Pffft to titles.

Spring seems to finally have sprung in Montreal - though of course my saying that probably ensures that we will barely get above freezing temperatures tomorrow...

To celebrate, it's time for that Spring vacation.

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Come Thursday evening I'll be on my way to France to see friends in Brittany and in the vicinity of Paris. And, if various constraints work themselves out and schedules miraculously mesh, maybe to meet a blogger - that would be Dumdad.

Who knows, maybe I'll haul some inspiration back from Europe with me. That'd be nice. 'Cause right now? Not so much. I try to believe it's because I'm too busy having a life, knowing full well that that's so not the case at this point.

Maybe since we're actually renting a car, we'll have all sorts of driving adventures where I navigate us clear up into Norway. Of course, Mr. Jazz - smart man that he is - went out and bought a GPS (aka Simon) with all those nifty European maps so he doesn't much have to beat his head against the steering wheel while I try to turn the map so that it's headed in the same direction we are because otherwise it just makes no sense whatsoever. Spatially challenged? Me?

And so, to paraphrase my friend Sully, Soon(ish) with more better stuff.
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Our Nation's Capital

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Ottawa that would be. Where I spent the weekend and was tardy about blogging about it so both XUP and Violet Sky beat me to it 'cause they're way on the ball and organized and get everything done right away and make me feel like... hmmm... well, basically like a) i'm completely disorganized and b) total aside, the Habs just scored, so it's 3-2 against the Penguins and Mr. Jazz is a happy camper and I inserted this into the blog because his screams of joy pretty much lifted me 6 inches off the bed. The boy can yell, indeed he can.
And c) as you can see, I'm easily distracted so that might explain why I'm, as always, the last to blog. That and for some reason on Mondays they always seem to expect me to actually work for a living...

Aaanyway.

I seem to have digressed. Par for the course ain't it. And I will not digress into golf. I. Will. Not.

This was supposed to be about my weekend in Ottawa.

Let's start again.

I went to Ottawa to meet XUP and Violet Sky - and a passel of Ottawa bloggers I pretty much had no idea actually existed for the most part.

'Twas lovely it was.

Things I learned this weekend:

• Ottawa bloggers are cool. They meet up once in a while and have Saturday brunches. Hell, I know of two Montreal-ish English bloggers, and though we've been in contact, I've not met either of them. It's a shame really. Paula and Bonnie, I'm talking to you.

• The Ottawa Tulip Festival (the biggest in the whole wide world - prolly 'cause it's the only one) attracts LOTS of Japanese. Lots. Really. Oodles of 'em. Sorta like fall in Quebec attracts them. It's sorta scary actually. They are everywhere, taking pics of themselves taking pics of themselves taking pics of each other. The relationship of the Japanese to cameras is strange to say the least.

• Frigid weather and rain make for cool pics of flowers with drops of water on them, but really, who gives a shit about drops of water on tulips. I mean seriously, this pic has been taken a million times - and way better. And Blogger, bloody minded thing that it it wouldn't let me put the pic here unless I go into HTML and do a copy/paste there and I did it so FUCK YOU Blogger and that's all I have to say about that  and yes, XUP I know: WORDPRESSS.

• It seems the Parliament buildings are not "just a pile of stones" and that I will never live down having said that they were. In my defense, I was cold!

• It seems the Portage buildings (one of the big government complexes) ARE just a pile of ugly. 

• A women's weekend is truly something every woman should experience periodically.  Much as I love Mr. Jazz, an estrogen weekend is something he cannot provide - even though he feeds me.

• The By Ward Market. It's where Obama bought his cookies. It's one of Canada's oldest and largest markets. And the inside part of it has this creepy sculpture hanging from the ceiling. Look, the guy's apron has BLOOD painted on it! I might have creepy ideas, like looking at my face with my eyes hanging out, but damned if I'd do a sculpture with a guy holding a pig (4-2 Habs from what I hear) with blood on his apron. 'Cause, yeah, we all know he's gonna slit that pig's throat (and to hell with Blogger for not lettting me upload. I'll have to try tomorrow. Who knows I might get lucky - yes XUP, i know, WORDPRESS...)  Update: This morning Blogger seems to be in  a better mood, here's the pic

• *le sigh*

• Drinking chocolate milk (through a straw no less) is so many levels of wrong when you're an adult and eating a plate beyond full of beef. Imagine it. A huge plate of roast beef, a domino size of salad and a potato... and a glass of chocolate milk. With a strwa. NO! it wasn't me. But you gotta admit that this image, this whole idea, is beyond wrong. And XUP - she provides a mean colour commentary regarding chocolate milk and beef. A commentary involving stomachs exploding in the middle of the night. Hell yeah!

