Reflections over Heavenly Coffee

I am perched atop a low backed black plastic stool with skinny metal legs at the high Formica counter that is desperately trying to imitate marble and yet failing considerably to do so;  the wall of street level windows is directly in front of me and I glance at the individuals I presume to be students and professors scurrying along Mackay to and from their classes.  The cool air hitting the windows or an invisible ventilation duct is causing fleshy goosebumps to form on my pale exposed arms.  Meanwhile, the latte I am slowly sipping is competing with this passive aggressive cold front by gently and gradually warming up the inside of my belly while languidly spreading its heat throughout the rest of my body and into my extremities.  The tall paper cup I am lovingly holding in my left hand while my right is busy composing nonsense already feels lukewarm and yet it nevertheless also feels quite comforting against the sensitive skin of my palm.  The delicate raspberry flavor permeating my grandiose latte tickles and plays with my palate and tongue as I nurse this newly discovered gem, only setting it down when I check the time on my annoyingly silent cellphone.  Drinking this deliciously mild mixture of mocha goodness makes me regret all of the years I have spent not being intimately acquainted with this divine liquid we mortals call coffee.

The conversations unfurl around me and mix with the sound of milk being foamed, cups and saucers being clinked and clanked against one another, the lone cash register's buttons being pressed and it beeping loudly in protestation, loose change being dropped onto the counter instead of into the awaiting cashier's hand and the low and almost inaudible humming of a working dishwasher.  Snippets and bits of dialogues and discussions reach my ears, laughter shared over perhaps now tepid teas and coffees, exclamations over life's hilarity or someone's wit and the peculiar yet muted sound of a few dispersed laptop users either assuredly and fluidly typing away or hesitantly pecking at the threatening keys before them.  The various noises blend into one another to create a coffee house symphony with its own ebb and flow;  at times all of the instruments are playing at once so that there is a pleasant cacophony of sound while at other moments only certain ones take center-stage.  Leona Lewis' song "Better in Time" significantly and eerily begins to play, but I am barely able to focus on the words because images of three particular men are crowding into my tired brain;  I try in vain to reconnect with the distinctly separate and yet interconnected sounds, yet the thoughts and the feelings that are intertwined with them are too strong.

The disappearance of one of these men from my life has left me with a constant dull pain that never seems to go away because I miss his friendship and assuring presence so very much.  Perhaps more so recently since I have taken the teaching contract at Pius and I now have to wait every night at the same bus stop he would often come and pick me up at.  The recent absence of the other, although known and anticipated, has left me reeling in a way that I should have predicted and yet chose to ignore and his laughing eyes and irresistible smile are never far from my mind's eye.  In fact, while walking to the Sushi Shop on the other side so as to grab a small bite to eat, I am obliged to pass by the table where we had sat and shared more than just hot drinks - the memory of that kiss causes a bittersweet smile to form on my nostalgic lips as I attempt to smother and suffocate the volcano of passionate scenes that are threatening to erupt within the private viewing chambers of my mind.  The re-emergence in my surroundings of the last man I am musing over, despite or because of my best efforts to the contrary, has confused, befuddled and angered me;  puzzled because of how I still feel about him, yet frustrated because I should and do know better.

However, as I sit here and people-watch, imagining the diverse yet assuredly complicated relations and connections between the different groupings of individuals that stroll by, I gently but firmly push the invasive and intrusive images of the aforementioned male sort back into the recesses of my mind from where I know they will continue to lurk and from which they will inevitably crawl back out of.  The light brown and black splattered wannabe marble Formica surface comes back into focus;  I let the clatter and noise seep back into my consciousness while I take a second to smile inwardly at myself because I have just enjoyed the most savory and delicious coffee since I fell in love at Second Cup about three weeks ago ... that creamy and sweet maple syrup concoction that is worth every freakin' ingested calorie and most be sipped extremely slowly so as to draw out every millisecond of pleasure and taste ... YUMMY!!

I take a moment to concentrate on the essentials that I have a direct impact upon: I have slept, albeit not that well; I have eaten, only enough to satisfy my daily nutritional demand, but there is food in my tummy; and yes, I am still breathing.  The rest will come.  And, if it is anything like the short-lived glimpse I was given for a month of what it can feel and be like, then I a can wait patiently because I know it will be wonderful ... and it will trump even the glorious maple syrup ambrosia I absolutely adore.

