know the results, I promise.

Question: Why did the chicken cross the road?

a. To hit on the hot girl chicken on the other side;
b. This side of the road had become boring;
c. To ogle the 1969 Z28 Camaro on the other side;
d. To slip his card to the hot business guy with the pinstripe suit and the tie and the briefcase.

Hands off, Chicken.

The Furious Five.

2007-07-13T19:51:00.000-04:00

Let me begin by saying something very important: I have not written in a while and I am truly sorry, Numerous Readers. I know you need your fix once in a while. If you’ve been re-reading my previous posts to make the withdrawal symptoms go away, I am also sorry, and hope you instantly start feeling better. Nnnnow. Now.

I have no excuse for not writing, other than the one where I don’t have a computer to myself anymore. So, yeah. I have to share with my gaming man. It’s okay, but I don’t get to set the mood to write. I need my music, my desk, my environment. And now, I do it right here, in the living room, in full view of my man. He calls me his blogging master sexy goddess of love. So it’s not all bad - I will stop complaining now. Some people don’t even have computers. Some people don’t even have loving, caring, handsome mates to call them blogging master sexy goddess of love. Goddamn, I’m lucky.

Okay, Monkeys. Here we go.

Today’s feature: “Five Things That Are True & Make Me Go Eech”.

Item Number One: I’ve had an irritating/sad/tiring week but I’ll survive.
Regarding Item One, I’ll blame myself. Maybe it’s because I have no patience this close to my holidays. Also, I have about one-third of the time I need to do everything that needs to be done before I leave for two weeks. Wait – did that sentence make sense? You know what I mean.

Item Number Two: I have nothing to write about right now.
I’m just sitting here typing, trying to avoid turning around to watch the TV, because my man is presently watching the most annoying show ever invented. I used to watch this show out of curiosity, and now it’s morbid curiosity that makes me turn around and go awww damn. Item Number Two was resolved three minutes ago: I fished my i-pod out of my bag and am currently grooving to my tunes. I don’t have to hear the inane chattering. Blah! In your face, inane chattering! Take that!

Item Number Three: For the fifth month in a row, I am not pregnant yet.
I got crushed this week, because. Item Number Three crushes me every time I get my period. Another month without a shrimp in my belly. Another month to wait. I need to calm the fuck down. Oops, I said fuck. Oops, I said fuck again. I could go on forever. Seriously, though, I am in some sort of hellish paradox where I am relaxed and happy and I’m enjoying the perks of trying to have a baby, but I’m also waking up every morning hoping I’m pregnant. I’m sure some people would recommend therapy. I am writing my own prescription on this one: calm the fuck down. Thinking about it too much apparently prevents your uterus to do its job.

Item Number Four: I don’t like my feet.
They may be the canvas for my next tattoo, maybe that’ll help. I’d have to convince my sister to get another tattoo too. We’ve had both our tattoos done at the same time. I can’t break that tradition. Is it a tradition? Does it qualify as a habit? Will our respective karmas turn sour if we don’t get tattooed at the same time? Why are marmosets so cute?

Item Number Five: One of favorite bands just cancelled their concert.
…which I was supposed to go see Sunday night for free. With my little bro and my man. Would have been magical. Sigh. Why, Little Pixies That Rule The World, why? How will you ever make it up to us? This was a once in a lifetime opportunity!

That makes five. Eech.

My man asked me to tell you that he has a hole in his sock. In the right one. And, technically, he has two holes in his sock, but don’t tell him I told you. And now, a marmoset. Because it's so damn cute.

"You like my stick? It's my stick. It's not your stick cause it's mine. Mineminemine. Mmmmine."

Mots.

2007-06-30T08:35:00.000-04:00

Une lueur d’amertume enveloppe mon âme
Comme un froid sibérien comme
Une chandelle fige dans l’air du matin
Quelque part une femme
Quelque part un oiseau

Une écharpe de laine oubliée sur la lune
Tel un manteau de brume
Sur le dos d’une étoile
Et mon cœur de bitume dévoile
Son corps d’argent

Quelque part une membrane
Quelque part un ruisseau

Et dans les bras d’un homme dans le port
De l’oubli j’ai gravé ma démence
Et les pétales ternis
J’ai crié aux aurores
Quelque part une amphore
Quelque part une enfant

The House.

