“Last one out of Liberty City, burn it to the ground.”
“Last One Out Of Liberty City”, ‘Hello Rockview’; Less Than Jake (1998)
“My advice, to anyone willing to listen, is to find a notebook that fits into your pants pocket. Use a pen with a cap so it doesn’t explode in your pocket, and start writing down whatever you can remember. Even if it’s a favourite colour. Then, later, write down why it’s your favourite colour…. and pretty soon you’ve got a list.”
Me for the past two weeks.
The Third Of Five Lists: The First 52 Places I Remember Living
Close to eighteen months into my recovery I started writing a new journal. After a while I started making lists to sort out my memories, including one of all the places I’ve lived. Without a doubt this list has been the most work of them all. I’ve lived in at least 52 houses, apartments and rooming houses so trying to put dates on each is almost impossible. But getting them out on paper has enabled me to place important, and trivial, events into some order which otherwise were left confused and missing from my memory. Making lists, in my opinion, can be very helpful to someone with manic depression or clinical depression — which distort reality — as a means of putting perspective into our lives. As proof I’m offering mine.
This is the first of three parts of The First 52 Places I Remember Living… mostly up until I move to The Big City on my own.
.
01) Pointe Claire (1970): It’s a suburb of Montreal, I was born here. Back in 2000, I actually worked with — and had a crush on — a woman who was born in the same hospital a few ours after me. It might have been a year and a few hours… I don’t actually remember 01 to 04.
02) Montreal (spring, summer 1970): My parents had a small apartment in a building populated mostly by “bikers” who kind of looked after me. My father was a teacher who managed to get himself fired just after I was born for reasons which, to this day, are just too fucking retarded to believe. Soon after we moved to his parents home in Gu3lph.
03) Gu3lph (summer, fall 1970) Paisley Street: From what I’ve been told this was not a comfortable living arrangement. My parents were looking after a Youth Hostel while living with my grandparents. Mom had a very hard time recovering from her pregnancy. The doctor told her another one could be fatal.
04) Gu3lph (fall 1970): My parents got their own place. It was a small apartment frequented by two of my uncles and their high school buddies where high level discussions on “What Must Be Done” were had. This is where the seeds for “the Coll3ctive” (fear the seeds) started. My father and grandfather decided to open a bookstore down the street.
05) Gu3lph (spring 1971) Eramosa: This one’s a little confusing to me… from what I understand my parents first apartment was on Eramosa as well, but this was a large two-storey brick home about halfway up the hill from downtown. This was the first, real “Coll3ctive House”. I believe my brother was born while living here. It took mom two years to recover.
06) Vancouver (1974?): My mom, brother and myself were sent to live with a Coll3ctive member in Vancouver with the intention of starting a branch office. Another woman came with us. I can remember the smell of the ocean and the chipmunks we fed in Bamff, National Park. There were some difficulties with the Coll3ctive so we were only there for six months before we hurriedly came back.
07) Toronto (1975?): The Coll3ctive was doing some contract printing work for the Marxist-Leninist Party of Canada, so my brother, myself, my mother and another woman were moved to Toronto. As far as I can put together it was in “Little Portugal”. I do remember it was above a corner store and filled to the brim with roaches, although mom did a great job of hiding them from us.
08) Gu3lph (1975) Oliver: After a truly bizarre falling out between The Coll3ctive and the MLPC we were back in Gu3lph where they had moved into a second house. This is where one of the neighbourhood kids taught me how to ride a two-wheeler… he had a tricked out bike with a pretty large chop and a banana seat.
09) Gu3lph (1976) Ontario 01: I almost always get “Oliver” and “Ontario” streets mixed up. The Coll3ctive had taken in a huge family of children. I think there were eight boys. We were all in the same bedroom. I slept next to the window in a bed with another kid, but there were (I think) two triple bunk beds.
