i find it very hard to believe that it took my family almost sixteen years to take me out of this country. i find it even harder to believe that i did not nag them more. sure they were reasons completely out of my control that kept me from existing as far as the government was conscerned until i was almost 13, but that is another story

this story is about me having a little fun for once

arriving in montreal on sunday night was a huge fucking relief, for sitting in a car with 3 dramatic people that think life is an episode of Seinfeld, and every little thing is something to obsess over, is dangerously painful. arriving in my hotel room, on the other hand, was not a relief. the shower resembled a very crude gas chamber, with no vents or means for the steam to escape. i won't go into detail about anything else because it makes me physically ill to recall the surroundings (although, the archaic tv remote with a hefty 9-volt battery that was on the fritz was humerous when my stepbrother tried to quickly switch from late-night porn, only to find the battery was taking a coffee break.)

the good thing is the vile nature of the room inspired me to get out more. on tuesday i decided to check out a museum around the corner from our hotel, and much to my surprise they were having a nan goldin exhibit

NAN FUCKING GOLDIN!

please attempt now to get an image in your head of myself doubled over, jaw dropped to the french-canadian pavement, and a teeny squeak just barely escaping from my throat. the only money given to me on this 4 day trip (a measley twenty dollars, five of which lost causing much trouble at the border with my overreactive father) was spent on this exhibit, for this woman has been one of my many obsessions since my dear aunt monica, may her lovely bones rest in peace, told me about her a few years ago. i could go on and on forever about her, but the photograhs say more than i can. so look at them...ASAP

living in a town frequented by tourists has caused me to loathe them with a firey passion, but walking into a country where french is the national language was a painful reminder that i was one as well. sure everyone spoke english as a second language, but the first few times i was addressed in french i winced and panicked internally before finally asking, rather pitifully, if they spoke english.

language barriers aside i had a fabulous time up until the last 6 hours when my stepbrother accidentally deleted every picture i had taken, my dad flipped out because i lost 5 canadian dollars (what my mom had to do with it i don't know, but he somehow managed to insult her, me, and my stepdad) resulting in me becoming rather upset and stared at like a madwoman when we drove through customs and my eyes and cheeks were as red as the stop sign. shitty family issues aside i am not so glad to be home, but sleeping in my own bed won't be to bad at all

and i finally see my mommy on sunday (hurrah)

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