2007-06-12T18:40:00.000-04:00

The story I’m about to tell you really happened. Whether it really happened for real or I made it up for real is not quite clear. Ask my sister, she would probably know.

After I’d been living in this small village in Bas St-Laurent for two or three years, my friends and I, on a very dark, cloudy afternoon, stumbled upon quite a fascinating feature in the forest, about half a kilometer (kids – the most talented and accurate at guessing distances, true fact!) in the woods, right behind my house.

We were doing what we usually did on such afternoons: arguing about who was the leader – I would assume since I was the oldest kid on the street, I got to be the leader, you can ask my sister about that, too. We were fumbling around our usual “path” and checking out our surroundings, everybody yapping at the same time and pushing each other around. There were five or six of us. We had left the young ones behind to guard the “entrance” to the forest. We always did that. The forest was our land. We owned it. And the younger kids got the shit job.

All of us stopped at once. (Insert here: short film of children in a file, all bumping into each other as they stop.) There it was, in this clearing we swore we had played in dozens of times. There it was, amidst the autumn leaves on the damp ground. It seemed to have been standing there for a very long time. It almost seemed it was many hundred years old. (Again, kids: most experienced human beings at evaluating the age of a building in the middle of the dark forest.)

The house. For a long while, which was probably more like ten seconds, we stood there, in our raincoats, with our colorful little rubber boots and stared. We were positively terrified. “That house was not there last week!” shouted one of the girls. She always assumed she was right. (Or did I always assume she was wrong? Hmm.) So we argued about that. I think we crept away from the house so slowly and with such subtlety that it never noticed we had discovered it. Which is probably a good thing. Creepy house notices terrified younglings? Not good. Even the movie would be crappy. And scary. But crappy.

We never went back. Not that close, anyway. We sort of observed it from a distance, though, on two or three occasions, and decided it was probably haunted. So then, we never went back.

This is not a picture of the actual house, but it sure looks like it. I got it at: http://www.trekearth.com/gallery/Europe/Norway/photo120524.htm

Me.

2007-06-10T09:52:00.001-04:00

Cute, no? I admit I wear less makeup, depending on the occasion. Also, the little bag is an accessory I do not actually own. But I'd like to. But I don't.

Other differences: my eyes are not that big proportionately to my head. I very rarely wear tops that show off my midriff and...Boo is not all brown with a little white bib. He's a little tiger.

Resemblences with the real me: the hair (sort of) and the black clothing.

In fact, this looks nothing like me.

Have a great Sunday, everyone.

Isabelle – The End.

2007-06-07T20:11:00.000-04:00

Isabelle could hear them arguing about her failure, though she could not make out the words. She lit another cigarette and threw her small metal case beside her. The match hit the chair and curled up among the charred remains of hundreds of others littered on the chamber floor. She walked up to the door and screamed at it.

“Tunisia!”

The exasperated look on Esmé’s face worstened with the commotion. All twelve of the operators had taken a step back hurriedly at the sound of Isabelle’s shout and fallen to the floor. Isabelle emerged running from the room and attempted the seventeenth escape in less than a week.

Isabelle – Part IV.

2007-06-04T19:41:00.000-04:00

Humphrey lowered his defiant stare and studied his feet. He reached for one of the clipboards hanging from pegs on the door frame and looked up. When will that wretched woman understand things should not be rushed?, he thought. He slammed one fist on the table now deserted by the twelve others. They were now standing in a single file right before Isabelle’s door. The woman at the head of the lineup extended one hand towards the doorknob. Humphrey hissed at the woman and paused before looking at Esmé again.

“In the beginning, there was light. And He said that was good. And He drank from the Chalice and obscured our sight. Mark my words: we must locate it, Esmé. We must. We have no other choice. Time is running out.”
“And what,” she spat, “are your puny neurons transmitting right now, you extraordinary moron? We have been waiting for this revelation of yours patiently, we have tried to be our most understanding but this charade has to stop, Humphrey! We have been very supportive. And so far, all our efforts have been in vain.”
“I haven’t –“ Humphrey slithered away from Esmé.
“No! You haven’t! You seem not to have the capability of channeling her. How many times, Humphrey, how many times will I have to explain this?”