10) Gu3lph (spring 1975-76) Ontario 02: At some point it was decided that it was too dangerous for the kids to be living in The Coll3ctive house, so my brother and I were moved down the street to live with my aunt. This time period — 1975-77 — is my most difficult to remember, I was just being moved around too much.
11) Gu3lph (1977-78) Ontario 01: Crisis relatively over my brother and I ended up living with the Coll3ctive again. I can remember the smell of printing ink, fireworks in the backyard and the big, round wooden table in the dining room. We were allowed 30 minutes of television per week, so we watched “Emergency”. A drama about paramedics and firemen.
12) Little City Close By (August 1978-79) McGill: My mother left my father abruptly and took my brother and I about 600 miles north to an apartment above a garage in a pulp and paper mill-town. We had our first pets here. A couple of hamsters. They ate their way out of their cage. One came back, the other got into the carrots and gorged himself to death. I also remember having two kittens, but they must have been given away.
13) My Village (1980-81) High St.: The landlord had a crush on mom. We had the top floor of a very large two storey building. Landlord lived downstairs where he had a business as well. Mom’s boyfriend, a rug maker, gave me the Lord Of The Rings and The Hobbit. They called me out from my bedroom and they were all laid out on the couch. He said it was a present and I was so excited… I still remember the weird look he got when I asked which one. I still have them.
14) Tiny Village Nearby (1982-83): The years get a little fuzzy for a while, but the order is right. This was where we got Darwin The Cat, and Logan The Dog. They stayed with us for about the next nineteen years. This was our first home in Super Real Authentic Really Rural Country. It was roughly twelve miles to the nearest grocery store. The landlords family were our neighbours, which was cool cause their three kids were girls. Mom dated a lawyer for a few years… I had/still have issues with him over the breakup.
15) Country Road (1984): Even deeper into The Bush. Some friends of moms were in Europe for a year so we house-sat. We were outside our school district but mom threatened a beat down on the school board to they relented. But my brother and I had to walk a couple of miles back into the district to catch the bus. Most of the time the driver had pity on us and came to meet us halfway. Our nearest neighbour was… well, far. This was where I got my own dog, a black Labrador named “Wizard”. A rabid fox came into the yard once when my brother was by himself, playing. Little Brother took off for the door and Logan and Wizard tore that little crazed fucking thing to pieces. There were fox bits twenty feet up a tree. After a six month semi-quarantine where they lived with chickens, and killed most of them — bad planning — they were both fine. Mom used to have dinner parties here for the local artists she had hooked up with… this region attracts a lot of them. [Note: This might actually be #17… we had to give up Wizard when we moved, and I think it was to #18]
16) Tiny Village Close To Quebec (1985): Nice place, water tasted like sulfur. We were renting from one of moms friends again. My brother and I got new bikes here, that part of the country is flat, flat and flat. I hated biking around there. We started picking up more animals at this point… three more cats, Agog, Klunker (whose back end was very rabbit like) and Scrapper, who was very angry and very small. Darwin was the leader. This is where I discovered “Tea For The Tillerman” and ‘Talking Heads’.
17) Teeny Tiny Village (1985-86): Moms boyfriend took us in. He was, mostly, a dickhead. When we were moving out (he didn’t want kids), after we had moved the last pieces into the car, he was being a bit of a dickhead to mom, so I went into the cutlery drawer and walked in with all the forks and asked mom if they were ours.
18) My Village (1986-88) Union: Back to town after a tour of the most rural parts of Canada. This is where I started dating seriously.
19) Ear Falls (1988): It took three days by bus to get there. I brought my mini-blaster, a sleeping bag and a backpack of clothes. I was barely eighteen living in a shack in the woods with thirteen men who had each done serious jail time, the next youngest of whom was 34. The camp I worked at was actually 45 miles north of Ear Falls. I was there for almost eight months. From beginning to end, every day was fucking crazy. Thankfully all of them adopted me, and never once tried to rape me. This was where, in my mind, I started exhibiting the symptoms of full blown manic depression… and smoking, and binge drinking.
