FIrst Big Girl's Night Out

So I should really be at my math class or at least typing my summary that's due for tomorrow, but I figure my blog's for milestones, and as milestones come, my first pub experience is a not too shabby story.

My friend is very emerged in the music world, and she's set up a charity concert, where french artists  each did a couple songs. She'd met Ariane Laniel, one of the singers for the group "Aucun Regret" on MixMania. (for reference, does anyone remember the song "Tu t'en vas" ?)
Anyway, Meev got invited to her start up concert, and she brought us along. It was in a pub, and I guess event and all, we didn't get carded. I had my first Sex on the beach, and then we shared a pitcher of sangria, so I was buzzed, but I could still walk in my ridiculously high high heels. (I was almost 6'2 with them on)

My friend's boyfriend offered to give us a ride back to Meev's place, where I would take the metro, so as we were waiting outside we decided to take pictures to commemorate (because we're the picture type). Obviously, as it was downtown Montreal, people were passing by, and because Meev insisted it was a "full body picture", the guy that was nice enough to take a picture with her phone and not run away with it had to stand quite far, meaning that we had an almost constant stream of people passing through. He ended up taking like eight pictures though, with one random guy standing beside me and posing with us, before wishing us a good night and strolling off, ajusting his mitts as he went.

We also somehow managed to convince one guy that had stopped to talk to us that I was an 18 year-old Victoria Secret model and that the girl that passed by and commented on my heels was a colleague of mine.

Meev was nice enough to escort me to the metro (I think she was scared I wouldn't find it. Or get raped or something, as that night she had given the meanest stink eye to some old guy that had apparently looked at me like meat - which I didn't see, but I did get to watch Meev as she stared him down with daggers, which prompted a defensive gesture from him.) where I waited for my transfer on doubtful benches beside a guy playing guitar too loud. I still sang along softly with him, though, the night floating in my head like a memory and alcohol gently tingling through my veins. He eventually let me play his guitar and as I played Skinny Love on untuned strings, I remember him laughing at something that eluded me. On the metro some guy was promoting his new rap album, trying to get started on something. I turned out to be a violonist that loved classical music, getting off at the next stop. I missed my bus by four minutes and had to wait 18 minutes for the next one. As I stomped in my sneakers and skirt, people around me strolled, coming back from God knows where on a Wednesday night, some clearly from a bar, but some were harder to guess. A mother and her friend and her daughter, the daughter slumbering in the cold night, her sleeping breath rising in the lamp posts, or two elder men, reminiscing on something I wasn't even born to not witness. Sitting on the bus, I felt more buzzed than I should have, the small amount of alcohol clearly now distilled in my blood, but tiredness taking over.

I got home, kicking off my sneakers, pulling down my skirt and clearing my head just long enough to let my grand-parents know I was home. Then I went to bed, and as my alarm was in the living room, didn't set it. I woke up at 7 o'clock, with plenty of time to get ready for my 10 o'clock math class, but decided against it and went back to bed.

I must now write a summary for my 8 am class tomorrow, but I shall first play guitar.

Until next time,
Vero.

I'm 98% sure writing this post means I'm crazy.

So I'm really bad at keeping pets. Fish, at least. So I befriended this little spider that lives in the left corner, right beside my door.
To be honest, she's not little. She's kind of big. She's also not a she. When I talk about her, I use the female genre, probably because in French, it's that way, but part of me cringes and keeps saying it's a he.
And she has a name. It's not a human name, though. It's the kind of name that you can only have if you have eight legs and as many eyes. And a striped body. Whenever I'm done locking my door, I look up, just to see if she's there, and for at least a second, I smile and my whole brain is entirely focused on this little living thing. "Hey, H_____". Her name's a sound, and as far as I can tell, it's starts with an H. But don't ask me to pronounce it. It's not a pronounceable name.
She's so little though, that even though I'm entirely fascinated by her for a split second every morning, only a part of me react to her. Little tinges of thrills in parts of my brain and in my stomach whenever I see her.
She's the reboot to my day, my little part of my routine. My little "good morning, sunshine". Which is why I panic when she's not there. The first time it happened, I was actually surprisingly depressed for the whole day. When I got home, she was sitting there, as smugly as a spider can sit when she has no idea of the effect she has on the world... or at least on part of the world. The thrill of joy my tired brain felt was overwhelming, and actually quite concerning. She's disappeared and reappeared quite a bit, always when cold or windy or rainy weather hits. She usually turns up after a couple of days, though. I like to think of her crouched in my wall, keeping watch on my door. For some reason, I think she's a better watch dog than what I previously had, a large, but stupid royal poodle.

This morning, it was gorgeous out. Humid, sunny, warm. I checked to see if she was there. She wasn't. When I went out again this afternoon, she was there, sitting in the middle of her web, one loose strand hanging low, holding on to a leaf that was unexplainably still green. The leaf was steadily going up, and I realized she was packing up. I didn't understand why. It was amazing outside. Perfect spider weather.

Not two hours later, strong winds hit Quebec. Isn't she wonderful.