2016: A Year in Retrospect with Gratitude

Let me be honest with you: the beginning of 2016 was SHIT... for various reasons that I shall not get into here.  Suffice it to say that I was not in a positive mind-frame nor was I out of the boxes that I had created for myself in the diverse aspects of my life (see previous post for description of said boxes).
However, the MIDDLE of this year began to change... as did I;  I did not begin this transformation on my own.  As much as I would like to thank my awesome self, I was not alone in this;  thus, I need to show my gratitude to a whole SHIT-load of people who have helped me in a minor and/or major way.
I must, and will always, begin with my very own little prince charming... my sunshine, my baby, my Bubba.  With his gentle, empathetic and, at times, stubborn, ways, he has been accompanying me on this journey and has helped me enormously throughout.  The one sentence that he has repeated to me near the end of this year is, "Mommy, you're the best," to which I always reply, "Nope, you and Patrick are."  He has also greeted me one day at daycare with an incredible, "Mommy, I'm so lucky to have you in my life," to which I obviously responded, "No sweetheart, I'M the lucky one."  Even on the worst of days, because let's face it, as parents we OFTEN have those, he has been my guiding light and one of the many reasons for my being on this planet.  I love him to the moon and back, and past the stars and all the way to the far reaches of the galaxy, as he will perhaps happily tell you if you do happen to ask him how much his mommy loves him.
I must also thank my man... THE man of my life... yep, I know, you have perhaps heard THIS before, being the hopeless romantic that I am... but, and again, sorry if I AM repeating myself, THIS TIME, it's different.  I. AM. DIFFERENT.  Also, this love feels different... He is going to be so embarrassed by my writing this, so I will simply add that I am SO thankful for his acceptance of me OUTSIDE of my boxes.  I could and would go on, but I am not willing to share...
I am thankful for ALL of him, his family included.  His children have accepted me into their lives without any questions and his grandparents have been there for me in our time of need.  I spent a wonderful Christmas in their company and I cannot even wonder why my man is so wonderful and why his children are amazing because it all stems from the two beautiful people I spent time with very recently.  Basta.
To 'mamaman'... I thank her for letting me go - "son abeille boutine de ses propres ailes".  We have had a rocky existence as mother and daughter, she and I, to say the least, but she has ALWAYS been there for me AND my son.  She is now finally watching from the shoreline as I am attempting to navigate my own ship, however roughly the seas may swell and sway underneath me.  I am NOT an easy person to deal with, but she does, to the best of her own limited capacities as a fellow human being with her own perfect imperfections.  Thank you mom, and watch me fly this year, "Ma chere maman, je voles, je t'aimes mais je voles...."
My Tintin... AND Gab... I thank them for accepting my plea for help when I thought I might need an extra set of people to watch my son... We have not always been close, and we have had our differences, but I do believe that we are on the right path to having a healthier relationship.
My sister from another mother and father... My TALLER doppelganger... AND smarter AND prettier... you get the idea.  Despite the distance between us, she has chosen ME, the crazy shorty living in Montreal, to be the godmother of her baby girl... and I could not have been happier than on that day when she first told me... and I cried SO much the day that our little Miss was born... full out sitting on the floor, bawling in the hallway, at my boyfriend's house, ask her husband and my boyfriend.  I am therefore so very grateful that her and her husband have chosen me to be a guiding light for their baby girl;  I shall be like a lighthouse... a far, FAR away one... to which she will always be able to sail towards for religious, spiritual, personal and/or emotional advice.  I will act mostly as a soundboard though, allowing her words to echo back to her and merely allowing my voice to be heard when/if she needs it.  I love you Lori, Dane, Mavis and Clark - thank you for allowing me to be a member of your beautiful little family.  I love you my Mr. Mistress and I am so very glad that you are my best friend's other half - our lives would not be the same without you honey.  Thank you for all of our 'illicit' conversations - you read me right my girl, I AM HAVING A TELEPHONE AFFAIR WITH YOUR HUSBAND... *wink*wink*
The next person on my list is my roommate, who unknowingly signed up for WAY more than he had originally thought when he became my roommate;  he has had to deal with a lot of my shit at the end of this tumultuous year, including my singing at all hours of the day and night AND my non-stop talking way too loudly to my man on the phone, and a WHOLE bunch of other stuff that I will not mention here in case ya'll begin to think that I am NOT perfect.  My 'husband', thank you for being here for me when I needed you to be, and thank you for accepting me at my best and at my worst.
My friend AND boss, Juju... you have been such an awesome presence in my life this year and you have listened to me whenever my own anxiety was getting the worst of me.  You have also been an understanding, yet firm, boss with me and I feel as though you have been able to reach that delicate balance of being  my friend AND superior at the same time.  Know that I am ALWAYS here for you and your little family and that you are someone I look up to in your ability to manage it all with such grace and patience.
A Denis la menace, merci de ta sagesse incroyable et de ton ecoute de tout ce que j'ai vecu dans ces derniers mois... ton sourrire a ete une balme a ma douleur et tes mots d'encouragements ont resonne en dedans de moi et continuent de me faire grandir encore plus dans le cheminement que je fais.  Tu es une vieille ame si belle et comprehensive et je suis tres reconnaissante de tous les precieux moments que tu m'accordes entre les murs de verres ou tu m'accuille si chaleureusement.  Merci mon beau Denis.
Mathieu, notre amitie a commence il y'a SI longtemps meme si nous nous sommes pas parles depuis nos bons vieux jours au secondaire.  Tout a recommence la journee ou tu m'as reconnu pendant que j'allais travailler, et je suis SI contente que tu m'as vu et parle.  Tu es un bel homme 'rose', a l'image de Denis quand tu aurais eu plus d'experience dans cette belle vie.  Ton sourrire est un petit rayon de soleil que me rechauffe le coeur a chaque fois que j'ai la chance de te croiser.  Alors, merci pour ton sourrire et pour ton ecoute de toutes mes conneries et niaiseries.
A ma belle Maggy qui a repondu a mon appel d'au secours lorsque j'ai eu besoin d'aide avec mon pti amour - tu as mis deux anges nommes Malaika et William sur notre chemin a moi et Zach.  Tu as su tout de suite qu'on s'entendrais bien moi et Malaika, et je te remerci infinement de m'avoir suggere cette merveilleuse et douce personne pour prendre soins de mon garcon.  Et toi et moi ma belle, l'annee 2017 nous announce une danse dans le Metro ensemble a faire danser, bouger et chanter tout le monde!!
Malaika, tu es un ange et William aussi - merci d'avoir si bien prit soins de mon petit soleil et de m'avoir ecouter et encourager.  Rappelles-toi de prendre soins de TOI et que si jamais tu as besoin de moi, et bien ca va me faire un GRAND plaisir de garder et de m'occuper de ton bebe d'amour.
To the young man on the Metro who encouraged me to write my book... I am sorry that I have forgotten your name, but I shall always remember your face and your words of encouragement - my first book is for children and it is coming;  it will therefore be dedicated to my son, my nephew, my goddaughter and the children that all adults have within themselves.  My other book, however, which will be my own story, shall be dedicated to YOU since you have helped unblock my creative process just by speaking with me on that day we sat next to each other on the Metro.  I hope that you are still following YOUR dreams and please, never let them go.
To Thelma... I am at a loss for words in thanking you for helping me to unblock and begin to liberate all of the anger and sadness I have been locking up within myself for so long.  You sensed it and cried for me when I couldn't cry myself, and for the kindness you showed me, I shall always be grateful. You are an incredible woman and I am happy to have come and said hi to you on one of my first days at my new job.  HE's coming soon Thelma, and I am screaming and jumping with joy - MY Christmas AND New Year shall occur on the day when I am finally held in his arms.  Thank you.
To Thelma's right hand woman, Lori-May... Thank you for listening to me babble on and on in circles and for sharing with me your metaphor of boxes.  You have helped me immensely and I am forever in your debt for that day when you offered me a cup of coffee and your two ears, heart and arms to share in my anger and sadness.
To everyone else who is not mentioned here, I do not love you any less... Thank you for having been a part of this heartbreakingly incredible year... Every person I have smiled at and spoken to has been a part of my journey, however briefly, and I would not be the person I am today had I not encountered you.  So thank you.
Here's to 2016: Thank you for teaching me more about love than any other year;  for allowing me to grow more and more into the strong, independent, intuitive, empathetic and charismatic woman that I am;  for giving me many lessons in the importance of patience, which I lacked at the beginning of the year;  for showing me how to "fermer ma grande geuele" when I need to;  for helping me realize that I am far richer than I could have ever imagined.
Here's to 2017: WATCH. OUT. I. AM. COMING.  
     

I'M BACK !!!!!

Ladies and/or gents.... I am BACK !!!!