20) My Village (fall 1988) Union: When I came back mom and my little brother were just finishing their move into moms new boyfriends place (Village 03) — extremely nice guy, two kids, great father. But I was not happy about that at all. I stayed in the old place for a few weeks until I ran out of food. Then I carried the fridge and a few large tables to the new place. He and mom got married fifteen years ago.
21) My Village (1989) Home: The most kick ass party ever thrown in our village was held here. I was dropping out of school, stoned most of the time, and binge drinking every weekend. People here, now — fuck, just a few weeks ago, still talk about The Party. I’ll write about it sometime… and the Ear Falls stuff.
22) Little City Close By (summer 1989): First time on my own. It was a rooming house owned by a couple of moms friends. Fucking crazy summer. I was running a day camp for kids aged 8-13, it was a project run by the city. I was also out all night drinking, smoking weed with friends… there were two Chinese Restaurants in town, and both families had sons my age. They fed me all summer. Awesome. This was when I tore my knee up… which was not awesome.
23) My Village (1989-90) Jay: I actually moved back Home for a few weeks, but that was not working. This was my first real apartment. Two bedrooms, I shared with a friend. I was stoned for a month straight… two of my friends were a couple of the largest dealers in this region — and that’s saying something. At one point I had a garbage bag of Vancouver’s Best Weed in my kitchen. We had these magic markers and when you walked in there was a closet for you to sign. My little brother (the former artist) drew a life sized Spiderman. Dave drew a huge cityscape being attacked by a giant blob and called it “Hostess Munchie Gone Bad.” Great place. Lots of “Risk”, cards and guitar playing. And sex. Lots and lots of sex.
24) Ottawa (1990) Sweetland: Girl difficulties and a need for a large change landed me in a rooming house in Sandy Hill, a student ghetto next to the University of Ottawa. I was living with two university students, they were my first female roommates. Fuck… see? Each one of these leads to something else. Each place I can remember living in leads to more memories after I’ve written about them. When they’re locked in my head I can’t focus long enough on each one individually, so they’re practically meaningless. I want to write 1000 words just on this apartment alone… fuck. I just wrote those two sentences and suddenly I’m reliving relationships and jobs and just the weird lunatic shit that happens. I’ve found these lists, as part of my recovery, to be invaluable.
.
.
01
06
...salted lithium. 
I know you mentioned all of the moves elsewhere on this blog. But to see them written down and numbered makes it stand out. That is a lot of moving.
By the way, my feet are huge in your right nav section. When did you change the avatar size? I like it.
Yesterday (?)? I might do it on [the other blog] as well. I got tired of straining to see people’s avatars… at least I could see where it’d be a problem if I ever broke my glasses. I apologize, but until you brought it up a few days ago, I never saw a foot… I thought it looked like a piece of chocolate from a box of Black Magic. I think it’d be coconut.
Seeing them all written down for the first time was a revelation. I had always joked with people I averaged six months per house, but to see it as being a reality was a pretty heavy moment. It really helped put a lot of things into perspective. Like I wrote, each thing I wrote down sparked another memory which, when I wrote it down, added another to the chain. And once I figured out the time frame for each house I was able to put my memories into place and time. So, whereas I had always thought I had memories from one specific time, I was able to place them among several different periods of my life.
Most, if not all, manic depressives and people suffering from clinical depressions I’ve encountered or read about have had difficulties with their memory. I’ve written about it here before, how memories can be turned against us by our minds (I know that sounds chedder like, but so be it). I really think that by writing this shit down — as honestly as possible — we can help make ourselves better.
Did you like the way I slipped “chedder” in there? Did you know some, mostly delusional, people consider chedder to be the “ass of cheeses”? Man… delusional people are funny.
Cheddar.
Named after the Cheddar caves in Somerset, where the orginal Cheddar cheese used to be matured.
There are many things calling themselves Cheddar (or chedder, avoid those things especially), but a truly great Cheddar is a thing to be savoured.
