Solace for Squirrels

I found a great pork loin recipe over on Real Simple. Porc wrapped in bacon, and lightly stuffed with dried cherries and allspice. It was easy and very tasty.
Here a link to the recipe.

This just arrived in the mail today. It's bad enough that our neighbourhood is called "Tooting", but did they really have to call the newsletter "Tooting Together"?

Where the hell is Matt:


Jesus is my friend by Sonseed:


Cat vs. Printer:


Bill O'Reilly freaks out:


The count loves ****ing!

Ok, so after having a good laugh at my significant other's filing system yesterday I can now, perhaps, admit that it might have some merits... I just spent 2 hours looking for my Quebec notice of assessment from last year (didn't find it), so that I could get my access code for netfile (ya, couldn't find that either), so that I could file my taxes online. I finally found the access code, but damn did it take a long time. I'm very organised at work, so I'm not quite sure why those skillz don't transfer to my at home behaviour. Perhaps it's for the same reasons that I eat cookie dough at 3am.

A list of file folders I recently discovered in my boyfriend's filing cabinet:

• Blender
• British Airways
• CFL (he's not a linebacker)
• Sony (clock radio, speakers)
• Umbrella

And seriously, I didn't include some other good ones (like Samsonite). Methinks he might be a tad obsessed.

As with most women (and men, I'm assuming), I suffer from the occasional bout of binge eating. I'm not sure where it comes from, and don't feel like sitting in a therapists chair for the next 2 years to figure it out. To control these urges, I generally try to keep tempting foods out of my place. The only downside to this brilliant plan is that the binge still wins me over - I just end up eating something totally ridiculous, given that there's really nothing in the apartment that could actually satisfy my craving.

Some of my most recent creations:

• Butter, flour and sugar mashed together in a bowl (ah waz aimeeng for da cookie dough)


• Ryvita smothered in butter and honey, eaten continuously until the package ran out


• Melted butter cooked in a pan with brown sugar and oatmeal (covered wit da vanillaz ace cream)


• An unhealthy amount of avocados (like many, many more than you'd put into a guacamole you planned to serve to a crowd of 20+ people coming over for your mexican themed housewarming party)


• An entire package of Quaker Tendre/Chewy chocolate covered granola bars (weet da marshmallows!)

Sigh... Maybe what I really need to do next is make myself a yummy invisible sandwich.

That's it. I am officially banned from clicking on the "PURCHASE" section of my itunes while consuming even modest amounts of alcohol. You may laugh and say, but why? Alcohol and music go so nicely together! Well here's the problem. One might equate it to waking up in bed in the morning after a hard night of partying, and finding a very sketchy... song in the bed next to you. You're not quite sure why you liked it the night before, but it certainly got you groovin'. And now, it's just scaring you.

Recent samples of REALLY BAD musical choices that I've made while consuming drink of choice for a lonely Friday night (Bristol Cream Sweet Sherry):

• YEAH! by Usher and featurin' other homies. Choices lines from this masterpiece "she got me feeling like I'm wanting to blow!"... (followed my many repetitions of the word YEAH)
• The entire new Jacksoul album, which although fairly nice and not too offensive is just so far from what I would download when in full control of my senses (who in their right mind covers Ashlee Simspon?)
• The extended dance mix of Bizarre Love Triangle. It's a great song at the club (perhaps I thought I was at a party in my head). Not so hot when sober.
• I don't feel like Dancin' by the Scissor Sisters. Do I really need to own a bad rip off of the BeeGees?
• Too Close by Next. The opening line says it all... "I wonder if she can tell I'm hard right now". Damn. I bought this? Seriously? Perhaps it was the clever pun repeated throughout the song, "Baybee, you're makin' it hard for meeeeee!" . Hard indeed.

I could go on, but I've already admitted to spending my heard earned dollars on bad, bad music. We'll just leave it at that, and remember kids: Don't Drink and Download!

Ah, Captain Slappy Squireel... where are you when we need you? Come by for a visit sometime.

Unwittingly, I occasionaly manage to create new life within my fridge's fragile ecosystem. The usual culprits are (a) any openned canned goods that I kept in the can with the intention of finishing off sometime soon; (b) anything in tupperware; and (c) crisper stow-aways. I think I should really start realising that if I don't eat it that night or bring it to work the next day, it will likely become a fridge friend.