How Do You Know?????? (Part Two)

Let me start off this blog with two quotes about my wonderful, beautiful and ridiculously amazing friends:

A single rose can be my garden... a single friend, my world.
Leo Buscaglia
And I have six lovely senoritas in my life that I can call my friends, so you can imagine how full my world really is.


Friends are the sunshine of life.
John Hay
And they really are the sunshines of my life when my sky seems so overcast and gray... and when the sun does shine, well then they are what makes the days seem so much brighter and even more amazing.


So, while I should be planning for my lesson tonight, here I am writing a blog about my friends once again because I have been blessed with THE most incredible women that anyone could ever find in the whole entire world.  And so how do I know that they are the most fantastic individuals that have ever been born on this whole planet?  Well, here we go:


She encourages you to go to the gym with her by calling you a fat cow if you do not go and sweat yourself silly at 7:30 in the morning - now, this might not sound funny at first, but it IS when you get to call HER a fat cow if she does not go to the gym either!  So, the fact that you can call each other huge heifers and moo at one  another if neither of you go to the gym is incredibly hilarious and not meant to hurt each other in the slightest... and she still tells you that you are beautiful anytime that you see her.  She does not get angry at you either when you are constantly flaking out on her when you are supposed to be going to the gym together and she accepts that you are trying so hard to do just that but are being hindered by lack of sleep...
She also knows how you are and tells it to you straight when you are thinking of doing stupid and silly things that are not good for you in the slightest - and then does not get mad at you when you do not listen to her because you are as foolish as you know and think you are.  Not only that, but she job hunts FOR you when you tell her that being a teacher is perhaps not what you are meant to be... and then she finds you a job posting that combines the art of teaching with the ability to make people feel beautiful while working with children... WOW...

She patiently listens to you rant, rail, whine, complain and confess your misdeeds and then responds by telling you very sweetly: "I do not agree with what you are doing, but I will not yell at you or scream at you and I will be there for you no matter what" in that gloriously soft and matter-of-fact voice of hers.  And then she hugs you very tightly the next time she sees you and tells you that she only wants what is best for you.
She goes to a salsa lesson when she had not felt like going to begin with and she mostly attends FOR you... and not only that, but she does in fact stay at the club with you for a little while because she knows you are crazy and need to dance - of course, it helps that the lesson was being held THERE to begin with, but you know she would have come upstairs with you even if it was just for a short while.

She begins to party with you in the hopes of getting super drunk because she is dealing with stuff of her own, and yet she stops drinking when she sees that you have become so completely sloshed that you are not making any sense at all - she then cleans up after you when you have lost your dinner in your bed, strips the linens from the bed and places them in the wash, tells you to take a shower and stands outside the door while asking you periodically if you are ok in there, picks out the most comfy flannel pajamas you own, and then tucks you into bed - meanwhile, need I repeat that she is coping with her own shit and that this is the SECOND time that she takes care of you while you are entirely too inebriated to even remember your own name nevermind the reason why you ingested all of that alcohol to begin with?  And may I also mention that TWO drunken nights are now owed to her from yours truly.
She also plans a summer in England with you even though you are a completely neurotic and crazy individual - but you both know that you would have SUCH a blast together and you are both so convinced of this fact that you are ready to jump on a plane together the very next day if it was not for work, school and life obligations.  Watch out all you British men out there with your sexy accents!!  WOMAN, you know it's true!!

After a day spent at the ER, she comes and sees you bearing a Cadbury Creme Egg, an oatmeal cookie, the best hug ever and the most beautiful smile;  you are beyond happy that she is there and that she did not listen to your halfhearted protestations because you had wanted to spare her the screaming man in the back and the chatterbox sitting next to you.  She even stays in the waiting room while you are finally being seen by the doctor;  then she comes to embrace you when she sees you standing there outside the room in a flimsy gown feeling as vulnerable as a newborn with your nerves having been frayed to bits because you are STILL waiting for that doctor.  And even though she had made previous plans with other friends, she only leaves you when she knows you are ok.
She invites you to a chalet she has the opportunity of staying at because she knows that you need to get away from your life even if it is only for a very short while - and what a getaway it will be with two gorgeous and wonderfully kind and charming men, my beautiful and amazingly silly English mate with the most incredible laugh and, if she comes, my laugh-till-my-sides-hurt soul sister, Steph.