After too long of a creative hiatus, I have finally returned, with a writer's vengeance, to the blogging community... My fellow readers, I have lived and loved for the past, what, three YEARS (??) ... and I can now happily and finally guarantee you that I have BEGUN to find myself... NOT in a spiritual, religious, granola or hippy kinda way, not that there is ANYthing wrong with that, but in a more young woman/mother/human being loving and accepting herself kinda way.

You see, my dear readers, I had been LOOKING for love in all of the wrong places, as cliched as that may sound, and of course, I had not been able to find it... because this love was WITHIN me all along.  This newfound love for myself has surfaced with the help from the man of my dreams and, thankfully, my reality.  

Let me describe to you the last approximate twenty years of my life:  I was always placing myself in a box... There was a box for work, and a box for my friends, and a box for the men in my life, and then eventually there was even a box for my son... you get the general idea, I was figuratively a Box Troll, for those of you who have seen the movie.  Even though I had created these said boxes for myself, I was not happy with my life, nor the choices and decisions I was making.  I wanted someone to love me even while I was unable to love myself. 

And then one day, not so long ago, a man DID begin to love me... the REAL me... the charismatic, unapologetic, perhaps hyperactive, loud-mouthed, happy go lucky, empathetic, intelligent, yada yada yada... ME.  I didn't fabricate a new box the day I met him, and he has never once asked me to alter what is essentially ME.  Because of his blooming love for ME, I began to destroy all of the suffocating and imprisoning cubes that I had created in order to live a fulfilling life according to my own warped ideals and/or those belonging to others.

I am no longer living within the confines of multiple squares.  Welcome to the Jungle Baby!!  Please stay tuned for eventual blogs about the beautiful every day moments I share with strangers, my friends, my family members, trees, animals, ladybugs... etc.  Bringing this blog back to its original concept of wanting to share MY little (meaning that I am SHORT, get it?) perspective on the mundane yet gorgeous experiences that I have daily.  

   

A Muddy Beginning...

I'm standing, rather awkwardly, atop my not-so high heels, feeling them pinch into the sides of my small but unfortunately wide feet, nevertheless singing along to the barely audible music coming from the store across the hallway from the boutique where I am working, moving my feet and feeling rather good that I am here;  my navy and white striped dress clings to the black pantyhose I am wearing, and I have to shimmy it down every once in a while, rather gracelessly I'm afraid.  Smiling at every passerby, hoping that someone will come in and buy SOMEthing, ANYthing, I notice a couple looking into the shop, and so I say 'Bonjour' with my biggest smile.  They both smile back from within the confines of their bundled forms and ask me whether or not we have any white dresses.  Their question takes me a little aback seeing as it is about minus 40 degrees outside with the windchill and all I would want to shop for today would be hats, gloves and scarves.  Nevertheless, they accompany me into the midst of the European clothing maelstrom that is Mode Tout Aller.  I show them a beige dress, and she seems ok with it, peering at it with her light blue eyes and so I ask my heavy-set boss Lucie whether or not it could be dyed white.  Seeing her confusion, the man begins to explain why they are looking for a white dress in the first place, and so here is their lovely story they chose to reveal to us on that chilly and winterlorn Thursday morning.
''Et bien, tu vois, nous cherchons une seconde robe de mariage pour la deuxieme partie de notre mariage.  La premiere robe a déjà été choisit et la je vais vous compter notre concept.''
''Oui, la premiere robe c'est la robe de ma mere qu'elle est en train de modifier pour moi,''  The strawberry blonde and purple-clad glasses woman interjects, her pale blue eyes lighting up from within and a huge grin plastering her pale face.
 ''Donc, pour la premiere partie de la ceremonie, nous allons faire un trajet dans la bouette sur des quatre par quatre - elle va etre dans sa robe de marier, moi dans mon habit, avec des bottes de pluie...''
I am assuming at this point that my smiling face and bewildered eyes speak for themselves since the Young-looking woman adds, ''Ma mere est au courant que sa robe de marier va etre completement trasher, et c'est ca un peu l'idee car ce mariage n'a pas durer...''
The long, two-toned coloured haired man turns to Lucie and begins to explain, ''Tu vois, la vie c'est comme un parcours dans la bouette, et le mariage aussi... parfois, c'est elle qui va me guider dans la bouette de la vie, par dessous les cotes et les roches, et d'autres fois ca va etre moi qui va l'aider...''
He turns towards me and continues, his eyes shining with the love he feels for his beaming fiance, ''Y'a différents mariages de nos jours: civil que nous ne voulions pas car nous sommes pas vraiment conformistes, religieux qui ne rentre pas dans nos idees non plus, et le mariage symbolique que nous avons choisit.''
My eyes unwillingly well with tears as I think of my own past love stories and how I had pictured my life as being different than what it is at this moment in time... in a lot of ways, my life is BETTER than what it could have been.  Had I married the man who contributed at least physically to making my beautiful son, our life, that of me and my son, would not have been what it is now, which is, despite mommy's human failures and mistakes, a lot less miserable than what it would have been WITH Zach's sperm-donor of a father.
Finally, Lucie pulls down a very simple yet oh-so-perfect white dress that fits the couple's simple yet romantic style... the soon-to-be bride prances into the dressing room and exits looking as gorgeous as a Grecian goddess of times past.  The top part of the dress hugs her with all of its little ripples and pleats and the thick and lacy straps add a respectable hint of modesty;  the flowing bottom half of the dress swooshes around the beloved's hips and flows to the ground, ending with some old-fashioned lace that will of course need to be hemmed, given the young lady's small stature. 
Lucie decides to lower the price of the dress after seeing the woman's happiness.  She even offers to go with her to the tailor's in order to see what can be done to shorten the lovely dress that will complete the rest of the couple's wedding day during the second half of their ceremony that will take place in a more traditional restaurant setting.
After we have exchanged a little more conversation, they leave hand in hand, and I marvel that any Young couple of today would choose to get married - and yet, my romantic heart beats a little quicker since it has not become SO jaded that it has completely given up on the idea that a happy mariage can be experienced by two loving parties... I wish those two all of the happiness in the world and may they guide each other through all of life's valleys, hills, rivers, mudslides, puddles, mountains and caves, but may they also walk lovingly hand in hand when fortune decides to shine on their union and their love.

