Luckiest Girl in The World

Hey team. So, I'm feeling pretty blissful right now, obnoxious summer cold be damned.

Firstly, my amazing friend Kathy came to visit me up in Funtreal this past weekend. Kathy has basically inspired me to be a lawyer. She isn't one, but she's workin' on it. We will start a kickass law firm and battle evil foes and injustice together. And make some mad coin. But Kathy has transcended her place as eternal inspiration as the pinnacle of all things scholarly, which she has been ever since my third year, when we actually started to get to know each other (though we were both petrified of the other - I, because Kathy was so clearly staggeringly brilliant, and Kathy because I was so clearly aggressive and without tact/sympathy). Kathy also has been getting in AMAZING shape. Her bod is like whoa. Like. Whoa. We had lots of great talks about body image, weight loss, fitness and the like, but I think that deserves a post of it's own. She's a really insightful young lady that one. And I love her lots and lots.

In addition to this, I am bringing my tenure in Montreal to a bittersweet close. It seems that right when you're about to leave a place is when you feel least able to. I have already voiced the frustration of moving on this blog a year ago when I moved from Halifax to Montreal. I had a great community of friends, a manfriend interest, a trivia night and an esthetician and I was not excited to reestablish those things in a new city. And it really was hard: I find it interesting that most of my friends comment on how hard this year was for me. And it was. I just don't find myself thinking of it in that way I guess. But now, in the sunshine and the freedom of school-less unemployment, and a growing network of wonderful people who I didn't get to know well enough when I had the chance, I love Montreal and am sad to say goodbye. I have just in this past month met so many phenomenal people, one of which is a boy who I really like for the first time in what feels like a very long time, and it just seems like a cruel joke that I am leaving in a mere eleven days.

So this post is somewhat bittersweet, because as I acknowledge all of the wonderful things that I do have here in Montreal, or joyously near Montreal, waiting and willing to visit my sorry ass, I also know I'm leaving them soon. It weighs very heavy on my heart and I find myself always wanting to release a heavy sigh. I wonder what a life without transience would be like...

Could, Should, Ought to work

But instead I have come home 3 hours premature from the library to make pasta and watch the Big Bang Theory. I think if I polish off the series (yeah...I know...I'm rightly ashamed), then I will have no distractions during this week. No distractions means I will be able to polish off a first draft of my - holy shit, get this - thesis.

Forgot I was writing a thesis, didn't you?

Well I did. Most of the time.

And now it seems it is almost at its completion. Way cool guys. Way cool.

I am just finding it hard to commit to the end. Enter cheesy joke about all my ex boyfriends ever.

Or instead, hilarious dream an ex boyfriend shared with me(since I'm a little sensitive that all my ex boyfriends have been in long term relationships since me, while I have been single and living with a cat ever since...):

I had this dream the other night that we were still dating...

uh....

...and we ran into Chabal...

Awesome! Nice to know that we are cosmically linked by our love of a primordeal rugby player

...and you slept with him...

Go me

... but I was like "...Well, it is Chabal." And was somehow ok with it.

Chabal has sex with other guys' girlfriends and they give him high fives all the time! And then they ice their hands, unable to stand the awesome power of Chabal's hand

And he was also somehow a bunch younger and didn't have the long hair...

Jackpot, me!

...and naturally you had sex in front of me on the field.

Naturally?! But more importantly, on the field? I hope people paid to witness this event!

 

Good Morning, Heathens

I hope all of my fabulous pagan friends enjoyed their Summer Solstice yesterday. You know what that means? This year is celestially half over. Once I thought about it that way, I realized that this would be an excellent opportunity to look back at my New Year's resolutions, and perhaps even revise. Because if I haven't managed it by now, perhaps its time to reconsider. Besides flexibility and the ability to reset your aims are generally good things, right?

Ok, so what were those fucking resolutions anyway?

