Bring your popcorn and your coke, today's topic will be slightly different from the usual home decor/ rant posts you've known until now.
Because only a mind like Banh & Mi's could come up with such a subject.
Alors commençons par la théorie implicitement formulée par Banh : Il y a une corrélation entre la taille de l'engin et le succès de la relation longue distance.
Le succès serait juste quantifié pour des raisons de simplicité en temps(fuck that trop compliqué 2 facteurs) et distance.
S'il existe une corrélation et qu'à partir des données de statistiques je peux trouver le coefficient, cela voudrait dire qu'à partir de la distance Paris-Montréal, nous serions en mesure de déduire la taille de l'engin du Moose!
Les couples dit normaux habitent en moyenne à quoi...disons entre Laval et Brossard. Ça fait 38km. Un pénis moyen en érection mesure 14cm (source: wikipedia), en érection parce que la taille au repos ne donne pas une moyenne fiable. C'est trèèèès simpliciste mais avec ces données, le coefficient serait de 0.368cm de viande par km de distance. Sachant qu'il y a 5750km séparant Montréal et Paris, l'engin de M. ferait donc 2116cm. Avec une petite marge d'erreur de 5%, ce résultat se rapproche plutôt de la réalité!
That's right, as weird as it feels to write these words, I've been pulled back into the suburban lifestyle.
Things never really change in Lachine.
Long commutes. Unbearably long bus rides in good company next to retards and annoying teens listening to drake, and incredibly stupid conversations, the 191 never being on time.
Mowing the lawn. I mixed up gas and oil last time and for half a day my neighbours saw the moose and I on the lawn, syphoning the horrid mixture with fkin straws from the lawn mower.
Spiders. Trust me, if you haven't lived in Lachine, you have no idea how big spiders can get.
Life on the streets stop after 7pm. Actually you never see anyone on the streets outside of school dropping/picking up hours.
On the bright side, living in Lachine also has its perks.
No rent. Living at home, but without the parents. This means I could actually SAVE UP and buy myself an apartment in the city someday, or with a little perseverance, a shoebox studio in Paris!!
Almost unlimited space for my dog and not too many car accident risk. Cuz you know, pomeranians are exactly like children.
Just thought I would put a screencap of Revolutionary Road, although our life is in no way as dramatic as Kate & Leo's. Have you had the chance to watch it? Isn't it a brilliant film? (and brilliantly depressing if such a thing exists)
This couple has more class and elegance in one of their depressed fingernail than the whole Lachine population.
Not sure if 'plant sitter' is an actual term.
But for now I am the designated watchful guardian for Pat's sweet herbs, and I shall keep an eye on them during her absence. Pat, la température à Montréal a ridiculement droppé depuis ton départ, je sors tes bébés le matin sur mon patio et je les rentre le soir pour qu'ils restent au chaud.
Have the time of your life in Beijing girl, I will carry on your Capsul legend and babysit your herbs until it is my turn to fly away ;)
I guess this whole wandering back to reality/Montreal thing feels like a giant hangover following the most incredible party. My Paris party lasted for a year and it is still vibrating through me, like a moveable feast.
When you push back the thought of changing to local time, so that at least on your watch, you'll always be in Paris.
" I miss you when we say goodbye for a month because I am going home and because I admit I need help. I already miss you in the cab to the airport and at the airport waiting in line to get on the plane. I miss you when the plane lands and when my dad hugs me tight and says, “You’re gonna be okay, sunshine.”
I miss you when you call and I go outside and sit on the grass in front of my house so we can talk in private and when you text me late at night as I go to bed in my mental health quarantine. “Goodnight, my love,” your name glows on my screen. I miss you then.
I miss you when you go home for the holidays and when you see your childhood friends, your long-time ex who taught you everything about trust and who is the reason you hesitate to get close to people, because you loved her so much and she spent 10 years stomping on your heart and making you work for it in a way you swore you’d never do again. I miss the you you were before she did her damage and I didn’t even know him, but I wish I had. I miss you when you were 16 years old and I was inappropriate for you anyways but you would have been more vulnerable then and maybe you would be less scared of what we have. I miss the you I never knew, who died after the third time she cheated on you, who died when your parents got divorced, who died when they told you it was your fault.
“If anyone else was acting this way about you, you’d think they were crazy,” I say.
“Yeah, but the difference is I like you,” you reply. “So I just like it.”
Perhaps this is more normal: I miss you when I leave your apartment. I walk down the steps, five stories, and when I hit the fourth floor, I already miss you. I miss you when I can’t smell you, when the t-shirt you let me wear because it was summer and I was sweating through the one I brought and I hadn’t been home in five days because we were so wrapped up in finally being together that we never thought to separate — well, when I ran out of clothing — anyway, when it stops smelling like you. I miss you when I can’t see your funny toes. I miss you when your hair is in a knit cap. I miss you when you say you miss cigarettes because I’ve never seen you smoke one and who you are depends on when I met you. Did I show up too late? I couldn’t have been any earlier. I would have been a baby then.
I miss you when your lips don’t touch mine. When you’re across the room playing video games or watching Girls with headphones on. When you’re organizing your meticulous record collection. When I am in the kitchen eating ice cream and listening to podcasts and you are in the shower. I miss you because of the age gap and because we will never line up that way and I don’t know if we would have liked each other in high school — the sad-girl overachiever and the raucous punk know-it-all. I miss you whenever we are apart because I don’t know what the next encounter will bring and I want it to be better than the last.
I miss you when you are right next to me. Nowadays. I miss you when I spoon you in bed and when you close your eyes on the couch. I miss you when you are clearly thinking about something but you can’t express it or won’t tell me what it is. I miss you when you pull back from me even as our arms are around each other. I miss you when you’re putting up walls, building defenses because you have no more trust left. I miss you when there’s fear in your voice. Fear of giving in. Of showing your hand. Of missing someone.
I miss you, of course, when you leave.
One night, I say, “Tell me everything.”
You laugh, “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. “Start at the beginning.”
“The beginning? The entire beginning? I have memories from when I was like, three,” you whisper.
I forgot to mention that Girls Season 2 is coming out in two days! The only "white" series I've watched so far are all from HBO (Flight of the Conchords, Game of Thrones, Girls) and I love them to bits.
I don't know if Lena Dunham is the voice of our generation, but as a twenty something year old woman I can definitely relate to the characters trying to make sense of themselves... and mostly about accepting the fact that most of the time it doesn't make sense. I'm far from what I've pictured for myself ten years ago, but it's okay that we don't have it all figured out. We have to be good to ourselves along the way.
For your information, Girls episodes may not contain as much nudity and epic violence as Game of Thrones, but they make up in randomness and awkward sex scenes, love it!!
I've been awfully quiet on this blog for the last few months (it's always been sporadic anyways), and I can't promise it will change in 2013, since blogging for me has always been about spontaneity and randomness. The irony of working in marketing & communication -_- Being constantly on the lookout for new, exciting content and writing writing on the company's blog/social networks but neglecting my own little cyberspace...
For Christmas the Moose and I bought the following lens: Nikkor 50mm F1.4 I'm so happy about it, yet everyday I continue to read something new about photography and I get discouraged by how little I know.
Est-ce que je vous ai dit que j'ai des OSTIS DE GROS MOLLETS maintenant? Oui c'est horrible, c'est aussi gros que les bras d'un champion de dragonboat, et vous pouvez imaginer sur un corps de midget comme moi. Merci aux 5 étages sans ascenseur de mon appart et mon abonnement vélib.