She makes sure that it is ok that she invites her new boyfriend over because she knows that it might be a sensitive issue for you, but when you let her know that you would rather she be there WITH him than not be there at all, she verifies that you are still good if she does in fact decide to go to his house just for convenience sake. 
She makes sure that you are doing well and lets you know that she is there for you if you need to talk or if you just want to watch tv or a movie with her and she even gives you your space when you respond that you just wanna write a blog and listen to some sappy music (which, by the way, she has NOT complained about, though sappy music has been blaring since last week !!).

She hugs you as though you have not seen each other in ages EVERY time you DO see one another and these are some of the most amazing embraces because they are so genuine and heartfelt!  And, have I mentioned that these hugs are like beer on tap ??  You just have to ask for another and there it is!
She THANKS YOU when all you have done is listen to her and offer some of your perhaps less than sound advice;  of course, she gives you the same opportunity to spill your own beans any time you need to.

I cannot express how wonderful it is to know that I can count on my chicitas to provide me with either the comfort and love I need when I am feeling less than my fabulous self or to offer me the very best times of my life.  I am one of THE luckiest women in the world by far for being able to say that these women are a part of my life.

Running... Better than Sex???

I have just discovered that running is an activity that is very similar to riding a bike, swimming, skating, playing an instrument or any kind of sport, eating chocolate and having sex: once you have done it at least once in your lifetime and even when you have not indulged in a little while, your body still just knows what to do and enjoys it oh-so-much when you do go for it.

I was sitting at my computer, aimlessly and guiltily wasting my time on Facebook when I should have been doing a bunch of other more important and significant chores and duties, when my wonderful roomie asked me quite nonchalantly if I wanted to go for a run with her.  My first response would have been, "Nah... I had not planned on running today and I have tons of things to do..." - remember what I was doing, right?  The funny thing is that when you have not run in a while because of many more-than-enjoyable yet sleep-deprived nights, days spent doing various sorts of physical gymnastics or because of your body's discomfort due to a strange and seemingly implausible physical situation, your first instinct is to NOT go running when asked - in fact, you want to do quite the opposite at the mere mention of the word "running", or you DO want to run, but you want to run away screaming and flailing your arms from the word and the act of running.  However, I surprised both me and my roommate when I actually said, "Yeah, sure.  Just let me get dressed and I am right there with you."

I felt better than I had all weekend as soon as I pulled on my worn-in jogging pants that are way too thin to be running in at this time of year, my usual thin black long-sleeved shirt, my gray Cuisines Crotone sweater, my faded navy blue polar fleece sweater that is way too big for me, my striped running scarf and my black Piglet tuque - what a beautiful runner I make, let me tell you.  Lululemon ain't got nothing on me.  I topped off my killer running outfit by adding my navy blue and turquoise striped gloves that I normally have to take off anyways when I get too warm - yes peeps, you do actually get warm when you jog outside in the winter.  I could already sense my mood lifting as I slipped on my ancient sneaks and made sure that my house key was well-tied onto the laces of my right shoe.  I was ready and yet dreading this run a little because I had not jogged in a while... cannot even tell you the last time I had run, so it might have been closer to Christmas time or perhaps early in January.  Regardless - I was feeling more reluctant than energetic and yet at the same time I was feeling a familiar tugging and pulling to be out there on the snow-covered pavement, letting my feet carry me on my customary route.

I knew I had made the best impulsive decision I have ever made in a long time as soon as Sharon and I started running.  My lungs relaxed from the initial cold shock, my feet felt the familiar squish, slop and slickness of the snow and slush and my arms tensed slightly while they began to swing alternately.  We reached the main street close to our apartment and it stretched out in front of me in a non-threatening manner;  the sun at this point in the day was high in the sky and its rays kissed the tips of our noses and our exposed cheeks.  The wind was on vacation that day and the air was just crisp enough to make you want to start moving somehow and yet not cold enough to make you want to turn back immediately.

Once we got going on the main street, I was surprised to find that it was much easier than I had anticipated and I was able to keep a steady pace.  In between breaths, Sharon and I chatted about the men in our lives, my stay at the General and my recent altercation with my best friend so that we could forget about the fact that we were in fact running!  Pretty soon though, I reached that magical running moment when I feel as though my body can just keep on going and going and never stop... and it felt amazing.