1. Make Yoga a Priority. Yo! It totally is. I took nearly a month off while I was in California, and only went thrice when I was in Calgary for 10 days, but since I've been back I have gone every day. I love it. I missed it. I need it in my day to feel sane.
2. You will be a Runner. Well. I'm working on this. I ran a bit in Cali (though the heat - serious impedement), and had been planning on signing up at the Running Room (which would be a big hit to my pride, let me tell you), but I haven't really fallen into step. Get it? Running pun. Now that I am working full time on my thesis though, I have dedicated my mornings to yoga and the evenings to running. Which I've done once. But I am in a good rhythm right now, so fingers crossed...
3. Exercise Some Will Power. Alright, well this had been initially conceived as the "give up dessert" resolution. It isn't going so hot. Now that I'm back in Montreal, my resistance is better, but I think my will power would be better exercised more generally; drink less, order healthier, make more food at home, etc. So will power stays, but so will dessert.  

4. Love Thy Skin. Oh yeah, I'm all over this. Though I need to step back and try again to stop touching my face. Magnifying mirrors are the devil.

5. Regimen, regimen, regimen. Yup, I'm doing pretty well on this. I've even started to write down the nonessentials in my agenda - dinner invites, yoga classes attended, birthdays.
6. TLC for my BFFs. Ugh. I've been abysmal. Sorry compadres. I will jump back on the horse once...

7. Finish Your Thesis. I am halfway there! I have 32 pages written, and it needs to be anywhere from 50-100 pages. So I was aiming for 60. And that's more than halfway. And I'm at the point right now where I'm mostly done researching (though I have to look back at my sources constantly to remind me what I'm looking for) and am just writing. Which I rock at. I should be able to get it in on the 4th - a week earlier than planned! Only real obstacle? This postal strike we're experiencing here in Canada means that the sources that the American Motion Picture Arts & Science Archive mailed to me at the beginning of the month is yet to arrive. And may not before my thesis needs to be in. Uh oh...


So not so bad on the whole! The thesis is dominating my days lately, as it rightly should, but I'm optimistic. I am a couple weeks a way from being basically a Master of (the) Arts!


Which reminds me, as impressive as this whole "thesis" accomplishment may be, a darling friend of mine is going to be achieving something equally (or in my opinion, much more) impressive. The lovely Kathy will be competing in a mothafuckinTRIATHALON this weekend. I'm floored. I didn't even know she was training. Considering my most recent attempt at a run got me, oh, 8 minutes of straight running, and I am a pro-doggy padler, this is wildly impressive to me. And I will also give props to Chopper, who is training for one as well.


One day I may run a 5 k...


Congrats amazing friends! You inspire me!

Pasta Ponza and Long Distance Party-Crashing

It's been a pretty good Friday night for a girl abstaining from drinking.

 Had JC over for dinner after yoga. I made the long awaited Pasta Ponza (I had it all prepped and ready to go for Wednesday, but ran out of time since I had a movie date with some girls from the History Department). It was delicious, and I am happy to say that I have ample leftovers. I served it with grilled endive as well. It doesn't make for a very colourful plate (which I thought it would have, actually), but it was super tasty. I had never cooked endives before, and I will be honest, I just brushed them with an olive oil-salt-pepper combo and threw them on my George Foreman grill that so rarely sees the light of day. I will definitely be having them again soon.

Then JC and I went around the corner to the pub for a beer (or soda water in my case). I did get to crash the King's Rugby's Athletic Awards afterparty courtesy of Chopper's iphone and some videoskype. I got passed around the party, lucky witness to all the drunken shenanigans. Miss those jokers. And, though she admits that she doesn't read my blog, I need to give a huge shout out to my darling Genny, King's Rugby's MVP this year. I couldn't have chosen better. Congrats girl - you're the you're the best.

10 days down, 20 to go!

I am already 1/3rd of the way through my self-imposed 30 day yoga challenge. It has been phenomenal. I had my friend Claire coming with me this past week almost everyday, so it has been dead easy to get to classes. It was her first time at the studio, so she had a week unlimited pass - alas, now that it's up, she can't afford the, admittedly pricey, studio fee for an unlimited pass, so she will be coming only once a week or so.

