It’s 2:59 in the morning and I have a barrel of giggle-inducing title ideas… and no idea what to write after them. Not sure how I even thought of this Troy McClure-introduces-Brad-Goodman quote…before which, I considered – Bethany’s Guide To Prosperity. Step One. Quit. …Yes, all of that. Mostly because I’ve been putting off writing the Montreal/Disneyland/Sister Visit blog as though when I finish experiencing all of this pre-move whirlwind, I will actually consider writing about each phase in some sort of detail. HAH. “He fool he self!” That’s. Not going to happen. And not just because I don’t remember anything before this afternoon.

And now it’s 11:58pm. I am magic. At procrastination. So I need to get my head in the game. AWESOME UNINTENTIONAL HIGH SCHOOL MUSICAL REFERENCE. I was totally meaning I need to buckle down and write this dang vacay-summary blog but that I can’t right this minute because I’m thinking about Zac Efron because I just watched HSM 3 finally and in trying to express that it came out as “getcha head in the game”! FTW! I’m … sorrymovingon. *shuffles papers*

OKAY! So the only possible way I can do this in a timely fashion is to choose one memory from each segment (and hopefully go off on tangents, bien sur) to summarize. With pictures, you know so people can have an unwarranted peek into my life and not let time do its diminish-relevancy job. Okay, belated disclaimer: I am totally going stream of consciousness here, y’all. Strap in.

Montreal

So, it seemed like a good idea to take a weekend trollup to Montreal. Of course, I live on the west coast. So. Doing that whole stand-by cuz my cousin’s a pilot thing kinda wasn’t everything I hoped for. It’s kinda like committing suicide off the Golden Gate Bridge. Actually, it’s EXACTLY like that. Two-thirds of the way into the transit (attempts), I wished I’d never started. Now, I eventually got there. After praying more than I ever have on a plane, excluding that time we were in an electrical storm, and admittedly enjoying having on-demand entertainment if I had to be flying with one of those pilots who is totally bored with his constant SFO-JFK route and has ceased to be concerned with my personal perceptions of safety. I 100% felt like that airline’s tagline should have been changed to: “Calm down, baby, I got us there.”  And in the picture, the pilot’s leaning to the side with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth. Plus his hat’s all tilted. And his shirt is unbuttoned and there’s liquor stains on his undershirt. And he’s not wearing pants, but is wearing dress shoes. That’s pretty much how I can guarantee you he looked. If he was even there and wasn’t instead replaced with an autistic monkey. THE FLIGHT WAS BAD. And then, once @ JFK, I had to be reminded that the city of New York uniformly finds something confusing about my face. I know this because the staring is less like people watching and more like I’m a freakin’ zoo animal. WTF, New York. Anyway, so we didn’t make it onto the first Montreal flight and had to wait for like half a day to get on the next one. Aaaaand shame is gone and I’m laying on the ground with my head covered trying to sleep. There are pictures but they’re on Auntie-Mom’s phone. (And now, here.)

sleeping in jfk

SO! Okay, notes to myself: When we first get to Montreal this time…don’t go straight to Chinatown at dusk and wander around until we find a restaurant that turns out to be a galdarn TROUGH feeding a round-up of about three hundred tourist-immigrants. It’s a little much for the sense, my friend. I am not joking. Secondly, dispel all knowledge of personal space and elbow-courtesy. It is gone. It will not return for the duration. Even small children will throw ‘bows and getting in fights is inevitable unless you relinquish rights to your person ahead of time. Thirdly, do not yell “VRAIMENT?!” when confounded in a francophone country. It does not have the same effect. Fourthly, accept that even if you still had a grasp of French, it would do you no good here. They’re…speaking something else. And none of the immigrants have altered their native pentameter or accent. You will not understand them. Ever. I’m not a pessimist. But never. Fifthly, remember that time you lived outside of California and people smoked everywhere and your clothes itched and your eyes swelled? We’re doing that again. Sixthly, jump up and down on busy streets because you’re in Montreal!!!!!! Oh and the icing on that cake is that not thirty minutes in, you actually overheard someone use “hein?” in conversation! #epicwin

Aaaand we’ll talk about Disneyland later. OMG, after I tell you about the coolest commercial I saw while there. African woman. Driving convertible through what resembles southwest USA. Wearing cowboy hat. Singing in French. AWESOMESAUCE. Might have been some animal in the car with her. It was for some casino? Right.