At the moment there is a particular smell that gently floats through the air every time I open the fridge. I CLEARLY have a new fridge friend, but it's in hiding. I have tossed out a few culprits put I still think he's hanging around. AAARG. I really find all things furry to be cute, but for some reason fuzzy mold doesn't fall into that category. Yuck. Ok, back to hunting... If it's a freezer friend I'm really in trouble.

Do you ever have one of those days where despite your best efforts, you end up feeling like a moron? I consider myself to be a reasonably intelligent person. I do have a horrible memory (abysmal, really), but apart from that I can function fairly well on a day to day basis. There are times, however, where I surprise even myself with my stupidity. It's great when these particular moments of insanity have no witnesses, but often (malheureusement) they do.

I rented a car this weeked to drive to Ottawa. Intead of getting the Yaris that I had ordered, I was "upgraded" to a behemoth Dodge Charger. The thing is so huge that I nearly took out the parking attendant and a couple of pedestrians on the way out of the lot. In any event, after 30 minutes on the highway I had to stop for gas (the beast had guzzled a quarter of a tank already). When I pulled up to the pump, I quickly started looking around for the latch/button for the gas tank. I hunted around in all of the usual places to no avail. I saw a pedal that looked like it had potential, but wasn't marked. In fact, that was for the hood (fuck...). I managed to open the trunk (fantastic.). Frustrated, I then turned to the manual and looked under "gas tank". I learned all about the car's fuel capacity, efficiency (lack thereof) and where to find the tank. Nothing about how open the bloody thing though. I finally conceded that I needed help, so went over to the attendant on the full-service side. I explained that I had rented a boat, and had no idea how to open the gas tank. He smiled a toothless smile, walked over to the gas tank, and opened the hatch. "Dees ones don't lock, you see". Fuck.... FUCK FUCK. I felt, like, SO SUPER SMART. "Ahhhhh." I said, "well that's very interesting. Thanks so much. "

So there you have it. I'm allowed to be an illegal retard every once in a while, no?

I was feeling entirely lethargic last night and decided to stretch out on my excessively large sectional couch and veg in front of the tv. As I flipped randomly through the channels, I quickly became aware that there was nothing on worth watching. But I'm not a quitter, so I was determined to find something, anything, to catch my attention. I didn't last long on "America's got talent", and reruns of "Law and Order". I even tried to pay attention to the shopping Network's dubbed, french ad for some sort of miracle mini-blender (after the host's sixth exclamation of "c'est incroyable!" I had to change channels... I couldn't take it anymore). Finally I stumbled on a nature documentary on CBC's french language network, Radio Canada. Compared to all of the other insanity on the tube that night, a documentary about camels seemed like a pleasant proposition.

I learned quite a bit about camels. Did you know that the males have a giant tongue sac that they flip outside of their mouths when attempting to impose their dominance? They also emit a defeaning grunt/gurgle (related to the tongue sac) while frothing terribly at the mouth. One camel was frothing so profusely that goo had reached his ears. Quite impressive!

In any event, the documentary was interesting and educational. But then, as in often the case in nature documentaries, "harsh reality" set in for the group of camels and their cute, adorable fluffy calves. The group, made up mainly of mothers and their babies, had run off to get away from some frothing, fighting males. A little camel, however, wasn't able to keep up and eventually lost them. They showed this helpless little creature wandering the bush, looking for his family, to no avail. Then the commentator said, "What's that? Are those the far off sounds of his family? The little one seems confused, but follows the sounds in the hopes of finding them." You might have guessed what comes next. Yes, Coyotes. A big, bloody pack of hungry canines, ready to rip fluffy to threads.

I'm mean COME ON! It was just about as uplifting as watching baby bunnies trapped in small cage with a giant python. I know nature is cruel, but I just didn't want to be reminded of that fact so forcefully that night.

I pre-emtively turned off the tube and decided that I would have been much better off watching some chump try to fit himself through the frame of a tennis racquet on America's got Talent. Arg. Veg night ruined. I'll make sure to stick to mindless telly next time.

