Slow Adventures in Slothville

May 16, 2006

Home Again, Chiggety

Filed under: Boys, Photography, Slothyness — shhville @ 4:44 pm

Well, here I am. Back in Boston. In the rain. The thing about Boston rain is that it rarely just RAINS. It's always spittling down in a half-assed, can't-be-bothered kind of sky pee drizzle which is especially depressing on a Tuesday.

Our trip to Montreal was vunderbar. (Except for the part where I threw up in the shower, but I'll get to that.)

On Thursday night we stayed at my parents' house in Portland. My dad met us at the door playing the accordion and my mom cooked a fantastic dinner. They gave us maps and advice and many hugs. They're huggy people. (And mappy…and…whatever…) Since I am a sloth and Warrior Steve has the sleeping strength of ten men, we necessarily got a late start. We meant to be on the road around ten o'clock in the morning, but didn't actually pile into the (huge, plush, brand-new, swanks) rental car until one-ish. Then we meandered and shmeandered and pointed at old houses and went, "Ooh! Cows!!" a lot. I think the cows made us late.

When we got into Montreal proper we discovered that driving in that city sucks the mighty schlong of Satan because everysinglestreet is fucking one-way. We could SEE our B&B, we just couldn't GET to it. So that was a fun fifteen hours of driving in a circle. Look kids, Parliament! Big Ben! Elusive bed and breakfast! We finally made our way into the inner sanctum of Saint Louis Square and Steve power-parked and bags were unpacked and my high heels were ON and off to dinner we went. Oh, but before that, when we first walked into our room, we noticed a certain tribal motif. The table was actually a big drum and there were, like, beaded thingbobs everywhere, and a bunch of weird-looking whatnots hanging from one end of the towel rack. Steve took one look at them and said, "Those are penis gourds" thereby permanently winning the looped game of Jeopardy! that is my life.

Dinner! Sorrel soup! Foi gras! Cornichons! Duck confit! Salad! Steak! Shallot butter! WineWineWine!! Gastronomic goodness!
In search of an after-dinner drink, we found ourselves in what seemed to be a club district. Lots and lots and lots of cologne. And cigarettes. Cologne and cigarettes.

A very nice bartender told us that if we wanted wine we didn't want to be in that neighborhood and she drew us a map to a wine bar a few blocks away. We got there around 1 a.m. and they claimed to be closed but let us in anyway. There were enough people inside to make us feel that we weren't imposing and the wine was delectable enough that we didn't really care. We tried this, that, the other, and then………it was 4 in the morning.


We passed out sideways on the bed in our clothes, like proper drunks. I woke up around 6:30 a.m. and thought, "I could get up and wash my face and brush my teeth…………or I could roll up into the comforter like a shitfaced sloth burrito and burrow into my boyfriend's neck…ohhhhhhhhh yeah."

Breakfast was served at 8:30 and it was a beautiful thing. In some kind of backwards logic, I donned pajamas for breakfast. The proprietor, Dominique, made waffles with fresh fruit and yogurt and maple syrup. She said, "You would like some coffEE? Yes? Weet meelk?" I mumbled a yes-please around the arm-sized piece of waffle hanging out of my mouth and then she went away. There was some "zzzzzzhhtt!" and "pppffffsssssssst!!" action and she returned with a huge BOWL of foamy latte that I had to use two hands to drink. It was at that moment that I fell deeply and irreversibly in love with Dominique.

Then it was out on the town and lots of riveting action! Just kidding, we went back to bed. We intended to go out mid-morning, but accidentally wasted a lot of time having sex in the penis-gourd room and by the time we got ourselves out the door and into the world it was pretty late. And we were staaaarving. And thus begins my tale of woe.

We went to a random Italian BYOB place that just. wasn't. a good idea. I should have known when the dude sat us right next to the bathroom that doom was in store, but I ignored my instincts, insisted on another table, and lived to regret it. A long lunch ensued with yummy pastas and wine and a Caesar salad. Remember the salad, it comes up later.

Ok! On to the subway! Gotta get to the biodome! The subway was cool and easy to navigate and the biodome was……….closed. Fuck. Apparently it's no problem to stay up until 4 a.m. in Montreal but for some reason all the cool shit closes at 5 p.m. What? If bars close later then everything should close later! It's COMMON SENSE. How can we be expected to be anywhere in a timely manner when we've been up all night? GodDAMNit.