Isabelle - Part III.

2007-05-26T09:18:00.000-04:00

“You fools! How long have we waited for this? How calm does she have to be? Why can’t we use stronger doses of the elixir to speed this up? I did not spend years planning this to see it fail. There has to be…” she waved her hand impatiently above her shoulder. A metallic voice cut her off.
“…something we can do. I’ve been saying so all week, Madam. These…fools, your highness, have not a single shred of evidence our young friend has the ability to locate the item. We have collected enough data, however, to return to the previous location, and perhaps we should start from there!”
The wispy voice had emerged from the speaker on the wall. Esmé shrugged cynically and turned her gaze back to the window, her fists clenched.
“Your highness, if I may, what are we to do, then?”
A short man emerged from the antechamber and made his way towards the table, fingering his leather pouch. His voice sounded oddly the same through the speaker and in person.
“What? Humphrey, you dimwit! You are the cause of this! You are the one we should be looking to for a plan right now! There is a reason I had this facility built, and you certainly proved you couldn’t handle it properly! And that is precisely the reason you are now navigating this wreck! You can’t handle things!”

Isabelle - Part II

2007-05-19T19:20:00.000-04:00

Everything swung into focus. A chair in the corner. The cedar wood shelving. The portrait of her father. Her small feet covered by the blanket. She sighed. The light seeping from under the door was soft and yellow, and she knew at once they were all there, waiting anxiously for her to emerge from the room.

“Adjust the intake levels, this is mad!” one man said, pointing angrily at the door. “There is no way she could have located this fast. There has to be something we can do.”

Another man hissed curses under his breath, clutching the leather pouch hanging from his belt. The tiny lights illuminating the floorboards hesitated. Someone flicked a switch twice and they steadied, resuming their cold lighting along the edges of the oval room they were in. Isabelle unwound the threads around her fingers, straightened her back and lit a cigarette.

“I’ve located!” she screamed breathlessly. She exhaled. The scanner on her left had gone off the charts once again and she knew her captors would not be pleased. She allowed herself a half-grin, satisfied she had frustrated them. Another drag. A pause. Exhale.

“In light of the current progress, madam, we cannot take her there. She has exceeded our expectations and we simply cannot keep up with her. We have to postpone the location.”
The tall, slender, satin-clad figure standing at the window turned and faced them.

Isabelle - Part I

2007-05-15T18:33:00.000-04:00

There was no room on the table. There was scarcely any room to breathe. It was ten past five in the morning and they had been working for what felt like eternity. In the silent, opaque night, the buzzing and whirling noises had stopped and she was wide awake, moved by the sudden stillness of her surroundings. She gathered her thoughts and took a deep breath.

Cool air drifted in through the opening in the tent. The signal. Isabelle rose to her feet, picked up her knapsack and went outside in the fresh breeze of the desert night. She walked for a while before letting herself fall to her knees in the rusty orange sand. It was close to sunrise – but the stillness of her surroundings, however immense and exotic they were, made her uneasy and a chill ran up her spine, making the short brown hair on the nape of her neck stand on end. She had no idea what to look for in the Sahara desert and tried hard to figure it out. The camels were all perched on their folded legs and were moaning in their sleep. The sand seemed to swirl and dance around her, even though the wind had died down, and called her to her knees once again. Her hands ran on either side of her legs, fingers digging in the sand and raking it ever so gently. Breathe. Her face was now very close to her knees, she had folded onto her own lap and was studying little craters in the sand. Little footsteps, it seemed, left by critters in the night. She followed one path, until it intersected with another. She followed that one. Soon, she found herself staring at the traces left by hundreds of insects, short and long, sinuous and of military precision – a whole other world had left its mark and was now hiding from the rising sun.
“Tunisia,” she mouthed, smiling.

Clearly.

2007-05-15T18:24:00.001-04:00

That's it! That's enough! No more procrastinating!
I must now present you, Horde of Readers, with.....

Drum roll, please, Sergio! (Sergio is my imaginary drummer. He lives with Little Person Living Inside My Head. His uncle is Sergio Mendes, Brazilian musician extraordinaire.)