Walking through the Montreal underground the other day, I noticed an ad put up by the transit commission. The STCUM (societé de transport de la communauté urbain de montreal), or St. Cum (as we anglos like to call it) had created a series of ads to encourage transit users to be more considerate. This particular ad was warning against illegally blocking subway doors, calling it an "illegal delay". Given that Montreal has strict language laws about all signs being in French, the ad reads, "blockage de portes: retard illegal". The only problem with the ad (apart from the bad graphics) is the fact that it takes on an entirely new meaning when read in English. And given that Montreal is a bilingual city, odds are good that you might do so. The placement of the text doesn't help, clearly placing "illegal" before (though slightly lower than) "retard". So you can probably understand why I suddenly burst out laughing when I saw this ad from the transit commission blasting all of the "illegal retards" who enjoy blocking subway doors. In case you don't believe me, here's the ad in all of its glory.


Maybe I'm just crazy, but I'm no illegal retard. Someone in their marketing department either has a great sense of humour or should have their head checked.

I've been making frequent trips to Ottawa recently. I'd heard through the grapevine that an old roommate of mine from Toronto was now living there, so I decided to reconnect. A quick email and two weeks later, we had set plans to meet for brunch and catch up on the past 7 years.

To give you a bit of the backstory, my friend had lived with us for all of 7 months before the pressure of University became too overwhelming and she left town. She's smart and extremely well read, but was a complete and utter hypochondriac. When she started to fall behind in her work, there was no end to the medical ailments from which she suffered, allowing exams and papers to be rescheduled, extended, or canceled altogether. She was already heavily in debt, but had difficulty finishing any of her classes. In any event, upon her departure, which was fairly sudden, we were left to take care of her Gerbil, Pip. I'm not sure why Pip was left behind; perhaps she had recently developed a fatal allergy to rodents. To make things worse, this furry creature was "rescued" from a university test lab and had no back legs. He spent his days dragging his tiny body through piles of sawdust.

So here we were, 7 years later. After two hours, I couldn't help but remind myself that the more things change, the more they stay the same. Except now instead of a legless gerbil, she had a two year old child. Heavily in debt and still in school, she talked about having exams delayed/rescheduled to suit her daycare needs. Despite being in year one of law school, she hopes to (re)apply to med school in 3 years and start the long and tedious journey to becoming a psychiatrist (9 years, total). All of this, while in the same breath speaking painfully about how difficult it is to have such a heavy student debt. Perhaps some people just enjoy being perpetual students, but if after 10 years in school I had only completed one undergraduate degree, I think I might start to worry a little.

I'm not sure if we'll be meeting up again, but I enjoyed the opportunity to reconnect with someone from my past. Speaking of which, I wonder what Pip's up to these days?

When I mentioned to my friends that my upcoming date was with an online stranger from a town called Chateaugay, three of them cringed. They wouldn't give any specifics on why I shouldn't go; simply that the odds my dreamdate would come from there were slim to none.

Next time, I'll listen to them.

I ordered a beer and sat down at the designated meeting spot. After waiting for about 20 minutes, he finally arrived. After a few minutes of generic banter, he proceeded to talk about his stunning chest (which was anything but), his myriad of psychotic ex girlfriends (one of whom was apparently a lesbian, but the sex was so good with him that she made an exception), and his recovery from a recent nervous breakdown. The discussion went on to topics such as why he could never trust a French Canadian girlfriend (apparently because all of his F-C friends' girlfriends want to sleep with him), and how the only nice girl he's met (apart from me) was his cute german cousin who came to visit a few years ago.

I haven't communicated with him since, although he did send an email offering his "services" if I was ever interested.

Yes, Klassy with a capital K. The moral of the story: listen to your friends, and stay far, far away from boys from Gay Castle.

Today at work, my colleagues and I were having a fairly cordial email debate after someone sent a link about how French president Chirac left an EU meeting in a huff when one of his fellow frenchman switched from french to english in the middle of a speech.

After a few minutes one of my coworkers jokingly sent out an email saying "Vous me faite tousse chier ma gagne d’osti d’anglais - <== try translating that one haha". So I popped it into the google translator, and here was the result:
"You made me coughs to shit my gains English osti". Wow. I really couldn't have found a less relevant or more comedic translation if I'd tried. I know that the total lack of proper spelling in the original french text is mostly to blame, but high five to google for such an awesome translation. Seriously. I nearly shit my gains laughing.

