Late Pictures

Because I'm lame, I now really only update to look at new photos.

Thus, I present a September Hitched get-together (aka Marianne's first big girlie night since Lola's birth and the first night Foxy went home before 11PM):

The girls:


Things start off silly:


I love this one, Marianne needs to come out every time just for more photos like this:


Uhoh, it's her baby-daddy!

For god's sake, finish the freakin' drink:

Finish them all!


Ahhh, all kinds of fun times!

Playing Catch-Up (Photo City)

Once again, I have neglected this thing for months. Oopsie. Anyway, here's a synopsis of what's new. This will be the longest post evah.

(1) We went to London on June 21. It was dreamsville. I wish to live there someday. Our hotel (The Cumberland) was absolutely to-die-for -- great location, cool vibe, adorable rooms. The neighbourhood -- Hyde Park -- proved to be a perfect starting point for shopping and tourist-ing. We had many drinks, we met many people, we saw Teenage Fanclub play Bandwagonesque, we enjoyed ourselves immensely. Thus, the photo montage!

The hotel lobby:


The neighbourhood:


Old people dancing in the street (Trafalgar Square):


Carnaby Street:

Some nice people we met:

Dave's message board get-together:

The night of the Fanclub show:

How I felt about leaving:


(2) When I got back from London, I headed straight to a work event. Then to school to pick up a take home exam. Then to the cottage to work on said exam. Then to work, where I had a single day before dropping off the exam and jumping on a plane to do some events with the client. Then spent the week doing that in Ottawa, Montreal, and Halifax. More shots!

Me in Ottawa with my adorable client:

My other client and the tiny plane we took from Ottawa to Montreal (after which we both couldn't eat for most of the day):


(3) Arrived in Halifax. Showed client the city. Had a super fun par-tay for my sister and now brother-in-law, as they were about to get hitched. Dressed as a pirate and enjoyed a boat cruise. Much fun was had by all guests. Thus, another photo montage!

Ange and I pre-event:

And then Suzie Sue arrived:


The adorable couple:

My regal sister:


And we hit the boat:


Melissa busts a move:


Sisters on the open sea:


Mike realizes he's about to get hitched:


They love this par-tay:


Coo-coo-ca-choo, Mrs. Robinson:

Melissa gets arrested!


And Mike loses his crown:


(4) Went event management style, helping my sister avec les last-minute-wedding-details. Crazy rehearsal party (I referred to it as their first wedding, as it was so much work) followed by crazy wedding. Very little sleep all week. Left Nova Scotia on Monday, arrived home that evening. One last photo montage for the road!

Jose and Dave at the rehearsal par-tay:

The bride looking serene on the way to her nuptials:


And the bridesmaids following behind her (Gillian's dress got into a lost luggage situation with Air Canada, but we found a prom dress for her to remedy the situation so she wouldn't be in jeans walking down the aisle):


My adorable little Jamesey is on the scene:


My cute family, avec my dad impersonating a tycoon:


The Robinsons in motion:


Thurston enjoys his part in the wedding:


The bridal party is getting seriously hungry:


Me and the boy:


Ange and her boy:


The boys and the bride:


(5) Got super sick Monday night. Have been fighting off flu + sinus infection + inner ear infection since that point. Bored senseless, but little energy to do anything about it.

Except post ten thousand pictures.

Kids in the City

I was thinking today about the whole kid thing, and the logistics of the issue. By nature, I am a planner, thus even though the decision is ultimately years away, I feel the need to plan my way to it -- to ensure that I've thought through a reasonable number of the issues before I commit to a decision one way or the other. And in today's pondering, I hit upon the issue of housing.

Why is it that so many people, upon realizing that they are soon to be parents, leave their dwellings to inhabit a new abode?

If Dave and I were to have a kid any time in the next few years, we'd be here, in our much-adored little loft. If I were to find myself knocked up, would it be wrong to stay here? Or would I have to move to the 'burbs? If we did stay here, where would a kid go? I mean, we have a nice sized two bedroom, but there are already two of us and Dave, being a lucky self-employed jerk, needs the second for his home office. Clearly then, no, we couldn't stay here. I mean, you can't keep a baby in the living room, right?

Out of curiosity, I went onto MLS. Three bedroom condos are virtually non-existent 'til you hit full-on house prices -- unless you leave downtown.


But I don't want to leave downtown. When I was a kid, I dreamed of living downtown -- of having neat things to do and learn all the time; of museums and science and books and cool stores and things you could never get or do in the country, where I grew up. If I have a kid, I want to do all that cool stuff that my kid self envisioned. I'm curious about how the whole thing works.

I feel like there must be some kind of a market for housing for young families who want to stay in the downtown core. Maybe I just haven't found it yet.

Treava Comes to Town

Last night was all kinds of hilarious fun. After a day of hanging out in PJs, watching The Sopranos, and going to what turned out to be a super exciting Blue Jays game, I set off to meet up with Treava, who was visiting from Victoria, and a few other Hitched gals. And though only Debbie and I showed up (damn the rest of you!), we showed her some good times.