2013: A Retrospective Glance

Yet another year has passed me by, at first seeming as though it would never end, and then whizzing past me like the Metro when I have just breathlessly run down the stairs and missed it... I've gone through the wringer not once, but again and again more than just a few times, like a well-worn flannel shirt wrung through those ancient laundry devices, pressed and flattened to take out all of the moisture, and yet in my case, it has been my essence instead of water, leaking and oozing out through the fibres of my skin onto the freezing, unforgiving and bare floor.  I built myself up again by gathering the shattered pieces of my soul, and yet I blindly let myself be toppled over by others or foolishly blew my own castle of cards down in desperation or hopelessness... a female version of Humpty Dumpty that has not quite been mended after her great fall...
I thought I had my shit figured out, and yet queries as to who I am and what it is that I need and want, which are two VERY different and often opposing forces, still rattle within the confines of my skull...
The things I DID accomplish shall now be viewed instead of the many mistakes I have made along this often frightening journey we wise humans have named Life...
I have unfolded into and filled my role as the mother, albeit not without many growing pains, I had once dreamed I would actually be and I am very proud of myself for this.  Of course, I am NOT perfect, and no mother is, despite what many mommy's boys shall loyally insist upon about their own mothers, but I have become quite capable and able to raise my beautiful son.  He has given me the strength, even on those very dark days and nights I have experienced just this past year when niether the sun nor the moon seemed to be shining, to keep going and to do the necessary every day chores between the four walls of our apartment that have seen and heard so much since my son has inhabited within them: the death of two significant and oh-so-frighteningly-similar relationships, a mother's tears and fears, and a woman's longings and desires.  He has become such a joy to observe and interact with, his new words, including 'mama,' delight and entice my maternal ears every single day and just seeing him run around the apartment makes my heart dance in pride.  We've come a long way together, and yes, I can now say, with conviction, that I AM a good mother.  Going to therapy, something I would have NEVER done before due to my abhorrence of therapists, helped me quite a lot in battling the often bogus expectations I once held as to who or what I should be as a mother.  And so, going to therapy is also something that I am quite happy about because I slayed the demons and dragons holding me back from having such a helpful experience.
I have also become a more confident cook, adding new recipes to my once bleak repertoire and being able to put together new and often wonderful meals with on-hand ingredients rather than having to follow a specific recipe.  I even filled my standing freezer this summer with a bunch of homemade meals that I would assemble and cook before and while Zach was napping - ok, the lentil soup came out WAY too spicy, and the brocoli puree I made burnt the shit out of my wrist while I was blending it, leaving a battle scar that will forever remind my of my culinary forrays, but still, a lot of what I did make was actually REALLY good.
I became a blue belt in karate, the night before my 30th birthday, able to take the punches and kicks thrown at me while remaining on the defensive... my fighting style mimicking my lifestyle, always remaining on the defensive and only blocking or defending myself rather than being the attacker.
I inched myself a little closer to my own personal ideal of beauty, having my skin inked and marked to cover the invisible scars that only my jaded eyes can see... adding a mermaid to cover an idiotic mark of devotion and love, and stars to mark all of my accomplishments... I also recently shaved off all of my lank and limp blonde hair in order to release myself from the confines of imposed feminine beauty... the experience of shaving my own hair off completely was quite terrifying, but once it was done and I was looking at all of the dead hair in the towel-covered sink, I had never felt freer and better.
I became a student in the health field, going into the same line of work as both of my parents and finally feeling as though I was where I needed to be, getting into the transcription et secretariat medicale program at O'Sullivan College courtesy of Emploi Québec;  however, not being sufficiently prepared and missing too many classes due in part to my son having begun daycare in August, I decided to abandon the program until a later date... so it is a 'to be continued' rather than an complete abandonment.
I began dating again... although without much success and acquiring too many stitches on my already broken heart... but hey, I was out there again, making myself sexy and trying my damnedest to make rotten new relationships into something they were clearly not...
I also started a new blog for struggling single mothers like me, sharing my joys, woes and troubles with other mothers and hoping to create an environment in which this novel public could also publish their own stories... I approached various organizations which have agreed to be freely advertised on my site so that new single moms could also get the help that I was either missing or got too late... 
So, I grew into or donned the roles of:
Mother
Patient
Cook
Blue-belt Karateka
Beautiful Femme Fatale (with a shaved head, tattoos and piercings)
Student
Lover
Blogger
And yes, I have made MANY mistakes this past year, but I know where I went wrong and I recognize all of my faults AND qualities... to toot a cheesy Kelly Clarkson song 'What doesn't kill you makes you stronger...' would be THE understatement of 2013...
After spending an almost sleepless New Year's Eve night by myself, polishing off a bottle of Gallo, wearing my star onesie pj, singing, dancing and crying to Imagine Dragon's 'Hear Me,' One Republic's 'Counting Stars' and Lady Gaga's 'Do What You Want With My Body,' I realized that the only person I can really count on is myself... and yes, this recognition hurt like Hell... like a punch in the face I thought I had blocked... but, there it is.
I am still the person I was when I first started this blog, but perhaps a little wiser, smarter, and edgier - my heart is still beating in my chest and hoping against all odds that I WILL find a man with whom I will share my life and now my beautiful son, and I still believe in the best and goodness of every single asshole, bitch and individual I meet, whether I spend 5 minutes, an hour or a week with them...
So, this female Humpty Dumpty will be put back together and will be glued and stitched and sewed to keep all of her pieces from falling apart again, but without any help from any foolish king's men...
Any definite plans for 2014?  Not really, but I do have a lot of ideas and, my life being like a modern Canadian Pandora's box, the demons, evils, and injustices have escaped and run their course, now all there is left is hope, which my heart and soul cling to.

Baa Baa Black Sheep...

For the first time in my adult life, after thirteen years of having graduated from my wonderful high school (hear the sarcasm people), I have become the black sheep of my class and I feel as though I have been transported back into that time when I was often the last chosen on a team for gym class, or when I was happiest reading my many books while the rest of my classmates looked at their pagers or gossiped about everyone else or their clubbing adventures... and man oh man does it ever hurt.

I believe that I am by nature a pretty happy person - and until very recently, this has not really been the case... I have my baby boy to thank in part for this massive change in attitude and lifestyle;  he has enabled me to begin cherishing and appreciating our and my life to a much higher degree since about January.

I have also been the benefactress of a great gift bestowed upon me by my maternal grandfather, who loved other people so much that he knew the names of every single person on his street;  as a result of my seeing him interact with others, and perhaps due to an innate quality of mine, I am often the recipient of many life stories shared on a bus or metro, or I am the giver of hugs, smiles and words of encouragement.  I am also a born leader, and I never shy away from taking control in any given situation.  Consequently, I had been voted class president, and I had done my duty above and beyond what had been expected of me... until I was demoted by a general class mutiny.

But why?  And imagine this being asked in a high-pitched, whiny voice.  Well, due to some unfortunate absences caused by the new germs acquired by my son at daycare, and due to my own negligence and stubborness, I have missed a lot of classes.  Also, due to some kind of wormhole established in my house or right outside my door, the time between when I wake up and when I get to school completely vanishes so that I am left running breathlessly to my morning classes EVERY single day.  Thus, I am NOT a class favorite... far from being the class favorite in fact.

Now, rather than go into further details, I just wish that people would adopt the following mantra:

 

LIVE, LOVE, LAUGH

And let others do the same.

 

I have been warned for my misbehaviour, and I know where I have been in the wrong or not, so I am trying very hard to remedy the situation - but what happens to me and in my life does not regard anyone else BUT me...

Jospeh and Greg

Taking a few moments to talk with or listen to another human being can change your day in the most magnificent way possible.  I had the privilege of meeting and speaking with two incredible individuals last week and I wish to share these two encounters with you.
The first occured on the Metro, on my way home to be with my beautiful baby boy.  A grey-haired man wearing a grey and yellow wind-breaker stepped on and uncerimoniously sat down next me, and I smiled as he did so.  As my Ipod blared an old Nelly Furtado song in my ears, I noticed that this man was still glancing my way, so I quickly pressed pause and grinned back.  Our converstaion began with his asking if I was going to work, and it unfolded into my talking about Zach and asking him a few questions to which he answered child-like and innocently;  pretty soon, I was showing him a picture of Zach and he sweetly asked me if I would take his picture, which I did and have kept on my phone.  As my station was approaching, he gallantly told me that I was as pretty as a flower and that I had a beautiful smile, to which I responded with two quick kisses on both his scratchy beard-covered cheeks before happily trotting off the Metro.
The second occurred at the corner of Peel and Ste. Catherine, when I heard the notes of a guitar being plucked by yet another grey-haired but this time, bandanna-clad man, sitting on a tiny stool with his guitar poised on his knees.  I decided to stop and listen, singing along to the songs I know, and he acquiesced to my request of Joe Cocker's A Little Help from my Friends.  We chatted a bit about love, his blue eyes twinkling as he charmingly flirted with me, a young woman half his age, while he confessed that young women are not interested in him while old women his age are too serious for his young and childish heart.  We chatted about life, and money and sang a few more songs together before we formally introduced ourselves and I gave him a big bear hug.  Then, I made my way to the Metro while he also went on his merry way, his guitar slung on his shoulder and his little seat resting in the crook of his arm.
What binds all of us together, our commonality, is that we are all human, no matter what nationality, culture, religion, social status, gender or age... and this fact is so easy to forget as we go about our daily business and we become obsessed with what we think we need and deserve. 

Smiling at Strangers

In this individualistic world in which everyone's eyes stare down at the cigarette-butt littered and gum-splattered sidewalks and only furtively glance up so as not to run into a person or object, as they impatiently and hurriedly make their way to the various obligations awaiting them, where are the humanitarian gazes?
Smiling at someone as the individual passes you by is completely free, only takes a moment, and will perhaps make his or her day better.  So why isn't everyone offering this free and magnificent gift to anyone who strolls passed them?
Moreover, why is a person SO surprised when a grin is offered to them?  An initial look of shock flashes through the stranger's facial features until, if you are lucky, a reflective smirk robs their lips of its initial grimace.
Thus, I say cross the self-imposed barriers people have erected in front of themselves and be the first to make a human contact with another human being... see what happens... might make YOU feel better as well.

Fierce

Unleashing my Inner Bitch

Somewhere on our way to Ottawa, on an uncrowded bus, the inner bitch that is always just underneath my prickly sweet surface, was unleashed, unbeknown to all of the poor individuals who would feel her wrath for the rest of the weekend.  I felt an almost imperceptible change come over me and decided to go with it.

I believe that all of us have an inner bitch - for some, like my friends Steph and Paul, it is easier for the bitch to remain present in their daily lives.  These individuals hold people at bay and wait for a reason to trust others, so their bitches are constantly there.  While for others, like me, this interior bitch always remains hidden since I interact with individuals with my heart wide open and I trust them from the very beginning.  Both manners of interaction can be detrimental: the first does not always allow you to become close to others, but you do protect yourself, while the other allows you to become close to others very quickly, but you can get very hurt time and time again.  Thus, I decided to experiment this weekend: instead of suffocating the words that usually keep bubbling to the surface, but that I unceremoniously pop, I let them loose.  Made snide comments all of the time to my audience of one and these were laughed at and enjoyed.  And I felt liberated, free as a bird and unusually happy. 