Bitchslapped by the biodome, Warrior Steve and I felt strangely deflated. Our exciting destination was no more. All the museums and things were closed. It was time to start eating and drinking but we had just done that. And it was raining. We ventured into some neighborhood that had been advertised as "historic" and "quaint" but which was, in fact, "touristy" and "hell." A minty ice cream cone went awry with vicious dripping and we were wandering aimlessly past frat boys in white baseball hats saying things like, "Fuckit!! Let's just find a bar and start drinking!!" We looked down our noses at them but secretly wondered if they didn't have the right idea.

It was Steve who had the inspired idea to visit the Notre-Dame Basilica. Finally! A destination! We made our way there over cobbled streets, with many near-inside-out-umbrella scares. When we got there they invited us to view a show that had just begun inside. Since it was the only way to get in, we bought tickets and they gave us headphones with English coming out of them and we settled into a pew to watch the weirdest fucking thing I have ever ever seen. I wish I had a way to describe this show to you. It was like a combination of Star Trek, South Park, and a Mexican soap opera. The acting was so INSANELY bad that Steve and I were gaping in disbelief. And there was this whole disembodied voice thing and a light show and the dialogue was just unforgivable. I wish I could do it justice, but, alas, I am unable to adequately describe whatever it was we saw.

Anyway, they let us wander around the church for a minute after the show and I got my first (and best) Montreal picture.

And then it was off to dinner! Mmmmm….arugula with bleu cheese, balsamic vinegar and carmelized pears. It was so good I had to eat the whole thing even though I was starting to feel….a little…..nauseous….. Mmmmmmmm… with lentils and haricots verts….but…..I just couldn't quite……make myself…….eat. I felt hot and exhausted. Going to bed had never seemed like such a good idea before. I needed to sleep immediately! I was sure I would get a long night's sleep and wake up in TOP FORM.

Instead, I woke up with a fist clenched around my stomach and a GI tract that was screaming, "Everybody out! This is not a drill!! Get the hell out of here, NOW!" Let us flash back now to the Caesar salad I had ingested 12-18 hours before experiencing symptoms, shall we? It was delicious and cheesy. The dressing was homemade. There was raw egg in it.


So, anyway, I spent much of the morning in the bathroom and just when I thought it was safe to wash up I threw up in the shower. This was not a good Slothy moment. I felt like I had an alien in my stomach, we were late checking out, it was finally nice outside and I was thiiiiiiiiiiis close to letting Warrior Steve take me to the hospital. Luckily, I am a huge nature freak and also a dork. NOTHING was going to keep me from that fucking biodome again. If I had to vomit in the penguin tank, SO BE IT.

Tomorow: photo essay of the Montreal Biodome and Insectarium and updates on last night's FOUND event in Boston with the one and only (totally shitfaced) Davy Rothbart.



  1. well. there goes any craving I just had for a ceasar salad.

    I think I’m in love with Dominique, too, though. can I borrow her just for the mornings, I wonder?

    Comment by ESC — May 16, 2006 @ 5:45 pm

  2. Except for the barf and the rain, it sounds pretty dang awesome!

    Comment by randomaimee — May 16, 2006 @ 6:00 pm

  3. I want to see the basilica show. Sounds like something I’d enjoy.

    Comment by The Retropolitan — May 16, 2006 @ 6:01 pm

  4. Davy’s in MY hood next week, nothing shall keep me from the event! Poor Sloth, to have vomit mixed in with all those yummy memories.

    Comment by cybele — May 16, 2006 @ 6:48 pm

  5. “arm-sized piece of waffle” awesome. And SUPER-jealous. I love me some waffle action.

    Sorry you re-experienced your meals, that’s never good. And no ceasar salad for me for a while.

    Glad you’re back and bettah than evah! And that you got to hang out with Davy Rothbart!

    Comment by Seth — May 16, 2006 @ 8:13 pm

  6. Sorry about the puking. All in all, sounds like a fun time.

    I’m jealous about all the sex in the penis gourd room.

    Comment by E-Lo — May 16, 2006 @ 8:19 pm

  7. Your dad is the coolest! Waiting at the door with an accordian is the best thing I’ve ever heard. I have to remember that when my kids get older.

    Your B and B sounds simply awesome. Too bad about the ceasar salad trying to kill you. Can’t wait to hear more about your trip.

    Comment by Vince — May 17, 2006 @ 12:57 am

  8. Oh, yeah, love the food poisoning. But the rest of the trip sounds GREAT!! Montreal is on my list for next trip around the world.

    Comment by Inanna — May 17, 2006 @ 2:43 am

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