the backyard, in photographs

February 20, 2009 at 12:10 pm (Holy Squirrel Batman!)

I have always wanted my very own backyard with my very own window with my very own sink so that I can do dishes and watch the backyard shenanigans. I’m pretty ecstatic that I have that now. Sometimes really awesome stuff happens in my yard. Other times pigeons come and poop all over everything and squirrels eat all of my cherry tomatoes. I forgive it all for days like these…

Two catbirds showed up one day. They seemed mad at each other. two catbirds

So one took off to his own section of the fence. one catbird

And he found a new friend in the squirrel. squirrel and bird

Which eerily resembles the invitations to Michael’s and my wedding. Weird… invite

And to top it all off Maalox settled in for a cute nap.
squirrel nap

I hope you enjoyed the first episode of the backyard, in photographs.

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It can’t rain all the time.

February 1, 2009 at 2:06 am (nova scotia motorcycle trip, travel toothbrush) (, , , , , , )

Not to be all goth and quote The Crow, but whatever, it fits the situation.

Nova Scotia Trip Day Four, Tuesday’s tragic rain.

We knew we would never make our destination with Jared’s bike in the shape it was in. His back wheel to be specific was all jacked up, it was super wobbly because he had a broken spoke. Luckily I took a few notes on this topic because a. I am very forgetful and b. I really don’t know a damn thing about motorcycles or wheels or really fixing anything in general. I will usually chime in to a broken motorcycle conversation with “clean the carburetors” because I’ve heard it discussed so many times. Anyway it was actually not pouring ass rain when we woke up so we packed up our stuff among red squirrels chirping their faces off. So cute, not so much friendly. They’re like little alien squirrels that scavenge campsites once you leave. Awesome. I didn’t get any pictures. Damn.

So Jared took off first and we met him at the hardware store and with a pocket butane torch, needle nose pliers, electrical tape, tipman line clippers and a turn buckle Jared’s bike was temporarily fixed and he was able to ride it for 70 miles.
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This was partially thanks to a very nice Canadian man that drove to his house to get a tool we needed. I of course had nothing to do with any of this except to take notes and pictures of it all. I, always the Suzy Homemaker, went across the street to Tim Horton’s to get coffee and bagels and donuts. Tim Horton’s is like a Dunkin Donuts but sort of better. I kind of fell in love with them.
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I didn’t really like my donut so I gave it to Spano.
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We rode and rode and rode and it poured and poured and poured. Every so often we’d get a reprieve from the rain only to have it pour even harder minutes later. We were all wet in awful places. Rain suits and waterproof items were failing at every turn. Eventually we stopped in Port Hastings at the welcome center and Spano put his phone in his pocket only to realize that the pocket of his raincoat was full of water. The center had dial up internet access so we got our fixes and checked the weather to find that we were basically one with what I think was Hurricane Bertha. I didn’t write the name down and I’m not that great at researching Hurricanes.

Anyways with great misery we climbed back on the bikes for more chaffing and brutality. Somewhere along the way we stopped at a weird little rest stop and I saw green maraschino cherries. Weird.
green

Finally after four days of pouring, miserable rain we arrived at our destination, Cheticamp, and were met with sun shining on mirrored water, and a gorgeous mountain landscape.
Jared stopped to take pictures of the beauty. I asked him for a picture of it and this is what he gave me.
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So in return Spano and I retaliated with these:
fuckyoujared
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We rode directly into the park and encountered the Cabot Trail. Even the tiniest bit of it was magical and badass. We decided to camp there for the night despite the fact that it is retarded expensive to camp there and they don’t seem to enjoy people on motorbikes so much. Or at least the lady that took our money didn’t. I find this especially stupid since the Cabot Trail is a well known motorcycle hotspot. This was maybe the first time I have ever experienced someone judging me and my friends for riding motorcycles. It was fucking ridiculous. We are not tough. Ok, maybe Wes could be tough but that’s really it. No offense boys. Anyway it was weird and stupid and I hated that lady for making us feel bad. I think I should write her a letter. Bitch. Anyway they made us get three campsites because we had five vehicles and you can only have two vehicles per site. Even though a motorcycle clearly takes up way fucking less space than a fucking car or RV. Assbitch. Seriously. Ugh. So like $85 later we had a shitty campsite where you weren’t allowed to collect wood, you had to buy it. We had spent maybe $30 tops on campsites previously with people letting us stay at one or two sites and being super nice to us. Fuck the Cabot Trail Campsites.

After we set up we traveled back out and checked out another campsite, Plage St-Pierre. It was soooo much better and kind of like something out of Mad Max but with trailers. They were really nice to us and they had a computer and washing machines and access to a beach. We decided to switch the next day. This sort of made us a little bit happy.
After that we went and had hot food at a weird hockey themed restaurant called Le Gabriel. It was good because I was starving and they had baked potatoes. Bill got a lobster, complete with lobster bib. Poor lobster.
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bill lobster

After dinner we traveled back to our campsite. Michael and I and drank whiskey and had a fire and dried socks and shoes near it, well tried to anyway. We went to sleep hoping for sunshine and a lovely day riding the Cabot Trail. And it was kind of awesome that we got it…
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