The bitch was ever more present on Sunday after having watched a silly chick flick and being thrown into a strange head space as a result.  Steph and I decided to sit outside for a while before meeting our friend Caro for a much needed drink.  So, there we were, sitting by ourselves, smoking, talking and singing our hearts out to Adele, Florence and the Machine and Coldplay, minding our own business, not wanting anyone to meddle in ours and sitting on the steps leading to the Timmy's at Concordia.  A slight rain creating sparkling beads on the strands of both of our hair, dampening our spirits further while wetting our feet.  A man approached us, slurring his words while attempting to compliment me and normally, I would smile patiently and listen to whatever he would have had to say, but not that night.  I cut him off, telling him that tonight it was just between girls - and when he tried again, I told him that I was a lesbian and that I was not interested, hoping that that would turn him away.  And yet no, he insisted - so, I got mean, told him, "Ecoute monsieur, nous ne sommes vraiment pas interessees, donc bonne soiree" with a forced and yet purposeful smile.  When he began to talk again, I cut him off with another more determined "Bonne soiree monsieur" and then watched as he walked away, defeated.  I did not want to be bothered by anyone, much less a drunken stranger and here I was letting him know that.

Thought I would have felt better once he was gone, but, truth be told, I felt worse and guilty.  Perhaps this man was just a lonely soul who needed to talk to someone and here I was denying him that comfort, however brief it might have been.  You see the trouble with unleashing your inner bitch is that you end up denying other people their humanity.  Everyone, as a good friend of mine has realized, wants two things: to belong and to contribute.  So, who am I to deny anyone their wish to belong or to be comforted?     

Blue Met Highlights

I have lived the most amazing, but intense, last six days of my whole life.  I had the best volunteers, met the best tech team and had the most amazing assistant ever!!
Here are some of the highlights of the festival for me:

1) Learning that there would be henna on the first night... going down to where she was stationed, near the salle de bal, but not being able to sit with her for the amount of time she required to do my arm... going back to see her to ask her if she would kindly come to the volunteer suite to do my arm there - and she actually came up because she could not get over my enthusiasm!  She is so kind and has such a beautiful soul!  She did such a wonderful job too!  That was the one thing I wanted to do during the festival, and it happened!

2) Joking around that people might fall into the little fish-infested pond located in the lobby of the Holiday Inn Select and then learning that it actually did happen... FIVE times - I only wish I had been there to see it happen all five times!

3) Sharing a very hearty breakfast with the tech boys on the majority of my early mornings at the hotel - became addicted to the bacon, eggs, sausages, potatoes and tiny pastries served every morning :)  Could not start my day without it.


 4) Joking around and talking about men with my incredible assistant Maya - what a fantastic woman!  We had so much fun together!

5) Giving at least seven massages... and getting perhaps three back... but I enjoyed giving them more than anything else :)  Seeing one of the tech boys stretched out on four or five of our very hard and uncomfortable chairs, how could I resist? ;)

6) Seeing the smiling faces of my volunteers when I made my rounds and giving them high fives and/or hugs while I was passing through.  I nicknamed myself "la bebite a calins", aka "the hugbug".

7) Being told that I had some fine "gilets" and not knowing what that means in French slang...

8) Spending some time with my pals, Ana, Manu, Evelyn and Row while at the festival - made my days when they were there.

9) Meeting a very young volunteer that is absolutely too cute for words.

10) Telling an amazing volunteer, a very tall man with a very sexy accent, what to do and seeing him leave with a smile and a quick step - he was ready to help with anything!  What an incredible volunteer!

11) Transferring energy with a veteran volunteer that has such a calming effect on the whole Blue Met team because she has been with us forever.  She is the coolest woman on the planet!

12) Getting a VERY cute man to volunteer... just so I could see him again!  And he actually accepted!

13) Telling a seemingly prudish volunteer to go grab Alex's wet balls from the pond :)  The decorator had gotten some plastic globes that lit-up and had placed them in the pond - the volunteer needed to go and fish them out... telling her to bring a towel for Alex's big wet balls... classic dirty humor for those who can appreciate it.

14) Listening to all of the stupidities being said on the walkies and cracking a few jokes myself.  Hearing the boys mutter and curse on the walkies because they were missing the game!

15) Meeting Alex's boys - his sugar gliders and potentially being offered a baby-sitting gig when him and his Marie-Eve go out of town :)

16) Dealing with absent volunteers and five room changes - meaning that I had to re-organize my WHOLE schedule TWENTY minutes before the first events were set to start... and being surprised by my own level-headedness and efficiency.

17) Learning that I was in charge of a room with fifteen minutes to go before the discussion was about to start... and actually pulling it off.

18) Eating all day, every single day :)  Just munching and munching away - I think I have gained ten pounds !!

19) Meeting Dennis Trudeau :)  He came into the volunteer suite looking for some snacks - well, the volunteer suite was THE place to be for that :)

20) Getting the party started on the first night - of course, where there is M-E, there is a party :)

My Foray into Poetry

Please do not judge this cheesy poem too harshly - it came to me while I was walking to the Metro and thinking of a particularly good looking man.  It is PURE cheese... but heartfelt and sincere... but CHEESE !!


We are crazy, complicated and complex creatures.
We spin our webs of interpretations with every simple syllable uttered,
Making both ourselves and the hapless flies we desire to ensnare
Dizzy and nauseous with our efforts.
What did he mean by that "Hello", in that particular tone?
What do his smiles symbolize?
What did he mean to signify by telling me that I looked good?
We are all about the subject, object, subtext, and context,
While our knowing victims skim and skate across the waters of meaning like Daddy Long Legs.

Attempting to draw them ever closer, ever nearer,
We risk their escaping while traipsing every so slowly towards them on the thin and pendulous threads of hope.
Daydreaming about a cheeky grin or a
A set of eyes the color of moist soil after a brief shower,
Expectation, the dasher of dreams, smasher of hopes, murderer of reality,
Rears its obnoxious head to whisper in our ears.
Falsely soothing our fears and boosting our self-fashioned confidence,
Struggling with our hearts, minds and egos,
Befuddling, meddling and riddling itself into the fray.

Lines blurred and crossed,
Borders, walls and fences peeked over but not torn asunder,
Dances danced, words spoken,
Wishing our love might make them feel like
Butterflies escaping the dreary confines of their self-imposed cocoons,
Longing to make them feel as joyful and powerful
As bumblebees tasting the sweet nectar of flowers
On that first glorious spring day.

Home: Part Two

Sitting on the scratchy surface of my front balcony, my back against the even rougher beige brick of my apartment's exterior wall, I am taking great pleasure in my two drugs of choice.  Rather surprised that I am not sleepier than I should be, considering the past two nights of awesome benders, the first having spent the remainder of the evening in great company and the second having gotten too wasted for my own good with my two crazy girls while celebrating the end of an era for one of them;  the accumulated lack of snooze-worthy hours should have, by now, hit me and made me fatigued beyond repair, but surprisingly I have been up since 7am and do not feel the tug of sleep at all. 

I am seated with my legs bent, my feet drawn in close towards me, letting both innocent and more painful thoughts flit through my head like the black birds in flight I am observing.  The two of them are involved in an intricate aerial ballet, shrieking as they dive and swerve towards and away from each other.  The soothing sound of the dried out pods in the trees lulls me into a pleasant and calm state of mind and I close my eyes for a brief moment.  Snippets of songs blaring from my office reach my ears and I softly mumble the lyrics sung by various artists like Bon Jovi, Florence and the Machine, Amanda Marshall, Fiest, Sia and my new favorite singer, Adele, while the traffic on the main street creates its very own symphony by interjecting with each speeding car.

Today has been a beautiful one, not only because of the Spring weather, but also because I have been doing nothing more strenuous than reading while basking in the glorious sun, doing laundry and eating a tasty ham sandwich while in the company of my mother.  Listening to Adele's wonderfully crafted song "Someone Like You" for the first time brought with it some tears of regret and feelings of failure, but I masochistically listened to it repeatedly at least ten times, in awe of both the words and the powerful voice singing them.  Belting out the lyrics through,or because of, the salty liquid streaming down my still slightly chubby cheeks, creating a streaky and smeared mess of yesterday's mascara, my voice building in assurance and growing with confidence with each uttered syllable.  The result of my audience-less, unless you count my cat as an audience of one, and solo performance has been an even raspier and sexier voice.  Despite the bludgeoning of emotions I have experienced, each guilty thought acting like a stone being cast by an associated memory, I am feeling strangely calm and sated now, the tears having dried up and the runny mascara having been wiped away.

Another evening planned out with the girls at our usual and preferred haunt has turned into a prolonged me day, so I decide to rent movies and stay in.  I take a shower to wipe away last night's debauchery and sense a cleanliness within myself that transcends the mere soap, water and shampoo I used.  I tuck my legs under me on the couch and snuggle deeper into the green fabric's welcoming folds, having grabbed my cozy blanket for the occasion.  Velvet decides to join me by curling herself up into a tight little furry ball in the crux of my left arm.  I watch the two movies, absentmindedly petting my purring beauty, getting lost within the stories unfolding in front of my eyes and enjoying my own and my cat's company for the rest of the evening.

