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Fresh


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Lemme see…so this past weekend I thought a lot about blogging, but that last entry really did me in! Apparently it did you guys in too ‘cuz not too many of you made it to the finish. Thank goodness for pictures, right? :)

Other than sitting on my fat ass contemplating the many things I wanted to record for eternity for all the Internet to read, I baked. I made two dozen muffins to be exact. One batch went faster than the other because it was far yummier. That batch looked like this:

Peanut Butter (Chocolate Chip) Banana Muffins.
Fresh

I also went to a party. That’s right, this old lady hit a house partay. I arrived a good 1.5 hours after the official start time not because I am self-consciously cool and needed to be fashionably late but because late is my middle name. Also, I had to work my freeloader status a little bit more by dining uptown with the parentals and my Por Por. Who can pass up free dinner? Not me!

I think what made me really late was the fact that I was stupidly (and predictably) indecisive about parking and ended up entering a full lot (and paying for it!) after leaving the lot I had to eventually park in! ARGH. Why do I do this to myself? An extra $1.50 and 30 mins blown! Go me! I never learn.

I also had issues figuring out which Mickey D’s my friend lived above. Since I am one of those smug Spurlock-lovin’ boycotters, I could only think of one McDo in the neighbourhood and it was definitely not at the right intersection. So I called the host’s number and a sweet, unfamiliar voice answered, “It’s not right at the corner. It’s across from the liquor store.”

That sweet voice came from someone named Brian who left the party not too long after arrived but after giving me a good hard look and telling me, “Oh my god! You are beautiful!”

Hahaha! Something tells me that I should doll up more often and hit parties with an especially high attendance of gay men. As though this should be news to me, the girl who lived with the gay housemate on the gay street in the gay village of gay Montreal. Where has my mind gone? Seriously.

I guess I have been a bit unplugged from the male side of rainbow lalaland for too long as I was a bit taken aback by how much my gaydar was ringing the moment I walked in the apartment! Um, hello? How am I supposed to infiltrate these circles of hot men? Um, do I look okay? ‘Cuz gay men can be far cattier than catty women! Where are the hot women anyway?

Thankfully, I snapped out of it immediately and had many very pleasant conversations with some very pleasant people!

The strangest thing about the population of partygoers was age. Or rather, the glaring age discrepancy between the majority of the people (yes, those fine-looking men I mentioned two paragraphs ago) and the friends of the host’s boyfriend who had barely reached the age of majority! The ten year age difference between J & S no longer phases me because they are extremely compatible and have been together for over half a year (which is about 1,000 years in queer male terms.) What kills me is how young girls S’ age look and act! Nothing wrong with acting like a kid fresh out of high school when that is exactly who you are; but good gracious when did I stop looking and acting that way?

I guess I should have clued into the fact that I am in my mid-20s and act about 45 when I put on pearls (on neck and ears) before dragging myself out of suburbia in my grandpa-mobile. Heh. In response to my commentary on this very subject, J sweetly told me that pearls are young now. I eventually conceded that point since I was young enough to pair my pearls with buttery high-heeled boots and spunky clothes. Apparently I can still work it! Of course, I won my oldness argument by giving him (and some of my fabulous new friends) goodnight hugs and kisses, driving away from the party and the city’s lively nuit blanche activities at 1:30 a.m.

I see you.
Post-party self-portrait

In all truth, I think my old lady nature has a lot to do with this whole long distance relationship thing. While Dave and I can be homebodies, we can’t live without excursions for food, film and music. If he were here, we would have had our fair share of nuit blanche fun. Of course, we’d still probably schedule everything relatively early and not actually stay out all night long but at least we’d be out!

Less than a year before our lives will return to normal. Only this time Toronto will be our turf instead of Montreal. Less than a year and I won’t have to be harassing my friends to peel themselves away from their own partners to go to the opera with me! Oh yeah, my girls love Mozart opera more than my boy does, but they all want to share the experience with their own opera-loving men! Hmph!

Actually, finding a buddy to go see Così fan tutte with me shouldn’t be too hard but the fact that I even have to ask around is a royal pain in the butt. I’ve got a partner, he just can’t make it! :(

I think I’m just particularly annoyed about the situation right now because Dave is miserable in Paris–holed up in his crummy little hotel room in the city he wants so badly to visit with me, programming away at an uncomfortable desk before the big deadline without any of the clothes he initially packed because his suitcase has been lost by airline fools! To top that off, his paternal grandfather passed away a few days ago and he cannot go to Montreal to be with his family. ARGH.

It has been a difficult weekend. Baking, partying and all. There’s nothing I can do to help this situation. All I can do is be available to Dave in all ways possible. That has largely meant sitting by the computer waiting for him to be online so we can chat or I can call his hotel room. That has meant writing to Dave’s family, sending his father and mother my love and affection during this difficult time. That has meant cursing the airlines that bungled the delivery of his bag and hoping for a little magic. That has meant sending positive energy Dave’s way during my yoga class.

In the end, we’re surviving. Dave, my heroic wonderboyfriend, always sees the silver linings. The man is painting the city of lights silver from his tiny, suffocating hotel room. Afterall, we both see that despite all the bad cards he’s been dealt, he is in Paris with good people as part of living his dream and eating damn good food while he’s at it. And of course, he’s spending precious time telling me about it because that’s what we crazy little lovebirds do.

“It does suck, babe; but on the bright side, the rabbit I had today was really, really good. I wish you were here to taste it.”

Je t’aime, mon amour. I wish I were there too. Come home soon!



One Response:


  1. gnome G Says:
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    Those muffins look so YUMMY! And I love the quote about suckage but how good the rabbit was. Hilarious and endearing, as I bet most of your convos with the boy are. =)

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