I have had a tendency to move with great frequency since leaving home at the tender age of 17. It probably averages out somewhere between 6-12 months. Its getting longer the older I get, but I don’t know if that is encouraging or not. Possibly just laziness, or accumulation of heavier things, and less limber friends. Or just less hyped on all manner of foul substances making carrying heavy shit all day, mangling at least one bit of your hand and losing a random favourite object seem less like fun.
I miss avatars….why cant someone make a plugin that sucks wordpress plugins from peoples blogs….gravatars are useless. Aikaterine, you and I need to code some php monstrosity that grabs a commenters username, checks it against an array and returns a stored avatar. We can release it as a plugin and be wordpress gods. GODS I SAY!
Maybe Muses. Not Fates though.
Sorry. Wandered off topic there.
Houses. Yes. Thats a lot. And intense people with leaflets and ideas. Oh deary me. Sounds like an Iain Banks novel.
I was going to do a list post, but then the subject I was going to list post about was done very very well by another blogger, and that upset me. No list post for you.
Instead I will do a post about my All Time Top Five Favourite 80’s Teen Movies.
Only five? I thought John Hughes did fifteen or more movies during the 80’s. Don’t forget the “why”, I forgot about the “why” on some of my movies and got sucked into doing movie reviews. I feel like I should rewrite most of them but there are only 32 hours in my day.
Not so long ago one of the WP forums suggested having a variety of generic avatars, sort of a pool of avatars I guess, which I (generic WP blogger) could choose to have available on my blog for you (generic non-WP pedestrian) to choose from. I thought it was a good idea.
I was going to save this for part two, but until three years ago I didn’t own a bed. I had a single mattress for almost ten years (no boxspring), but I lost it when I moved to Toronto. After that I mostly rented furnished apartments. I also bought my first full set of dishes three years ago, and I now have three pots and two pans. The apartment I’ve been in for the past two years is the first place I’ve owned a couch, chair, dining table, bookcase… and on, and on… most of my moves were done in one trip, in the backseat of a car. I moved by city bus at least three times, and one in Toronto was done in two cab rides. Nice guy. I was totally manic-ed out and gave him a $50 tip on a $60 fare.
Ha well, it may have seemed that way, but Hughes only directed 5 teen movies in the 80’s. Wrote or produced a couple more, Pretty in Pink being the major one, but I don’t rate that too much.
Cameron Crowe was the other big hitter, covering the late eighties when Hughes went off to make films with john candy and then the evil one (say not it’s name).
Oh, you want to call me out on the cheddar? That’s ok, I can take it.
Yes, Aikaterine feels that cheddar is the ass of cheeses. THE ASS OF CHEESES. With all of the other choices why would someone go for a big hard lump of ass?
But maybe I am just dissatisfied with Canada right now, I am having to jump through some significant (read $$$$$) hoops to get in there in the Spring. As I have mentioned elsewhere, I have a very small criminal record due to some crazy mania-induced shopping trips that ended up with some bad checks, etc… And you guys have implemented some new border controls that keeps dirty criminals like me out. I have a friend who has been going to Whistler for 15 years, 15 years, and was turned away last month because he had a drug conviction from 12 years ago. Luckily, as with all other governments, if I throw enough money at it, via my attorney, then they will overlook it and let me in. Christ, my business buys it’s diamonds exclusively from Canada, I support your economy more than my own. And believe me, if I did not, then I would never be allowed to visit Canada again. That, along with a statement from my doctor, is the only reason I am able to get in. Bah.
Did you hear about the guy in the UK who had a phobia of every food item except cheddar? All he eats is cheddar cheese – 225 pounds a year.
ew.
My foot looks like chocolate, I like that. A lot.
I keep wanting to do a post on the new studies showing a correlation between the number of manic episodes and a reduction in grey matter in the memory centers of the brain, but I never get around to it. It is a worrisome part of all this crap.
darkentries –
For some reason, I am thinking database issues, we might not be able to do that. But we should definitely try.