I convinced Sharon to do all of our usual trajectory, passing by the bus booth that used to have OUR husband GSP's clothing ad, retracing our steps and then continuing until the Belanger light and by the end of it my pace kept increasing until I reached the Desjardins goal and pumped my fists into the air à la Rocky.  My calf muscles began to throb dully as they usually do after a run, just to let me know, like recalcitrant children, that they had in fact worked hard for me and I should recognize their effort.  My cracked and bruised heart was buoyed up from the bottom of the ocean of emotion it had been drowning in since Thursday and all of the endorphins released in my body were having a party and I had been invited.

What a great run that was and here's to many more!  Only TWO more months left before the Minto Race of 10km... BRING IT!!!

Meeting a Talkative Angel and Eating a Cadbury Creme Egg in the General ER Waiting Room

I would never have thought that I would be spending all of the Saturday that I was supposed to have spent at SPEAQ Campus at the General Hospital Emerg in the waiting room instead, but life rarely steers you where you think you should be going.  I had not been feeling physically well since Friday afternoon and on Saturday morning I had begun to feel much worse, so I had asked Stephanie whether I should go to the General or not, which is up the hill from Concordia, and she had insisted that I do in fact go.

It was pretty quiet when I got there and so I had thought it would not take too long for me to be seen by the doctor... big mistaken assumption on my part seeing as there is a whole behind-the-scenes area through which many more patients with much bigger issues and problems pass.  The worst part was that I had not brought my Ipod nor my book "Women are Crazy, Men are Stupid" because I had thought that I would be going out later with the SPEAQ crowd to Mckibbin's... so, I had nothing to entertain myself with other than my topsy-turvey thoughts and images of a dear one walking through the very area where I was stuck twiddling my thumbs;  wondering in which area he might have worked and who he might in fact know while telling myself to focus on the silly Sudoku I was trying to do from the 24 Heures with the ballpoint pen I had bummed from the unimpressed and jaded looking security guard.  *Sigh* Did I mention the title of the book I could have brought with me and did not?  Well, me sitting in the waiting room, musing, pondering, reminiscing and imagining the way I was?  Prime example of a loca senorita.

I was getting even crazier by the minute because of the wait, which was no one's fault, and I was too bummed out and physically hurting to really talk to any of the other individuals waiting around in the same dreary state I was in.  A balding man on a stretcher in front of me needed help a couple of times, once with rolling his plaid sleeve back onto his arm, another time because the faded folded hospital gown at the foot of his makeshift bed had fallen and the last with his boots when he wanted to go out for a smoke, but other than that, we were all pretty miserable and not speaking much to each other.

At some point in the early afternoon, after I had been seen by the cute Asian frontline nurse wearing dark turquoise and purple lined scrubs, who left me with a huge bruise on my right hand after having tried to take blood from there, I had gone back to triage to know when I would be seen.  I was sitting in the hallway directly to the right of the entrance, waiting at the triage door, the swinging doors into the next long corridor opening every once in a while because of a punched in security code to reveal a dark-skinned man holding what looked like a Bible, fervently imploring any passersby to say "Hallelujiah", when a bald Latin American man sat next to me.  He was holding his head and looking a little more than dazed;  he rather quickly went in to see the triage nurse and then lurched and stumbled to the registration area while I went to see the triage nurse and did not get any of the responses I had been hoping for.

I therefore grudgingly went back to my original seat and resigned myself to spending the whole day staring at the ensuing and oh-so-boring golf game on the tv screen mounted on the wall directly in front of me.  A few minutes after my bum had somewhat comfortably settled on the not-so-comfortable plasticy seat, the groggy looking thirty-something year old man plopped himself in the vacant place next to mine.  The dialogue between us pretty much began like any other conversation that is started in a hospital waiting room: questions like what's wrong with you to make you be here, how long have you been here and how long do you have to wait followed.  He calmly told me his diagnosis by the triage nurse in his slightly accented voice: he either had a nerve stuck somewhere near his jaw that was not allowing the right side of his face to move normally, or he was going to have a stroke... wow.

