montreal, you're the only city in this protestant land that knows how to please a girl

My apologies to Irving Layton, but I figure he owes all women one favour each.

Tonight I'm staying at the Fairmont Queen Elizabeth. It's so nice to be away from my stuff ( except for my laptop, bien sur). I am spending gift certificates I got for my fourth wedding anniversary 2 years ago... I am alone here, though I'll meet friends for dinner later. I am not sad. I am making lemonade.

Montreal is so not Ontario. It's a second skin that moves with you, and doesn't strangle you. It makes you want to write poetry and/or take all your clothes off. It's your partner in crime.

You know what it is that he liked about me?
The color of my eyes? (Blue)
The color of my humor (Black)
The way I poured the tea?

He said you know the thing I like about you?
You’re fat.
You’re fat and you don’t care.

Now, I think he thought that would do the trick-
Get it out on the table
then get me there.

But this fact was floating in the air between us

The white elephant in the living room was me.

I am in a blue mood today. Not sad per se, but blue. There are many shades of blue. Mine is not the true blue of the heartbroken, nor the baby blue of the baby blues. It's the sea blue of stormy weather. For whatever reason, the blue is churning up with white foam and green deeps and little bits of flotsom and jetsom from my past. A storm is passing and moving the water around .

You have to wait for the sea to calm down before you go beachcombing. Then you can see what made it to shore, and whether you should put it on the mantle or burn it right there on the beach.