“GODS I SAY!
Maybe Muses. Not Fates though.”
That was funny funny funny.
Now, back to saving the world from mean old men.
Find a way to get to Vermont… I don’t know, take a cab or something. Go to Canaan, Vermont. Little town, chedder free since 1802. Walk, or drive, north about fifteen miles. Taaa-daaa, you’ve been in Canada for five miles. Unless you’ve had an RFI implanted in your neck at this point you’re pretty much a Canadian citizen. Last time I was there the Canadian Border Hut closed at 10pm… the border stayed open however. There was a sign-in sheet but it was kind of on the honour system (I swear to God). America and Canada share a border that’s half a world long and there’s, maybe, 20 “Official Border Crossings”. You should be able to get that minor league transgression taken care of in plenty of time for your spring conference thingee… if not, dress like a tree if you’re worried.
I need sleep.
I, along with all of the people who actually want to commit crimes in Canada (why?), are taking note of that.
But yes, it will be taken care of. They are not looking to keep someone out who (1) is not going to commit any crimes there and (2) supports the economy. I feel sorry for my friends that have traveled there a lot in the past though. Now, all of a sudden, because of drug transgressions from the early college years they can no longer go. Why has Canada taken this stance?
Mozzarella rocks.
And I thought I had moved a lot because of my dad’s army background…13 schools and I think more than 20 places…haven’t counted the houses! But if you ask me I would have a hard time remembering.
I have both mozzarella, and Cheddar in my fridge.
The cheddar hater is revealed…i am grateful Gabriel for your hand in the unmasking of this scurrilous villainy. It shall pay.
Bring it on darkboy, bring it on…
2, 4, 6, 8 we don’t need your stinking cheese… no, wait… oh okay, now it rhymes. Feta sucks.
You are lucky I have two kittens holding me back right not Mr. Canada.
Those are fighting words.
FIGHTING WORDS.
not – what the hell is wrong with me?
DAMMIT!
I repeat…
You are lucky I have two kittens holding me back right now Mr. Canada.
Those are fighting words.
FIGHTING WORDS.
*breakfast plate is flung against wall and breaks into little pieces as Aikaterine glares at one camera wielding Canadian*
Ha! And now your difficulties with spelling will be known by all… ALL!!
And one more thing Gaaabrieeel, Mr. Feta Sucks, what the hell deos Canada offer the culinary world? Huh, what?
Beavertails… a delicious and flakey pastry onto which you can sprinkle shredded chedder cheese. And you mispelled “does”.
You bastardo, to beat someone when they are down. This is not nice.
My spelling sucks because my fabulous mind is always a sentence ahead of what I am writing. And it is muy understandable in the context of your horrible blasphemy of the godly feta.
You are not so blessed. And it is probably because of all the crap for food that makes up your homelands cuisine.
You are just jealous of the fabulousness that is all things Greek. I know that you covet feta in the lonely moments when you are true to your inner self. I understand and I forgive you.
Well… alright, I cheated. I edited your does into deos, but only because your arguments were too strong. Truly you are a master debater. I accept your apology and look forward to an increased friendship between our two cultures, of which ours — of course — is superior. Because we can spell.
That was a good edit, largely because I just assumed that I had misspelled it. You are good. But your false flattery could use some tweaking.
But no apologies from me, only forgiveness and a hearty understanding of your need to belittle all other food in order to make Canada look better. Even food you secretly love, like feta.
And let’s not even get started about comparing Greek culture to Canadian culture. We are infinitely better, everyone knows that. But, you may have your delusions.
Whoops… I forgot it’s recycling day. Almost missed the truck.
