Rue Pamplemousse
so i'm in montreal now. i decided that my favorite french words are 'rue' and 'pamplemousse', and if i were to change my name, i would change it to Rue Pamplemousse, which means Grapefruit Street. kind of like that olympic skier, Peekaboo Street. maybe not.
in ottowa there was this clump of boxes and carpet padding and animal kennels on parliament hill, and this guy, the "Catman of Parliament Hill" has been feeding and maintaining shelter for cats, squirrels, raccoons, etc. there for fifteen years. he also pays to have them innoculated out of his own pocket. so cool.
i think everyone in this part of canada is bilingual, they all keep switching back and forth between English and French, and it's making me very jealous and disoriented.
in ottowa we stayed in an executive suite in a Hilton b/c my dad had a free night there. i felt bad at first b/c we were essentially adding to Paris Hilton's pocket money, but we're not really, the government is, so it's all good. i had escargot there for dinner with Lapsang Sauchang tea, and the waiter looked at me like i was a stupid kid who'd never had escargot and obviously didn't know that it didn't go with funky, charcoal tasting asian tea. he was pretty much right, but oh well.
I fell on my ass on Mont Royal, the "mountain" for which Montreal is named,in the middle of the (HUGE) city. my bum was covered in mud, so i pulled my sweatshirt down so you couldn't see it, but i sacrificed my dignity to crouch down and pet a huge shaggy dog, whose ownners, according to my mom, were pointing at my pants and laughing at the time. well at least i made them laugh.
Montreal is full of fashionable people, and it makes me feel horribly out of place. if i had lots of money though, i'd buy millions of sarongs and gypsy skirts and off the shoulder sweatshirts and ballet slipper shoes and head scarves and funky stripey tights that i saw in the store windows and on the dreadlocked college students of montreal (they're all over). this city makes me want to go buy some combat boots and get my nose pierced. not in a nasty, Christina Aguilera way, just a tiny dot of a stud. that'll never happen though.
I liked being called 'Mademoiselle', even if it was just by a leering bum who whistled and shouted something French at me. probably nasty, lurid, french bum things. oh well.
have to go now, i'm only allowed on the hotel's computer for 15 min.
in ottowa there was this clump of boxes and carpet padding and animal kennels on parliament hill, and this guy, the "Catman of Parliament Hill" has been feeding and maintaining shelter for cats, squirrels, raccoons, etc. there for fifteen years. he also pays to have them innoculated out of his own pocket. so cool.
i think everyone in this part of canada is bilingual, they all keep switching back and forth between English and French, and it's making me very jealous and disoriented.
in ottowa we stayed in an executive suite in a Hilton b/c my dad had a free night there. i felt bad at first b/c we were essentially adding to Paris Hilton's pocket money, but we're not really, the government is, so it's all good. i had escargot there for dinner with Lapsang Sauchang tea, and the waiter looked at me like i was a stupid kid who'd never had escargot and obviously didn't know that it didn't go with funky, charcoal tasting asian tea. he was pretty much right, but oh well.
I fell on my ass on Mont Royal, the "mountain" for which Montreal is named,in the middle of the (HUGE) city. my bum was covered in mud, so i pulled my sweatshirt down so you couldn't see it, but i sacrificed my dignity to crouch down and pet a huge shaggy dog, whose ownners, according to my mom, were pointing at my pants and laughing at the time. well at least i made them laugh.
Montreal is full of fashionable people, and it makes me feel horribly out of place. if i had lots of money though, i'd buy millions of sarongs and gypsy skirts and off the shoulder sweatshirts and ballet slipper shoes and head scarves and funky stripey tights that i saw in the store windows and on the dreadlocked college students of montreal (they're all over). this city makes me want to go buy some combat boots and get my nose pierced. not in a nasty, Christina Aguilera way, just a tiny dot of a stud. that'll never happen though.
I liked being called 'Mademoiselle', even if it was just by a leering bum who whistled and shouted something French at me. probably nasty, lurid, french bum things. oh well.
have to go now, i'm only allowed on the hotel's computer for 15 min.