Home

Sitting at my desk, letting the warmth of my little corner of the world slowly seep into my cold and tired body, I have the whole, empty apartment to myself.  The piece of cheesecake I thought had been left in the fridge for me is gone and I am so very sad about that;  I can picture my face having crestfallen upon opening the fridge and discovering a bare shelf instead of a promising box of happiness.  I must therefore content myself with a can of sun-dried tomato flavoured tuna and crackers - a far cry from the potential slice of cheese heaven I had imagined making love to upon arriving home.  To my small octangular white plate, I add a few sliced pickled beets, a hard-boiled egg and two pieces of Feta, creating a smorgasbord of culinary weirdness.  Can you tell I have not done my groceries in a little while?  Under the horrible circumstances of not being able to inhale a promised morsel of sweet cheesecake goodness, I have been forced to add some form of cheese to my plate in order to compensate.

Surrounded by my bright turquoise office walls and bookshelves filled beyond capacity with my beloved books, I am listening to Linkin Park's "Waiting for the End".  The poignant lyrics flow from my mouth without my conscious knowledge of their doing so and I am typing away while visual snippets of my great day flash in my mind's eye.  The music is a little louder than usual at this hour given that my roomie is MIA and I am happily chatting with one of my adored female friends about our respective days as I reread a few of my blogs.  I nibble at my strange combination of food while Velvet periodically maneuvers herself between my legging-clad calves, the sound of her nails hitting the hardwood floor as she again and again walks away make it seem as though she is wearing a feline version of stilettos.  The softly jangling bell on her red plaid collar gently announces her presence once again near my left foot even before I see her sitting there calmly.  She places her two front paws on the edge of the chair's cushion, looks up at me and meows, signifying her confusion as to why she is still sitting on the floor rather than in my lap.  I gently scoop her up in my arms, her persistent initial resistance undercut by her almost instantaneous purring, and hold her close against me, feeling her tiny body relax.  I place her on my lap and continue to type, letting her settle more comfortably in the hollowed space created by my having my right leg curled under my left;  she stays and purrs for awhile as I pet her sleek warmth. 

Disturbing my baby from her short rest, I decide to take a brief break from the blogging, chatting and checking of emails by going outside on my front balcony, becoming disconnected from everything and everyone for that small moment.  The air outside as it caresses my face is very crisp and the usual sound of traffic coming from Langelier is non-existent at this hour.  A few cars pass every once in a while, but the streets are otherwise deserted.  I lean again the unyielding, cold brick wall and close my eyes for a few seconds, listening to the bizarre elongated pods rustling and swaying in the bare branches of the tree in my landlord's yard.  Looking up at the mere two stars peeking out from their cloudy blanket and then glancing at the darkened window next door, I think about my sleeping mother, hoping that she is feeling better and knowing that she won't tell me if she isn't.  The windows in the other apartments across my street are blackened save for a few;  I wonder what those people are doing and if they are wishing for sleep as I am.  I am hoping for the sweet release of slumber to take its hold, but I know that will not happen for another few hours, so I stand on my balcony, my ratty pink Concordia sweatshirt that has seen better days providing me with a limited coverage from the nippy breeze.  I watch the smoke from my cigarette circling up into the night sky and thank those two stars that I have such fantastic friends in my life.    

More Mustard, Less Ketchup

Us humans, the amazing creatures that we are, are multi-talented in so many ridiculous ways;  for example, take yours truly: I can walk to the Metro, letting the blissful Spring sun warm up my still chilly from Winter face, smoke, drink my French Vanilla and answer my "Black and Yellow" blaring cellphone, albeit a little clumsily and with cigarette ash flying in my face, all at the same bloody time.  AND, I might have been listening to my Ipod too, but I had not plugged myself in yet... that came AFTER I answered my phone.  We, as the advanced species that we are, can send our scientists into outer space, create atomic bombs that have the capacity to wipe out our whole existence and we also have the ability to mass produce magical little pills that give impotent sixty and plus year old men back their virile youths.  Hell, we can even have sex, pretending to be enjoying ourselves while we mentally go over the day's events, create To Do lists and wonder why we did not do that load of laundry.  We are evolved, intelligent and productive beings that can accomplish so many great and mundane feats and yet, when it comes to doing something as simple as telling another person exactly how we feel and what we are really thinking, most of us, if not all of us, are fumbling around in the dark, unable to make that most basic of human connections.

How is it that after a whole early and late morning of seemingly incredible and flowing conversation and an admittedly difficult to coordinate date, if I can attach that label to our outing, he was unable to tell me that he had lost interest?  Because, as far as I could tell, and as much as he had said himself, there had been something there... unless he was lying to begin with to save my feelings?  In our day and age where there are so many various forms of communication, from emailing, chatting to text messaging, all he had to do was pick one and  explain himself.  Funny how there are numerous different ways of speaking to people, but it seems as though we are talking less and less to one another and leaving so much more space for unnecessary interpretation.

After some bullshit speech, which I am unhappy to report I bought into hook, line and sinker, about how individuals nowadays are not treating each other with kindness and respect anymore, how is it that he didn't even have the decency of responding to text messages?  How is it that he could say that he would let me know later on if he was available for a potential encounter at Hurley's and then not have the heart or guts to let me know that he could not or did not want to?  Was it any better to leave me hanging any time I attempted a friendly hello or suggested the possibility of a coffee?  What's the deal?  Was he not capable of saying something like, "Look, we had a great time the other night/day, but I am no longer interested in getting to know you."  Simple, no?  Instead, he took the easy way out, preferring to excuse his selfish and disrespectful behavior with the too often used "I'm too busy" card.  Right.  I have six part-time jobs that do take up quite a lot of my time and energy, but I still managed to make an effort.

Why can't two people, well more specifically a man and a woman, just be honest with each other?  Why does there always seem to be an element of game playing involved?  I mean, don't get me wrong, I love me a game of Monopoly or Cranium, but for Christ's sake, why can't we just call a spade a spade when it comes to matters between members of the opposite sex?  A man who is genuinely interested in you, and perhaps the operative word here is genuinely, should show you that and not make you feel silly or out of line when you are attempting to do the same - if not, fuck off.

Mustard... and a Little Ketchup

Sitting on the back rest of a pockmarked wooden bench at the corner of Maisonneuve and Mackay, the intoxicating taste of cigarette smoke and my already lukewarm Franglais Timmy's pleasantly mingling and lingering on my taste buds, I people-watch while the wind ruffles and plays with my short, spiky hair.  A forgotten and abandoned newspaper flutters underneath my feet, rolling and undulating in its own sort of solitary dance even though it has been deserted by its disrespectful reader.  The sound of a passing security guard's jangling keys reaches my ears, competing with the underlying and low-droning noise of nearby construction work and the intermittent honks made by jaded and impatient drivers.  Students scurry by, some tightly clutching their books to their chests as though the bound pieces of transformed dead trees are life buoys amidst the sea of knowledge in which these poor souls are threading water, others confidently stroll along, a mixed perfume of arrogance and contempt trailing behind them as they make their righteous way to class.  A bearded and turbaned man accompanied by his friends walks closely by me;  he unabashedly looks towards the opening of my shirt, his eyes remain fixated at my barely visible cleavage for a while as I glare at his face, willing him to look me in the eyes rather than at the apparently more interesting area below my chin and neck.  I glance back towards the lonely and discarded newspaper, ignoring the man fascinated with my breasts, and let the flood of questions and queries invade my mind.

In today's individualistic and narcissistic modern world, is it so difficult to find someone with whom you can truly be yourself, without any second-guessing or doubts?  A person who thinks about you with a dreamy smile plastered upon his face as he pictures you while at school, work or elsewhere.  Someone who recognizes your quirkiness and yet loves you for it anyways.  An individual who sees your worth and value as though you are a treasure he would risk everything to safeguard and protect.  A man with whom you can share your insecurities and fears and who can do the same with you.  A man who is not afraid to invest in you and what the two of you are creating and building together, much like a savvy businessman stakes his fortune on an unknown shareholding company despite the fact that the stock market is an unreliable beast.  A man who respects, admires and worships you despite, or even because of, all your supposed faults and is unafraid to address these with you.  A man who believes in the follies of initial love and trusts the slow and steady development of even deeper feelings.

How is it that I can give myself 100% to anyone who gives me 50% or less, giving him my heart and trust almost at the initial hello?  The subconscious monologue within my head sounding something like this: "Well, hello there sir, here is my heart," as I rip it out of my chest, still beating, and hand it to him unceremoniously while it drips blood onto the floor, "Do what you'd like with it, but please do return it bruised, broken and cracked once you are done so that I may give it, damaged, to someone else."  Is this a deficiency on my part?  To trust and expect that people will treat me the way I treat them?  To want to make the recipient of my attention feel like a million bucks when he is making me feel like the equivalent of a Toonie or less?