Delusional? I suppose I can be. I will admit Greek culture was truly the most revered and capital G Greatest Culture to ever be conquered before the birth of Christ. No doubt. And I believe we can both agree that Feta does smell. See? Canadian diplomacy. Both sides leave the table smiling. Oh… I edited out a lot of the comments you made before about Dark Entries parentage. Frankly I’m pretty sure that kind of language is illegal, even in America. Thanks again for the apology…
“revenge is a dish best served cold”
…
With little chunks of old chedder. Mmmmm… revenge with chedder. Yummy.
WHY DO YOU KEEP TALKING?
*sound of tea cup breaking against the wall*
I get the last word, I always get the last word. Stop it.
Stupid cheddar.
*stomps foot*
Careful, you don’t want chocolate in your carpet. Mmmmm… chocolate foot and chedder. Yum.
Pingback: sweet, sweet revenge… « forgetting myself
sweet, sweet revenege
Click Here For The True Story of Mr. Canada
Whose the best now byatch?
Thanks for the sweet rack… and my ass looks fan-freaking-tastic.
Dude. You dance funny.
I think I wet myself.
Aikaterine could spell everything wrong for the rest of her life and that video would still make her the winner. Really, when a woman is determined to win an argument, the only sane tactic is to nod and go ‘uh-huh’ whilst secretly knowing how wrong they are.
Puhleeze… so in order to “win” I would have to photoshop her head into JibJab, then maybe add a little GW Bush or some Whoopie Goldberg gifs?
I’ll put this line up against my dancing head anyday:
“I will admit Greek culture was truly the most revered and capital G Greatest Culture to ever be conquered before the birth of Christ.”
Chedder rulz, Feta drools. And where the fuck have you been, cheesestick?
“The cheddar hater is revealed…i am grateful Gabriel for your hand in the unmasking of this scurrilous villainy. It shall pay.”
–August 15, EST3.13am
Typical Brit, always getting the Colonies to fight their battles.
some of us have to work y’know! We can’t all sit around the house forgetting the garbage.
Wow, funny — but in a weird way — that’s exactly what history books say the Brits told Canadian generals at Ypes, Vimy Ridge and Paschendale. I believe the exact quote was “whoops, we’re all dead. Call in the Canadians… again.”
I don’t have a house, I have an apartment. Thanks soooo much for making me relive this shame… oh, right, and I’ve been forgetting things recently because my family died last week. Or, at least they could have. Nobody in this world cares about me. Thanks. Now I have to go sing Cure songs to my headless teddy bear.
Beavertails and cheese in one comment thread…..mmmmmm Canada..
I KNOW!! That’s exactly what I’ve been trying to explain to these people…
Beavertails are baklava gone retarded
Don’t hate the playa, hate the game. Does it bother you that baklava, which can be a delicious desert, was created and perfected in Turkey? I think it does. Yes. I am sure it does. Self loather.
“we move like crazy tigers…’
It most certainly does not, part of my family has been in Istanbul for generations. And I still have family there, as well as in Cesme.
So, absolutely not. Nice try though.
HaHA!! So your self loathing started because of your conflicted loyalties… it’s all coming together. And, of course, you’re projecting it onto Canadians because our soldiers stood between Greeks and Turks on Cyprus Island for thirty years. It’s all coming together now — the chocolate feet, the irrational fear of chedder, your need to see Canadian men dance like a Latin banana woman… it all makes sense.
I haven’t figured out exactly what tigers have to do with this, but I’m looking into it. I’m guessing it’s either a Breakfast Club reference or something to do with… well, a three letter word that I don’t like that much anymore.
It’s “We move like cagey tigers” you twisted emo freak.
You got me, you are soooo right. Really you are. I am horribly conflicted. Terribly.
Dance for me Chiquita, dance…
But seriously, I am off to catch a plane.
Toodely-doo…
I KNEW IT!!!!!!!
Take lots of pictures…
You people are weird.
You’re telling me. I think this all started with… actually I’m not even sure anymore. I think Nita was the only person to relate any personal experience with the actual post… it was nice of her to try and get this post back on track, but we were just too caught up in the cheese.