"So, I woke up this morning and the whole right side of my face was numb and you see?  I still can't really move my lips normally - what does my face look like right now?  Am I smiling evenly or do I still look like Jim Carrey?  God I hate Jim Carrey and I hate looking like him.  Hey, I have a question for you, which disease is a fake one?  Pink rabies or water intoxication?"  (Pink rabies by the way).  And so began my day with Angelo, a well-meaning yet perhaps slightly deranged fellow patient, and my short-lived yet very entertaining education concerning the seemingly peculiar customs or beliefs held by various cultures.  Do any of you know why a Japanese man will order a smaller meal than his boss when out at a restaurant?  Did you know that some Latin Americans are so ashamed to be called by that cultural name that they deny it completely?  And, I am sure that some of you had no idea that Koreans will give gifts with two hands, not just one.  We also had a rather interesting discussion about language and what it means for a person like me to not be able to identify with a specific language, but rather equally with two;  he thought it was hilarious that I cannot speak angrily in my supposed mother tongue when I am really peed off and so I usually have to resort to English or end up looking like a stuttering and spluttering fool.  Peeps, you think I, Marie-Eve Therrien, speak a lot?  Well, you have not met Angelo, who would be my match and perhaps even rival in any conversational Olympics if there were any.

I, in the frayed and nervous state that I was in by the time I met him, welcomed the distraction and listened avidly, but somewhat annoyingly, I'll grudgingly admit, to all of his banter.  We settled into a mostly one-sided exchange, our seating arrangements not allowing us to really be that distant from each other, so our arms were touching not uncomfortably.  At times, I wished I was back to being alone because his overly energetic monologues were demanding way too much of my attention and focus when all I wanted to do was leave, go home, put on my flannel pj's and crawl in between my cold sheets, but his presence was in general very welcome.

Having lost track of the time that was crawling by so slowly like a stoned and inebriated snail, I do not have any idea when the screaming commenced from somewhere in the back that was not visible to us fortunate folk in the waiting area.  Seeing my horror-struck expression and intuitively knowing that his conversation would no longer hold my attention, Angelo kindly offered that we listen to his MP3 player, which I gladly accepted and tuned into with one ear while he listened to the other.  Then, when the yelling grew worse, he kindly offered the other earphone to me so that I could plug both of my ears and focus on the rather strange song that he later told me was a lesbian love ballad... will not even comment on that!!!

And then, like a rainbow after a really dark and rainy day when the sun barely peeks out from behind the gloomy and gray clouds, my beautiful and wonderful English mate Row decided that she would come and see me despite my protestations, negations and grumblings to the contrary.  She appeared by my side after having texted me throughout the day for updates and she was bearing two gifts: an oatmeal cookie and a Cadbury Creme Egg... what a blessing she was!  Her blondish red hair was slightly damp from the softly falling snow that had started at some point during the awfully long day, but her wide and open mouthed grin and shining eyes were all I paid attention to and took solace from... ok, ok, the chocolate and the cookie DID help a little as well.  However, it was evidently more the fact that she was sitting there next to me, willing to wait around until I was examined by the doctor, that really made me see what it means to truly be someone's friend.  And, of course, I have mentioned that she had brought me chocolate AND a cookie.

At the end of this horrible day, I was more than alright, which I cannot say the same about for the other patients with whom I had shared my time because I do not know what their fates were.  The "Hallelujah" preacher, the blood-curdling screamer and even the ancient Italian man who jumped out of his stretcher, pulled out his IV and was found wandering in the stairwell after I had seen more than I would have ever wanted to see of his flabby and sunken backside, were all way worse off for wear than I was.

I left the Hospital at 9:30 pm after having registered at roughly 11:00 am and all I could think about was how I was going to scarf down a massive poutine at Mckibbin's with my woman Steph, who was waiting for me there with the other SPEAQ members I had unwillingly let down by my absence.  During my interminable stay at the General, I met an angel who would not shut up and I ate a Cadbury Creme Egg brought to me by a woman I am so fortunate to be able to call my friend;  I left the stale air and, in order to celebrate, my body decided to jog along Sherbrooke street and then to sprint down Mackay all the way to Mckibbin's.  I am hoping that my talkative angel was able to leave the Hospital in the same capacity that I was and I cannot thank him enough for having kept me company during our shared waiting time.  

Family Resemblances: My Mom, My Friend

She is bundled up in one of her many robes;  this particular one is a bizarre but very thick and soft material and an even stranger color that is a cross between a brown and a tan with a pinkish hue.  She has on her pajamas underneath her comfortably tattered and worn housecoat and I shall let you, my audience, know that the time is a very early 8:00 pm, but that is just the way my mom rolls.  Sitting in the other swively desk chair next to me, her feet, like mine, just a few millimeters from the light-colored hardwood floor, she is perusing the pics on Facebook that we had taken on her birthday and on Christmas Eve.