I must say though, she has started a dangerous, yet charming and irresistibly bourgeois, habit in me. Because Claire, rather obnoxiously, decided to go out and get a real job after university, she found it easiest for her to go to the 7 am classes and then head to work afterwards. My flexible student's schedule couldn't deny her this.So I have been getting my butt out of bed at 6:00 am, grabbing a bit of breakfast (a careful balancing act, eating enough to keep from passing out, but not so much that you are even mildly aware of it while in Floor Bow Pose, lest I vomit on my mat). I find it really satisfying actually, to be up that early - it leaves me able to blog in the morning before I head to the library, almost entirely guilt free. Anyhow, after yoga, we adopted the habit of stopping in at an amazing little European food shop, with fabulous cheeses, deli meats, condiments aplenty, all varieties of chocolate, as well as an amazing food counter; it was at the last the we would grab small capuccinos and croissants. We would walk them over to my apartment, polish them off, and head towards campus together.

So, basically, every morning that I do yoga, I also drink a full fat cappuccino and have a fabulously buttery croissant. So much for fitness and will power.

On a healthier note, I plan on making Giada De Laurentiis' Pasta Ponza as part of Chopper and I's long delayed culinary throw down. WEll, we are both back at it, and as it gets nicer out and I begin craving more fruits and veggies to fuel my increasingly active body, I thought that this light and simple pasta dish would be a good try. I have only had it in cold leftover form before, but the flavours are so simple, I can't imagine how you could go wrong. I hope that Chopper enjoys it - he really needs some extra TLC these days; vicious haters are trying to get him down. I am sure he will persevere though - the man is of hearty, albeit vegetarian, stock.

Wish I was going to the King's Athletic Awards "Banquet" tomorrow night instead of McGill's Athletics Gala tonight...

Post-Truro Reality

Today is the last day of my 4 week vacation from working on my thesis. Time to start working like a God damn dog for the next 3 months.

This was a fairly epic Truro. No photos to come. No explanations pending. Truro is an experiences best limited to the bar(n).

That said, it has reminded me that I desperately need to get back in shape.

Resolution: no more booze until I finish my thesis + exercise of some variety every single day.

No lie.

This is what is so hard about post-Truro reality. You look forward to it ever since Christmas ends, then the weekend comes and then it is gone. It is as heartbreaking as that moment on Christmas day when you realize that it's time to start throwing out all the wrapping paper. But Truro seems especially hard, because every Christmas you know you will be seeing your family. Truro runs the gambit. And this year could be my last. Eventually I may be too old to binge drink and hit on 17 year-old boys while playing some truly gritty rugby. And Truro is, as my last comment indicates, a physically close experience. I want to be snuggling everyone I am mildly acquainted with right this instant. But alas, instead I have rug burn and work to do, not to mention a cold and alienating city to return home to.

fuck rug burn.

Last Leg of Unsanctioned Four Week Vacation

So today Kathy departs for Fredericton while I prepare my giddy ass for a week-long visit to Halifax.

You, Kathy! I like you!

It was awesome having Kathy here. I miss the feeling of always having a close friend so close at hand. Not to hate on my Montreal friends, because they rock, but we all just always have so much of our own stuff going on. What can I say? I'm very co-dependent.



So, getting to have one of my absolute besties nesting with me in Montreal for five days, getting to meet her boyfriend, go shopping and become obsessed with Criminal Minds has been an absolute treat. Not to mention I have been missing her like fucking crazy.

Now I am in the airport, about to fly out to Halifax. And I am so freaking excited. Truro Sevens Rugby tournament is my rugby event of the year. I can't imagine my year without it; I seriously start looking forward to it once the fall season is over, and basically all of first semester for the past 5 years has been devoted to prepping for it. Less this year. Shamefully less. Not looking forward to that first godawful hit. But I am looking forward to seeing all my Halifax peeps who I love and miss. Chopper is picking me up at the airport (in exchange for me not mocking his PT Cruiser...this is a huge sacrifice on my part), I'm staying at Genny's and then...the BARN! Brace yourselves. Shit is about to get all kinds of real.


On a completely related note: I have done no work in 4 weeks.

Thesis, shmesis.