• On the drive home I noticed that Ontarians generally drive in the right lane and use the left to pass and get right back into the right lane. Probably 80% of cars that drove in the left lane just because it was there were Quebecers. We're such scofflaws we are (have you ANY idea how long I've been waiting to use the word scofflaw? Thank you Quebec drivers for helping me to do so). The law - Pffft.

• There is something inherently wrong about snow on May 9. Even if it's just flurries. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Sometimes I hate this country. Y'all are suprised to hear that eh? I had to say y'all, it warms me up.

• 4-3 for the Habs. Game over. Heh. I said they'd win. No one believes me. Probably cause I'm not a fan. But I know. It's my superpower. Except when it doesn't work. Which is 50% of the time. But tonight I got it right. Hopefully I'll do as well in the World Cup this summer. That is one series I'll watch. Me and Violet Sky.... yep.

OK, 'nuf of this going on and on and on... I'm going to bed.  'Night all.
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A solution to every problem...

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Sometimes you gotta wonder at the things people will buy...



But I guess if it saves a marriage...

As an aside: I'm off to Ottawa today to meet the wonderful XUP and Alison, and hook up again with Violet Sky.  I'll  let you know if I still think they're great after the weekend, but I'm assuming they're be even better in person....
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Dear Cyclist

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Wow. You're doing the green thang!  Good for you...

Must be great, pedaling along, the wind in your hair, eating bugs now and again. We all need protein....

What you don't seem to realize though is that riding a bike does not make you a really really fast pedestrian. On your bike, you're considered a vehicle; as such, you are obliged to follow the rules of the road. You're, like, a really really small car.

So, stop signs are for you. As are red lights. A four way red light with that picture of the little man? It means vehicles must stop so pedestrians can cross.

Yes asshole, this means you!

It doesn't mean, "Hey cyclist, cross now cause you're sure no cars will get in your goddamn way and to hell with whoever is crossing the street".

Because you count as a fucking vehicle you damn moron!

And because, if you don't stop, who knows, maybe a pedestrian will stick out a rigid arm and whip you off your damn "oh look at me I'm so cool on my $6000 rich asshole bike" and stomp on your head when you fall.

Just because she can.

Just sayin' dude.

Jazz

Cottage vignettes

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It’s not all sinking pedal boats and killing rodents.

I’m back in bed on Saturday afternnon, reading a hopelessly outdated (and hysterically funny) issue of Women’s Day from July 1955, learning how to "cook" it in the refrigerator or freezer (jellied tomato-cucumber mold anyone?) and - this was the Woman's Day Workshop - how to cast a fish in plaster of Paris (I shit you not, page 66! - "Once the negative mold has been made, it can be used many times to make duplicates of the fish - fine gifts for sporting friends" 'cause everyone needs a fish cast in plaster of Paris!). I can't help but wonder if anyone actually ever did this, and more to the point, why?

Mr. Jazz is in the living room, watching the hockey game and transferring Gotan Project and the latest Porcupine Tree onto my computer so I can sync my iPod.  Yay, I won’t have to do it for myself. Happy Day.

I push aside the magazine and snuggle down into bed with a sigh, finding that perfect position for a snooze. Mr. Jazz comes in, closes the curtains, kisses me and leaves, closing the door behind him.

I listen to the chipmunks rooting around in the old leaves under the feeders, and to the rain as it starts falling softly - then less so. My thoughts drift to the new hostas and ferns pushing their way out of the earth. This will be good for them.

My body grows heavy as I write this blog post in my head and sink into slumber, to the sound of the hockey game and falling rain.

Life is good.
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Dribs and Drabs Again

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This morning, on the way to work I saw a beautiful Husky. He was obviously thrilled to death to be going on his walk. Bounding at the edge of his leash... I'm sure he was thrilled because it's SNOWING in Montreal today. Yeah, you read that. SNOWING. The magnolias are flowering and it's fucking SNOWING!!  I'm sure BB with his love of all weather frigid must have been thrilled. Me? Not so much­.

