Hey ma!

I know that last blog I told you all that I have “too many women”, well, one more may be coming. And she’s not exactly my type. Yes, my mother may in fact be moving to Montreal, and as such, I may be transferring. To somewhere very far away. Very far. Across an ocean far.

    The situation is this, my mom went to England with the guy from eHarmony, neglected to tell her work, and got fired. Then Sydney got sent to boarding school, she gave my dad the family dog (which is a good thing, because Dirty Old Greg, while I hate him, is really good with Zach), and gave up the eHarmony boyfriend. Apparently I’m “all she has left”, which is a total lie. And if there is a shroud of truth in it, she has probably brought it all upon herself. Probably, in that last sentence, was my attempt at being PC.

    The most worrying part about having your mother threaten to move to your city for most people, is that she would embarrass you in front of your friends. The most worrying part when my mother comes to town is the fact that she is a physically and emotionally abusive right-of-center homophobe. And if she ever moved here, I honestly don’t know what I’d do.

    I’ve slept on couches and floors for over half a year in order to get away from this woman. I went through two years of therapy because of this woman. And I have grown up. I’ve grown into someone that I’m not quite sure that I like, to be perfectly honest. I’ve been coming into my own these past two years, of course. But overall, I’ve come to accept that my mother has shaped me into a fundamentally terrible person. I’m trying to shake it off, really, but it’s been engrained in me.

    Recently, however, I feel like there’s a different part of me coming about. Maybe I’ve grown to learn how to love people who may end up hurting me, and just maybe, I’ll become someone that I like. However that is definitely speaking too soon.

…Apologies for the angst.

[ First posted: 28/10/08 ]


No, I’m not trying something new with my hair.

Hand signals to the right.

Hand signals to the right.

In my defense, I had warned you all this was coming. The new layout is in effect. And thus, I must apologize to everyone who reads my blog when they get RSS updates. Because I’ve changed the whole site, you are probably so overloaded with updates that your mind is imploding as I type this. Another revelation being, that if my entire readership’s heads have just imploded, I should be looking for a new target audience. 

Hey you! Yeah you! The one looking over this person’s shoulder at the coffee shop. Read my blog!

    But seriously, I’m sorry for everyone on RSS, and I apologize in advance for the technical difficulties I’m expecting with this new site. I have not changed my URL yet, but I’m just letting anyone who has bookmarked this site know, that I will be moving, and soon. So you can be overjoyed when you need to bookmark me again. Man, moving sucks.

    Speaking of bad moves, this fixer-upper is going to give me carpal tunnel, I am sure of it. Tomorrow, on top of the infinite readings I need to do, I have to go out and buy bandages because my I’ve managed to cut my hands up pretty badly. And let me tell you something, breeders, finger wounds are not a turn on, there goes my plan of getting a girlfriend this weekend too, shucks!

    Speaking of girlfriends, I had this crazy dream the other night that my mom was coming to visit me, and that she knocked on the door, and I was sitting on the couch, reading the newspaper, and someone opened the door. And I’m not talking some ordinary someone, I’m talking some chick with amazing legs opened the door in nothing other than my plaid shirt, unbuttoned, of course, and hot shorts. I’m pretty sure that in the end she scared my mother away, and then we made out. Yeah, I’ve been having good dreams recently. 

    But wow, okay, this was just supposed to be an apology post. So I’m going to end it here. I don’t know how the new blog formatting is going to go, but we’ll see. New pages to come.

(First posted: 13/09/08)

My imagination wanders

If only road-stencils could talk.

If only road-stencils could talk.

I like to imagine some things are real when, in actuality, they are simply a figment of my imagination. For example, I imagine every road has an imaginary bike lane, to which I feel entitled, regardless of the fact that it does not exist. And even when my bike lane is slightly more than depressing optimism, and slightly less than a clearly visible line on the ground, I feel as if my space, real or not, is being invaded. Sure, taxis do it, delivery trucks do it, people who have just recently left a blissfully unaware life of suburban living do it, but never before have I been cut off by a cyclist I couldn’t deal with.

     I will understand if your straight across bars don’t allow you to fit between the streetcar and the Chinese tours coach bus, really, I will. But when you cycle the wrong way up a street and play chicken with me, I have very little tolerance. Such little tolerance that I took one hand off the handlebars, did the “I’m seriously questioning your mental capacity” hand motion, and yelled “what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” And as you have been previously informed, usually I cycle off for fear of retaliation, but this guy decided to imitate my hand motions and say something which was either; a) “just coasting,” b) “going smoking,” or c) “I live in a land of purple unicorns, and you, madam, are our queen!” I’m pretty sure it was the latter.

    Today I also made my first post to Craigslist, I’m selling my electric guitar, because lord knows I’m an acoustic kind of girl. So if you want it, you can take it (and by take, I mean buy). I think over the next day or so, I will be selling many things on Craigslist, in an increasingly futile attempt to have enough money to finish building my fixie. Yep, the old girl is still in the proverbial shop. And by shop, I mean the spare bedroom propped up on a guitar amp. Another reason I am selling everything that isn’t so near and dear to me, and also has some degree of monetary value is that I am moving, and we are taking the kind of small van. While I have few assets, I have enough to fit the van. And since I don’t want my worldly possessions, and organic cotton tea towels, to be crowded or damaged on the way to Montreal.