One Day 'Til Valentines, and I'm in Love

You all scamper to this post with shock, incredulity and blasphemous words of thanks, I'm sure.

Well, psyche.

No, no - the only person who I wake up with in my arms is She Ra, who, as others (most alarmed, my mother) are constantly reminding me, is not a person.

My Valentine

I am in love with a yoga posture. Now I envision my nearest and dearest rolling their eyes. My relationship with yoga is kind of funny. I got really into when my last relationship ended, and I threw my whole self into it. I had been practicing it for a year before then, but I had been like one of those many practitioners (especially prevalent with hot yoga) who insist on only being there for the work out and who roll their eyes if an instructor dare to start the class with three Oms. I dragged people to it so as to salvage my rep as a fit-focused rugby player: "Just come and try it out. This ain't your mom's yoga."(never, sadly, did I ever actually say this). I feared being thought a work-out pussy.

But now I like the mental strength I gather from yoga. I am not going to bore you with it, because if you are almost anyone I know, I have heard you refer to this as the "touchy feely" or "artsy fartsy" bullshit of yoga, and I am a person who is much more comfortable preaching to the converted.

So, my new love? It pairs itself quite ironically with my constant, live-in love: Cat-pulling-its-tail pose.

Don't google it - only one, kind a sketchy looking website features it (what - does any stereotype you have for self-proclaimed yogis pair with computer-tech savvy? I don't think so). I have found the only photos the internet can profer. 
This pose has everything that I love in yoga: it is a back bend, a twist, a challenge to my pitiful hamstrings, and, though these photos do not capture how epic I pictured myself doing it in my mind, it looks really cool. It looks cool from where you'll be lying, any how.

Should you want to try out this saucy posture (it's ok, I'm very liberal minded - I will totally share my new love with you), take note I'm not yoga teacher. One website suggested that those with intense lower back pain might not try this.

Start reclining on your mat, propped up on your forearms. My instructor stressed that, no matter how much

you wiggle around your appendages from this point, you want to keep your core straight - hips and shoulders in line. Lift one leg straight into the air, shifting the opposite hip under you, and plopping the leg straight across your body, as high up as you can. My dream is to be able to grab my toes in my opposite hand - nothing has made me more scornful of my tight hammies. you then take your bottom leg, and scoop it up in the hand which makes rational sense (that is, the same hand as your straightened leg). You can keep your head propped up in your other hand, you extend it, trying to get a twist by flattening your shoulders on the ground. Now hold forever.

I think I like it because, glancing down at my torso (to ensure I'm neither leaning forward now back), my pear shaped physique is inverted by my squared shoulders and twisted hips. It is like an extreme version of how well practised party girls always pose for pictures. You know what I'm talking about.

I will not be spending my Valentines day in this pose though (I imagine). My friends Yule and Brielan and I are going to dress up a bit and go to Juliette&Chocolat - a truly dangerous restaurant around the corner from my apartment which strives for the most perfect variety of chocolate in its various form / my impending obesity.

I will, however, be sending lots of love out to all my friends, single or not.

Besos

"Happy Birthday? Is that some weird way of saying Merry Christmas?"

So I have officially survived 23 years of life. Mostly intact, too. I have three ear piercings, and had my wisdom teeth removed, broke my two front teeth and two bones in my left foot, and I skinned my knees a couple dozen times, but I did it all in stride.

I have been wondering about the rules of internet birthday etiquette. There is doubtless a hierarchy when it comes to receiving birthday wishes. Because I and my friends have scattered ourselves across the continent, I do not consider my closest friends those who I spend my birthday with - if this were the case, my parents and grandmother as well as the sales associates at Holt Renfrew Calgary top the list. This may not be entirely inaccurate, but there are some others who I would include were it possible. But alas, I must depend on technology to bridge the gap between myself and those I love on my birthday. So which gestures warrant a message of thanks? Without a doubt phone calls - these were the minimum, and my lack of foresight meant I was unable to receive any of them (packing at 4 am did not include my phone charger...). My brother even made the effort to call me this morning, not without a slightly accusatory, "You know I tried calling you twice yesterday." Voicemails from Claire and Heather as well as one from my best friend from high school, Marlee. Congratulations - if you are one of these four people, you win.
I also received some text messages and an e-mail. A couple of facebook messages, some very thoughtful posts on my wall, and a couple lovingly photoshopped pictures featuring myself and rugby legend Sebastien Chabal. Which of these does one actually respond to? I find it contrived when someone responds to my own facebook birthday message that likely contained one sentence beyond "Happy Birthday _____!" - though I do lovingly craft that extra sentence, mostly to stand out amongst the rest of my attention competitors. Do you only respond to ones that you especially liked, or to the people you especially like? My limited knowledge of etiquette leads me to believe no. Should I just equally neglect everyone?

