I’m a blogger, a doodler, a trickster…
And I’m a very happy woman!


I was born on August 16, 1950, at 9:10 a.m., at the Verdun General Hospital. Back then, my mom was Acadian, my dad was bald. Nowadays, both of them are dead.


I spend my childhood on the back balcony, in the summer, and in my room, in the winter. I like to draw, to sing, to dance… and I dream of playing in the movies and of being loved.


I start school in September 1956. I get out of it in 1967. Those are strange years, marked with good report cards and bad skin. Lacking confidence and guts, I abandon my artistic calling and switch to wanting to be a journalist, a veterinarian, an archeologist, a criminologist.


I think I’m ugly and an idiot, so I quickly drop my professional aspirations. Following my parents’ advice, I take a secretarial course. After graduation, I go from one boring job to the other, becoming more and more unhappy and disillusioned.


I get married in June 1971.

I have a miscarriage in February 1972; have my first son in September 1973; lose my father in March 1974; have a miscarriage in January 1975; move to the country in June 1978;  have my second son in April 1979; separate in August 1979; and move back to the city in the lovely month of February 1981.

I get divorced in May 1983.

Explosion — Act 1

Thanks to the shared custody of the kids, I discover a freedom I had never experienced before. Thus every other week I put on my make-up, my sexy clothes, my high heels and my higher spirits, and I go wild dancing the nights away.

The bars… the men…
The office… the kids…
The men… the booze…
The dancing… the dishes…
The drugs… the Comet…
Everything gets mixed up
and I get plucked.


In July 1984, I’m excited to be the production secretary for the making of  “Visage Pâle,” a movie by Claude Gagnon. For two months — in the small town of Belleterre, in Abitibi — I try to make myself believe that I have finally arrived.

Explosion — Act 2

In May 1987, I fall in love with a guy I meet in a bar — he’s rock’n’roll and so am I. When he moves in with me, life becomes one long party. In September 1991, the party’s over and the boyfriend leaves.

In October 1991, I lose my job working for an organisation that helps people who have lost their jobs. O the irony.

To end the year 1991, my mother dies suddenly in her rocking chair while watching TV.

1992 keeps me busy with the sale of my mom’s house; with my brother Robert’s visit, and his wife and two kids, when they come from Belgium, where they live, to claim their part of the inheritance; and with my brother André’s visit, a month later, when it’s his turn to come over — from his sailboat in the Caribbeans, accompanied by his beautiful fiancée — to fetch his third of the thirty thousand dollars.

To end the year 1992, I undergo surgery to remove a polyp on my left breast and receive the good news that I don’t have cancer.


In 1993, I conduct handycraft classes
for high school drop-outs, in Verdun.

In 1994, I conduct recreational activities
for elderly people, in Outremont.

On November 8, 1994, my brother dies in a motorcycle accident in Saint-Lucia, in the Caribbeans. André was 37 years old. This knocks me out and drags me down real deep.

But I don’t give up… NEVER! From the bottom of the pit I dug for myself, I continue to dream.

In 1995, I imagine I’m this bohemian artist as I work as a waitress in a vegetarian restaurant — the Crazy Moon Café — on Wellington street, in Verdun.

In 1996, I write a weekly column in Le Messager, my local paper. I call it “Verdun Beach,” and then “Verdun-les-Bains,” and I have my picture in the header just like a pro. After 13 weeks, seeing the rise in my popularity, I quit.

I then go into a long stretch of more or less apparent madness where I shave my head and start wearing a bindi.

to be continued…


things i don’t do anymore:

i don’t listen to songs by Bread

i don’t shave my head

i don’t go to bed wearing make-up

i don’t spend long periods of time under beds

i don’t wear high heels