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I got this animation of Elizabeth's page in Facebook. Go watch it:  Animator vs. Animation

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If someone somehow managed to pull my eyes out without severing my optic nerve, and they (my eyes) were hanging down the front of my face, could I see the floor and if I turned them towards my face would I see my face without my eyes?

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Has anyone out there heard of a certain type of pillow where the center is filled with water, which allows for perfect adjustment of your pillow size. I'm not sure whether I imagined this or if it really exists. If not, maybe I should invent it and make millions. But just the fact that I've had this in my head leads me to believe that it must already exist. I imagine my friend the omniscient XUP will know. People this woman is a veritable fount of information. And yes, I know, Google - but my brain is slow and I haven't made it to that point yet.

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I have a friend who works for a union. If you work for a union, I suppose you would be unionized, by your union. In case of a strike, who do you negotiate with? 'Course I guess I could simply ask her that.
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Recycling is always good...

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Today we recycle.

But since I'm not recycling my own post, it's more like.. um.... spreading the good news. Warty Mammal, purveyor of all things ridiculous and funny, posted this link. Which before I poached from her, she poached from Slate.

Check this out - a slideshow on "feminine hygiene product" (i.e. tampax) ads, as compared to cigarette ads. It's freakishly funny...  Go read it.

NOW.
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Nature vs. .... ME.

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Warning: This post involves scatalogical issues, blood and gore and general heartlessness on my part. It might be unsuitable for some audiences. On the other hand, the very thought of blood and gore might reel you right in. Feel free to proceed. Or not.

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You know.

When you climb the stairs to the main floor of the cottage and the first thing you see is squirrel poop all over the floor, you know it's going to be a pain in the ass weekend.

Because poop on the floor entails poop on the counters, on the table, in the bed. Pretty much everywhere you don't want poop to reside. Poop in prodigious, mind boggling quantities, poop beyond your wildest dreams - if, of course, you're into scatalogical dreams.

And if you are? I really don't want to know.

At least he didn't get into the food.

All this poop obviously entails much vacuuming, stripping of beds, washing down/bleaching of countertops, tables, etc. And of course, possible ruining of jeans with said bleach. Jocelyn (I believe) once offered this nugget of wisdom: "Bleach Naked", which is all well and nice in certain circumstances, but when it's deep winter and about 3 degrees above freezing in the house, overall not the most user friendly idea evah.

Indeed, naked and frigid are concepts that do not sit well with me when placed side by side, or one surrounding the other as it were. Hell, frigid is a concept that doesn't sit well with me, period.

But I digress. Always I digress. What's with the digressifying.... CONCENTRATE Jazz!!! I blame menobrain. Yep, I do. Um. So...

All this poop obviously means a squirrel got into the house - a little red one like this dude, they grey ones are either too big or to stupid to find their way in. I actually quite like them, they're redheads and they have major attitude. But they shit entirely too much. How can a 200 gram rodent fabricate that much poo? Did I mention there was poo all over the place? Felt like it was pretty much carpeted in excrement. Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating.

But just a little. The cottage was definitely poopy.

So yeah, they're cute, they're smartasses, and I really like them. Except when they find their way into the house, which happens every couple of years. They try to make you believe they just happened to wander in through some crack somewhere and needed to relieve themselves. Be that as it may, in such a case, in the immortal words of Bugs Bunny, "Of course you realize, this means war".

A war to the death.  Yours not mine Red. I'm bigger, I'm smarter and most of all, I'm meaner.

I hauled out the rat trap** that hadn't seen action for a couple of years (last time Red - probably this guy's great grandfather - tripped the trap, got the peanut and vanished, leaving behind only a whisker or two. He was a smart one who deserved to live), baited it with a peanut and wandered back upstairs for a well deserved and very stiff drink - all that vacuuming, bleaching, changing of bed linens and baiting of traps that I tend to trip myself and squwoosh my finger in, on a Friday evening is utterly exhausting.

Knowing that the little buggers are diurnal, I figured we'd be ok until the next day.

We were.

Until breakfast when I heard the fatal crack (of course he couldn't have waited until after breakfast, no he had to ruin my appetite).

And so, downstairs I went, grabbing a pair of gardening gloves along the way. Poor thing hadn't even gotten the peanut. He lay there convulsing on the floor, blood spreading beneath him.

It was totally a Sopranos moment, it was. Totally.