    In closing, buy all of my possessions from Craigslist. Maybe we could do a you scratch my back, I scratch yours, sort of deal. In which you respond to my post with money and I respond to your casual encounters post with, well, you know.

(First posted: 19/08/08)

Holy shit: it’s almost August

It’s the 30th of July, where the hell is summer going?! This blog is going to go nowhere, I was just flabbergasted that it was the 30th of July already. I have so much to do. I should probably not be blogging and I should get down to finalizing things that aren’t even in their final steps yet, but I guess time constraints outweigh everything.

    My new landlord woke me up this morning, I don’t live in her building yet. And I was freaking out, because I sent in my lease application a fair while ago, and I hadn’t heard from her since my trip to Montreal. For a while there, I thought I wasn’t going to get the place and that I’d be out on the streets, or something. So when she called and told me my lease is ready to be signed, I was ecstatic. I’m going to Montreal, bitches! I have myself a little place to live. How exciting is this? Very. I can’t wait to move in, and be independent, and do the whole starving English major thing (which I know is coming. Did I mention my mother is suing my father for all my funds? Good timing, ma). I’m just over joyed, I have to get all my loose ends tied up here though, which is kind of scary, because I’m realizing, slowly, that I have so many loose ends and I’ve missed so much. It’s starting to seem like this is my last hurrah

    In other news, I’m thinking about building a bike. Really, I am. Nothing fancy, no gears. I think I’ll have brakes though, and really skinny tires, just until I get a feel for life on a fixie. I think it would be awesome, I have no idea where to start, but man, my own bike, which I would’ve built myself? That is an accomplishment, if I do say so myself.

(First posted: 30/07/08)

Moving, moving, yet again

Yesterday I found out I’d be moving back to my old loft because my Nana’s gone away to see her other family, and we can all give up the dream here at chez Pettigrew. Today, I’m fully packed, even though I don’t need to be out for another week. Why? Because I want my life back!

    Living with my father has made me realize a whole lot about myself, mostly that I cannot deal with others, family or not, if they don’t care about my views. I’ve literally been living off of hummus, toast and marmalade for what seems like forever and I’m fed up. Firstly because the effort just wasn’t there, but even more so because he’s my father and still wouldn’t make the effort. I can live with a day or two of straying from my diet (not in the sense that I stop being vegan, more so in the sense that I stop steaming kale) in order to not offend anyone, but weeks? Not my deal, not even possible, I have far too strict of a diet (which I do intentionally, not all vegans are as conscious as I am about having a very well rounded, perfectly balanced, diet) for me to be living on minimal fruits and vegetables. How does this man not have scurvy, really.

    It’s also made me realize how much I appreciate my alone time, I love being alone. I suppose that’s anti-social of me, but I’ve grown used to living by my own rules, and creating my own oasis, and not having to worry about getting lactose poisoning. These are the simple pleasures which come with being me. I like to cook up a storm, sit around reading, and clean my house with only vinegar and baking soda. I like these things. Some people are dying to get out of their homes and into the real world, but I think that if you can’t sit with yourself for a moment, than you’re not going to be able for the real world either way.

    Long and short of it, I’ll be glad to be back home tomorrow. Yet I’m still worried, because Greg’s been living there, and I hate Greg so much. He’s a meat-eating, pot smoking, under achiever who’s a leech on my father’s side. I think he’s ruined my oasis, not that I can’t get it back, but there has definitely been damage done. I’m pretty pissed that he stayed in my loft, really. I couldn’t say no because my father pays for it, but I was never asked if that was okay with me, he just kind of came over and never left. Had I been asked, I would have, most definitely, said no chance in hell.

    I should get back to packing up my last few things and doing a clean sweep, maybe I’ll even have some super-nutritious toast (which is actually sprouted-7 grain, I picked it up. 6 grams of protein per 2 slices, not too shabby, right?). I’ll post next from my humble abode.

(First posted: 21/07/08)

Greetings from Montreal!

I’m living out of suitcases again/still, while I search for a place to live here in the city that I can drink in legally. And apartment hunting is pretty much dismal, it’s kind of like going on a blind date; sounds great on paper, until you realize your neighbours-to-be just had triplets. But seriously, I’m so indecisive and picky that I have a feeling this will be a tough one, but I feel confident in my list of non-negotiables. There must be; an adequate kitchen, a balcony, a close proximity to either campus or a really kitschy region downtown, and I must have the ability to play my records without having someone bash my floors from below with the top of a broom. I don’t think that’s asking too much, but we’ll see.

    I’ve seen one place thus far, and I’m on my way to another right now actually (this is kind of like a test to see if I’ll get mugged on the metro with my laptop & grado’s, so far so good.) This place I’m about to see now looks promising, it’s right downtown & it’s a 2.5. I have no idea what 2.5 means, but I know it has 1 bedroom, and that’s good enough for me. I want to rough it a little, you know, nose to the grindstone while I go from frumpy apartment to penthouse (which in montreal is something like a $500 difference, so that may be sooner than later, but who knows with the way I spend money).

    Anyways, here’s to hoping I’ll actually find a place to live. Because I don’t think I can fit all my stuff in a cardboard box.

(First posted: 11/07/08)