...True Fact About Me Number Two:

I Am In Denial.

True fact - surprising, I know, but true.

On Obliques and Squares of Light.

2007-05-07T09:41:00.000-04:00

So I stuck with the gym thing. Which is good.
It makes me feel good. I even feel a little...firmer.

Mmmm, fiiirm. Oh - sorry.

I actually found my triceps last week. I didn't even know I had them. They were there, but in a lame, outta-the-way fashion. So there they are. I'm beginning to see the shadows of side-abs. They're technically called obliques, but I call them side abs because they are the abs on the side. So. That's why. Enough about the gym. All you need to know is I love it and plan to continue going. I still don't understand how I've developed this urge, suddenly, to hop on the machines and sweat, but I get that urge now.

It's Monday morning and I am at home because I worked almost all of Saturday to have peace and quiet. I wondered why I didn't get much done at work - I still do - so I am currently trying to find ways to improve my concentration. I think I have a very short attention span. If I'm in the middle of doing something and someones walks over to my desk, I'm fucked.

These days, I am puzzled because I sometimes find myself wishing I was mean. I sometimes wish I could say "shut up and let me work" to people but I can't. Probably because it isn't a very civilized or nice way to deal with other people and my nice personality is stronger than my bitch personality.

I know you're in there, bitch personality! Come on! Come out - it's spring! Come give the finger to annoying assholes! Come invade my brain just long enough for me to walk up to someone and say: "Please keep your stupid, incomprehensible mumbling and off-key, crappy singing to yourself or leave this room." Okay, okay, that's the polite version. I think I am probably already dealing with this the right way and I'm being polite all the time, or so my colleagues tell me. I confuse the little voice in my head and what really happens, sometimes. Maybe I have a split personality problem! Oh, no!

...that would explain the blood on my shirtsleeve, Friday night...just kidding. Haha.

On the Boo front, this little naughty monkey is driving me nuts. I took him outside on Sunday, harness and leash and all, as per the rules. He was completely freaked in the beginning. He would not even stand, he was lying on his side looking at me like I had slapped him. So I checked that I had not done up the straps too tight, scooped him up in my arms and took him outside to the balcony. After two minutes of no movement, I scooped him up again and put him in the stairs leading to the yard. Nothing. Then picked him up and gently lowered him into the grass. Click! Some sort of primal instinct kicked in and he started roaming around, me in tow, nose to the ground, into the bushes and under the stairs. He was pretty scared by the neighbors' kids with their whirring, spinning toys and their screams. So I took him inside and since then, he won't stop meowing in from of the patio door. He is practically pointing at it, going (in his James Mason voice) : "Open this door now, I say! Can't you see I'm supposed to be outside? What are you doing, staring at the square of light? Open it!" And so on, with various levels of insults and debilitating meowing. I swear, the meowing sounds like someone is ripping at his insides.

Enough. I gotta go outside with the cat.

Work It, Baby.

2007-04-15T09:40:00.000-04:00

Today, I am going to do something I have been wanting to do for a while, but have always put off for stupid/financial/lazy reasons.

I'm going to the gym this afternoon. Yes, Beloved Readers. I kid you not.

I signed up last week, dished out waaaay more money than it should cost to work out in a high-tech facility, and voilà.

I understand it's a service and one should pay for it, but here's what bugs me. The guy who signed me up was definitely a salesman. I mean, I got the tour and the demos before we talked money. He was giving me a tour in English, because my anglo friend signed up with me. This is what he sounded like - it was great. Just a preview for you, my lovelies:

"Dis? De 'Ammer Streng? It's de bess in de Wess. Diss it's de bess matchine you can get, because it's de eye tech stuff, you know? Me, I work 'ere, I never seen people hurt their self, break something, or stretch a muscle. Because dis, it's all how do I say, it's all..you can see you 'ave de security belt, like in a car. Nice, hein?"

Yes. De bess in de Wess indeed. I provided him with that expression, because he was hesitating at each new section of the gym, looking for a way to say it was the best equipment on the market. So I said: "The best in the West" while doing the little shooting motion with my hands. And that was it. He loved it. So it became:

"Dis? Bess machine in the Wess in Qwebec. It's de bess." (doing the hands-palms-down sweeping motion indicating finality.)

