Archive for April, 2007|Monthly archive page

Keep your fingers crossed, people

Monday, April 30th, 2007

I’m about to put an offer on a house. Has many of the things on my list, including a garage AND a shed for the father.

But it has to be conditional on sale of my house, which means someone else might have the edge.

I’m thinking that if the two of you who read this blog cross your fingers and toes, it might put me over the top. So, hup to!


Friday, April 27th, 2007

This search string showed up several times in my stats: can remain conscious for fifteen to twenty seconds after being decapitated

I don’t think I can remain conscious for that long, but who knows?

Stupid Fox people

Friday, April 27th, 2007

Cancelled Drive. I don’t get tv execs.

Now that’s tv

Monday, April 23rd, 2007

Monday nights used to suck. And then Heroes came along, and now there’s Drive!

Okay, a little blood and violence (or maybe a lot depending on your threshold), but plot twists! And Nathan Fillion! and Masi Oka!

Most excellent workout watching. I’m liking Monday nights.

Big fun weekend

Sunday, April 22nd, 2007

Dad arrived at 7:30am Saturday. After finishing his Timmy’s, we got started.

The Gutters

We began by cleaning the gutters.

I was up on the ladder to do my share and figured out that one of the corner “elbows” was blocked so I figured I’d unscrew it, clean it out – you know, be real handy. Dad, how to you get the other screw off? Just lean over – as long as you’ve got one foot and one hip inside the ladder, you’re good. So, you want me to lean AROUND a downspout and use both hands to unscrew it?? Yeah, sure. I figured a scotchneat special and did the screw blind. Works, and you don’t fall off the ladder, hrmph.


No, thanks

Thursday, April 19th, 2007

I was hooked into Facebook recently, partly because I was getting so many invitations, and partly because I feel the anthropological urge to see what normally busy adults are frittering on (don’t get me started on twittering). In any case, it was via Facebook that I found out about an upcoming high school reunion. 150 years for the school, not since I attended.

So, there’s a website for the reunion and lots of people are posting there about how much they loved it there, and how much they are looking forward to seeing everyone, and they have 2 kids and a dog and “Go Hornets!”

I won’t deny that I’m curious about where some people ended up, I’m reading these comments and thinking how outside of all of this I am. While I was there, I was definitely what they’d call an engaged student. Enrichment, cheerleading (seriously), several clubs, semi-formals, field trips, student council. My desire to talk about this? None.

There is a tie that binds, of course, with all those hormonal experiences and drinks and parties and essays and football games and romances and the drama that we call being a teenager. But there is something about it that seems contrived or woefully nostalgic. I was there. I enjoyed it, for the most part. I don’t want to go back.

A cubby of one’s own

Wednesday, April 18th, 2007

Looked at another house tonight. In the bedroom was a cubby – nice big space about 2 1/2 feet high and very deep.

Reminded me of the room I had when we first moved to the house where I grew up. Eventually, I gave it up to my sister and moved downstairs to the little room at the front (excellent access to the front porch and door for late-night outings).

But anyway.. the cubby. I had books in there, and sometimes I allowed my cousins in to play Operation. Mostly, I didn’t like having other people in my cubby, though. It was a little place. I felt protected and it was mine and private and quiet.

I’ve carried that need for my own space through my life. Being an adult now, with monies and a mortgage and stuff, my cubby is my house, or at least my little living room with my blanket and my cat.

I’ll know my new house when I get that feeling of cubbiness.

Divas, inertia and critter doors

Sunday, April 15th, 2007

We had a much-needed Diva Night last night at Ms Helen’s. At dinner (a little “stick to your ribs” restaurant in the middle of some industrial area in Toronto), we found a bottle of 2000 Pirramimma! Melle spotted it on the wine list and we had looked for it at the LCBO last year after our wine-tasting class. It was sooo yummy. Excellent. Also, goes well with lamb shank.

Some more wine and some scotch was had (well, I least I had scotch), along with rockets – a must-have sugar addition to any Diva Night. Not sure if we are showing our age or our busy lives, but the glasses of water came out early and we were snuggled in our beds by a respectable 2am. Nevertheless, we found time to surf some house porn, dish on guys, and family and jobs and our thwarted writing careers. It’s fabulous that we can find the time to do this, and it’s always a great time when we get together.

Definitely showing my age, I succumbed to inertia when I got home. I had plans for painting or housework or working out or something, but mostly I napped and read and napped and talked on the phone with my Dad.

Speaking of whom, he has the brilliant idea that we should CUT A HOLE in the wall where the critter is, to, um, see the critter in question. Has the man learned nothing? Last time we went looking for the critter was the psycho squirrel in the basement – whereby my Dad pulled off the chimney “cap” in the wall and was cleaning out the nest when the squirrel POPPED UP. He was there! I’ve never seen a wiry Scottish man move so fast to replace a cap in my life. And then we laughed hard enough to dislodge kidney stones. Yes, so with this brilliant idea, he’s thinking I could then have a “door” to the coldspace. But won’t this be like a critter door? Wouldn’t they be more likely to want to come into MY BEDROOM??!

If you don’t hear from me after next weekend, assume the psychotic squirrel has entered the living area and is holding Jl and me hostage.

And on another note, I’ve caved into peer pressure and now have a Facebook profile. Who knows who’ll come out of the woodwork…

Clear prose and a bit of humility = must read

Friday, April 13th, 2007

Thank you, Chris Clarke.

How not to be an asshole: a guide for men.

Take the time to read the comments as well. There are several conversation points going on there – one which ponders whether ALL women are afraid of ALL men, ALL of the time. There are some good responses, in that no one goes freaky one way or the other (I think the brilliance of Chris’s piece lies in part with his calm and balanced tone – sets a good example). Anyway, the women who talk about being “aware” all of the time have it right.

Women go through life being “aware” – and in fact, it IS true that the dialogue in a rape case will often focus on what the woman didn’t do that she should have done to possible ‘avoid’ the situation in which she found herself. Namely, being raped.

But even far from that extreme sort of violence, EVERY woman I know engages in awareness behaviour. Maybe not all of the time, and maybe not all places. Yet… we all know about putting your keys between your knuckles; we’ve all hesitated about letting a man into our home when we are alone; we’ve all freaked ourselves out while walking alone (day or night) because some poor guy happens to be going in the same direction; we’ve all experienced unsolicited comments on our person (complimentary, sexual and abusive).

To one of the other conversation points, as to whether or not ALL men are assholes, or maybe are incapable of shutting the fuck up, I don’t think that’s the case. But I’d like to see more of them give it a try.

Link courtesy of Melle. 


Friday, April 13th, 2007

Okay, we all know that i want to do nasty things to Mark Morford on the kitchen table involving scotch and interesting yoga poses.

But oh, how I love him today.  It’s strange to be turned on and snorting at the same time…