Her smile, so much like my own, is on constant display as we chit chat while looking at the family snapshots of our recent get-togethers;  her rosy cheeks, jutting out above her gaily exposed teeth, are the same ones that adorn my face whenever I flash my own grin and her dark blue eyes are crinkled at the corners in the same manner mine do. Reminiscing and laughing over these pictures of the times we have just spent together getting all tangled up by playing Twister both at my house and hers and sharing some wonderful food either prepared by my less-than-skilled-chef hands or by her more-than-capable-after-years-of-practice hands, I am reminded of how easy it is to talk to her.  Our Frenglish banter and chatter has always been rather easy to commence when we are together, despite the fact that we sometimes go a few days without having spoken to one another, her life being just as charged and full as mine. 


I, however, have not always been completely truthful when speaking with my mom, especially when I was younger and a little more brazen, but I would more often than not end up confessing my misdemeanors to her or asking for her advice in matters of love and life in general.  Who will really blame me though for my memory slips or omissions, she IS, after all, my mother, and she might not have always agreed with what her apparently innocent daughter had done or experienced. 

On the other other hand, she has always been willing to listen, at times offering unwelcome and unwanted advice or, and this happens much more often, merely proffering an unbiased ear and wide open arms for me to sink into in the most amazing of "calins" given in the world.  Her loving and soothing murmurs of "abeille" and "cherie" when interjecting or showing me that she is following what I am expressing, or her sentences that begin with "sweet" in a rising tone when she is questioning what I am saying or when she is giving me a suggestion of some sort, whether wanted or not, are often sought out; her little affectionate nicknames for me melting into our discussions while I alernately call her "ma" in my Quebecois accent when I am questioning her supposedly sound advice by saying, "Oui, mais ma...",  my "mom" in a softer falling tone when I am trying to convince her about something or, "mother" in a much sterner voice when I absolutely do not agree with what she has said.

In these new adventures of mine, she is my indispensable yet not omnipresent sidekick who is a part of my arsenal against the snares and traps set out and ready to spring whenever I make a wrong move.  I know that I will always be able to count on her comforting hand on my calf as we sit curled up on her brown leather sofa while we discuss whatever situation I have foolishly and wholeheartedly thrown myself into.

A Few Snapshots of Great Moments with Friends

Here are some snapshots taken from the moments I have spent with a few of my girls.

6pm, December 27th, 2010
After a rather long shopping session with Manisha and Steph in order to find our jaw-dropping New Years Eve party dresses, we end up at Tokyo Sushi where we, ok, let me clarify and say Steph and I, stuff our faces with amazing sushi and sashimi.  Our, meaning Steph and I, MMMMs of appreciation ping-ponging between the two of us and punctuated by Manishas chatter and giggles.
We participate in some juicy girl talk, chatting about the men that are both in and out of our respective lives and those that we would like to have in our lives.  Steph and I being the foodies that we are, we have ordered WAY too much sushi and we have to force ourselves to finish what is left.  Even Manisha must sacrifice herself in order to help us finish the last few pieces despite the fact that she has been full for a little while.
Once our plates are empty, I look at Steph because we have both been here before and I phrase my question as a declarative sentence, "You want the green tea and red bean ice creams."
She looks at me, a twinkle in her eye yet her stomach as full to the brim as mine, while Manisha responds with an "OOOOO" of appreciation.
Suddenly our bellies are not as full anymore and we discover to our great pleasure that there is in fact ALWAYS room for ice cream!

5:30am, January 1st, 2011
Steph and I are sharing my immense king-size bed for the few hours of sleep that are remaining to us after this crazy evening.  We are talking about and giggling over our fabulous evening while Manisha is not too far away seeing as I have set her up to sleep on my rather comfy couch.
Steph and I are trying not to talk too loudly as we think Manisha has already fallen asleep, but it is hard to stifle our laughter when us two crazy chicks are together!  After I have recounted a particular detail about a beer having been spilled all over my face and head and how the offensively clumsy man had offered me his shirt to clean myself off with, there is short silence between my bed partner and I.
Manisha's disembodied yet adorable laugh breaks the silence and it is so unexpected, loud and genuine that Steph and I cannot help but fall into fits of laughter ourselves.  She had been listening to us the whole time!
The three of us giggle and laugh until we finally fall asleep with lingering smiles on all of our faces.

