But if we had a fire, it would be ever-so-delightful.
Snow has finally started to hit Toronto. I am not snow's biggest fan. I like it when it involves fun outdoorsy activities, but generally despise the winter. Personally, I find Toronto much colder than Halifax, and I'm not a fan of this at all. Making it all the worse is the Neighbour Situation. Let's discuss.
We live in a semi-detached rental -- the downstairs of a gorgeous old home. As such, our flat is darling, but we have no control of our heat.
At the time that we first moved in, we had the house to ourselves -- nobody seemed interested in renting out the upstairs. Dave played his drums a lot, we could listen to music as loudly as we wanted, etc. It was quite lovely. However, within a few months an older couple moved in upstairs. We naturally quit it with the noise, would chat with them often, and would go pick up coffee for them in the morning on a daily basis, as they were older and we generally love the oldies.
All was well 'til one day, we're peacefully sitting in our flat, watching some bad TV, and suddenly there's mad stomping and screaming and running about happening over our heads. After this goes on for a couple of hours, Dave politely knocks on the door and lets them know that it's quite loud, the walls and floors must be thin, we understand, but would they mind just trying to be a little quieter, etc. They go instantly from friendly neighbours to defensive jackasses.
From that point forward, things only got worse. Turns out it's their grandchildren and "children just make noise and you're going to have to get used to it!" However, now they've moved forward to getting into screaming matches themselves at 9AM on Saturdays, complete with plenty of door-slamming. Even if they are just going outside, they will ensure they slam the main door, which they well know is directly beside our bedroom, at 6:45AM on weekdays.
The whole thing is a fiasco. And what's their power card? They control our heat. And they get a big kick out of withholding it.
I can't effing wait 'til we get a place of our own. Only a few more months...
I was informed this week that I'm probably going to Barbados for Christmas. My beloved work has a condo there and one of my bosses had booked it for the holidays, but apparently he has changed his plans, thus it opened up. They offered us a trip there as a nice end-of-year thank you. (Did I mention they are the best? Right. Because they are.) Of course, this is all under the assumption that said boss has changed his plans, something that no one can yet confirm. In any case, they said that even if he didn't change his plans and we won't be there for the holidays, they'll send us down whenever we like. Whoolala.
We had actually imagined that our trip to Montreal in mid-December would be our fun winter trip. Dave and I went shopping yesterday for my snowboard ensemble for said event and, boy oh boy, did I have fun. As you may or may not know, that crazy man bought me a snowboard for my birthday. Do I snowboard? No. But he feels compelled to teach me. In any case, one cannot hit the slopes on board alone, so I spent some time at Sporting Life in anticipation. I will be that girl on this trip -- I will be this little doll to the left. Totally put-together but no functionality. Buaha. I care not. It will be too much fun just the same.
What is my point with all of this? I am truly anticipating getting the heck outta Dodge.
Leaving work early rules.
Jen and I stayed late last night to fix up this insane mess of a project. I got home at 11:30 and had to continue being awake, waiting for my logistics girl to send me the final files (she reported for duty at approximately 10:30). I didn't get to sleep 'til about 2:30 (after much waiting and hemming and hawing) and woke up at 3 to her phone call that she was ready to send me the file. I told her to send it and I'd review it first thing in the morning.
So I wake up at 8-ish in a complete tizzy -- did she finish the file? Did she send it to me? Did my boss get it? Oh, the sheer terror of the morning. In any case, I got to the files, reviewed her work, and spent the morning fixing everything up.
The rest of the day is a bit of a blur. I am so bloody exhausted, it's not even cool.
Despite the utter madness, good things have happened. Good things I shouln't say quite yet, but good things I'm thrilled to be thinking about right now. Good enough things that I felt I was quite okay to leave work at 4:30 today, do my grocery shopping, come home and have a nice dinner with the boy.
I am so going to bed early tonight. But wait. The new Martha Apprentice is on tonight...
I have a paper to finish for tomorrow. Am I done?
Um.
I am so bloody tired. I feel like I am in a constant frenzy of work and school and all I want to do right now is hang out in yoga pants eating Indian food (yep, that's what I had for dinner -- good god, it was divine) and watching Degrassi. I'll get back to that paper soon enough, but in the meantime...