I think I’m putting a “cheese ban” on the second part of this thing. Or maybe just make a “Cheese Page”.
You can’t ban cheese! NEVER! That would be like banning poutine!
No, those are “curds”, totally different thing. I would never think about banning curds. We are now only three… maybe four responses away from setting a new record on Salted. I should get into cheese wars more often. Maybe for the next post I’ll write about how horrid blue cheese is…
poutine….ahhhhhh….thats so wrong, and yet so right.
and in my head it is ‘crazy tigers’, just like in your head it is chedder.
You can’t have it both ways.
did we win yet?
I’m still not entirely convinced you were on my side (have your pants dried yet, funboy?), but I think it’s a draw. Technically Aik and I entered into a Conditional Ceasefire… of course she then attacked Beavertails, so I’m not sure what’s going on. I think I’ll wait until I see what she does next with my photoshopped head before I sign any formal agreements.
write about the maggot cheese. You’ll at least get hits from it.
She’s dead to me, attacking Beavertails.
I know. The photoshopped me on the banana dancing chick was cute, but attacking Beavertails. Jesus.
Casu Marzu… this stuff’s for real? I did not need to know about maggot cheese. But this is hilarious:
“When disturbed, the larvae can jump for distances up to 15 cm (6 inches), prompting recommendations of eye protection for those eating the cheese. Some people clear the larvae from the cheese before consuming; others do not.”
That’s not hilarious. That’s the nightmare I’m going to have tonight.
I was referring to the 3 or 4 more posts until the record is broke, not to any winning of arguments or not. I of course am on my own side. The side of Cheddar, Feta, Mozarella and Poutine. In fact all cheese is my friend.
I don’t know to what (to woo) you were referring when you mentioned my pants. Thats a bit worrying. You, thinking about my pants.
I think the argument is over for at least…24 hours lets say. Probably longer.
No record yet… we have to get to 63 to beat my Salted single post record, of course all of the responses on the record post were on topic and non-cheese related.
I was only assuming that when you wrote earlier about wetting yourself you were referring to your pants, but if you don’t wear pants while you surf, who am I to judge?
If you’re saying the argument was over yesterday, I’d have to remind you there was no argument. If anything, the joke was over a few hours ago… but then Thordora came in and she made it funny again. Maggot cheese. Awesome.
I’m awesome, I know. Go ahead. Say it some more.
Thordora is totally freaking awesome. Her awesome-ness to so freaking total that even though she doesn’t like hats with flaps, she is still totally freaking awesome.
Okay…PAs back roaming around and finally figured out where it all stemmed from…got it.
And I can post another comment if you want me to break your record. However, I’m going to assume that this will continue.
But I do have some information for aikaterine re: the whole border issue…let’s just say it isn’t only Canada! The US flags all Canadians too and makes it equally as difficult for them with criminal records. You also have to jump through hoops and do various things in order to get yourself clearance.
Only for the US too. For no other country in the world do you have to do this.
Aikaterine’s off the continent for a little while so I think the 2007 Cheese War is at least in recess. Next time we start something like this, PatAnon, I’ll definitely make sure you get into it… it’d be interesting to have a semi-responsible adult perspective.
This one ties it, next one breaks the Salted record… uhm, there is no prize.
what the hell do we want a semi-responsible adult perspective for? And PA is definitely not the person to provide it. The girl is crazier than a squirrel.
Thank you both Gabriel… and darkentries for your compliments…I consider them both valid.
I AM the ultimate Human Paradox!
I have made this same list, only mine included the events necessitating the move. The floodgates that opened were sometimes so overwhelming that I’ve had to squeeze my eyes shut, clench my fists and just scream.
Actually that’d make a great list. It’s a huge step making a list like that… if you get a chance, let me know what it has done for you — if it has helped.
Pingback: This Saturday My Parents Are Coming Over For Dinner For The First Time Since I Moved Out Twenty Years Ago « …salted lithium.