And when I am alone, sitting on the first step of my gallery while pondering the great meaning of life, where is this contempt for myself stemming from like a weed in full bloom, beautiful in its ugliness within a garden of lilies?  From which place within my psyche is this anger, frustration, bitterness, hostility and anxiety brimming and bubbling over the edges like a Black Velvet stirred too quickly, spewing and spilling over the rim of its tall, thick glass onto the sticky wooden table that has felt way too much disgorged liquids upon its lacquered surface?  When I look in the mirror, who is this fuzzy peach-headed, funkily accessorized and pierced nosed woman staring back with mascaraed and slightly blood-shot eyes?  Why am I able to transform my exterior shell so easily, letting go of the good, cutesy girl look for a more edgy and rocker chick image, shedding my old physical self like a snake discards its skin and slithers away stealthily?  How is it that I can barely scratch and skim the surface of what is going on within my heart and head?  Am I toughening my look in the hopes that my heart will follow suit and become less prone to fragility and vulnerability?

Why am I always reaching out rather than in?  Letting my tentacled emotions latch onto others, squid-like, suffocating them and dragging them down into the unknown and as yet undiscovered depths of my ocean self? Why do I keep trying, again and again and again... when will it be enough?  Even when I confidently say that I am not trying, looking or seeking, I end up making the first move, smiling the first smile, texting the first message, typing the first words in a chat session, making a suggestion for drinks or downright inviting... and then I end up feeling defeated when my appeals are rebuffed, ignored or taken lightly.

I just want to find my star...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qQxPWT-ifyI

Love ??

Our hearts, the treacherous bastards that they are, lead us on wild goose chases that more often than not bring us nothing but pain and heartache;  the beauty, however, lies in the ability to make our way out of the dizzying and maddening love maze, with at least a little bit of dignity still clinging precariously to the remnants of our pride, and to try again and again, without guile and deceit, to face every new prospect with honesty, truth and genuinity.

Thus, gather up the scattered and tattered pieces of your broken heart, whether it has been ripped apart by love lost or other tragic life experiences, patiently and carefully sew the splintered fractures back together and secure the embroidered mass back into your chest, but not too tightly, so that it may be given once again when the right opportunity arises.

F*** Cupid Day Celebrations and Chocolate Orgasms at Juliette and Chocolat

I have arrived a little earlier than my girls with whom I am celebrating the death of the diaper wearing fiend, who plays with all of our mortal hearts like the child he is depicted as would amuse himself with mere toys;  Sharon, my beautiful roommate and friend, should be here relatively soon while Manisha, my soul sister, should make her entrance at 7:30 given that she goes by Manish Time, which is a special time zone only she occupies and for which I have begun to lovingly tease her.  I am asked to wait near the door by the friendly and cheerful waitress while she finds me a spot in the rather empty restaurant, considering what time of year it is;  I had been expecting a line up outside and the tables to be filled with barf-worthy couples canoodling and whispering together over coffee and chocolate goodies.  I sigh inwardly in relief because at least Cupid's dirty work will not be on display.

I take the opportunity to look around me since it is my first time at this place about which I have heard so many positive comments.  The open and airy space and the elevated cream ceilings make me feel even smaller than I really am while the exposed brown brick of the wall in front of me gives the restaurant a rustic aspect.  When the waitress comes to collect me in order to show me to my seat, I glance down at the floor and notice that the tiles resemble milk chocolate squares so that I have the impression that I am walking on chocolate;  I cannot help but smile at the thought.

She seats me at a table attached to an extended length of banquette that resembles an extra long Hershey's milk chocolate bar... more chocolate imagery.  The varnished wooden table on which my left arm and right elbow now rest and onto which the manicured nails of my left hand drum unconsciously is also the color of milk chocolate... hmm, I sense a theme here as I decide to sit on the Hershey's milk chocolate bar.  The walls are the same shade as silky smooth white chocolate and the old fashioned wooden cabinets and counters are a slightly whiter and less creamy tint;  the counters are covered by pale wooden butcher blocks on which red-aproned and hatted employees busily assemble and put the finishing touches on the various desserts that have been ordered by the hungry patrons.  Right above me, on top of the imposing half wall that separates the restaurant in two, are large bulbous vases filled with lengthy decorative spiraling ivory branches that fill the space between this wooden ledge and the imposing and high ceiling.

As I am gazing around me, letting my mind wander not unpleasantly, Sharon appears before me, dark brown hair glistening with melting snowflakes that are falling in abundance outside, her turquoise scarf a beautiful contrast between her pale face and her black tweed coat;  she is smiling, her cheeks rosy from having just come from outside and her glasses are de-fogging slowly.  I greet her with two kisses on her slightly damp and cold cheeks, even though we saw each other just this morning at home, and I wish her a very Happy Fuck Cupid Day.  She sits in front of me on the wooden chair and we make small talk while devouring the menu with our hungry eyes, trying to choose one of the many delicious sounding salads that shall make up our late dinner and shall hopefully compensate for all of the heavier calories we shall ingest afterwards.

The menu mostly consists of chocolate inspired dishes and its mammoth list of brownies, pastries and other desserts to choose from makes my mouth water - an actual cornucopia of chocolate decadence and flavored coffees to perpetuate a sweet and delicious fall from grace for anyone attempting to remain on a diet... thankfully, that is not my case any longer and so I shall enjoy every single bite from whatever it is that I do decide upon... though the decision might be extremely difficult to make... can I take two desserts?  Why just have one?  Isn't there a saying that good things only come in twos?  And at the moment I cannot think of anything else that could be better in twos than a double dose of brownies... maybe with some melting ice cream on top and a huge coffee...

We both decide on our respective salads and we talk about various subjects, including Sharon's new paramedic boyfriend, while we are waiting for our meals to arrive.  I take a few minutes to jot down my impressions of the restaurant in my writing journal;  we joke around that I should pretend to be writing a review for a newspaper so that I might perhaps get a discount or a free meal.  Our immense salads arrive shortly and both plates literally take up the whole tiny table.  The king-size bed of lettuce adorning my huge white square plate is topped with pieces of hard-boiled eggs, strips of deli ham, and the best part, topped with roughly grated cheese.  My salad is garnished how I think all dishes should be: with copious amounts of cheese!  I believe, like the Cheese Whiz slogan, that cheese adds personality!   We quickly dig in, both of us being famished;  I make appreciative "MMMs" with every bite, which I unsuccessfully try to stifle because it tends to annoy people, unless the person sitting in front of me is my mother, in which case she does the same thing.  

Halfway through our salads, I see my bundled-up better half walking towards our table.  I quickly get up and embrace her, giving her tons of kisses on her chilly cheeks to which she giggles and kisses me back just as fervently.  Her long black hair peaking out from underneath her tuque is slightly damp from being exposed to the snowy elements and her dark brown eyes are laughing as she looks at me.  She takes off her coat and displays a cute red shirt she has worn on account of Single Awareness Day, takes a seat on the banquette next to me and begins to look at the menu while Sharon and I finish our salads;  she exclaims over all of the desserts, expressing her desire to try each and every one of the decadent brownies.       

Once we are finished our salads and before the waiter has come and taken our order, I decide to get up and  investigate the intriguing glass case to my left;  it is every diabetic's worst nightmare and every model's private and personal Hell.  The glass shelves are filled to capacity with goodies beyond anyone's wild imagination;  peanut butter and chocolate brownies, white chocolate brownies, unctuous looking chocolate brownies and countless other sorts all piled high on top of immense square porcelain plates with hand-written labels next to them indicating their savory identities.

The other side of the display case is full of special and presumably hand-crafted chocolates, either decorated with different colored icing or plain and made in all sorts of shapes, like squares, ovals and circles.  The chocolates are all neatly lined up on the same white dishes used to keep the sumptuous brownies and there are layers of them in each plate separated by parchment paper - to be that parchment paper, I secretly think for an instant!  Moreover, I can just imagine the sweet and flavorful smell that must escape from this dessert paradise every time an employee has to reach in and take an incredible morsel of chocolate or brownie.

Once I have finished inspecting all of the immoral treats, I go back to my Hershey bar seat and start dissecting the menu with Manisha;  we go through all of the choices and list all of the ones we could make, which are seemingly endless!  Should I have the chocolate and peanut butter or the white chocolate brownie?  Or, should I have a sundae, satisfying my chocolate and ice cream fix at the same time?  Finally, I decide upon the trifle: chocolate mousse layered with pieces of brownies and filled with caramel goodness, complete with melted chocolate to pour on top... OMIGOD.  But then, the coffee selection makes me hesitate a little... what should I have since every kind is so tempting?  I, after consulting the woman who introduced me to my drug in the first place, choose a simple latte so that it will not compete with the richness of my dessert... though I still have a little bit of a difficult time sticking to my decision... and Sharon insists I have a DECAF latte... I wonder why?  When I do mention the latte, conveniently omitting the DECAF part, she immediately looks at our waiter and says "Decaf for HER please."  To which I respond by sticking out my tongue at her.

