Where I Turn Into A 5 Year Old And Throw A Public Fit Over Porn Deprivation

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I had the most magical day planned for Sunday and I was so excited to experience it, photograph it, write about it, blog about etc…

First, a conference at Université de Montréal, By Michael Greger.

Who?

The physician, author, and internationally recognized professional speaker and an expert witness in defence of Oprah Winfrey at the infamous “meat defamation” trial. That’s who.

oooh!

I know!

I was so excited and have been counting down the days for over the month.

I may have overestimated to what extent François would share my enthusiasm.

And he may have been a little bored. And not very good at hiding it.

Me: Oooh! It’s Question and Answer period! Do have any questions?

Franky: Yea. Can we leave?

To which I retaliated by sweetly volunteering him for a 10 minute survey after the conference.

We went for lunch downtown afterwards but food didn’t seem to lift his spirits much. He bitched about societal breakdown and barked at the paper place-mate, under his Mediterranean tofu sauté, for advertising self-help gurus and self realization workshops.

I tried to make light and managed, for the most part, stay positive and cheerful. We had a walking tour of the Red Light District coming up in half an hour and was still excited enough not to let poopy-pants ruin it.

That is, until HE had to go ruin everything by having some kind of dramatic dental freak-out.

Oh sure, he was clearly in agonizing pain. Tears were creeping from the corners of his eyes, he winced and cringed and recoiled, then rocked back and forth in his chair for a moment. His face white and red with beads of sweat cascading from his brow line.

Most telling, he didn’t finish his food.

Franky: Seriouly, I’m not joking, It goes from my tooth, into my eye and down my neck and..

Me: Mmhmm. (If he didn’t want to go on the walk, he could have just said so. Honestly.)

Franky: Is the left side of my head swelling up?

Me: No more than usual…

Franky: I’m dizzy. I just almost fell down. Is this normal?

Me: Nope.

Franky: I need to go home…

At which point, I scooped François up in my arms, carried him home and nursed him ( Held a cold compress against his jaw, fed him hand-peeled codeine, regurgitated fruit purée, and organic cloves that I ground with my mortar and pestle only moments before massaging it tenderly into his gums), until the next morning when I drove him to the nearest Dental hospital.

Orrrrr….

I may have actually instead, pouted, grit my teeth, dramatically raised my eyebrows a few times while biting my lip. I may also have accidentally implied that it was all Franky’s fault that this was happening (because obviously he totally planned for this to go down THIS afternoon so he wouldn’t have to go on that walk with me). I may also have snapped at him 2 or 3 times and left him standing, dizzy, frightened and alone, on the corner of Crack and Ho, to find his own way home. Maybe.

*ahem*

Maybe.

And somewhere between dejectedly searching the streets for the Red Light Walking Tour and calling Franky to see if he got home without dying and also to say sorry for being a jerk but also by the way it totally is your fault because I’ve been nagging you to go tot the dentist for a year but I’m still sorry for being a bitch when you were in gut-wrenching pain –

I realized that I am starving for stimulation and inspiration and that I really need to take myself on more dates.

Alone.

So I’m asking, for the sake of my poor abused boyfriend, for suggestions of free activities I can do by myself. Dates with me, on a budget.

And also, I will photograph them and write about them and blog about them, so as to share them with you too. Also. As well.

:)

Jennifer June

We have an infestation…

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Retrospectively, I guess the signs were all there.

• Unexplained holes and tears in my clothing.

• Strange noises at all hours of the night.

• Unidentified droppings from one end of the house to the other.

• Multi-coloured hairs littering all surfaces of the house.

• Unexplained rashes all over my body, written off as stress by various clinic physicians.

I’ve tried thinking of them mainly as a nuisance, but I hear they can be much more than that. If I continue to ignore them, next thing you know, they’ll be chewing through the electrical wires, creating fire hazards,etc,,,

One of them has already started building a nest in my sofa, and my clothing keeps disappearing. They’re clearly stealing it and then shredding it for bedding material.

I was thinking of taking care of it myself by setting traps and putting out baits, but chances are I will not be able to eradicate the entire colony.

It’s clear by the evidence that we have a serious infestation and I’m going to have to call in an experienced exterminator.

Jennifer June

In Which The French Language Police Cross The Line

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**Warning: My francophone friend’s, lovers and otherwise objects of my affection. You may be offended by this post. And I won’t care very much. But I’ll be a little sad and hope that somewhere deep down inside, you still love me**

You know…

It was enough to get under my skin that in order for children in Montréal to go to school in English, both parents must provide proof that they were educated in the English school system since the date of their unholy conception.