So I picked him up gently and wrung his pretty red neck - amazing how hard that is considering his tiny size. You'd think it'd snap like a twig, but nope, more like a somewhat bigger branch. Aaaanyway.

Then I threw him outside, where, within a half hour, a crow made off with the corpse. I'm a big fan of recycling I am. To quote Bugs again: "Ain't I a stinker!".

Then I promptly collapsed into Mr. Jazz's arms shaking like a leaf. Why I didn't just back off and tell him, "Dude, you're the guy, you do it", I'll never know. It was one of those moments where you know what has to be done so you just do it without thinking. Easily actually. It's so very very bizarre.

So, after a mouse and a squirrel, I guess next on the list is a cat. They say serial killers tend to graduate this way to larger and larger animals... Food for thought.

** Yes one of those evil kill traps. Cause if the thing gets in and we don't catch it before the weekend is over, there's no point in having a live trap since it'll simply slowly die of thirst or hunger over the week. Quick and neat is the way to go. And believe me, there are enough of them out there that one less won't make much of a difference. The Darwin Awards principle at work - if it's stupid enough to get caught it deserves to die. Viz, great granddad who I was most definitely pulling for, though he probably ended up eaten by a cat. Or Bugs Bunny.
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The grim reaper...

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A blog is a broadcast, not a publication. If it stops moving, it dies.  - Andrew Sullivan

Gasp, gasp...

Shudder....

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What with the scandals in the Catholic church...

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...this is just brilliant. I just had to post this, poached from Patrick Lagacé's blog

Marc Murphy is a brilliant cartoonist, his website is here

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Friday funny... oops, Thursday

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Disclaimer:  I have nothing against Christians, I know people who have a great faith in god and if that works for them fine, I totally respect it, just as they respect my point of view. This website is a riot though, in its exposure of the clichés - many of which anyone who has had an encounter with the evangelical types has been exposed too. That's where the mind boggles. But hey, whatever floats your boat, so long as you don't try to sink mine. So, in the spirit in which this was intended, have fun.



First I'd like to thank Rachel for posting this; it's so hysterical, I just have to share.

The following gems are from the I am a atheist website (and thanks again Rachel). And go to the site, their homepage is laugh out loud funny.

For instance - Atheist Rights and Responsibilities:

As a moral atheist you have a number of rights and responsibilities. These include (but are not limited to):

1. Have no gods.
2. Don't worship stuff.
3. Be polite.
4. Take a day off once in a while.
5. Be nice to folks.
6. Don't kill people.
7. Don't cheat on your significant other.
8. Don't steal stuff.
9. Don't lie about stuff.
10. Don't be greedy.

Remember, theists may condemn you for living by this code because you are doing it of your own free will instead of because you're afraid that if you don't a supreme being will set you on fire.

And of course - Arguments Against Atheism   (I have been handed several of these over the years, some more than once - I wish I had had these answers...) :

As an atheist, you will occasionally meet a non-atheist who wishes to argue against your belief system. If you are interested in discussing the matter, you may want to prepare yourself by learning these simple responses to common anti-atheist arguments.

The Bible says that atheism is wrong. (I just stared when I was served this. If the bible says it, it's proof obviously - how does that follow?...)
"The Bible also says some guy's donkey talked."

If you believe in God and are wrong, then it's no big deal, but if you don't believe in God and are wrong, you'll be punished eternally, so it's not a good idea to be an atheist.
"What if you're wrong that God prefers unthinking self-righteous toadies to honest people who try and live a good life?"

Deep down you really believe in God. (The most rational of arguments, I think I got this one most)
"Deep down, you really don't believe that."

You're only saying you're an atheist to rebel against authority.
"And if the Beatles grew long hair to rebel against authority, then they really had no hair -- is that what you're saying?"

You probably are an atheist because you had a bad experience as a child.
"You probably worship God because you hate your real father."

There are no atheists in foxholes.
"Probably because we have less excuses to start wars."

If you don't believe in God, you'll go to Hell! (No, I think actually this is the most frequent one - my answer: It's your hell, you go burn in it)
"If you don't stop believing in God right now, I'll punch you in the face."

Why are you mad at God?
"Because he's supposed to be all good but he doesn't even have the common decency to exist."

Atheists are Satanic.
"Just like theists are agnostic?"

Without God there is no morality. (This one too rendered me speechless, and angry actually)
"Are we talking about the God that ordered Moses to kill babies and asked people to set animals on fire because he liked the smell?"