When he told me the price I would have to pay, I was knocked right off my chair. I think he saw the disbelief in my face - granted, my jaw was unhinged, mouth open, vacant expression in the eyes - I must have looked quite dumb. I mentally picked myself up from the floor, laughed and asked him why it was so expensive. He looked at me, fake confidence oozing from every pore, and tried to do the cute eye thing at me (which pissed me off) and said - I'm sparing you the québécois accent this time : "You're right, ok? Money should not be an obstacle on your way to feeling better in your body. You want to lose weight? Here's what I can do for you." And he proceeded to give me a shit deal. "Okay. Our advert says it costs this much a month? That's not good. It's false representation, sort of. You know? Because actually, that price? It's the price for ONE service (i.e. just cardio, just free weights), no trainer to get you started. You are not allowed to use all the other services." His attitude changed, he became pissed off, because I did not fall for his routine and I asked questions. He would have liked me to sign right away. I'm guessing he makes commission.

Then we found common ground (sort of). I never thought I'd have to ask so many questions not to get handed a crappy deal. I am mad that it should cost me so much to feel better. All that being said, I am spending the money knowing full well that I am paying for the latest high-tech equipment (de bess in the Wess, sigh) and location. I'll have to pay extra to get someone to help be build my programme, which pisses me off too. I can't afford to pay for that today. So I'll be with a friend who has worked out in a gym before, and she'll help me. And I'll be really careful and not overdo it. And I'll stretch before and after. Ahhh. Jesus. Here we go.

At least I got a really sweet deal on gym shoes yesterday. *high five*

Planned Chocolate Consumption.

2007-04-06T15:21:00.000-04:00

Easter. Bleh.

I'll eat all of my two chocolates. One bunny, one baby chicken.
Then I'll feel queazy.
Then I'll promise myself, for the umpteenth year in a row, that I will never eat all of my chocolate in one sitting ever again because I'll feel like crap and my heartbeat will be racing and I'll generally feel like my eyes are about to pop out of my head. Not a pretty picture.

Okay, I won't do that. Thank you, Conscience (Little Person Living Inside My Head - is that you?), for making me realize I could voluntarily avoid feeling sick sometime this weekend. I'll eat the bunny only. Then the next day, I'll eat the baby chicken.

No, no, wait, I won't do that either. I'll be reasonable. I'll have only the bunny's ears.
He's only got an ear and a third, really, because he's sitting sideways. It's a profile of a bunny.
So I'll eat that, then I'll put the earless bunny away. Then I'll eat the baby chicken's head. And I'll put the rest away too. It's actually a 2-D baby chicken, so it's not too bad if I eat its head, then the rest some other time. I mean, it's not a full 3-D chicken. No harm done.

Ah. I feel much better now, knowing how I'll eat my chocolate this year. When I was a kid, thank the authorities my mom kept me in line, because I think I would have eaten the whole collection of chocolates we got in one day. It seems like our whole family thought it was a good plan to buy us chocolate, and in my memories there was chocolate everywhere. Had I eaten all of it, I probably would have run a freaking trench into the hardwood floor, pacing and pulling out my hair (and my sister's, heehee), rolling my eyes and screaming insanities.

But no. My mom rationed the chocolate. I am thankful now, but as a child I felt it was the most cruel thing a mother could do to her children, especially at Easter, what with all the fuzzy bunnies and little yellow baby chickens and pastel colors all around. Oh! And the woven baskets we made in school and filled with the plastic hair/fake hay stuff.

The adults actually made us work for that shit too, we had to go on an Easter-egg hunt all around the house. And the adults were all standing there, in a line, with a glass of wine in one hand, patting each other on the back, thinking they were smart. They were thinking: "Oohhh, they'll never find it this year. We'll have to give them hints. We've found way better hiding spots than last year's. Haha. We adults are so smart. We find the best hiding places for chocolate. Look at them, poor little helpless creatures, lifting the sofa cushions. Pffft! Shyeah right!" and then after thinking all that, they would stand there, astonished and positively flabbergasted, as we proudly displayed the whole lot, just like that, found in ten minutes. Oh - maybe even five minutes. Ha! In your face, adults! Good times. I loved the Easter-egg hunt. Especially when I found the mother lode, the king/queen/royalty of all Eastereggs, the Laura Secord creme-filled egg. Oh man.

