dimanche, février 27, 2005

le escape

is going well, thank you for asking.

the past two days have been the best in recent memory. Currently neasa and I are compiling a photo essay, which may at some point grace these hallowed pages...

the two of us, actually two halves of one rather insane human being, have been running between shoe stores like there's no tomorrow. Every so often we stop to eat, or drink-like last night when, for my good behaviour, I was awarded with a pub crawl of harvard square which ended up late/early staring out at the city from a 24th floor window. this morning: a bleary but heartbreakingly lovely breakfast whereupon I made the startling discovery that plastic cheese equates with real cheese here. hmmm. Montreal wins for omlettes.

drive through MIT campus, running riot around downtown. A two hour walk back from the bus stop, which was wierd, because it should have taken 3 minutes: insert yet another shoe store, mexican food, buying terrible terrible celebrity gossip magazines, German licorace sold by an aging transvestite, a whirl through the fine arts building, two movie stores....

sated with all things non academic, we have collapsed and are doing little more than reaching for more licorace and turning the shiny pages of US weekly.

having a wonderful time.

(looking into therapy for shoe addictions... ahhhh fuck it. it's genetic!)

mercredi, février 23, 2005

"but if you wear spandex...

...don't you automatically fly?"

again, where I least expect it, grace comes in odd forms.

midnight conversations planning world domination by two superheros, Clout and Wiseness, had me laughing so hard my stomach aches now-a day later.

lundi, février 21, 2005

the ringer

details not necessary- been through the wringer this week.

Funny expression, (probably picked it up from my mum as I do most of my odd turns of phrase...case in point: kerfuffle.... or shambols...) It stems from what happened to clothes in the olden days when they used wringer washers. I am by no means well equipped to extrapolate on the details of wringer washers, but I have seen one and actually used it once or twice.

-Anglican summer camp, we used to threaten the kids with death by wringer washer if they didn't go to sleep fast so we could go make out with the boy counsellors-

The clothes would be washed sent through the wringer to get all the water out so they would dry faster. The wringers are two cylinders that sit one on top of the other lengthwise and roll in opposite directions. The clothes get fed through the small space between the two wringers and their rolling pushes them through and squeezes out all the moisture.

The clothes come out looking all limp and haggared. Fit only to be hung on a line in the breeze for an afternoon, slowly regaining their shape with each breath of wind.

Sometimes disasters occured and clothes got stuck in the wringer and tore at the seams. They would get hung up too, more carefully than the others, and would be mended when they were dry.

The wringers of exhaustion, stress, infidelity, insomnia and freak weather patterns have left me limp and ripped at the seams.

My breezes come in the form of pachebel's canon, hot water bottles and scottish accents, soup, and an escape to Boston.

It's taken a while to realize that there is no shame in escaping...

dimanche, février 13, 2005

happy birthday...

...to me!

going to ottawa to skate on the rideau canal.

sooooo excited.

mercredi, février 09, 2005

mutant parcel from hell...

this is the conversation I just had with my mother over messenger. Verbatim. And, having reduced both me and Nina to hysterics, I felt the need to share it.

(best to read it w/ my mother's voice in your ears... if you don't know my mum, she has a Canadian accent and a very dry sense of humour, and tends to start laughing before the funny parts. somtimes she snorts when she laughs-but it's not her fault: family trait. I come from a long line of laugh-snorters.)

Joan says:
your b'day pressies got sent y'day.

Claire says:

Joan says:
remember that you left your pressie from Aunty Cindy? So we had one box with her present already wrapped and another one from us. In hindsight, the logical thing would have been to get a monster big box for both and fill it up with popcorn and send that, BUT in typical 1st born, single focus (your Dad) fashion we wrapped two parcels separately.

Sooooooooooooo.... There I am: 2 pkgs in front of the Post Office lady who says: What have we got here?

Me: Birfday Pressies

She: When does the one for Montreal have to get there?

Me: They're both for MOntreal

She: The same address?

Me: Yes

She: ?????????

Me: a brief explanation

She: so, they're both going to the same address

Me: Yep

She: It's going to cost you a lot to get them there by Sunday
......she figures it out, tells me and then has to wave smelling salts under my nose.......
She: but it would be less if it was only one parcel

I have visions of taking the parcels home to your Dad. This is not a good vision.....

Me: ummmmm

She: Is it ok if it is only one parcel?

Me: sure

She: OK
and she picks up the magic tape dispenser and proceeds to make 2 parcels into 1!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I wanted to make a little sign and stick it on saying: Post Office Lady Did This!!