God is perfect, and He couldn't be perfect if He didn't exist, which proves that He exists.
"No, it just proves he isn't perfect."

People who follow Jesus are good, so you should follow Jesus.
"Chemotherapy can cure cancer, so everyone should have chemotherapy."

Jesus was either a liar, a crazy person, or the son of God. He spoke against liars, and his behavior wasn't crazy, so the only remaining possibility is that he was the son of God.
"So you're telling me that if a polite, honest-looking, well-spoken, nicely dressed man walked up to you on the street and introduced himself as the earthly incarnation of God, you'd figure he probably is? Have you considered the possibility that you're the one who is crazy?"

There were eye witnesses that Jesus worked miracles.
"There are eye witnesses that Bigfoot exists, Uri Geller works miracles, and aliens abduct people."

Most people who know about Jesus believe in Him.
"If most people jumped off a bridge..."

I know from personal experience that God exists.
"No he doesn't. He told me so himself."

God wants you to believe in him without rational proof.
"Then he's certainly doing a fine job of not tempting me with evidence."

You say you don't believe that God exists, but the word "God" is meaningless if there is no such thing, so you are admitting that God exists even as you deny his existence. (This one is brilliant in its very "convolutedness")
"That reminds me, I don't believe you owe me $100."

Hitler was an atheist.
"I don't know about Hitler's religion, but I do know that he was heterosexual, so can I assume you're against that, too?"

Einstein believed in God. Do you think you're smarter than Einstein?
"If he believed in God, yes."

The founding fathers intended the United States to be a Christian nation. Atheists aren't welcome.
"Are you sticking with the whole 'slavery' thing, too?"

The universe is so complex that someone must have designed it.
"I don't know -- that sentence was fairly complex but there was obviously not much thought behind it."

Atheists believe in evolution, but if we teach our children evolution in public school they will believe that they are no better than animals and will grow up immoral.
"I've met public school children. Most of them aren't any better than animals."

Evolution violates the second law of thermodynamics.
"No, but God does."

Well, evolution's only a theory.
"So's your old man."

How can you not believe in Jesus Christ when the evidence is overwhelming? (Ah yes, this one. I don't NOT believe in JC, historically, that is. Which has nothing to do with divinity)
"Well, Jesus's divinity is only a theory."

There's proof that God exists, like the Bible and miracles.
"If your twenty-year-old son still believes in Santa Claus because he read a book about Santa visiting and presents magically appeared on Christmas morning when he was a child, would you praise him for having faith in the face of overwhelming evidence or call him an idiot?"

My parents raised me to believe in God. Are you calling my parents liars? (What can you answer to such an argument, really?)
"Can we talk about the Tooth Fairy for a minute?"

There are so many wonderful things in the world, how can you say there is no God?
"It's really pretty easy: 'There is no god.' See?"

There is so much beauty in the world that only God could have created it.
"My wife's beautiful, and my mother-in-law made her."

If there is no Heaven, then where do you go when you die?
"The same place you were before you were conceived, I assume."

You can't prove God doesn't exist. (Never ever answer - "and you can't prove that he does", it only brings on the miracles and bible and the world is beautiful argument - The perfect Catch-22)
"So?"

You don't know everything.
"Do you?"

You can't see air, but you believe in it. (Actually, I don't believe in air, anymore than I believe in wood or glass or water. It's there, it's a fact, not a belief)
"I can't see ignorance, but I can smell it. Right now, in fact."

You can't see love, but you believe in it.
"And I agree that god, like love, is just a concept."

God made His image appear in this tortilla!
(Eats tortilla)

You call yourself an atheist but you have faith. Everyone has faith in something. (Yep, I have faith in my brain and my ability to reason - at least for now, some days I doubt that too - and no doubt so does BB for that matter)
"I have faith that this conversation isn't going anywhere. Bye!"

Dear....

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Dear Ma'am,

a)  Leggings are not pants
b) Cellulite is not pretty under leggings.
c) If you wore the trend the first time around, chances are, you shouldn't try it when it rolls back.

These are good principles to keep in mind. I'm sure you think the leggings make you look youthful. But no, they make you look like nothing other than ridiculous. Because Ma'am, that was really really not a good look.

Not.
At.
All.

Helpfully,

Jazz

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Dear Men in General,

What the hell is the idea with open legs thing. On buses, in theaters, every time  you sit down.