I actually bought one a few years ago, after holding it in my hands for a couple of seconds in the store thinking back to its awesome taste and creaminess. I took it home, sat in the kitchen, tore the box open and, just like my mom used to do, pulled out a serrated knife and cut a slice of it, width-wise. I looked at it a little more, and ate the slice.

Then I felt queazy.
Then I promised myself that I would never buy that ever again because I felt like crap and my heartbeat was racing and I generally felt like my eyes were about to pop out of my head. It's amazing what you can sustain when you're a kid.

When I was a kid, to me, Easter was for overindulging, eating craploads of chocolate at all times of day, and eating the ham. I'll be eating the ham this year. I'll be cooking the ham myself, for crying out loud. So I'll definitely be eating the ham, and also the bunny and the baby chicken. But not all at once.

Because I'm smart. That's right.

The Competition.

2007-03-24T09:01:00.000-04:00

I'm sitting here, Saturday morning, 8:25 a.m., having my awesome italian percolator coffee. The sun is out. Very nice. Birds are chirping and all. Spring? Yesss...

I was awake at 7:00 this morning. I went to bed really early last night and now I'm waiting for a decent time to start making noise in the kitchen. Don't want to wake the gamer up. He went to bed at 2 in the morning... I need to get cracking, though, because I am having three friends over for dinner tonight. Did I tell you I'm part of a cooking competition? Heehee. The whole thing is very informal, of course, it's just us five competing. Well, two of the group don't cook. So it's three of us, really.

We've got themes, criteria, and friendly pressure from the other two cooks. When the night of the dinner arrives, it's all business. The cook/host gets grades on the 10 criteria evaluated. My eggheadedness has made me lose the evaluation sheet, unfortunately, but I do remember some of the criteria by heart. There are, for example, points attributed for Aroma. That's when you walk in the house when you get there and it smells good. Your mouth waters (or not). Then there is Costume. Aprons do fine. They've been a trend in the last two dinners.

Other criteria include Produits du terroir, Accord des vins, Présentation, Thème....can't remember the others. Oh! There's also Utilisation de termes culinaires. So you have to say, with a knowing look on your face, like it's part of your everyday vocabulary, things like: "Alors pendant que je déglaçais (*ching!*) avec le vin, j'ai blanchi (*ching!*) les poireaux et les ai réservés (*ching!*) avant de verser la crème et de la porter à ébullition (*ching!*). J'ai ensuite baissé le feu et fait réduire de moitié (*ching ching ching!*) avant de disposer (*ching!*) les suprêmes (*ching!*) dans les assiettes préalablement réchauffées, de napper (*ching!*) de sauce et de servir." You get the point. The chings are my points going up. I am through the roof, I kid you not. The "réduire de moitié" part is very popular. We use it every dinner.

Before I reveal what I will be serving tonight, I have to give many thanks to my two angels who helped me with recipes and ideas. Moua moua moua to you both. So tonight, provided I find the ingredients I could not find last night, my guests will be enjoying, as an entrée, little phyllo dough barquettes filled with fine slices of tomato and fresh basil, cooked au gratin *ching!* with Brie. As a main course, veau gorgonzola with pepe e cacio pasta (pepper and cheese) and grilled asparagus, zucchini and red pepper. And as a dessert, two cheesecake medallions with raspberry coulis and fresh mint leaves. You've guessed it, my theme is cheese.

How many plates do I add to the table?

On What it Means to be Alive.

2007-03-16T23:03:00.000-04:00

Dear Friends and Throng of Readers, bear with me.

I am writing to you today in my capacity as a live person.

I have recently discovered I am fully committed to being alive. It somehow feels like a complete breakthrough, although I am not really aware of the reasons why. Yet. It'll come, I am sure. I'm just a little slow.

Four beings have died in the past six months. Four beings of light, four persons who were loved by many people. The first person passed away in September and it was a shock, but not unexpected. He left children, grand children, and great-grandchildren. The second person was not born in October. She left a huge gap and is still loved and thought of daily. She never got to smile or feel a kiss on her cheek. The third person took her life at the end of February and filled a church with people wanting to flap their arms like birds and thank her for the images she has left us of liberty. The fourth person went to join the first person on March 1st, wearing her skirt with birds on it and a rose on her lapel.