Claire says:

Joan says:
Honey: you’re laughing now; wait til you SEE it!!!

Soooooooooo while she is going ballistic with the tape dispensing I notice the Valentines and think –DAMMIT we didn't put your Valentine in…sooooooo the Valentine Mum picks out a not too sloppy one

Claire says:
oh god!

Joan says:
writes in it, licks and sticks the envelope, and writes your address on the front, and puts a stamp on except mail has gone up and I need a 1 cent stamp, which she is quite happy to sell me BUT…she wants to know

"And how much was the card?"
which is now in the licked and sticked envelope.....

hmmmmmm, says I

Back to the card rack.....
Is there another card?
Is the sky green?
Is there an "F" in way?

By this time, your parcel looks like something that would not get through any customs office anywhere and certainly ain't going to make it with anyone with a packing tape phobia

there is, miraculously, only me and the PO Lady (guess everyone else who needed postal issues could feel the vibes....) still at the counter.

Sooooooooooo I pull off about 3 cards, and hand them to her price side up

She: You want three more cards?

Me: Uh no, there isn't another one of the one that's already in the envelope so I thought you could choose your price

She now gives me the look I've been wanting to give her and STILL doesn't crack a smile.
(does she do things like amalgamate people's parcels to screw Canada Post everyday????)

Claire says:

Joan says:
and then charges me for the cheapest card of the bunch laid out before her!!!

I pay up, say "thanks very much" and she said (straight faced) that you could keep any mail that got inadvertently caught under the tape!!!!! You'll see what I mean when the parcel arrives if some Canada Post fanatic hasn't slashed them apart!!! Make sure your paring knife is sharp - I think the weight went up about 500gms just tape alone.

Claire says:
this sounds like the mutant parcel from hell

Joan says:
make sure you have tongs and protective clothing

The PO Lady has been handling your mail from Dad since before Lebanon
so maybe she wondered who the Hell I was sending you parcels???

Claire says:
that is the best story ever

Joan says:
just hope it gets there "in one piece"

Claire says:
piece... being relative...right?

mardi, février 08, 2005


so I bought some skates yesterday.

and now it is going to be hovering around 3C for the rest of the week.

one day I will appreciate this irony.

dimanche, février 06, 2005


It's the first time I have been by myself, alone, in almost two days. Yesterday was a brilliant, wonderful day filled with brilliant wonderful people, but sleep was a relief in that I could finally shut down and not have to interact. Today I bounced from shopping w/ Ninn for bass player clothes, to choir rehearsal, and finally to the theatre where I am the front of house manager. I am in the otherwise unoccupied office right now, trying out the new internet connection. Wireless, my dears, is the greatist thing since the gold sequined shoes I caved into yesterday.

Yesterday Nina came over for tea which turned into dinner, and, while manger-ing on baguette and cheese and pate we talked for hours. About boys. Because, really... what else is there to talk about? Obviously the various males in our lives are the center around which we orbit. Of course it is necessary to spend hours discussing the inner workings of their brains. We have to learn to put ourselves in their positions, understand things from their perspectives: then it will all make sense. Really. How else could it work?

Or not. Forgive the cyanide laced sarcasm of the previous paragraph, it's been a rough few days on the XY chromosonal front. My own particular relationship is not the one at issue (things there are lovely, he skates like a deamon, makes me laugh, and is learning not to take my insanity personally) but some of my closest friends seem to be constantly evaluating and re-evaluating the status of their relationships. It is tiring to listen to, and must be more tiring to keep up on a daily basis. I wonder where the urge to have things be perfect comes from? And the lack of patience for things to work themselves out in a timely fashion?

Maybe it's our ages: early 20's are not known to be humanity's most rational years. Maybe it is the immediacy of communication: it's easier to react without thought when we can pick up the phone and leave angry voice mails or fire off stinging emails. Maybe we so desperately want to know that things will turn out alright that we are willing to lose sight of the current to focus on a distant fuzzy version of a future.

Mostly, I think we all need a good dose of perspective.

mercredi, février 02, 2005


walking three abreast on a sidewalk, already narrowed by snow banks, is a complete violation of basic sidewalk manners and protocol.

Don't do it.

Also: when walking with another person, the correct way to deal with an oncoming pedestrian is to move into single file to allow for ample passing room. Under no circumstances should one remain beside one's walking partner rudely forcing the oncoming party into the aforementioned snowbanks.

It's uncool. Really.

I will walk all over you.