This has been nagging at me: the dog in the Viagra ad, is he real?

(bonus question: is he the reason the guy is singing? ew.)

“…on change de théâtre.”

- Ma tante Carmen

This month, Blork and Martine are asking us to confess to crying at the movies. Strange, for I recently cried all the way through one, and couldn’t decide whether to blog about it. I guess this request is a sign that I must.

Warning: blubbery girlie icky-girly personal yuckiness follows.

First, a bit of personal ancient history. Many years ago, I had a boyfriend and we were very happy. One day, he got accepted into a distant college to study in a demanding program for four years. We knew we were both the “out of sight, out of mind” type, and that this separation would eventually end our relationship. We knew we’d gradually forget each other, quite painlessly, over the next few years, and although we officially stayed together, we did indeed grow apart quite painlessly. The only great sadness we felt was when we knew we would forget, but not when we were busy forgetting.

Fast forward to now. For a while now, T has been talking about going to the West Coast to work for a year or so. And somewhere in the back of my mind, unspoken, I’ve had the same concern as I did all those years ago, the same lucidity about what happens over long distances.

So recently, we saw Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. And although I was enjoying the movie a lot, I bawled almost from the beginning, and at first I couldn’t figure out why.

But truth be told, as strange and uncommon as the main character’s situation was, I could actually relate to his circumstances. I knew how absolutely devastating it is to realize you will soon forget someone, and that someday, sooner than it should, love will be over and you won’t even mind.

On a lighter note, I should also confess I cried during Return of the King when Pippin is on Gandalf’s horse, being taken away from Merry, and I cry every single time they get the letters from home on Survivor.

But I definitely did NOT cry during Titanic! Come on!

Get five marriage proposals.

But seriously, it’s amazing how much people are willing to pay (3850$ for a 1200$ dress) just because the guy is witty.

Just fixing this MT database … nothing to see, move along.

Last week, I wrote my very first piece of fan mail ever. I wrote to “Stefie Shock”:http://www.stefieshock.com/, to tell him how much I liked “his latest album”:http://www.lightspeedchick.com/archives/001563.html, and “his concert”:http://www.lightspeedchick.com/archives/001996.html.

And yesterday, he wrote me back! How cool is that?

You may remember that my pipes froze a lot this winter, and that the kitchen was freezing. We eventually discovered a big hole in the wall behind the water heater.

I was dreading my Hydro bill. I finally got a meter reading card, filled it out, and anxiously sent it in. Hydro just called and they say the reading doesn’t make sense, and they have to send a guy to confirm it. I said “no, it’s probably right. I was expecting an enormous electric bill”. She said “I’d like to enter the reading, but it’s so big the computer won’t take it”.

This is gonna hurt. I wonder if I can petition my landlord for assistance in paying the bill?

I’m still looking to change jobs. Y’know, in case you see something.

As everyone knows, last night was game 7 of the Bruins-Canadiens series. It promised to be a great game, even if it was possibly the last one of the season for the Habs. As luck would have it, I had a class I couldn’t miss. Doh!

I sat in class watching the scores on my PDA browser, constantly reloading. I could see at least two other people around the class doing the same thing. Others would sporadically look at us expectantly, and we’d just shake our heads “No”, and make two “zero” hand signs. It was unspoken, but completely clear where everyone’s mind was.

Finally the professor stopped for a break, and a frenzied flurry of cell phones quickly came out: “C’est quoi le score?” “C’est quoi le score?” “C’est quoi le score?”.

As I drove home towards the end of the second period, one of my classmates stopped his car beside mine at a red light. He smiled, and pointed to his radio and then his ear. I nodded “Yes, of course I’m listening to it”.

I got home for the third, and with each goal scored, I heard the cheers of several of my neighbors mingling with my own.

I’ve always loved how powerfully hockey seems to break every social barrier in this town, how it unifies not only jocks, but computer geeks, artistes, and even the future corporate suits at HEC.

Go Habs!

I’m in Toronto, but using my Montreal cell phone. That means to call the restaurant down the street, I have to dial 1, then the area code, then the number.

- (inaudible words which I wrongly assume to be the restaurant’s name)
- Uh, hi, I’d like to place an order.
- Yeah?
- A Taco Chicken salad and a Diet Coke please.
- A… what Chick?
- A Taco Chicken salad?
- Who is this?
- … Uh… I’m a tourist… staying at the (name deleted) hotel down the street.
- Where?
- (a little impatiently) Toronto!
- Toronto, Canada?
- Uh…. yeah?
- (laughs) Where do you think you’re calling?
- (uh-oh) Bourbon Street restaurant?
- (laughing) In Toronto.
- Yeah.
- Well, this is San Francisco.
(I burst out laughing)
- And I’ll gladly bring you a salad if you’ll pay the airfare.
- Ha ha… This is the nicest wrong number I’ve ever placed!
- Thanks.
- Okay well, I’m not that rich, so you take care.
- Yeah, you too.

I’ve just had two really weird experiences.

My back was worse today, so I decided to go through the rigamarole of finding a doctor around here (despite my lack of an Ontario health plan) to prescribe stronger drugs.

His office was located in a really dingy mall, and he was really chatty. He said that when someone wanted drugs for back pain, you should usually suspect that they’re a painkiller addict. He seemed suspicious but did end up prescribing me some stronger, “prescription-strength” Tylenol. Great, I thought, the addicts are ruining it for us people in real pain.

He said I should get a massage. Seeing as I’m alone here, he offered to do the honors. It sounded weird but I was in so much pain that I hopped on the exam table and he gave me a Tiger Balm rub, which did relieve me. He said, I really could do this all day, Marie, but I have to see patients. That was weird but I didn’t care, the pain was gone.

*Then* after the backrub he gave me his pager number and said if I felt bad later he could make a housecall at the hotel “and we’ll take care of you”. It sounds awful, but if he’s just an honest doctor, then it’s just all the sickos ruining it for a professional caregiver, right? (Of course I’m not calling! What do you think?)

Get back to the hotel and order food from a nearby restaurant. Feeling kind of embarassed at my bent-over posture when the delivery guy gets here, I tell him I have a backache.

He says “you need some percocets. I have some in the car if you want”. This guy was pushing painkillers! NO, I *REALLY* HAVE A BACKACHE!

Now I know how to get drugs, though, if you guys ever need. Just saying.