Tipsy

NB: This is my first wine-fueled blog post. Let's just say I'm feeling careless with the keyboard.

So, here I am in Montreal. Our apartment is the top floor of an old house that's been converted into two apartments and an office (the landlord works there during the day). It smells like mold in the lobby but our apartment is a big space that feels like home. And if we want to have an ol' fashioned piano party, well, there's a keyboard/synth thingy in our living room. We've also been blessed with Christmas lights for an authentic McGill-student feel. I wanted to get here early to find my way around, rather than rushing into work at Reader's Digest.

But I find myself wandering on the same streets and haunts as my vacation last year: Rue St. Catherine, Parc Mont-Royal, and the Plateau. Tracy and I are staying in the student ghetto, so we are close to "Centre-ville." Downtown can feel something like a giant mall with some mediocre restaurants. It never feels like you know a city when the best places you know are steps away from a Forever 21.

We're hoping to get on our feet soon and find some semblance of a social life, and a better feel for the city. Meanwhile, I've been spending my day getting up to speed with Reader's Digest and buying groceries, and cooking like a housewife.

Tracy found me at home today taking a disco nap, only to have us spend the night at home, drinking wine, talking about our disdain for marriage and children, and eating my disappointing pasta sauce (Marcella Hazan, you failed me! And you know what went wrong? Not enough butter; that's my fault.)

Tomorrow, we head out to fill our apartment with thrifty goodness... and I commit to my promise to blog more. (Oh, and hey people in my life, thanks for all the Modern Love columns!!)