The desserts soon arrive with a flourish: the brownie trifle for me, the brownie a la mode for Manisha and a sundae for Sharon.  The three of us sink our spoons into our respective chocolate dishes and then are silent... the chocolatey goodness has rendered us mute, which is hard to do, especially to Manisha and I when we are together.  The only sounds coming from our table for a few seconds are "MMMMs" of praise and appreciation... and I can only begin to describe my dessert as being an orgasm in chocolate mousse form.  The creaminess of the dense chocolate mousse lends itself perfectly to the slight saltiness of the thick caramel sauce, all of which is punctuated by the small pieces of soft brownie morsels, and the melted chocolate sauce which I have poured on top adds another layer to the orgasmic melange pervading my mouth.  Add to that the taste of the latte that I am slowly sipping, which is mingling and intertwining itself with the rest of the flavors I have just mentioned... and you can see why I have chosen to describe this utter bliss as an orgasm.

My two girls and I have a great time, eating, laughing, smiling and calling Cupid all sorts of dirty and inappropriate names... ok, ok, it is mostly me badmouthing Cupid... and then we vow to come back and share at least five desserts between the three of us!  All in all, this Fuck Cupid Day has not been so bad because I have the best girlfriends to share it with... now, if only Cupid could take some archery classes from his cousin and step father Ares, the Greek Gods are very incestuous as you all know, so that he could aim for an AVAILABLE man to add to my already amazing life, despite all of my recent ranting and grumbling, then I might not want to hurt him so badly...

Dancing: a Powerful Outlet

I had been anticipating going to dance somewhere, anywhere, all week, but a last minute change of plans meant that I was going to Row's birthday celebrations at Milsa's instead of Salsateque where I have my weekly Latin dance marathon.  So, I am pleasantly surprised when Row and the gang agree to come with Steph and I to PJ O'Hara's earlier than I had originally thought we might... let the dancing begin is what I immediately think when we cross the bar's threshold and hand over our coats, scarves and other paraphernalia to the evening's jacket guardians.  My feet are already itching to move and my hips are aching to follow the beat of any song the DJ will play.

After greeting and chatting with a few people I either know or have recognized from previous parties, my own smaller and more intimate party makes its way to the dance floor at the back of the bar.  The dancing area is rather barren, but it doesn't matter to me as I drag my rather reluctant revelers onto the dance floor in order to get the groove going as early as possible.  I climb onto the elevated platform and begin to ham it up for the benefit of my friends, my motto being: fake it till you feel it.  I wiggle my booty suggestively at Row, making her laugh, and serenade her with my loud and obnoxious renditions of "DJ's Got Us Falling In Love Again," "I Like it," and "Who's that Chick" while exaggerating my mouth and arm gestures.  For Steph, my spooning companion for the evening, I reserve the shaking of my disappearing breasts by moving my shoulders rapidly and spreading out my arms;  she dances near me and sings her heart out to all of the songs she recognizes while laughing at the theatrics I am putting on for their benefit, and mine, truth be told.  Abdie, one of our gorgeous male friends, disappears and reappears at sporadic moments, dancing with me zealously for short intervals of time.

Clearly, I am and feel in my element while the others are not feeling it so much;  thus, it is decided that the others shall go to another bar close-by while I stay in order to dance and ogle the male chocolate wrestlers that are supposed to be the main attraction for us ladies tonight.  I feel a little hard pressed to not be going with Steph and Row to the other bar, partly because I do not want to lose Steph since we are spending the night together and secondly because I had not wanted to spend another night alone at a club... though I do inevitably end up dancing with other people somehow... but we assure each other that we shall meet at our designated spot.

"I needs to dance..." I smile sadly and tell my unwarrantably worried and concerned friends while I shrug my shoulders as an offering of further explanation.  I glance at Steph and our eyes meet.  She nods slightly, tilts her head to one side and offers a small enigmatic smile - I do not need to tell her what it is that I truly desire, which is to forget myself and my thoughts for the ever so brief moments of peace and solace that the music will bring me.  She squeezes my arm and makes sure that I do not mind that she is going and I of course reassure her that everything is fine and that she needs to enjoy her night as much as I will attempt to love mine.

They soon leave, allowing me to slip back into the anonymity and darkness I find on the now crowded dance floor.  I let the beat of each song decide what my hips, feet and arms will do, letting the tension that constantly dwells in my shoulders and neck disappear and dissipate slowly.  I dance at the fringe of all the tightly formed groups of swaying and sweating bodies, letting my own uncoil and relax from the small and mundane stresses it has experienced and absorbed during the week;  I sing along to every song, not caring how loudly I am or am not singing.

I decide at a certain moment to go and check out the chocolate wrestling, but after a brief hiatus I return to the dance floor in the same manner that an alcoholic is drawn to a bottle of Bourbon or JD - it is an instinctual and irresistible pull that I cannot and will not deny.  The elevated platform I was occupying before is now too crowded with gyrating young female students and a couple, or a potential one at least, grinding against one another as though they are the only two people here.  I therefore make my into the middle of all these individuals, close my eyes for a moment and let the beat of the music wash over me like a soothing ocean wave.

The rhythm of the songs dictate how my body decides to move and I let myself get carried away, no thoughts clouding my mind, no foolish feelings choking my throat and making my light blue eyes well up with silly tears.  I am right now simply a moving body and I smile despite myself because it just feels so damn good to be moving along to melodies rather than to my thoughts and emotions.  How to describe the welcoming blank space filling the area between my two ears rather than the images and scenes that play like a slideshow behind my eyelids whenever I close them, these moving pictures blinding me from seeing and appreciating what is in my life rather than what is lacking from it.

Dancing, what a powerful and effective eraser of anything that is not belonging to my immediate physical state of being and for the duration of my time spent on the dance floor, I am, for the most part, blissfully happy;  my sadness, apprehensions, questions and doubts leak out of me with the beads of sweat forming and collecting on the small of my back, the space between my breasts, the crevices underneath my arms, the top of my forehead and the sensitive area that is my neck while my hair is soaked and tied back so as to be out of my way.

At some point, however, a song I both love and abhor begins to play and I smile ruefully as the images that I unwillingly allow to play in my mind bombard and bother me like pesky mosquitoes.  Two separate scenes play out in my head in which I danced with the same individual to the same bloody song but at two different locations.
The first occurred at a club when we were the two of us enjoying the night together as though it would not end.  We had been dancing for a short while before the song in question had come on and I had recognized it right away - we had been playing a game all night where I would call out the names of the songs before they had fully begun to play... well, at least I was playing!  After I had yelped in excitement because I had heard the first beginning notes, he had pulled me towards him and we had started to dance closer together;  I took the opportunity to kiss his salty cheek and grinning lips while our hips had continued to move intimately.
The second time was when I had pulled some of his lady friends onto the dance floor with me at a local bar - I had no idea where he had gone and though I was feeling insecure and a little uncomfortable, I was determined to enjoy myself nevertheless.  So, we were dancing, the four of us ladies, when the song had come on and I had let out an appreciative 'woohoo!' while allowing my hips and arms to take control of the rest of my body as I mumbled along to the words.  I do not know how, but I felt him watching me and so I looked into the direction where I thought he might be, and sure enough, there he was leaning against a table, smirking at me as though he had been looking at me all along.  I had smiled back and then looked away so as to continue to dance.

I let the scenes settle in my mind like sediment in a glass of water;  I take refuge in the rhythm, lyrics and melodies and focus on what my body is doing.  I look around me and see the female chocolate wrestler I had befriended earlier and an ASFA Exec, so I go over and start dancing with them, grateful for the mask of happiness I must now wear partly for their benefit, but mostly for mine.  I would dance well into the next morning if I was allowed to, but unfortunately the bar must close and the morning must be faced and dealt with.  My sole solace is knowing that I am meeting my dear female friend again at the end of the night to talk and laugh with and with whom I can platonically spoon and hug fiercely if I need to.

A Whole New Meaning to Wrestling

The two male opponents kneel down into the liquid chocolate and, I have been told by a reliable source, lube mixture that only covers the very bottom of the inflated basin.  The tiled floor directly underneath it is covered in plastic, but the immediate area surrounding it is extremely slick and slippery - one wrong move around the tiny pool and you will find yourself in it!  The Concordia students attending this event have left their previously occupied bar stools and counters and have gathered around the upcoming entertainment;  we are all crowded together in a rather tight space, especially considering the excitement such an activity will potentially generate.

