fuckaduck, shitonastick, putamadre
Ouais...
This is insane. And in other news, this is more common than I thought. I am screwed.
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We celebrated Nicole's roaring 20s before the Great Depression of turning 30 sets in in three years over the weekend. It was fun playing dress-up and, hey, I'll admit that it gave me the perfect excuse to buy the red lipstick I've been wanting to buy for the past three years. (Another push came in the form of an online article I read here .) Anyway, Nix always throws the most amazing parties. Look at the attention to detail! I was seriously geeking out over some of the stuff she did. Janis channels her inner Greta Garbo. Seth as Charlie Chaplin (especially loved his real 'stache!). Nix fashioned her sauna into a speakeasy. Poisson rouge. Fab Four. Besties Five Ever. This was the best pic we took all night, in my opinion. Nix says this looks like a silent film poster about three best friends in the 20s: Janis is the cute, boy-crazy one, while Nix is the dramatic, wannabe actress, and I'm the sweet goofy...
I think I'm supposed to be in Montreal.
Ever since March, I keep getting this feeling that tells me I ought to be in Montreal. It feels genuine and serious. A premonition. And I will be honest and say that when the prospect of ending my job arose, I felt light and happy because something inside me thought, " Montreal ." Montreal is the dream, the ache, the lighthouse. It's been calling to me since 2008 and its siren call hasn't faded. In fact, it gets louder and louder with each passing day -- a fact that only terrifies me a little. Because... I could do it, you know. I could leave everything: family, friends, newfound dreams. I could leave it all behind and make a future for myself in Montreal. And there's nothing stopping me. Montréal. Je suis toujours amoureuse de toi.
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