Tuesday, August 7, 2012

The Montreal Norm

Yesterday, I slept in. I was supposed to have breakfast with Sully, but after eight years of meeting him for meals, I've learned that he runs on his own clock. And Sully time is at last 45 minutes to two hours behind real time. So, I went down to the café and partook in the free breakfast of fresh fruit, chocolate croissant and a non-fat yogurt with hot tea.

By the time Sully got here, it was pretty much time for lunch, so we headed out for pizza. Something that would both appease his palate and mine. I love talks with Sully, and I hate talks with Sully. There's usually some fun elements like us giggling over tourists in Vieux Montreal ordering poutine and taking photos of it when their order comes. I get to learn things about what's happening in his life, and I babble on about stuff in mine. He has a great observation of my physical responses to things. And he digs a bit too deep into things than I'm often uncomfortable with. I blame my Avoidant Behavior issues for my crappy capacity to hold a grown up conversation that has any emotional merit. On the other hand, he's overtly jovial with the waitstaff, which I love, even though I can't bear to even try to talk in French around him. Too many stories about his ears being sensitive to the English person in obvious pain trying to speak French Canadian. I guess it's mercy that he puts them out of their misery by switching to his second language, but if you want to learn -- in earnest -- you're out of luck. Which is funny, because in the States, I always feel endeared to people who are learning English. I mean, it's a huge thing to go somewhere where you don't speak a word and try to make it work and figure it out. It's the people who visit or move places who expect the world to cater to English that drives me mad. Case in point, this asshole at the Depanneur today who wanted to buy aluminum foil. He wanted to use his card, but it was broken, so he asked the attendant to type in the numbers. The card was clearly messed up, so the clerk asked for ID. The American refused. Then he put a $100 in US cash on the counter. The guy threw up his hands and shook his head no (not sure because it was American or because it was $100). But it was only a $3 item, so you know, I'm pretty sure he didn't have the cash to give back to him in U.S. money.

As the guy walked away, he called the attendant a bad name. And it was all I could do not to take my bright orangish/pink Nike shoe and kick him square in the ass as he walked away. Fuckhead.

But I digress from wherever I was about the Sully lunch, oh yes...

Usually by the end of our conversations, a couple of hours have flown by and I'm emotionally drained.

So, in the middle of the afternoon, I went upstairs to my room, I talked to MacTroll and X-man over iChat for a while, watched the Olympics and I read my book. I passed out around 8 p.m. and didn't wake up until my son FaceTimed me the next morning at 8:30 a.m. I talked to the boys a little and got dressed for a walk. Every year I try to walk up Mont Royal to the Chateau from wherever I am staying. I'm not a girl who does hills since I come from a pretty flat land, so it's a hard effort for me. I also had to take a detour around downtown so I could do some window shopping. There were lots of sidewalks under construction or shut down due to new buildings being erected, so my pace was sucky, but the walk was fun.

When I reached the Chateau, I sat down and enjoyed the brightness of the sun and the wispy clouds in the sky with a Gatorade. I smiled at the families getting their photos taken with the city behind them. Then I started back down the hill. Round trip was just under 10 miles. My foot did wickedly awesome, except on a section where they had redone the path from the stair entrance at Rue Peel with vertical bricks. They were a little unlevel and my tendons protested, but I wasn't on them for too long.

Now I've showered, and I have plans to finish reading my book and maybe nap before I have dinner tonight with Ms. M and her boys. Then tomorrow, I get to get in a cab at 5 a.m. to get to the airport. I should be home by lunch time. Let's hope I keep better track of all my bags this time.

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