Nous Avons Mangé Tout

Rebekah and I spent the long weekend in Montreal. After the week from hell (G license driving test, hearing about my Concordia rejection/acceptance, doctor's appointment, Starbucks slowly turning into Degrassi) we decided enough for enough and left Ontario behind, through basically every mode of transportation we could. We drove, trained, walked, bussed, and cabbed,  finally to arrive at the new McGill residence, our home base for the whole trip. We were pretty tired, but we hadn't crossed borders to sit in a hotel room, so after a few yoga flows (me) and a few wardrobe changes (us) we went out on the town.  We walked through the beautiful Parc du Mont-Royal, and ogled all the people there. It's probably confirmation bias, but Montreal has a population of beautiful, stylish young people. Attempts to tally the number of lookers we saw failed en masse. Maybe everyone just looks extra beautiful in long weekend sunshine.

That night, after a dinner in a deli on Rue. Ste. Catherine, we were getting ready to go out and party in the Village. We'd scoped a couple of bars to go dancing. As we changed and smeared ourselves with makeup, I heard something over the French chatter on the TV. I walked to the window, looking out into the night and saw legions of students filling and marching up the street. We're talking hundreds of angry, sign holding, chanting, ON THE MARCH young people, protesting the tuition hikes that are set to happen in the province. It wasn't that I was frightened, I'd seen the marches on the news, but when I saw a metro bus of cops in riot gear go by shortly after the parade had passed, needless to say we knew we were in for an adventurous night on the town, and an overall trip.

The only thing you need to know about the night out is that we hit a bar called Unity. Aptly named, it was filled with all kinds of people, rocking out, having a good time, whether it be on one of the two dance floors or on the patio on the rooftop. Oh yeah, and then shortly after midnight,  a couple of adorable faced guys took the stage and did this AMAZING lip sync/synchronized dance number to "I'm Glad You Came" by the Wanted, who I don't give a damn about, but damn if this wasn't awesome. Bek and I seemed more excited about this than ANYONE else in the room. Jaded Francophones? We cabbed home, dodging labyrinths made up of cop cars, showered and passed out with that bloody song in our heads.

 The next morning, We ordered fresh croissants en Francais, and realized just how much practice we would really need before we became any shade of fluent.

 The details of the whole trip would take me quite some time to write about, so I'll keep it brief. We shopped, and bought things.  We ate Schwartz's, this amazing deli on St.Denis, we took in 'Lawrence, Anyways' the latest film by my favourite Canadian director, Xavier Dolan. We ran around the floors of the residence in search of late night snacks and ran into Neil Patrick Harris. (Sort of.) We hit the waterfront. We walked almost EVERYWHERE, and we barely had a moment to sit down.

Overall, the trip was so awsome, it was only a matter of time before Murphy's law gave us our due. Our bus got stuck in bumper to bumper traffic on the way home. People-getting-out-of-their-cars-to-play-catch delayed. Then, at the bus station in Kingston, the coachline moved our entire bus onto a different bus. The only problem being the second bus had LESS seats than the  first. So who got stuck, stranded while the bus companies sorted it all out? Yours truly, of course. Then, our new ride was sweltering hot, like...Moksha Yoga hot, and we rolled into Toronto just after 11 o'clock, 2 hours behind schedule. We got back to the car and drove home. I passed out after 1:30AM. Oh yeah, but I OPENED at Starbucks the next day so I was up and at 'em by 4:15AM. WOO.

The whole time in Montreal I was thinking, could I live here? Work here? Function here? Rebuild a life? Trying to stay objective without dreams of poutine, iced tea and the high life clouding your vision is harder than it seems.

Answer: Tentative yes.
I've even cleared up some of the mythology around my admission offer. Oui oui, English Literature is like studying for an English degree at another university. No, my degree won't be affected by the "mature" status of my entrance. 

In terms of the future: BA (English Literature) + Professional Writing (Skill set) + Experience = WRITING JOB. SOLID THEORY.

Now it's about 70-30 in favour of me going. What's holding me back now isn't the money, or the trips I won't be taking because I'll be in school and broke. It's the idea of dropping life as I know it and picking it up elsewhere. As many times as I've felt stuck in Waterloo, or that I would give it all to  run in the opposite direction for a new chance, now that I've kind of got the opportunity in my lap like a pet bear, I'm wondering if it's going to love me when it wakes up from hibernating or maul me beyond recognition.

FIN.

Redemption

It seems I was a touch hasty about announcing my rejection from Concordia. I woke up the next day in the sunshine-- and for a second forgot that my plans for the next couple of years had been dashed.  Then it all came back.  After an eventful and ridiculous morning at the doctor's office, I was ready to crawl back into bed and tell work where to go.

When I got home I was checking my emails, only to find an offer of admission waiting for me!

They offered me admission into their BA of English Literature program with my original minor, Professional Writing. I'm a little disappointed that I've missed the mark, but I'm ever so pleased to have moving to Montreal as an option in my life again. Which brings me to the question: is having a BA in English Lit the same as having just a BA in English? Or is it like having a degree in something like Latin or Philosophy: i.e.  leaning on obsolete?

First person to figure it out gets a cookie. Or something. A customized drink from Starbucks, designed by yours truly. Sure, why not?

Today at work I served the Australian Nick Miller (AKA Jake Johnson in New Girl), a guy who looked like Linguine from Ratatouille, and suppressed eyerolls to all who ordered frapps.

I have to stop writing these at night. I get too tired to put effort into them and then they become boring rambles. MISH MASH MUSH. 

Heartbreak

Attention world: official statement. I didn't get into Concordia. Feeling....numb. Teary. Weak.  I want to throw up.

I knew change was coming, but you never anticipate change to be falling right on your face. Fuck.

