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Why Canada Sucks Sometimes

Posted on July 10, 2007March 11, 2022 by romanagiulia

(this post is mostly for Ludie. And for entertainment purposes)

Visit one:
circa 1970s ish. Calgary, Alberta. My mom and aunt fight all night long in an eerily sunny environment (sun set at approx. 10 pm). Given my age at the time, I was supposed to be in bed like a good little girl; instead my mom whisked me up sometime around 11 pm and we went to sleep in a motel for the night.

Visit two:
circa 1980s ish. Montreal, Quebec. School trip. One year after my grandfather’s passing. I decide with my best friend Julie, to have a séance. The board spells out the words G-I-U-L-I-O (grandpa’s name). I was not touching the board and to my knowledge, none of the kids knew his name. Julie cries hysterically, I follow suit.

Visit three:
circa 1980s ish. Toronto, Ontario. Visit for renewal of Visa for US during coldest week in Toronto’s history. Visit Niagara Falls but are completely frozen; as am I. Dad comes up with ingenious method to keep warm by using plastic bags. Will never return to Toronto again. Ever. Ev-er.

Visit four:
circa 1980s ish. Montreal, Quebec. Visit to cousin (daughter of aforementioned aunt). Evening spent with her and her boyfriend Michael, they fight, I listen (and learn to love) Elvis Costello to drown out the screams. They break up. My cousin binges on pita bread and choco. chips (Nestle Tollhouse) and then purges. I make hot tea.

Visit five:
circa 1990s ish. Montreal, Quebec. Visit aforementioned cousin on her, her, first year anniversary of marriage. During the coldest winter Montreal has ever seen. Really, it was all over the news. One of the days the high Spend most of my time in basement bedroom away from the screams of my cousin and her husband. They divorced a year later.

Do we need anymore proof? Other than that, it’s a nice country. Oh and Codejoy says that there’s a new Civilization game that teaches Canadians their own history. Like I said, Canada sucks sometimes.

ADDENDUM: 
Visit six: 
circa 2000s ish. Yarmouth, Nova Scotia. Car trip through New England, my friend Laura and I decide to hop a ferry and go to Nova Scotia and we’re told it’s beauuuuutiful. Une merveille. Wrong. Error. It’s gray, cloudy, cold and humid. Mind you, we had left Camden, Maine with 85 degree weather, breeze and sun. We end up in the most squalid, sad and pathetic motel there is on the way to Halifax. Throughout our journey (lasted one day as opposed to the three we had set aside), Halifax seems to be like a magic world that will cure all the ills of Nova Scotia. We arrive in said “magic world” at 4 pm on a Saturday afternoon. Everything, everything is closed around us. Nothing to see save the port where the big ships dock. We then proceed to run. Run away from the squalor, the sad eyes of the inhabitants, the grayness of it all. 

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