My attention is drawn to the young men in the small makeshift ring;  the challenger to my right is a muscular blond with shoulder length hair and well-defined abs who is wearing a headband and two rather revealing Speedo-like shorts.  The gentleman to my left is a taller and even stockier light brown haired guy wearing nothing but tight jean cut-offs;  I decide that I will cheer for my fellow Concordian further away from me, to my left - why, just because he is damn hot!

They face each other and perform a few theatrics for the benefit of the still growing crowd, who voices its appreciation when the blond beats his chest like King Kong and then flicks chocolate into his nemesis' face.  In order to start the match, the two men must be covered in chocolate and so two gorgeous ladies perform that duty;  they each take a plastic bucket with chocolate sloshing at the bottom and then respectively tip their pails onto the awaiting wrestlers' bodies... and both boys are now unctuously gleaming and glistening with melted milk chocolate so that their muscular physiques are highlighted and more defined... ladies, if you loved chocolate before, let me tell you that you would at this very moment adore it even more after witnessing such a marvelous and yummy spectacle.

The battle is now ready to begin and the tension between the two testosterone driven male bodies has elevated slightly as neither wishes to lose face while smeared with chocolate.  The ref blows his plastic whistle and the two primed males spring towards one another, both reaching for the kerchief tucked into their respective chocolate drenched belts worn for that specific purpose.  Their beautiful bodies slide and slip against the walls of the inflated basin and chocolate raindrops splash the cheering audience - I am tempted to lick my arm when some chocolate lands there, but then I remember what has been done in that chocolate and so I restrain myself! 

The first round is over with pretty quickly with the jean shorts toting man winning it;  he pumps his arms into the air yielding the rag as his prize and the spectators respond accordingly with screams and hoots as though we are witnessing a gladiator having triumphed over a roaring lion.  The imposing and young looking student slightly behind and to the left of me yells the champion's name and I turn towards him to make sure I have heard correctly before I scream, "Go Jessie!"  Jessie, whom I have never met in my life, looks away from the rest of his adoring fans, flashes his teeth in a smile, thereby creating a striking contrast  against the darkness of his chocolate covered face, and then points his finger in my direction while he winks at me provocatively - I can only respond with an enthusiastic "WOOHOO!" as the next round is about to begin.  The next two rounds determine the smaller of the two men as the winner, yet it seems as though Jessie is a crowd favorite.  Once the match has officially ended, the two wrestlers respectfully shake hands to a series of whoops and hollers before exiting the rubber pool and making their way upstairs to clean up and change.

Up next are two beautiful Amazonian brunettes tastefully covered in a way that makes me pleasantly surprised - for some reason I had thought the women would be more scantily clad than the men, but the male variety, especially a dude who goes by the name of Mighty, have been less dressed than the ladies and have therefore given us much more to look at!  While we are waiting for the match to begin, I befriend the female wrestler to my right and we dance to a couple of songs together, creating our own dance floor smack in the middle of the bar, and we share a few laughs and many smiles.  Finally, the fight is about to start and one of the organizers of the event, the gorgeous, bubbly, sweet as pie and newly converted to the blond side ASFA Exec, asks me to pour the chocolate over my new acquaintance;  I accept and tell my pumped wresting warrior the duty I must perform by her.

The two focused chicks climb into the rubber enclosure, kneel down and already try to psych each other out with a few cutthroat looks - man do women ever play dirty against one another!  And why is that?  Perhaps that might be the subject of another blog!  For now, let me take you back around the chocolate pool while the ASFA Exec and I tip our buckets over the heads of our respective contenders.  We then carefully, because the floor is as slick as newly formed ice, but quickly, so as not to get drenched in flying chocolate, back away from the ensuing fight. 

The ref signals the start of the round and both girls immediately lunge at each other, flinging chocolate in every direction.  The first two rounds are pretty definite with my betting horse aggressively winning the kerchief both times;  the final part finishes with my chocolate warrior coming out of it on top - literally - she has grabbed her opponent, flipped her over, straddled her and seized the chocolate soaked rag.  The match is over with my challenger having won hands down.  The two women then amicably hug each other, smile and laugh together, presumably at the fact that they are covered in chocolate and are at this moment beyond recognizable.

My novel acquaintance steps out of the pool with a triumphant grin barely visible underneath all of the chocolate smeared on her pretty face.  She high fives me, leaving chocolate dripping down my upraised palms and pumps her arms into the air to signal her achievement.  We the audience cheer for her uproariously having shared in her victory accomplished in a basin of chocolate.  We then slowly make our way back to whatever short-lived and yet oh-so-necessary comforts we had been engaging in before the wrestling matches had taken precedence;  we turn back to all of the other sorts of activities the night life has to offer and the chocolate wrestling soon becomes a dim and faint memory while the fog of alcohol or the hypnotic effect of dancing takes over. 

Running into a Familiar Gentle Giant

“You should SO go wrestle!”  I tell the exceptionally cute and lofty blond guy whom I am actually taller than at this particular moment, though he normally towers a good head and a half above me.  I picture him half nude and covered in chocolate and need to make sure that I am not actually drooling!

He shrugs his broad shoulders and continues to dance, sipping at the beer he is holding in his large right hand.  “You go!”  He responds while tapping along to the beat with his mammoth sneaker-clad feet. 

Leaning towards him I say rather flirtatiously and with a slight competitive edge coloring my voice, “I’ll go if I can take you on…” and I smirk while I jab him gently in the chest with my two index fingers.

“Phff!”  Grinning, he then sneers and looks at me bluntly from head to foot.  He cocks his head to the left, motions up and down with his hands to indicate his impressive height and then mimics carrying something over his shoulder.  He leans his whole body towards me and declares, “I could take you with one arm.” 

I smirk in response and challenge him loudly over the blaring music, “Dude, bring it!”

Before I can even react, he brazenly and deftly scoops me off of my feet and slings me over the shoulder he has just indicated a few seconds earlier;  my torso hangs over his left shoulder and rests against his wide and muscular back as he spins me around and I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, kicking my bent legs in protestation, my arms glued to my sides while my talon like nails carve and dig into his solid shoulders.  Despite my trepidation, I cannot help but giggle breathlessly and a little nervously.  After he has spun me around a few more times than what can be considered a comfortable number after having eaten at Milsa, he softly sets me back down on my dancing spot.   I quickly glance towards Steph and Row, who are looking at me with mouths wide open.

So, who is this scruffy and delicious blond individual who literally swept me off my feet for a total of perhaps five minutes tops?  Well, it seems like we met AGES ago back at the beginning of September when I lost four hours of my life at a chalet somewhere close to Quebec City... CRAZY weekend that was and one that I would repeat EVERY week if I could, albeit to the detriment of my liver and overall health.  This younger man was actually one of the many highlights of this trip and we had shared some ridiculous moments belting out songs, dancing along to others, drinking, playing Foosball and then having intermittent conversations on the bus trip back to Montreal.

Hilariously enough, I had not recognized him at first when he approached me while I was dancing, entranced as I was in my own little world on the elevated platform near the DJ.  My three companions were dancing off to my right on the rather empty dance floor, being a little too conservative to be on display shaking and moving above everyone else. 

A few minutes soon after our arrival, the really good looking man in question, wearing a close-fitting red t-shirt and faded, scuffed, torn and tastefully tight jeans, had approached my sacred dancing space and had smiled at me - I, being the innocent and friendly gal that I am, had smiled back just as sweetly.  The roguish man had then proceeded to comment, while looking at me and drawing circles next to his ear and pretending to drink a few too many beers, to my new male acquaintance, whom I had only met earlier that evening at Milsa.  Intrigued, I kept looking at him, a little confused and wondering what was going on.  I like a good game of charades, but when you are the subject of the imitation and apparent ridicule, it gets tiring pretty quickly.  So, after this now seemingly rude and clearly drunk guy had spoken to my new pal and had pointed at me a few too many times while doing so, I looked at him pointedly and stopped dancing.  At this point, he had come closer and his beer-infused breath had tickled my ear while he had asked in a loud enough manner to be heard over the music, "You don't remember me, do you?"

I had stepped back, pretended to study him for a few seconds and then had to shrug my shoulders with a smile when the answer to his question was an unfortunate no;  my mind was drawing a blank and I was unable to distinguish him from the many people I have been lucky enough to have met since last September.  He mumbled something as he shook his head and began to walk away, and the only word I was able to catch was "ASFA"... and then my memory suddenly awoke and desperately shot out images into my mind of who this man was.

I screamed out his name excitedly, jumped off my platform and grabbed his shoulders as he continued to walk away towards the bar.  He turned around and smiled to which I replied by stretching my body as tall as it could humanly go while taking his gorgeous face in my hands and bringing it to mine so as to kiss both of his stubbly and slightly scratchy cheeks.  I grinned at him as I let go of his face and then grabbed his arm to pull him back onto the dance floor with me.

Funny how life is: it throws you a cute curve ball every once in a while to show you that they really still DO exist!