Pack a' lackin'

The good news: I'VE FOUND AN APARTMENT TO LIVE IN. The lease is signed and Chez Wiley is a go. It's a two bedroom in what I've started calling "The French Quarter" of Montreal because...well...everyone there only speaks French. Rebekah and I made the choice to live together for the comfort of A) not being swallowed by a big city whole B) cheaper rent, and we're VERY pumped to get our asses out of Waterloo and out into the waiting world.

The bad news is that: It's way past the time where I have the energy or the memory or capacity to blog about my trip to Montreal, house hunting with my mother. I will say that it involved half French babble, LOTS of arguments (least proud moment: I told her to stop being a dick...something you should never say to your mama...), friendly waitresses and waiters, walking EVERYWHERE and getting lost. GETTING VERY LOST. Between us, I was the stronger navigator. Let us all have a moment of silence for the precious seconds of my life that I will never get back as we literally went in circles, struggled with maps and yelled at each other.







Amen.

The other bad news is that I went camping this weekend and I had an awesome time, but I'm also too crazy up in my head to write about THAT because I've started packing. If you want a photo that sums up the experience, this shot is just for you...and everyone on my Facebook:

That's me, next to a fire. I'm roasting a donut, on a stick. You might also notice the bag of kettle chips and the bag of peanut butter M&Ms by left arm. AKA, WE ATE EVERYTHING. Drank some, too. We laughed even more, which was the most important part. Quality time with big sis and laughing my ass off after all the stress as of late. I also got a sunburn on my arse, slept on the ground, peed in the woods, and learned how to set up a tent. Education at it's very finest, my friends.

But now, we're onto packing. PACKING, which involves being calm and organized. I've already scrubbed more pots and pans before shoving them into boxes than I probably have in the past 6 months.

I think as a rebellion against just being so tense, I have constant music playing as I gallivant around the house, slinging kitchenware and fretting about where the hell the plates went. This comes along with stints of manic DIY fever. I've already:

• painted and stenciled my bulletin board
• refaced a retro style clock
• mod podged a collage box for all of my teas and such

These stints of creativity among wrasslin' with newsprint, coffee mugs and appliances are actually making me excited to have a kitschy, snuggly home of my own, with all the weird touches my parents wouldn't care for. I've been sitting here too long. I have to go find my toaster.

Prequels

August is the month of reckoning. The month in which EVERYTHING. GOES. DOWN. (Well, until  September, in which case everything really gets set in motion.) Basically, August is the prequel that will set up the rest of the series which is my life in Montreal. Apartments will be viewed, jobs will be quit, goodbyes will be said and tears will probably be shed. Panic attacks may or may not be impending, sponsored by hormones, pressure and oh yes, drama.

Wednesday, I made the first round of calls around to my list of potential apartments to ask after the availability of them. Some people spoke French over a crackly connections, some were very friendly. Some had a little more to say than I wanted to hear. The superintendent of a student residence building told me that she was booked solid until 2013 and I "should have started looking MONTHS AND MONTHS AGO."

Which I'm sure she didn't mean with any cruel intention. However, filtered through my panic of finding a roof over my head, coupled with my anxiety about moving,
"I started signing leases for September in January."

Sounded like:

"YOU'RE FUCKED."

Be still, my poor, aching heart. Thank you lady, for that little tidbit. Days like that, I try to remember that 'give them hope' is on my arm for me too. Mama and I are headed down on Tuesday the 7th to look at some places. Which should be interesting because my mom thinks most people are out to scam you and loathes big cities.

We live in one of the tamest lamest suburbs in our city, an Olympian shotput throw away from the Mennonites and she's paranoid that I'll be mugged walking anywhere after 10PM. I'm serious. Bringing her into a big, half French metropolis is going to border on social experimentation.


Housing has been the main focus of any and all topics I discuss with my parents lately. When I told mama I didn't want to live downtown, instead opting for The Plateau, NDG or Verdun, 3 nice neighborhoods just outside of the core, her eyes popped out of her head.

When I told her I wanted to be part of a neighborhood or a community my dad stuck his head into the discussion by asking me if that was really important, because I mostly "keep to myself." Which is father for 'anti-social.' My dad also thinks I despise drinking & socializing, and that I'm the smartest of his three children...........................PAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA. 

I'll hopefully post more about my adventures in moving my life around soon!

Blog By Numbers

#1. The way to keep your life from being consumed by a fashion blog is to not write a fashion blog.


#2. The way to celebrate your birthday is to first declare loudly you don't want to do anything. Then decide you do want to do something. After this deliberate endlessly over WHAT should be done for it, and with whom and upon what day. Then, sit back, throw your hands down onto the keyboard and and write a blog about. Also, make sure you don't book it off for work so that you can scramble to find someone to cover your shift, because while you're not sure WHAT you're doing, your special birthday ass is NOT celebrating by asking people for their Optimum cards.

#3. The way to cut out refined carbs is to stop eating chips, crackers and white bread. Instead, you find yourself eating lots of yogurt, vegetables, seeds, nuts, and ALWAYS BEING HUNGRY.

#4. The fact that having two  jobs is starting to cut into my social calendar is really...discouraging.  I need the cash but spending 6 or 7 days a week without being able to see people who I'm going to miss in a few months time is...disheartening. And frustrating. And stupid. I want a real weekend, DAMNIT. It's also hard to be happy about my jobs when I'd rather be off chasing my passions. It's day jobs vs. love in the dark.

