I must apologize for the sporadic posts lately. Though, judgeing from my sidebar, many other people seem to be distracted from their blogs as well. I hope this post will make up for it.
I left last Wednesday for a multi-stop vacation. I took a bus north to 1) Present my sex talk to Mr. Wonderful's house of teenagers and 2) have teenage-like sex with Mr. Wonderful.
Mr. Wonderful rented us a cabin on the water with a fireplace. It was lovely and cozy, though the fireplace didn't actually give off any heat. After getting settled, we went over to the house so I could meet the kids and have supper. After some chatting and mingling, they went off to offer a peace offering to another house which they pilage - supposedly all in good fun, though the house in question did not see it that way, hence the peace offering.
Upon their return, I started my talk. My agenda fell by the wayside, and I skipped to the good stuff. There was plenty to talk about, and it went quite well, I think. About two hours in, though, the attention was starting to wane, so I quickly finished up so we could all get on with better things. For them, it was getting drunk or doing whatever else teenagers do, and for me, it was bumpin' uglies with MW.
The next day was spent exploring the town - meaning we went to the mall. After over a year of me lusting over
Antonio Banderas' cologne, Mr. Wonderful finally bought it, in his typical sneaky way. Unfortunately, we no longer had a place to conduct our relations, but that smell made we want to rip MW's clothes off and bury my face into the crook of his neck. Yummy.
Later on, we gather the kids into the van and travelled the 45 minutes to where I was to catch my train to Montreal. MW acted like the typical male, and I the typical female, by not stopping to ask for directions while I shreiked in his ear. Thankfully, we found the station in time, only to find out the train was an hour late. I decided to upgrade my ticket so that I had a sleeper car in both directions, not just on the way up, as I had originally planned. It turned out to be a great (if not expensive) decision.
I found my compartment and made myself at home. I watched a movie (without headphones!) and got ready for bed. I did not sleep well, because I decided to forgo the earplugs, and slept with my head near the window. Both of these factors made for a rather noisy sleep. I learned my lesson on the return trip.
I woke up near 6 the next morning - tired, but anxious. After a shower and a ridiculously overpriced continental breakfast, I arrived in Montreal at about 8:30.
The Montreal train station is very exciting. It's large and open, with a few shops and cafes all around, with lots of people rushing around, in every colour, speaking every language imaginable. Surprisingly, I found myself extremely comfortable speaking French while shopping around while waiting for my train to Ottawa. Maybe it was due to the unlikelyhood that I would see any of these people again. Nevertheless, it was nice to actually feel confident with my French skills. Okay, somewhat confident.
On the train to Ottawa, I sat beside a stodgy old professor-like man who seemed annoyed at any little thing I did. I ended up falling asleep so as not to incur his rath.
After finally arriving in Ottawa, I called a cab to my sister's apartment. Let the games begin! I brought up my bags and unpacked the presents I had brought up with me. I watched daytime TV while waiting for a phonecall from her roomate to make sure everything was still a go. He called, and had decided to change the plans somewhat to guarantee that we would catch her.
I, amazingly, found my way to the gallery where my sister worked. Thank goodness for Mapquest, because I never would have found it otherwise. Well, I would have, but I would have had to ask a million people.
So, I arrived at the bookstore where we were going to surprise her. Robert, her roomate would tell her that he just hired a new person and that they 'knew her parents'. Haha. Once they rounded the bookshelve I was hiding behind, I jumped out and yelled 'surprise!'. And, oh, she was! What a great feeling to make someone feel like that. I must say that both our eyes were a bit watered.
After a few moments of filling her in on what had happened in the last few weeks (including a rather unfortunate, though inconsequential, email sent to the wrong sister) we made our way over to a pub and drank and talked. More people joined us and, well, a good time was had by all.
The next day was spent preparing the for the party my sister was holding in honour of herself. The party was fantastic, and it was nice to meet all of her friends. I especially bonded with a cute girl named Émilie, who needed a bit of advice and education. For a short period of time, I had become the resident sexpert, which was quite invigorating because most of the time I was with a group of people who all worked in the 'art community', a community I know little about.