Marco finally came out to his dad!
So after hearing the weird body part thing last night, it took me forever to get to sleep. Today, the police popped by for an inquisition. They showed me a picture of the lady's bracelet, asked if I'd seen anyone wearing a tensor bandage on her foot, checked our tools and garbage bags, and searched the yard for body parts. Totally understand that this is protocol, and I was more than willing to help, but man was it creepy. I felt like I was in an awful episode of L&O and was all nervous -- I accidentally showed them guitar pedals in my frenzy to try to find the tools. Le sigh.
In other news, I scrubbed the house clean today. My kitchen smells delightfully of Pine-Sol and my bathroom is sparkling. Why does this thrill me so? I am a terrible domestic.
Cooking? The last time I made dinner was probably in the summer. Laundry? I drop it off, as I can't bear doing it myself. Cleaning? Let's just say there was still black hairspray from Halloween on the floor when I hit the bathroom. Bad Foxy. In any case, when I actually do get up the gumption to scrub, my favourite product is, without a doubt, Comet. I love the texture and the smell is divine. I've tried a gazillion bathroom products, but Comet continues to win my heart. Those ones that claim to not scratch your tile surfaces? Meh. Surfaces don't stay perfect forever anyway, right? So, yes, when it comes to cleaning, I prefer tubs and toilets to bookcases and rugs.
Anyway, at least my house was clean when the police came to interrogate the neighbourhood. I'd hate to disgrace myself before the city's finest.
So, as I mentioned, the boy is at the cottage. I am home alone. I'm watching the news while waiting for SNL to start, and they announce that they found a bloody freaking female body part. Down the street. Like, 60 seconds from my house. Oh yeah, and another piece of the poor woman was found in the north end. I am so disturbed and creeped out. I tried to ICQ my sister to un-creep-ify, but she's not online. I'm watching SNL and they just did a stupid serial killer skit.
Le sob. I'm not usually such a chicken, but random body parts? Gahhh.
You will see to the right (I actually wrote left at first and had to change it -- I'm not good with left/right things), I note my love of minty lip gloss.
I bought this stuff at Bath and Body Works when I was in 
Dallas last week. It is a bloody dream. The reddish colour is super sheer in the most glossy way, and the flavour? All mint, all the time. The brand is C.O. Bigelow and the wee $9 gems are called Mentha Lip Tints. I bought colour #1139. I was actually led to the purchase while in New York last weekend. I was out seeing shops with two friends and they each bought one. They tried to convince me to do so as well but, bah, my resistant ass was convinced that I would never use it. Sure I wouldn't. The stuff is likely creating a new lining on the inside of my stomach by now, as I can't stop licking the deliciously Christmas-y flavour off my lips. Awesome.
So today, I slept in a little late, then headed to school for a seminar. Afterwards, I came home, worked on a paper, and watched some bad TV. I love sleeping in more than anything in the world. Some people think me rather teenaged in this habit (case in point: my husband), but I am so bloody wiped out after a week of insanity that sleeping in completely rejuvenates me. As always, said husband tries to tell me that you can't "bank" sleep, but I'm still pretty convinced that I do. I don't get enough during the week, but am back to my energetic self without fail on Sunday.
The boy is away. I missed him last night -- I can't remember the last time I've slept in our apartment by myself. I go away on a semi-regular basis for work (he doesn't ever have to) and sleeping alone in a hotel bed seems far less bizarre than sleeping alone in my own bed. Odd, it never occurred to me that it would be different at all.
In any case, I've just ordered some sushi -- spicy salmon and dynamic rolls and edamame, while not exactly calorie free, work out to be way better than getting chips and dip, which is my current temptation. I will spend the balance of the evening doing little-to-nothing. I'm delighted by this prospect.
Okay, I am truly sorry, as this is about the most vain thing I've ever done. I realize that I'm self-indulgent. And, yes, I realize that there are people dying around the world every day and, yes, I am suitably shamed by my horrid vanity.
I promise it won't be too embarrassing. For you, anyway.