I get the whole preserve our language thing. I really do. And I fully support the whole separation thing, if you’re sure that’s what you want to do. After all, I was born here. I’ll get to be the citizen of not 2 but 3 countries. How cool is that?

But we are one country for the moment and in this country , there are TWO official languages.

And in my awesome opinion, people should be able to school their children in the language of their choice.

Even.

Immigrants.

*GASP*

That’s right, I said it.

It was enough to annoy me that people are being fined for having their business signs read with the language of their choice written in the same size font as the French version of the name. Yes. The government found a way to fine people for not writing their names in French bigger than the other language. Seriously.

SERIOUSLY. What are we five years old people?

It was enough to send me into a blind rage (and call my poor french-speaking boyfriend, frothing at the mouth, ranting like a lunatic and perhaps even referring to the French-Language-Police as Nazis *oops* ) when I read about the proposed bill to

IDENTIFY ALL ANGLOPHONES IN QUÉBEC (only) on their medical cards so as to be sure to provide government/medical/emergency services, in English, ONLY to registered anglophones because immigrants should be “forced” to speak only in French while in this province.

But THIS…. this is where I draw the line:

HAVE YOU NO SHAME??? Don’t you EVEN think about charging me three dollars more for my salt and pepper tofu, people!! I will seriously throw down.

P.S. maybe somebody should tell them that in English, numerical symbols are the same as in French. I’m just saying…

Jennifer June

Serendipty Looks Good Too!

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Serendipity NEVER happens to me but I’m telling you people, I’m on a roll!

First I’m visualizing community, now I’m manifesting French interior decorating. Honestly, does it get any better?

On my (vision) Please Universe-Cut-Me-A-Break-And-Let-Me-Live-Large-Board I posted my dream couch:

Dream Couch

I have no idea how much it costs because after stalking and finding it on the Chintz & Company website I noticed it is no longer available and also, that they don’t list the prices of their items. In my experience, if there is not price listed, I can’t afford it.

Also, I can’t afford organic grapes so I’m thinking a custom designer sofa is out of the question.


HOWEVER!

A few days after posting Dream Couch in my Pinterest Album, something beautiful happened.

I was browsing craigslist, looking for a free upright piano when I stumbled upon an add for this:

WHAT???

And it comes with this:


SHUT UP!!

Right??

And guess what else, Now it looks like this:

IN MY HOUSE.

GET OUT OF TOWN AND TAKE A BUS!!!!

Awwwwww yeeeeeeeeeeah…

*Note to self: Add photo of sexy, antique, upright, mint condition, piano to Vision Board.

Jennifer June

Little Birds

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So two of my monsters are leaving the nest. One for the second time.

My heart feels broken in a billion pieces.

For the last 20 years of my life, regardless of everything else I have done and accomplished, my whole and entire life has revolved around my girls. Our family.

I had dreams for us that I have yet to fulfill.

We never did go to Disneyland.

We never moved to California, or Europe…

We never had a family portrait done!

I never taught them how to bake pineapple upside-down cake!

They never taught me how to make wine!

My friends talk about their 5 year old children and it hurts me deep inside.

I used to be that mom!! I was the mom crying at the school concerts, packing juice boxes, telling bedtime stories, kissing bobos….

And now?

Now I watch them dress up like “grown-ups” and head out to fill out apartment applications and credit requests.

I’m proud of them. I really am. It warms my heart to see them pounding the pavement, job-hunting and persevering after seeing 12 unfit apartments and being rejected by the landlords of 12 others.

I try to be supportive, I really do.

“Wow, sweetie, the place looks perfect for you two. I really hope you get it because… What?? Gas? No. That’s just not an option. Gas stoves have fire. You’ll catch on fire! Sorry, you can’t take that one. You just can’t you’ll have to ask them to cancel your application. 5th floor? Not going to happen! What if the elevator gets stuck and… what? You can’t take the stairs! What if….”

Gone are my 3 little babies, replaced by 3 adolescents, weaning themselves off mom-dependence, spreading their little baby wings wide open and toppling dangerously close to the edge of the nest, exercising their independence, huffing and puffing, rolling their terrible eyes, roaring their terrible roars and gnashing their terribly expensive teeth.

Now they talk to me like I’m an underprivileged, illiterate door-stop (as opposed to the over-privileged, literate variety)

“Ugh.. Mom, No offence but A LOT has changed since you were my age…”

And I fight the urge to smack them upside the head hug them like an anaconda and infuse them with love, acceptance and self-worth.

Now they leave dirty clothes from one end of the house to the other, skip school and forget to come home at night.

They steal my make-up, my jewellery, and my clothes and drain every ounce of my energy with their incessant bickering and fighting and threats to get jobs at massage parlours and strip clubs and…

They could probably both fit in here if they pack light… right?

Jennifer June