Rant: Frappy Hour

Short rant here: Half price frappuccinos is happening at Starbucks right now. I'm not telling you this as advertising, I'm telling you this so when I say that between the hours of 3-5 today, I witnessed true madness, you'll understand the context.

Dozens of cups and people lined up along the counter, waiting... Waiting literally 10-20 minutes for a freakin' cup of ice blended with milk and syrup.  Seriously. People. THEY'RE ALMOST ALL ICE. Even at half price, the company is making a killing off of you and the four, five, six drinks for  your closest buddies.

 Lady, telling your hyperactive kid to stop jumping around and then handing him a sugary syrup and microground coffee is NOT a solution. Also, I'm not a barista who ever thinks tips are a right instead of a privilege (although they are nice) it's good I don't demand them because today, no one wanted to give us their pennies anyway) I would have appreciated a THANK YOU, you snotty teenage girls.
Thank you to Sue however, who remained calm and patient when I spilled her Venti Caramel Frapp all over the counter, the floor and one of my shoes.

This goes on until the 13th. This war zone, where I was splattered in raspberry syrup, whipped cream, smeared with whole milk and frapp base. My arms, legs, face, and green apron.  Where brother turned against brother and  the end of the world began... I will say I was among the original witnesses.

SIDE:
 May 15th is National Denim Day. Aka Wear your jeans to support finding a cure for breast cancer. Even at STARBUCKS where NO UNIFORM FUN IS ALLOWED EVER, they are letting us wear jeans for a donation of 5$. I plan on wearing some mad awesome skinnies, yo. The district I work in is ultra conservative in the appearance department, so I'm sure even that would raise a few eyebrows. (And a  few eye rolls in return from yours truly.)

However, you could easily call this day: "Go about your regular business in support of breast cancer research." I'm all in for the cause, how could I not be? But jeans? People wear jeans on a daily basis anyway. I mean, I know that wearing purple for spirit day or  x colour for y cause might also slip under the radar too. But.. Jeans? That's like the default setting. The outfit autocorrect. There should be more  fun fundraisers. Hats or WEAR GOLD or something. I don't know. Back to the drawing board.

For all my complaining, I'll be wearing mah jeans anyhow. <3

OTHER SIDE: This weekend is going on forever. Please make it end.

The Mechanics of Good Time

Due to my adventures in Toronto yesterday, followed by my opening shift and a nap, I woke up to my legs being a little stiff. I was scared but the road was CALLING. So I strapped on my new running shoes and hit the pavement.

I felt really strong today. My legs wouldn't quit, they felt amazing. When push came to shove, I set a NEW personal best for my 5K time! I cut 1 minute, 44 seconds off my time today. The difference between giving all and giving up...EFFORT. That's accounting that I had to stop once for a traffic light, and for a pickup truck who was parking. Magical.

I was faster than ever today, and my goal of achieving a 5K in under 30 minutes is getting closer with every run. Never thought I'd be athletic. I never thought I'd find pure joy in kicking my own ass, but here we are.

I ended up singing this in the shower after my run, loud and proud and PUMPED UP. RUNNING SONG OF THE WEEK:

Little Copper Dress

I don't even remember the last time I updated this! So we're probably more due than a woman 9 months pregnant with quadruplets. REGARDLESS.

Yesterday, Rebekah and I shot down to Toronto to see Fire Academy, the film I helped produce/record as my final "thesis" film at Sheridan, be screened at a REAL LIVE FILM FESTIVAL. LOOK. It was totally awesome to sit in a theatre full of people, watching something I was a part of. It made me miss documentary as ALLLL the memories of Texas shenanigans and my Media Arts family came rushing back. It was a big proud moment to see all of our names on the big screen, and when our director Kyle got invited on stage after for a Q&A, he carried each question like a CHAMP.

The second part of this story involves a beautiful copper dress I bought on sale at H&M 2 years ago, even though it didn't fit just right. I'd coveted this dress since I had first seen it, and finally, yesterday, it fit. FINALLY. Minutes after wearing it for the first time EVER, I spilled coffee on it. I only topped myself when I dripped the juices of a BIG ASS BURRITO all over it after the screening, while my former roommate Allie told me I ought to date her friend because we are both basically former fat kids, (my words, not hers to be fair) and the fact that he apparently sort of looks like my ex. I am Jack's sense of dark amusement.

After splitting off from Allie to do some big city shopping, we ended up getting lost on the way to the Eaton Centre two separate times. AFTER shopping, we walked out of the mall into a city where dusk was starting to settle. And it was after wandering around for a good 20 minutes in the cold windy rainy-ness that my dear friend and I realized we couldn't find the parking garage where we had left the Buick. Of the hundreds of parking garages in downtown Toronto, we were looking for ONE.  With two vague, parallel street names to serve as our guide.

Exhausted from a 5AM opening shift, stained, ratty, soaking wet, cold and clutching our hot beverages like life preservers, we began to Sherlock our way back to the waiting vehicle against the odds.  Here's the thing. I don't know if it's her or me or the cocktail of the both of us together, but Rebekah and I ALWAYS seem to get into these sitchy-ations.
When we went to our first Poetry Slam in Guelph, we ended up on some country back roads, with BOTH of her Blackberry phones dead, my phone low battery, night setting in.
We miss exits the way you miss the good old days. We confuse right and left, North and South with dyslexic fervor.

On our way back to the car we concluded that the way to stop getting into these situations is to stop getting lost. Never were we so happy to crawl into my couch on wheels, only to have her phones die AGAIN. So we navigated ourselves out of that city like a couple of Mavericks. (Yes, I said it.) Grand adventures. Then I got home,a t some food, and passed out to work at 5AM again. Hit the snooze button. Hit repeat.


I'm still waiting to hear from Concordia.

THE END.