Caught

Dead silence.  But I can feel it.  Can he? Does he know what I just did? It won’t be long now.

Sniff.Sniff.

Oh no.  I’m busted. 

When is it too soon to break the farting seal?   How do some girls go without ever farting in front of their boyfriends?  That’s one of the qualities I look for in a guy – no not how much flatulence he has, but more so how comfortable I can feel with him.  I can be a lady with poise and class, when needed.  However, I would much rather forgo those stomach cramps.  That is most likely the reason why my past three relationships, I’ve been the one to break the seal first.  I always do it and then wait to see how long it takes to be discovered.  I giggle once caught.  I’ll avoid stating the double standard that it’s cute when I do it because my deadly secret weapon could knock out a herd of cows.  Ever wonder where chocolate milk comes from? Farting is not the only thing.  I believe that you have to be able to be completely comfortable with your significant other.  They have to love the whole package – the good, the bad and the smelly.  But women, pee with the door closed. 

The Bixi Chicks

I took the risk of living on St-Urbain so I shouldn't complain when my precious yellow road bike finally got stolen. Why is there such a high theft rate in the plateau?  Even though I've got two other bikes on my back balcony I've succumbed to the Bixi world and I have to say it's playing it's role quite nicely.  No headaches about locking it and it's got a basket in the front.  My two other bikes are broken and I'm lazy so they will probably continue to sit and rust.  I still can't believe I spent eighty bucks on a vintage one with the curved handle bars and metal bar gear changer.  One late night after spending a quiet evening with friends (ha ha), I biked home in the rain.  Out of nowhere an ambulance came from around the corner and I skidded to a halt.  My seat fell off and my hip vintage bike fell over.   I went down with it but no injuries though.  Just last Saturday night, I had dinner with girlfriends and Cat and I convinced them to take Bixis to our next location.  It was probably the highlight of the night seeing my scared friend run into a parked car.  I think the mayor of Montreal should close off more streets so it encourages bike riding.  Who needs a car downtown when you've got broken bikes and a bixi pass?  It's also a great pickup since I overheard some guys talking as I went to get my bike at 2am.  "Wow she's actually taking a bike right now.  That's impressive".  But is it really?

(the pic above is of the ladies who biked on saturday)

Homeless in Hawaii

I have a knack for talking to homeless people regardless of where I am in the world.  This time I was laying on the beach in Honolulu when a man in his early seventies came and sat next to me.  His name is Serge and he lives on the beach.  He moved from the mainland to the beach about nine months ago because he needed to get away from his past life.  Like I wrote in my other post, all most people need in life is someone to talk to and with today's advancing technologies it's becoming very hard to do so.  I could go off on a tangent and complain about the good old fashion phone call versus sending stupid texts but I'll save that rant for another time. So back to Serge.  Every morning, Serge jogs up and down the beach, swims laps and works out in the "poor man's gym" near the beach.  Wearing only tiny stained white beach shorts, I could clearly see he was in shape.  He claims that since he's been living in Hawaii he doesn't need to take his meds.  He's bipolar.  The exercise is supposedly the key to all his problems.  I think it is for most people... I know it keeps me regular :) Because of his disability, he receives a cheque from the government every two weeks.  After speaking for an hour, he said "I wish I had some money to take you out for some food".  Even with nothing he still tries to give.  We could all learn from that.

5 Days for the Homeless

Nothing but a cardboard box and a sleeping bag separating me from the cold cement.

Who would sleep outside in March in Montreal voluntarily? Those that are trying to raise awareness and funds for Dans La Rue, a nonprofit organization that helps get youth off the street. This was my third year participation in the campaign 5 Days for the Homeless (www.5days.ca/montreal) and my second year sleeping outside. We essentially have to emulate the lives of homeless people by not showering for five days, not buying any food, sleeping on the streets and staying in the same set of clothes (those were the stipulated rules and not the norms for all homeless people). For the first three days, I would wake up and then head straight to work and then go back outside to panhandle right after my day was done. Fortunately, my company was very understanding and put up with the same clothes and progressively greasy hair. Throughout the 5 days, I bonded with fantastic volunteers and listened to incredible stories from homeless people who commended what we were doing. They felt comfortable enough to sit and chat till the wee hours of the morning. What stood out for me the most this year was not people’s generosity or the increasingly amount of homeless people but the large number of lonely people in Montreal. I had endless conversations with people, who I assume are not homeless, who just wanted someone to chat with. I had debates over whether the government should be funding in vitro fertility treatments (I disagree the money can go elsewhere like education), politics at Concordia University and divorce rates. Pedestrians felt at ease to speak and knew that I had all the time in the world. It made me realize how important just everyday communication is and how I need to improve my patience level. Why is it that we no longer engage in random conversations? By doing so you could make someone’s day. We need to pop those personal bubbles and smile or say hi to the person next to you.