The following morning, my sister and I walked downtown in the rain and looked a few local shops and ate lunch before meeting Robert again. More drinking, and more great conversations.
Which brings us to Monday. After a late night, I eventually got up and began repacking my suitcase that was now halfull (after unloading birthday gifts, condoms, etc, etc). Robert and I (and my luggage) travelled to the Rideau center for lunch with my sister. I wanted to go to a great toy store called Miss Tiggy Winkles. I only had a few short minutes before I had to catch a city bus to the train station, so I had to be quick. Unfortunately, I spent most of my precious minutes trying to find the damn store amidst 3 layers of confusion, and multiple escalators that went in every direction but the one I wanted. I finally found it, but ran in and hoped that something would catch my eye. Nothing did, however, so I tried to find my way back. I was quite disappointed, but I gently reminded myself that I did not come here to shop, and even if I did, I'm broke anyway.
I arrived at the Ottawa train station in my typical fashion - over an hour early. I wandered around and found an internet terminal where I wrote Mr. Wonderful a very quick, alcohol laced, shitty keyboard induced email. After a few minutes of this, I realized I had to sit down lest I collapse.
The journey back was actually quite nice. The business man assigned to the seat next to me on the train between Ottawa and Montreal spotted an empty two seats behind us, and moved there, leaving me two seats to myself. When I arrived in Montreal, I wandered around a bit. At this point, I had not showered, and was tired and hungover. Where I home, I never would have gone out in such a state. I should have just gotten a seat and stayed there, but I can never sit still in Montreal. The energy is contagious.
So, I trotted over to a bank machine so I could have some cash on hand during the train ride home. The cash machine was in a cafe and there was an easel beside me with a placard announcing that they catered. It was very close to the bank machine, yet I felt confident that I could conduct my transaction without too much of a problem.
Well, we know what comes next, don't we? As I reached over to grab my money out of the machine, my arm, or perhaps one of my bags, hit the easel and came CRASHING down. Surprisingly, aside from a few detached glances up from their cigarettes and coffee, no one seemed to care. I hurriedly tried to fix the easel, but gave up on the sign.
After that fiasco, I went over to Subway to get something to eat for the train - as evidence by my $10 cereal and fruit at the beginning of the trip, meals on the train were over priced and under...good. When I arrived at the counter to pay, I pulled out my wallet and CRASH.... all of my change spilled all over the floor, with a line of people behind me. I picked up all the silver change, but left the pennies to the masses. Ugh.
By this point, I had fully proven to myself that I should find a empty space and stand as still as possible in it. I went over to the gate (and passed by some honest-to goodness Amish people, in full dress and bonnets and beards), only to be sent over to the special pre boarding area for those in sleeper cars. We ended up waiting for over 20 miniutes for someone to show up at this counter. Really, they only thing they needed to know was if we wanted to make reservations for supper. Kind of annoying, though we did get to board before the people riding in coach. This was nice, though I was rather uncomfortable seeing all those beady eyes staring at me enviously as I floated underground on the escalator.
God bless drugs. I decided to ensure a good night sleep by taking some nighttime cold medication, even though I was sans cold. Halfway through the movie I was watching, I unconciously turned it off and settled into bed. Oh ya,
with ear plugs this time. I woke up the next morning at around 9:00am, nicely rested.
I seems to me I've left out some of the more emotional aspects of this trip. Reconnecting with my sister, enjoying all her friends, and generally recharching my batteries in many aspects of my life. Those things, though, are harder to describe, and are possible best left to another post, or no post at all.
Well, I can finally blog now without being worried of accidentally letting my secret slip out.
I'm in Ottawa.
I came up to surprise my sister for her 30th birthday.
This is... monumental.
I can't keep secrets. I basically severed ties with her so I could ensure that I didn't spill the beans.