I can't stop eating olives. It's nearly half past midnight, and I have been stuffing my face with them for the past 2 hours. The worst thing about eating olives is that there's a visible record of how many you've eaten... lying in front of me is a fairly massive mound of pits. I can't "pretend" like I do with chips, crackers or cookies that I've really only had a few. I can see the olive carcasses, the gnawed-on remains of my feast. Ugh.

That's all for now. More thrilling posts to come.

An update on my last post....
Despite my noble intentions, sexy boots, and a reasonable amount of self confidence, last night with the ex was in many ways a somewhat bitter experience. I tried to rise above it all and be happy for his new life with wife and child. And truly, I believe I was doing well until he whipped out the (a) baby photos and (b) VIDEOS OF HIS PERFECT AND HAPPY FAMILY (including the staple golden retriever pup). After about 20 minutes of viewing I suggested we head out for dinner (before I succumbed to the overwhelming urge to floss my eyeballs).

After dinner I drove him to the airport where he caught his flight home to domestic bliss. It's very odd to see a player settle down - the feeling was almost cultish, like he had repressed his former self and tucked his schmoozing charm away somewhere (mid-life crisis at 40?). He's grown up, but lost a bit of himself in the process (perhaps not such a bad thing).

Despite the occasional pang of bitterness (did I mention he's soon being transferred to Paris?), I actually appreciate being able to see with a bit more clarity where I came from and where I'm heading.

(Ya, right.)

This Friday, I will be meeting up with an ex boyfriend whom I have not seen in over 5 years. Since our last meeting, he has wedded and procreated. I have adopted a cat.

I'm not quite sure how I'll react when I see him. When we last met, I was bitter. I had been a complete and utter retard in love, making far too many excuses for his very un-boyfriendly behaviour. In the end he broke my heart, then ripped it out of my chest and did a little jig (I was, needless to say, somewhat bitter at his betrayal).

But now, five years later, I'm over being angry and am mostly just curious. Curious about how seeing him again will offer insight into how much I've changed (or haven't). Ex's are often like ghosts (and I'm not talking about friendly, Casper-like one's) - you mourn them after a breakup but some part of them lingers in your periphery. I'm hoping that seeing him again will get rid of the ghost once and for all. Either that or it will completely backfire and I'll end up being a miserable wreck at the end of the evening, huddled in a blanket in the fetal position listening to James Blunt and drinking shots of vanilla vodka.

Regardless of what happens, it should be an entertaining evening. And of course, I will endeavour to look extra sexy (perhaps the CFM boots are in order) just to remind him of what he could have had. A stupid strategy, methinks, but revenge is a dish best served cold.

This past weekend, some friends and I decided to get out of town on a little ski vacation at Mt. Ste. Anne. If we'd had some sort of psychic insight into the weather before booking our chalet, we probably would have chosen ANY other weekend to book other than this one. But we didn't, and it was cold. And not just chilly. We're talking -30 (with that evil wind chill). I knew I was in trouble when, after only two runs, my left eyelid was practically frozen shut. "You have icicles on your left eye!" my friend said with a gentle chortle. The ski shop made a mint off of me as I soon purchased not only new goggles, but new gloves and warmer socks as well. Despite spending too much money, I certainly felt better on the slopes after donning my new purchases. It pays to dress warm and be prepared.

And since this crazy winter weather is here for at least a little while, I thought I'd check out the Canada Safety council's recommendations on cold weather:

1. Wear a warm hat. Most body heat is lost through the head (check. I think this one's a no-brainer).
2. Wear layered clothing. Proper layers will allow warm air to stay trapped but do not trap perspiration next to the skin. (I recommend wrapping yourself in cellophane then in a tight garbage bag - really great for breathability and perspiration)
3. Protect your feet and hands. Wear loose waterproof boots. Mittens warm the hands more effectively than gloves. (I got gloves with mitten outsides and fingers inside - a wonderful combo)
4. Prevent dehydration and exhaustion, which can lead to hypothermia. Drink plenty of non-alcoholic fluids. Pace yourself when doing vigorous activity (like drinking copious amounts of alcoholic fluids).
5. Stay fit through good physical conditioning and good nutrition. Try to stay in a heated environment, but not so hot as to cause excessive sweating. You risk hypothermia when you seek to cool down by leaving a hot environment for a cool one. (like leaving the fireside at the chalet to run drunk and naked through the snow?)
6. Eat high energy food, such as nuts and raisins. (can also tote emergency squirrel trained to search surroundings for said nuts and raisins)
7. Avoid alcohol, coffee, tea and tobacco. They can cause heat loss. (sigh...)