3:00pm, January 1st, 2011
Steph and I are on our way to meet Row, Abdy and Serge at a chalet near the Eastern Townships - we are both giddy from lack of sleep and leftover excitement from the night before.  I watch the scenery flying by while we keep a constant stream of idle chit chat going.  To my right, fog obscures most of the scenery and hugs the small clusters of trees that interrupt the otherwise flatness of the fields;  the mountains that I know to be lurking in the distance are imperceptible while only a few farms are brave enough to step out from behind the foggy veil that hides them from the intrusive view of passers-by.
Rihanna's album Good Girl Gone Bad, a fitting and suitable title for the subject of our ensuing conversations, is playing at a moderate level while our loud voices can probably be heard in the silent farms that we keep driving past.  We sing, we laugh and we joke while sharing intimate bits of information that can only be transmitted between two people during a long car ride.

10:00pm, January 1st, 2011 
Abdy, Serge, Steph and I are all twisted up on the floor together, our hands and feet desperately trying to remain in the positions that we have placed them in.  Row is sitting on the futon a little further away from us and she is calling out the colours and body parts to be placed here, there and anywhere.
She is having a blast watching us getting all tangled into pretzel like shapes: one leg over someone else's, a butt in another's face and a hand perhaps awkwardly placed between yet another's arms...  Her wholehearted laughter pierces through our series of grunts, mumbles and groans as we have to place our hand where again?
She grins like a mischievous child whenever we grumble in a particularly loud manner over any move she has called out with her refined English accent.

4:00pm, January 2nd, 2011 
We are on the very thin red magic carpet Steph has brought for the occasion.  The surface of the little hill that we have had difficulty climbing is icy and extremely bumpy and patches of grass are actually poking out more than they should be on this January day... not too promising for our tobogganing session, but Hell, we came all of this way, so we are going to slide down somewhere.
My sliding attire consists of my rather formal wool jacket, my high-heeled boots, yes, you have read correctly, my tight dark blue jeans and my hoop earrings - did I mention that I had not prepared well for this outing?
Steph and I are determined to go down this tiny hill together at least once and so she has sat behind me on this crazy carpet of hers.  I have bunched up my legs so that I am in a scrunched up bonhomme position and I am holding the handles.  We have a little bit of difficulty taking off because there is practically no snow!
The little snow that there is ends up traveling up my jacket and down the back of my pants while the bumps in the snow bruise my unprotected bottom.
We do not get very far down the hill before we both collapse on either side of the plastic carpet we have gone down on.  We had started laughing at the top of the small hill and by the time we have reached halfway down, we are both racked by giggles.
My sides are hurting, my abs are engaged and crying in pain and my eyes have filled with tears - I cannot even breath because I am laughing so hard.  I stay stretched out on the cold icy ground while my laughing has me gasping for breaths.
Finally, we are both a little calmer, but still smiling, and so we go and join our companion who had left us for a short while to warm up his frozen hands - our tobogganing day has been cut short, but we did everything that we had originally set out to do during this YAY-2010-IS-OVER-LET'S-WELCOME-2011 weekend. :) 

Size DOES Matter

Ladies and other ladies, I am so elated by my recent discovery.  Now, before you think that my head has become as inflated as a hot air balloon, let me start by saying that it has taken a lot for me to get to the point where I can say that I am looking pretty good these days.  Before, if someone would tell me that I was looking good, I would say something like, "Thank you, but I am bloated today," or, "Thank you, but my hair is behaving particularly well today," and other sorts of responses;  now, however, my response to someone telling me I look good is a very simple "Thank you" followed by a smile.  Everyone of you ladies reading this should try to do the same - just try it once and forget about looking vain or conceited.  Hey, if someone is acknowledging your hotness, why not enjoy it for a second?  We are so hard on ourselves every other minute of our lives... so take that moment and bask in it.

So, onwards with this discovery of mine... are you ready?  I, Marie-Eve Therrien, am a SIZE NINE at Stitches... and a MEDIUM dress size at Le Chateau... is that not completely wonderful, fabulous and fantastic???  Let me qualify the above statement by saying that at around this time LAST year, I could not even dream of fitting my baby toe in a size nine pair of jeans from Stitches and just this summer, for my grad, I was wearing an XL Le Chateau dress... man I have come a long way.