#5. Two albums I can't stop listening right now: Jack White's Blunderbuss and Tom Waits' Bad As Me.

#6. My cat just barked. And my barked I mean he ruffed and woofed.

#7. I'm already beginning to stress about money and the move to Montreal in a few months time. I'm already missing people. I'm already getting pangs of feelings. What the hell have I done?! Don't get me wrong. I'm excited. But....Now the excitement is being shaken up with fear and worry as reality sets in. University seems big and cold and impersonal right now...

J'irai!

JOURNEY TO CONCORDIA 
 A FACIAL OPERA IN 8 PARTS

And now the real fun begins. Three people today have told me about the Bodies case (don't read that if you get queasy easily), my mom is already setting me up with 'hip old ladies' and babysitting jobs  , as well as apartment hunting, asking me 100x about money and throwing in the odd word en Francais, clearly for my sad not-so-bilingual benefit.

ALSO: Since I'll be leaving Ontario and may not return to live here for more than a visit at least for a few years, I'm making a summer bucket list. ONTARIANS, Anything in the GTA, Southerwestern area you think I should try to squeeze in?

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.

Old Pizza

YESTERDAY I FINALLY SENT IN MY PORTFOLIO TO CONCORDIA.
I've been wanting to type that sentence for a long. ass. time.

After months of agonizing over the idea of moving to a different city. Weeks of procrastinating. Days collecting of pieces of work and choosing the right one. Hours writing, rewriting, and editing. Minutes waiting in the line to the post office to express post the package. IT IS DONE. IT IS DONEEEE. Now all I have to do is wait. Which I'm sure will seem like forever until the second I have an enveloped in my hands with the test results in.

This has been chomping on my brain for the past little while-- it was like NaNoWriMo but for editing, and it was only 15 pages long. My time when not workin' or working out was burned up on all of it. And I have been doing a LOT of working out. (Which means more than my usual 3x a week. I don't mean for hours on end...I'm not THAT insane.)

Last week, Jill put me up to a challenge to lose 3 lbs before the end of February. I am nothing if not sugar coated niceness to hide my envy and competitive streaks, and so it's basically GAME ON, right now. I started carefully watching what I eat (except I did eat one Cheeses Murphy special...there was chorizo involved....I regret NOTHING) what I drink, and breaking a sweat, even a little one, on a daily basis.

I was doing pretty well until I walked into the back room for my lunch break at Shoppers and I saw it. An abandoned pile of pizza boxes. Now, it did not matter that I was about to eat my own dinner, which I reasoned was small and would leave me hungry. Or that the pizza was cold, probably going stale. What mattered was-- it was PIZZA.

I'm pretty sure I blacked out because when I came to, I was standing, noshing on a stale, floury slice of the veggie variety, gazing at the grease stains on the bottom of the pizza box and the remaining sad, faded slices. I looked at wilted tomatos in their former glory. Then the floppy slice of pizza in my hand with a sizeable bite out of it. I tasted the dry cheese and the flat tomato sauce and suddenly, I stopped. Everything ground to a halt.

Inside, my action hero heart screamed NOOOOOOOOOO and I grabbed for a wad of paper towels into which the half masticated old pizza was promptly spit and discarded into the garbage can, along with the rest of the unchewed slice.

Then I found out later the pizza had been sitting on that counter for a full 24 hours. That was how I started to be really aware of my automatic-eating habits and saved myself from possible spores as well as terrible pizza. Good life choices are good.

Montreal Calling

I haven't done much today-- I feel less and less like running outside as the weather gets colder. My goal is to work out three times a week, so by all means today has not been a failure, with plenty of time left to fit those days in. I spent all day doing some laundry, tidying the kitchen, looking at admission requirements for university.

I don't know if I've 'issued a formal statement' on the subject yet, but I'm looking into going to school in September for Professional Writing! People with a BA in the area can go into fields such as editing, publishing, journalism, technical writing, etc. etc. etc. If I do some sociology courses on the side, as well as volunteer, I feel like I'll be more than ready to find a job working in the media department of a non-profit organization, which is really a dream career for me. Writing to help people. It's perfect!

There are a lot of different things to consider like transcripts and credits and portfolios to be looked into. It's all pretty overwhelming, right from the get-go. I pretty sure I've picked out three schools: Concordia, York and the University of Toronto.

If I'm being honest, my heart is set on Concordia. I'm saying it here. It's in the middle of a city I love, where I've planned in my dreams of moving. I'd be French and English speaking. The students at Concordia are interested in activism. The program itself is English and Creative Writing with a Minor in professional writing. There are so many amazing words in this paragraph alone, my heart is exploding as I type it. Yeah, it's scary, but also amazing!

As far as I can tell, of the 3 schools, the only one that requires a portfolio of work is Concordia. 15 pages of writing to decide whether or not I get my dream.
I know Montreal would be waiting for me after I graduated from one of the other schools, but...It's not the same. I think I might be crushed if I don't get in. I don't want to give something uncertain that much power, but I need to get there. It's like my heart is yelling and somewhere out in the chaos of the universe, going to this school is the answer to the trouble in my soul. The kind of trouble that set me back on my psychologists' couch a few weeks ago. Dramatic, I know!