Yesterday, though, I jumped out from behind a bookshelf and surprised her. What a great feeling. Then we went out for drinks. Lots of drinks. On an empty stomach. At about 8pm I knew that I had to eat lest I pass out. Then I got my 2nd wind. More drinking. Yikes.
And, well, that's why I'm writing for shit today.
Upcomming posts: Sex talks, more Ottawa stories, and, sex.
I stole another meme from
Opaco. I love Google Images.
Directions: Go to
Google and click on the images link. Type in the following and post the first (or your favorite) picture the search engine finds.
- The name of the town where you grew up
- The name of the town where you live now
- Your name
- Your Grandmother’s name
- Your favorite food
- Your favorite drink
- Your favorite song
- Your favorite smell
Where I grew up:
I really like this picture. It makes the city look much more exciting and busy than it really is.
Where I live now:
Another misleading picture. It must be the church.
My Name:
I... I just don't even know what this is about. The woman on the right looks seconds away from latching on to the man-boobs for a sexy suckle. Ick.
My grandmother's name:
My Favorite Food:
Mmmm.... Parrots in flour tortillas....
Favorite Drink:
Favorite Song:
"Plea from a Cat Named Virtue - The Weakerthans
Favorite Smell:
Haha. Old Spice. Get it? Ew.
I'm home with my parents this weeekend. Alone. No Lisa, no Mr. Wonderful, no...nothing. Just me and folks.
And yet, in the past 24 hours, I have many reminders of some of the indescretions that took place in this house - a mini vibe I've been looking for for weeks, a big bottle of lube, and black lace underwear I forget ever buying, but assume I must have. They are very pretty, though, so I'm excited.
I must assume, of course, that dear old Mom must have found these things, too. Case in point, the mini vibe was found in a basket, beside all the decorative soaps in the bathroom. Hm. Did she open the handy carrying case? Did she read the giant "Fukuoku 2000" lettering on the front? Hm. Don't ask, don't tell.
Have any of you ever fallen in love... with yourself?
A few times today, I've found myself caressing a spot between my neck and shoulder. I've found this perfectly smooth, soft territory of skin that I've fixated myself upon. I've pushed my bra strap aside and run my fingers over the slight dent in my shoulder from years of bra-wearing, and find that little, perfect, comforting piece of skin.
Sometimes I catch myself looking at myself into the small compact mirror I use to apply makeup in the morning. I look into my eye and think
that is one beautiful eye. There was once a booth set up in university to see who had the best lips. I think the booth belonged to a makeup company, or something. I (ironically) lacked the confidence to walk up to the booth, but looking back, I figure I had a good chance of winning.
Overall? Nah, not so much. But it's immensely comforting to find small pieces of perfection in yourself.
What is your perfect piece?
It's been a nutty few weeks. Thankfully, the craziness has died down somewhat, so things should get back to normal here. Maybe.
The craziness of the last few weeks culminated in an event last night, that I was entirely repsonsible for organizing. It was, actually, a spectacular success. I was proud of it. That doesn't happen much. I tend to think anyone in my shoes can do exactly what I did. I don't feel I have a lot of unique skills. Sure, there are probably somethings I do better than some people, but there are also things I do worse. Were I replace tomorrow by Mr. Joe Anonymous, I'm sure the results would be comparable.
Despite my mediocre confidence in myself, I do, however, looking fantastic at the moment. My hair has returned to is crazy-funky rainbow state. Lots of dark reds and purples and other wonderfulness. Too bad there aren't that many people around to appreciate it. Ah well.
I've decided to take a few days to do the smallest amount of work possible. I spent the morning sex-blogging the festivities from last weekend, which was fun, but now I've got myself in a state. I will probably spend the afternoon copying and pasting my comments from the last few months so I don't lose them when blogback shuts down.
Woah. It's Thanksgiving this weekend. That had totally slipped my mind. I suppose I will go home. It's a drain on the bank account, but I don't think I'll be happy without turkey this weekend.
What are your plans?