I now think back on each of these people and what they have given me and feel grateful for a lot of things I did not feel grateful for a couple of years ago. Someone recently told me the events we witness (somehow that does not feel like a strong enough term) before our forties shape us and make us the people we are for the rest of our lives.

So (and I fully endorse the cheesiness this entails) thank you to all the people in my life who are there. Friends who are near, friends who are too far, family who means the world to me, colleagues who have become friends, and people I've never seen who send me little angel medals in the mail. And also thank you to the people who are not there. I am going to thank you in person when the time is just right, because it is important. When you need me, I'm right here. And I've got a huge smile on my face and arms wide open.

Okay, I'm done now. I'll be back before the month is over this time, I promise.

Oscar and the Meteorological Apparatus

2007-02-25T09:57:00.000-05:00

Me? I'll be watching the Oscars tonight wondering why I don't know 90% of these actors.

Then I'll remember it's because I just don't remember them, and I'll keep watching.

Then I'll eat more apple pie and have another beer, and maybe recognize Tom Hanks or - who knows - Macaulay Culkin in the front rows and go: 'Ohhhhh! Heeeey! I know them!'

And then we'll drive back home and I'll go to bed and I'll dream of people shaking barometers again.

State of the Mindset Address.

2007-02-07T20:22:00.000-05:00

I subscribed to this years ago, just for the heck of it. And now, it is spewing things at me. This was my horoscope for today:

"For a few weeks now you have understood that each day brings its share of constraints. For example, today you may feel doubts about your physical appearance. Are you questioning your attractiveness, or your ability to make an impression on someone special? Did you use bad judgment at some point, and are now afraid that you've hurt your reputation? A decision you make at the end of the day will relieve all these anxieties."

Now, let me make things clear.

a) I now understand the meaning of constraints. Work is more than I bargained for.

b) My physical appearance. Yeah. See the post dated January 19th. I am not questioning my attractiveness. At all. I am simply uncomfortable in my current physical state. And I am taking steps to alleviate this uneasiness. My fucking clothes don’t fit, for crying out loud. I’ve got that muffin-top look. But I also realize that seven months of pregnancy don’t go away instantly. I need a hug. I need someone to tell me it’s okay to be insecure. The only problem is (and I do not know why I did this), I’ve been bragging that I don’t care what I look like.

c) I used bad judgment several times since my return to work. No one's complained about this, but it’s my job to fix it. Now. And a week ago. I hope no one hates me for it. Then again, I’m not there to please anyone, I’m there to do my job.

d) A decision at the end of the day? Uh-huh. A martini.

"Balade à Toronto"

2007-02-05T22:12:00.000-05:00

« Le temps passe
Et un jour
On est vieux et puis seul
Et rien ne reste plus
Que la fierté d’avoir aimé correctement
Ou la honte et les tourments
De ne pas avoir compris
Attends
Attends
J’ai quelque chose à te dire »

- Jean Leloup

Out of the Frying Pan.

2007-02-02T19:42:00.000-05:00

Whew! I am surfacing now. Ahhhh.

I am surfacing because it is Friday Night. I am allowing myself to stop thinking about work, having a few beers, and taking it easy. I have been back at work for the past two weeks, and I’ve achieved more in this short time span than I had for the past three months. Granted, the past three months’ progress was mainly measured in knitting. This is significant progress I am feeling when I get home, now that I am actually contributing something to others. This progress is the kind that makes you satisfied at the end of the day.

Unfortunately, this is also the progress that has been keeping me up in the middle of the night. It is not my job I am thinking about: it is merely the stimulation of the day’s work that is keeping my mind creating and thinking too much. I did not anticipate this reaction.

I have tried counting to two hundred. I have tried counting backwards from two hundred. I did it five times the other night. Not helpful. I got to the point where I thought if I made it as slow as possible, I would fall asleep. I’d count every time I breathed in and out. Breathe in slowly, one. Breathe out slowly, one and a half. Breathe in, two. Breathe out, two and a half.