And do you know what feels even better than revealing my now smaller size?  Going through my closet and getting rid of all my FAT jeans... you know which ones I am talking about ladies, those jeans that you bought when you put on those extra pounds on top of those extra pounds on top of those extra pounds you had planned on losing... yeah, those.  Well, I had bought a whole slew of those jeans and also an armload of work pants... and now, more than half of my pants do not fit anymore because they are all too BIG for me...WOW.

Well now, how did I find out that I was a smaller size?  Because, up until a few days ago, I still believed that I was a size 11/12... I basically found out because a lovely salesgirl at Stitches named She-ra, of all names,  convinced me to adopt four pairs of size nine jeans.  I had stepped into that store, first of all, on BOXING DAY - yes, I know, I was crazy - and so I could not even try on any of the jeans I had picked out because that is their Boxing Day policy.  Consequently, I was taking the four pairs of jeans I wanted in what I thought was my size, especially considering the clientele Stitches caters to, but She-ra took one look at me when I asked her for a particular model and pronounced in all her jeanly wisdom, "Girl, you ain't a size 12 - take a 9 and come back if not, but you are SO small that there's no way you're a 12."

Despite my hesitation due to the fact that Stitches clothing is mostly created for girls who fit into size twos, I followed She-ra's advice and paid for four pairs of size nine jeans.  I took them home to decide their fates... and all four pairs fit me.  I even received a compliment from my 15 year old brother, which is hard to come by nowadays, that I was "Tres sexy p'tit soeur."

There is also nothing better to boost a woman's morale than trying on a bunch of sexy dresses at Le Chateau, no matter what size you are.  These wonderful dresses, for the most part, have always flattered my womanly curves so well, the material knowing exactly where to be tight and where to forgive just a little.

This week, I had a date with my two girls so that we could find jaw-dropping dresses for our fabulous evening out, but I was trying on a bunch of them myself while I was waiting for them to meet me.    I had taken all of the dresses I wanted to try on in size L, intuitively knowing that I am no longer an XL, but not picking up the M just because I did not have the audacity to do so.

Once I was in the dressing room, the pretty dresses were not fitting me as well as usual - in fact, they were floating on my now smaller frame.  I came out of the dressing and asked the cute salesman's advice since my ladies were not there yet;  he informed me, after having subtly looked me up and down, that I definitely needed a smaller size and he proceeded to go and get all of the dresses I had chosen in smaller sizes.  I went back into the cabin, performed a short happy hoppy dance and then immediately called my mom to tell her that I had gone down two dress sizes.  I then quickly tried on all of the dresses with shoes and a cute clutch provided by my very helpful half Italian, half Spanish salesclerk;  we managed to narrow my choices down to five spectacular dresses that I wish I could have just purchased without having to decide on just one.

The first one was a very tight, off one shoulder dress in a metallic gray that hugged me in all the right places, but it did not have the WOW factor I was looking for;  a short,simple and strapless black number with a few pleats in strategic places and a well-placed triangular slit to expose the girls just suggestively enough to not be slutty was my second trial, but because black does not really bring out my complexion or assets in a any particular way, both Deeter, the salesclerk and I being at that moment on a first name basis, and I discarded it; a skin-tight, sleeveless and wrinkly burgundy with black undertones dress with a boat neck was tried on after and was kept just because it was a very good color for me.

My two favorites were, of course, the dark blue and turquoise ones I had picked out before all of the others.  The turquoise one was absolutely stunning because of its bright rich color and its plunging v-neck and rouching all the way from my bust to my knees.  The other dress was made out of a lavish silky material that was cool and slippery next to my skin and it was gorgeous because of its beaded and bejeweled band that embraced the smallest part of me right underneath my breasts;  the forgiving rouching disguised any unforgivable bumps that all of us ladies like to hide around our middles and the deep v-neckline was again placing my girls in a very advantageous light.  I would have bought both dresses, but, I could only bring one home with me.
Finally, my two girls arrived on the scene and helped me pick between the two dresses: the navy one was decided upon so that my personality could shine forth instead of the color of the dress I would be wearing.
And just on a side note, it is an amazing feeling when your girlfriends tell you to get a more somber dress so that your fabulous self can be the focus of attention rather than the dress!  What fabulous friends I have!
So, ladies, trust me, on a day when you are feeling a little less than your usual sexy hot self, go to Le Chateau and try on a bunch of their beautiful dresses!!!