Why do you open your legs that way? Do your balls need extra air? Are you wanting to show off your package? Because dudes, I really really don't care. In the morning I'm not awake enough to notice and in the evenings, I'm too tired to care. Besides, most of you don't have enough of a package for it to be noticeable in your pants. Unless you wear leggings - in which case, please see above.

I really do not appreciate sitting in the bus or on the plane or train and having you take up over half my allotted space with your spreading out. Close your damn legs already! Stop with the fucking sense of entitlement to all the available - or non available - space.

Because I just might have to haul along a hammer the next time I take public transport and shatter any part of your leg encroaching on my space.

Respectfully

Jazz

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Dear Visa:

I just received my new card with the nifty little microchip thingy that's all secure and coded with layers and layers and layers and is totally foolproof apparently.

According to you it's much better than a card with the magnetic strip which is way easy to get into.

According to you this is the future of credit cards, because my card? It is now unassailable.

I'd just like to point out the non-nifty magnetic strip on the back of my card (because so many people don't yet have the new microchip machines).

Let me also point out that by the time they DO have these machines, the microchip technology will have been circumvented by the bad guys and the cards will already be obsolete. But thank you for trying.

Admirably

Jazz

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Dear Jazz,

If it so annoys you that men take up all your space in the bus, why don't you say something about it, rather than just fume?

Because you're a pushover, that's why. Grow a spine Woman!

Annoyedly,

Jazz
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Why?

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Natural Instincts hair colour:

For women:  $10.49
For men       $9.49*

Nair hair remover:

For women: $9.57 *(200g)  
For men:      $6.89 (227g)

Gillette shaving gel:
For women: $4.17         
For men:      $3.97


Mennen Speed Stick and Lady Speed stick:
For women:  $4.47  (45g)
For men:       $4.47  (92g)

I didn't even compare shavers and shampoos and shower gels, but it's most probably safe to say men's versions are cheaper there too.

Once again, I ask:  Why?

What the fuck is wrong with this picture? Are women deemed too stupid to realize they're paying more for the same product? Well, I guess so since that's exactly what's going on.

Then why do we stand for it? Why don't we simply stop and buy men's products. Skin is skin is skin and ours is no more fragile or sensitive than theirs. Seriously, why should we be expected to pay up to and over a dollar more in some cases? I want to know.

Join the movement (well, start the movement actually). I've been using men's stuff for a long time. So what if the can is grey rather than pastel pink and green? If you can get the same thing cheaper in the men's aisle, do it!

Seriously, I'm annoyed.




*All prices regular at Jean Coutu pharmacy, which tends to be a little cheaper than Pharmaprix (Shoppers Drug Mart)

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The Journal Series - Part II

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Last week, I started posting stuff from my old journals. It seemed to be a hit, so I'll continue for a bit. Teenage angst gets real tedious real fast. Goddamn but teenagers can be boring, but then so can adults, so...

December 28, 1977

... Christmas itself was pretty dull, 'cept for the champagne, which by the way was delicious. I kept the bottle as a souvenir (and thus the abiding love story of my life was born, we have been together much longer than Mr. Jazz and I...)

March 24, 1978

I wonder what it's like to be old, I don't mean like 20 or 30. I mean really old like 50 or 60 or so (Ah pre-Jazz, now that I'm pushing 50 I have to think you are a most annoying little prat). I guess I'll have to wait and see. I wonder if I'll ever get there and if I even want to. It's weird to think of myself at 50 or 60 or 70 (and kiddo, it's even weirder to be there, scary weird actually, and believe me, it's weird to think of myself as 17). Somehow I don't see myself as a diligent grandmother baking cookies (In your Lit classes, this was called foreshadowing, and guess what? no kids, zip, nada - did I tell you I was lucid even back then? Yay me, at least I was seeing clearly sometimes).

March 28, 1978

From now on, guys'll be friends and nothing else. (Jazzy, they have to want to be your friends plus how can you have a broken heart - or something of that nature I guess, you weren't very precise - when you've never even had a boyfriend? Crushed by a crush? *insert eye roll here, please). Of course, I know myself well enough to not really believe this (kudos to you, you boy crazy adolescent). There must be someone somewhere, at least I hope so (ain't that just the saddest most pathetic thing? The be all and end all of my existence:  I just wanted someone to love me...)