Waterfalls

Vomit. Upchuck. Throw chunks. The list of synonyms is endless as well, as the amount of times vomit finds its way into my life. Don’t worry it’s not because of me. First encounter: I was starving reading the LAX map searching for some good grub. We were landing and hit a bit of turbulence and all of a sudden I heard a waterfall in the near distance. The late twenty year old had just spewed all over himself and I was seated right next to him. I quickly handed him a vomit bag and buzzed the stewardess who refused to get up because we were landing. The guy said “no no I’m fine I don’t need the bag”. Then we hit a tiny bump and up came his breakfast. Lesson: don’t party before flying. Second encounter: I was flipping through Home Décor with my headphones on when all of sudden I had that feeling that something wasn’t right. I turned around to see the Multimag employee puking in a garbage bag. The other two people in the store ignored what was going on. Lesson: turn up earphone volume. Third encounter: I was at a staff party trying to sleep while everyone partied past three when a friend jumped into the bed near me. Then I heard him burp followed by some more waterfall sound effects. I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night because every time I closed my eyes that’s all I could hear. Lesson: lock all doors before trying to sleep at parties. Fourth encounter: I was shopping in a mall and walked by a child who had projectile vomit. Lesson: stay away from kids. Fifth encounter: this past weekend I was animating/dancing at a bar mitzvah (yes that’s one of my jobs) and I had to chaperon the kids back to the city. We all got off the bus and this kid just sat on the ground near his luggage. I asked if he was okay. He said he gets sick when he’s tired. Then boom. Twice. Right there in front of all the other children. Lesson: don’t drink chocolate milk before getting on a bus. Whatever happened to the fake vomit they used to sell at the Ben and Jerry’s factory in Vermont? I used to think that was so cool. I think I’ve shared enough right?

For the better...

Why oh why must a person wait in line to go into an empty club? For the perceived value of the exclusivity of entrance? They are overcapacity? In my opinion, neither. Montreal is saturated with restaurants and clubs and many of them don’t withstand the three year trial period. Those that do, have a friendly “let everyone in” attitude as long as they aren’t too full. Those places seem to strive in the long run – Gogos, Tokyo, bars on crescent, etc. This past weekend I went to a club with a little doorman who flaunted his iPad when checking for guest list. Not only was he rude but the door woman had the nerve to tell a friend of mine that “it’s too bad not all your friends are as good looking as you”. My pride takes the best of me when I have to stand a second longer than necessary in line so I made a comment along the lines of “I bet no one is inside yet”. The little doorman responded with “oh now I don’t feel like letting you in”. Good. My money will go elsewhere. We continued on our journey and ended up at another nearby club. Our group of twelve decided to get two bottles which we fortunately finished by 2am. Roughly around the same time, the Montreal police force felt that it was necessary to bombard the club and stand around rather than save cats from trees and issue jaywalking tickets. Everyone was asked to leave immediately. That being one of the few moments in life when my friends agreed to listen to every word of the police - regardless, if the bill was paid. 

Themed Parties

Ever since I was the tender age of one, I was fortunate to have a birthday party. In my opinion, I don’t really see a point for a one-year to have Ronald McDonald prance around (too bad he no longer makes appearances) while mothers try to chat over the shrill screams of nearby infants. Pool parties at the Holiday Inn, rollerblading, magicians, clowns, restaurant dinners and even a sleepover with a singing telegram for my 13th birthday party – I’ve done it all (thanks to great parents)! Why is it that when we get older, the themes die and we just succumb to meeting for dinner or doing nothing at all? Stop complaining life is boring and put those thinking caps on. Over the past few years my friend Ashlee and I have been doing just that. Here are some ideas that you can use: Mexican (fake tans, tank tops, margaritas, sombreros, ‘staches, and delicious food), 1940’s (more difficult to pull off for the ladies – thigh high stockings that you can buy at Dollarama, headband with a feather from Ardene, a black dress preferably with tassels and black gloves to top it off. I wore long winter gloves because the satin ones were a waste of money), Painting (buy small canvasses for your guests and get them to decorate them and BAM you have authentic works of art all around your home. It helps to invite your artsy friends first), tea parties (cupcakes, tea, jazz music), clothing swap parties (bring all your old clothes preferably washed, dump them in a pile and get those claws out. I’m wearing a jean tunic that I got at clothing swap party right now) and lastly drag shows (so much fun and it’s a no pressure environment). Hopefully, that’s enough to work with. Good luck!

A hellish bus ride

Mombasa. The coast of Kenya. An abundance of mosquitoes. I thought I knew what I was getting myself into.

With my luck I got the middle seat in the last row of the bus – no recliner, no window, no space to scratch my nose without hitting someone. I sat next to a man who claims he was running from his village because no one wanted him there and the mafia was after him. Throughout the entire 8 hour scorching hot bus ride he proceeded to fidget, take out his damp smelly clothes from his bag, put them on the floor and then replace them in the bag. At one point, he took a piece of paper from the floor, tore it into a million pieces and then threw them over himself like snow. He took two of the large pieces and rolled them up like q-tips and shoved them in his ears. I’m not so sure of the insulation. Then to make matters worse another fellow volunteer asked me to go up to the bus driver and ask him to stop the bus. I knew we were close to our pit stop but she insisted. By the time I squeezed through the Kenyan travelers and returned to my seat to let my friend know that the stop was five minutes away, she responded with “it’s too late”. I sat down with a confused look. Then I got a strong whiff and realized what happened.