Probably. That is probably what I will do.

I do have about five posts that have been percolating in my mind the past couple of days, and they will be coming soon. If anyone noticed that I started doing a "On the __ day of Christmas my many admirers had best gift me..." theme that was swiftly abandoned, it has not been! I just realized that if I continued posting every day that there would be some really weird number of days of Christmas which correspond to no holiday lore, but would act instead as a gauge of how materialistic I am. Very. I know. I am properly ashamed.

In the meantime, adore my cozy birthday outfit acquired at Holt's yesterday with my parents.

Top: Theory | Jeans: Joe, cigarette cut | Sweater: ça va de soi | Bangles: Kate Spade

oh, yes, post script - the quote from the title? Grandma Dode. This was her response after we were bid farewell by our server who said "Happy Holidays and Happy Birthday." She's a funny lady.

Everest

This paper may just kill me. Mostly because it is all I have to focus on between now and Wednesday.

I know, I know, poor baby, right? One paper!

But I am getting too much in my head for it. There isn't going to be any way for me to pull this off the way I would like to. I wont be able to finish the novel the paper is based upon, let alone to adequate research on the auxiliary topics I necessarily have to touch on. So I am getting stressed - do I just keep writing out my ideas until I have exhausted them all, and then turn to research? This seems obviously wrong, but at the same time I am desperate to get some words down so that, at least superficially, I will not be starting from square one.

And, as one may expect with a 947-page book, there is such a variety of topics I need to cover. The reception of the novel, in France, Germany, and North America; the nature of guilt and responsibility during total war; France's relationship in the past to artistic representations of of the Vichy Regime; Historiography of Germany's WWII motives/responsibility; the uses of fiction by historians; the nature of testimony; the list goes on, believe me.

And I am just not in a writing state of mind. I am an excellent bullshitter when I want to be, and usually when I need to be. But now, when I need to weave my magic web of articulate and charming bullshit, my abilities escape me.

I am starting to feel old. My mind and body are clearly deteriorating. The skills I had as a vivacious undergraduate are slipping away from my mind, like a dream upon waking. And I'm getting fat. To make myself feel better about this physical and, yes, I will grant, likely imagined, degeneration, I went to Holt Renfrew with Claire and bought makeup. Grown up women need to spend top dollar to keep themselves looking youthful, when their minds and metabolisms have quit. And it is always nice to have a salesclerk explain that "really, you don't need much foundation - you're skin is beautiful." Why thank you. And that thank you is, of course, directed at Keihls and Olay, jointly responsible for keeping me young.

In keeping with this (pathetic?) nostalgia which has seemingly reached into my soul lately, I nearly burst into tears today when I thought of my friend Heather. My heart actually aches from missing her; I was on the verge of sobbing in savasna. In response to this news, she, equally nostalgic, shared with me the following quote, from Dante:
Nessun maggior dolore
Che ricordarsi del tempo felice
Nella miseria.

There is no greater sorrow

Than to be mindful of the happy time

In misery.

Canto V, lines 121-123

Can't mark anymore midterms

My cat is eating my flowers and I am trying to deduce if I was just asked out by a boy in my class.

"Hey, what's your number? You should come have dinner with my brother and I tonight."

Date?

With brother.

Weird kinky date?
Where is my extensive network of girlfriends to sit around with me and help me figure this out? A girl can't play Dream Phone alone!