June 11, 1978

The prom was yesterday, and guess what? Yep, I didn't go. Instead Ann (names have been changed to protect the innocent  - not that I know who or where they are anymore, but isn't changing names the done thing?)  and I went to a restaurant for supper and then we went roller skating (I knew how to roller skate? Who the hell knew...) It was nice (classic case of "no one invited me but  I really really didn't want to go anyway you know"). I guess I should throw out my pass for the prom, but I feel like keeping it as a memory of the useless end of high school (I never was a fan of high school, but I might already have mentioned that). L (I didn't bother changing that, who the hell is she???) came to see me at 10:00 am to gloat about the prom - I could've killed her. She wasn't supposed to go but at the last minute she asked an ex boyfriend to go and he said yes (exes! she had an ex and I had never even had a boyfriend!!! colour me green ...). And Lou went with a guy she hardly knew and now they're going out! (adding insult to injury). It's no fair (dude, life ain't fair, it's good to learn the lesson as soon as possible).

July 14, 1978

I'm starting to think the only ones who aren't crazy on earth are the ones that we supposedly sane people consider cracked. Maybe they're the only really sane people. Maybe they're right now planning a mass uprise [sic] and they'll put us all away instead (as you can see, I also had my philosophical moments and yes, I'm utterly embarrassed at the inanity).

August 2, 1978

I saw in an article that young people are returning to old values (seems like every year someone is touting a return to old values, it obviously is nothing new. I wonder if they returned to old values back in the day when the old values were the new values, or whatever). I think it might be true. In my case anyway. I was thinking about it on the bus, and even if before I had been ready to live with a guy, now what I want is to get married, no shacking up for me thank you very much! (famous last words - at least I wasn't talking about having kids - I plead temporary insanity for that little nugget).

August 11, 1978

I want to leave. Once I've finished school I want to have an adventure, i want to travel I don't at all want to get married only to regret it a couple of years later because I've never done anything. (I never did travel after school... that took a few years. more's the pity. It would have done me a world of good, but i acted all "responsible", and instead fled to Montreal to reinvent myself - at school and then I got a job - it's the best I could force myself to do in the way of "rebellion"). There are so many things I want to do, mostly to travel for a year and to make it (that's sufficiently vague to leave the way wide open)... and I want to get married and have children when I'm certain I've done all I want to do. (well there's a flip. I came to my senses about the kid thing, luckily. I wouldn't have made the best of moms).

... I try to pretend like I have confidence in myself. I'm starting CEGEP (a sort of weird hybridwe have in Quebec between high school and university - it equals about the last year of HS and the first of uni in the rest of North America) soon, leaving my life and my friends behind me and jumping into a whole new world. (How's that for melodrama?) Don't tell, but I'm terrified....  I know it'll be ok after a while, but diving is the scary part. Going back to English school where I don't know anyone at all... 

Luc, that guy I met at D's place wants us to go out together, he wants to be my boyfriend! I said I'd have to think about it (ever the prudent one, but it's never a good sign when you have to think about it - it also isn't a good sign when you re-read your diary and think, who? because honestly, he didn't leave a lasting impression, I have no idea who this person is. The slate? it was wiped clean of him. You'd think after wanting a boyfriend for so long, the least I owe him is to remember him, but no, I'm drawing a total blank).  I think I'm going to say yes. I'll have to tell mom, but I think she won't mind. D wants me to ask him if her ex is interested in her because she's still in love with him (for the record, I believe her persistence paid off, she waited years for the guy, but finally convinced him she was the woman for him. This bit of trivia I know because D is my cousin and I heard about this through my mom I think) I was too shy to ask though. I have to stop that too. (cause shyness can be switched off like a light, for the record, it didn't work, even to this day).

And thus ends journal number 2. Is my life riveting or what? More on Luc in the next installment.
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You know you're getting old when...

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You think it's utterly ridiculous that a demonstration against police brutality would be staged again this year. In Montreal of all place.

You think the police did well to make the 100 or so arrests of idiots who were throwing bricks and rocks at them, among other violence.

You think that violence to protest against violence just confirms that you are indeed the idiots you seem to be.
 

Photo by Patrick Sansfaçon, La Presse

I fully understand the young hating authority, but c'mon, I can't help but think lots of people would love to have to deal with the level of police brutality we have here.

If Montreal cops are what you consider brutal, you should try a couple of other countries. Get over yourselves.

Yep, I'm getting old.

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