I also tried remembering the lyrics to a song I heard in a movie, but this just got me all revved up and making up lyrics of my own. I got way too creative, and before I knew it, what started out as an actual lullaby in a movie had turned out to be a techno hit in my mind, complete with synth beats and progressions. This made my sleeplessness even more upsetting and, in the end, a stressful and awakening experience. The weird thing is, I think I actually composed a potential hit. It was freaking good! My toes were wiggling, my heart was racing, it was almost like I was on some dance floor in a smoky, crowded club. Not a very calming method. I should have just gotten dressed and headed out the closest club to dance it off.

After speaking to a friend about my trouble sleeping, I resorted, the next night, to her method of imagining a calming setting. I ended up, after much trouble visualizing my quiet space, in a cottage in the middle of nowhere, right by a lake. I was sitting in a huge, plushy cushioned, comfortable chair, looking at the small, slow waves licking my own private beach. The air was filled with the smell of grass and earth and the distant buzzing of crickets. I think I had a martini right on the armrest of this Adirondack-like chair. I could feel the sun on my legs. It was wonderful, and not unlike something I have actually experienced. I looked right, and there was a thick forest of pine trees and ferns. I turned my head slowly, breathing a long breath of contentment, and looked left.

The alarm clock read 3:30 a.m.

Cecilia.

2007-01-19T09:02:00.000-05:00

All Over the Place.

2007-01-19T08:08:00.000-05:00

I’ve seen this thing on blogs I read called a meme. (apparently pronounced meem). From what I’ve gathered, they’re little quizzes, questions to blog about. Some of the memes are cool. Some are truly worthy of their name, because they are completely about the person writing them. Others are fun, like the one I did a couple months ago where you had to open a book at page 123. Today I am going to reveal a fact about me. You know, in the true spirit of memes. Ready?

True Fact About Me Number One:

I love grilled cheese sandwiches. They are yummy.

Stunned? Perplexed? Hungry? Good. I am glad this truly revealing fact about me got a rise out of you. I endeavour to keep you on your toes with equally poposterous (may I, Bridge?) statements. I am giving you...me. And now for something completely different: another revelation.

I am returning to work on Monday! Yes. It is true. Initially slated for a return to active society in March, I started feeling restlessness and the need for a new challenge in December. Honestly, making soup, cleaning up the house and watching Battlestar Galactica/Lost/Penn and Teller: Bullshit/The X-Files while knitting has its perks, but - well…you get the picture. I think this means I can go back. Why wait? My body is fine (and by fine I do not mean “hot” or “rockin’”, see post later today for explanation), my mind is….well I do have my good days and bad days, but who doesn’t, right? Thus am I preparing to re-enter the reality of the workplace. It will be a different job, with the same fun/smart/entertaining people. I am truly looking forward to it. Most of all, I am looking forward to hearing hits of the 80’s and 90’s sung with emotion by one of my coworkers in particular. It has always felt weird to sing them alone to myself. They needed that special delivery and gusto. Here I come, man. Prepare for special requests.

Hank.

2007-01-18T14:53:00.000-05:00

Home.

2007-01-18T14:50:00.000-05:00

Dear monkey-monkeys,

I got back from Montreal on Sunday. I had a blast with my sister for a whole week. And the whole thing started with…I’ll let you read what I was supposed to post Saturday morning, January 6th.

PG-13. January 6, 2007.

Yesterday, among numerous other things, I baked a cake. Not just any kind of cake. A carrot cake. But not any carrot cake. No siree. Children, avert your eyes. Go play with the boxes your Christmas presents came in. Shoo.

Are there only adults, here? Great.

I made a cake in the shape of a penis. That’s right. As I write this, there is a foot and a half long schlong in my fridge. Carrot with cream cheese icing. And I’m about to put it in the car, along with two boxes of food and my suitcase, and get my chauffeur to drive me to Montreal. Sweet. I can’t wait to see my brother in law’s face! He asked for it, and doesn’t even suspect he’s gettin’ it. That’s right. Nor does he suspect he’s getting a surprise party with all of his friends!!! Happy 30th, indeed!

Oh – the suitcase is because I’ll be in Montreal for the next week. Double sweet. See you in a week!