So now you know. And knowing, says G.I. Joe, is half the battle.

In a somewhat (or totally) futile attempt at creativity, I shall now write a poem using only song titles from my itunes collection.

One day
All is full of love...
Violently happy, let forever be.

Possibly maybe
All I want is you.

But
I'm no angel,
We're not right.

In the end there's no need to argue.
It's easier to walk away.

Funny things that my French Canadian friend says in English:

- Cuttelry instead of cutlery (as in "damn that IKEA cuttelry is cheap!").
- Put up instead of put out (as in "I'm not putting up unless you take me out to a nice dinner").
- Come IN a building instead of come to a building (as in "I know this place - I used to come in that building a lot").

Funny things I've accidentally said in French:

- Used the wrong word to introduce people to eachother (introduire instead of presenter), which apparently implied that I wanted them to have sex and not just to get to know eachother.
- Offered my coworker Sunflower penises instead of sunflower seeds (still can't quite figure that one out)
- Wanted to say that someone had a bruise on their face, but ended up saying that they had an Eskimo on it.
- Told my friend not to worry, that the genital would soon be coming to my apartment to fix the leaky faucet.

Ah, the joys of learning a second language...

This week went by reasonably quickly. Perhaps because work kept me busy, I couldn't quite get at what was bothering me. Was it the fact that I didn't manage to get to the gym even once this week? My cat's decision to start a loud one-sided conversation with the wall at 5am? The pigeons forming a family on my balcony (they'll be buying a minivan soon, I swear)? No, it was simpler than all of that. The word of the week, I hate to say, is REJECTION. (on the topic, the banana and spoon-toting stick figure are from Don Hertzfeld's classic animated short "Rejected")

As a serial monogamist, I have managed to avoid the ups and downs of dating for most of my life. As luck would have it, I fell for guys who fell for me and off into relationship land we'd go. But perhaps I wasn't lucky at all, since I now find myself approaching 30 and having a hell of a time getting used to being shot down... a lot. I'm also completely clueless about how to properly go about doing the rejecting. I gasp when I think that I nearly ended a budding relationship with a text message today. Fortunately I sought the advice of a friend who quite rightly stated that my idea was just about as cruel as a kick in the balls (she's very direct). So I reluctantly made the dreaded phonecall, which in the end was probably the best way of handling it.

On the receiving end, I was rejected today in an email from a guy with whom I was totally smitten. I spent a few minutes wanting to bang my head against the wall, thought about which horrible chocolatey treat from the vending machine would ease my pain, then decided that I was being ridiculous. If I take each and every rejection this personally, I'm going to be a wreck in 6 months (not to mention 50 lbs overweight). A friend told me that they key is to have no expectations, and I think she's absolutely right. I was so excited about this guy that I actually believed he might still be interested after he neglected to call me for 2 weeks. Brutal! Oh well - lesson learned. Here's to developing a tougher skin and hoping that the right guy comes along sooner rather than later.

There's quite a bit of snow falling outside tonight. Enough that the snow clearing trucks have started driving up and down the streets, horns blaring, to drag people out of their cozy homes to move their cars. I remember when I first moved to Montreal and heard the snow clearing "infini-honk" for the first time. I couldn't understand why some lunatic would randomly drive through this quiet neighbourhood at ungodly hours blaring his horn - how inconsiderate! Finally one morning I got out of bed to take a look, at which point I realised that it was I and not he, that was insane. The truck was equipped with a giant plow and a flashing light. He was driving like a maniac, mind you.

Perhaps even more scary than the street plows are the "mini-plows" whose task it is to clear the sidewalks. God forbid you happen to step out of your house when one of those suckers is whipping by... SPLAT. Perhaps they feel the need to speed as compensation for their smaller equipment.

Despite the snow-clearing equipment, Montreal is beautiful in the winter. The snow has the added benefit of muting many of the usual neighbourhood sounds, so tonight is pleasantly quiet. So quiet in fact, that I will be off to bed now for a nice night's rest.