Thus I present: A Toronto Hitched Photo Montage!

Our dear guest, looking saucy early on in the evening. I actually found her at the top of the stairs coming in, conveniently enough.


We waited for a table for no more than two minutes when we discovered that Debbie had already arrived and was holding one for us. Kickass! FYI: Debbie had a great outfit on and her new haircut ruled.


I was pleased as punch to be hanging out with such fun gals. You can tell by the fact that I'm doing a virtual pirate eye with hair.


In any case, the night went on! We talked endlessly, snacked (somehow avoiding nachos), had a few drinks -- all was well. Debbie had to leave around midnight as she had to take transit to get home. Treava and I decided to finish our drinks. And that's when all hell broke loose.

A strange boy sat at the table next to us and asked: Ladies, can you talk to me for a minute? Are you in love?

Treava quipped: Well, yes. But not with each other.

The boy continued to blather on. He raged against the machine as follows: I think I'm in love but she's no good for me. You know how you always want to marry rich?

We looked at each other, snickered, and responded that, no, we didn't.

At this point he confessed that his beloved was "poorer than a churchmouse", thus his conundrum. How gauche. He also pointed out to us that every girl at the bar was just looking to marry money, so why was it wrong that he wanted that too? We shook our heads.

He kept unbuttoning his shirt to ask: Am I burned? Am I burned? Am I burned?

I think we both threw up in our mouths a little at one of these points.

Then he began his diatribe about how he was a poet, and that he hated Hart House because his alliterative masterpiece didn't win a poetry award of some sort. Then he recited said poem to us. As a non-poet, I can't tell you if it was indeed a masterpiece, but man was it entertaining.

We forgot to take pictures of this fiasco.

Next up was meeting the friend contingent. Two girls came and sat with us -- we don't know if they knew the hairy poet, or if they were just exceptionally drunk, but man they had a lot of talking to do.

Are you really married? What's it like? I'll never find a good guy! Are you really married?

They were young and silly but we liked them just the same.

Suddenly, it was 3AM and the place was closing up. The bartender made us leave. We were terribly sad. But then it occurred to us -- we could continue the silliness at an eating establishment!

Our initial thought was to get pizza, so we jumped in a cab to head for some bad food when it suddenly occured to me that Chinatown was open 'til 5AM.

Oh yes. That's right. We did Excellent. We did scandal in style.


The best thing about this place is the multi-level layered plastic on the tables.


Here's our valiant attempt to eat a good mixture of their treats.


And here's our sad result. Please note that there's very little gone from any plates. Har. Luckily, Treava is staying at a B&B with a fridge, so she is set for the week in terms of snackery.


Thus our night was over. We watched the waiter turn our tablecloth into a plastic bag full of napkins, dishes, and utensils.


I threw Treava in a cab (here's hoping she got home okay!) and threw myself in the one behind it. I have not stayed out that late in a year, I'm sure.

It ruled. We had way more fun than was reasonable for what looked like it should've been a pretty quiet Saturday night.

The Office Copier

So I've talked forever and a day about this weird woman at my work who once thrived on shrieking "Carrie Fuckin' Bradshaw!" and continues to love asking very young boys how old they think she is ("He totally thought I was 25, he couldn't believe it when I said I was 41!") and talking in circles relent-lent-lent-lessly. She dresses in skintight capris and strappy shoes and beachy tops. She wears different shades of brightly coloured eyeshadow to match her outfits and hot pink lipstick. I'm pretty sure she shops at le chateau despite being old enough to know better. She walks around the office repeating the same story at every single door 'til her tragic listener emails a coworker demanding an "urgent phone call". She carries her lunch every single day in a Holt Renfew bag because she shopped there once. You're getting where I'm going with this: she's a bit of a weirdy. Anyway, she's now taken it a step too far.

The other day as I was driving into our parking garage, I saw her behind me. I ignored her and went in, forgetting about it. Two minutes later, she was making a beeline into my office. She saw my car, she asked if it was new. I said we'd gotten it a while ago and she followed up with the fact that she loved it, it was so cute, she was thinking about getting one. Le sigh. I respond that, oh yeah, that it's a decent car, good on gas, cute, etc. And then she says:

"Well, I like yours. I think I will get the same one! The same colour and everything, I really like that colour! I am going to call this weekend!"

I proceeded to ignore her and type while she continued to go on and on and on in circles. In my head, I am seething. In fact, I'm questioning my own taste. Then I remember that she's done this before -- she consistently acts as if she's discovered bands people have been listening to for years. She got really angry with me for insinuating that Death Cab for Cutie were American, as she started listening to them in LUN-DUN (her pronunciation, not mine) on her 40th birthday. I find my mind wandering around her bevy of annoying traits 'til she exits to visit her next victim.

Anyway, she tells me today that she has her test drive appointment this weekend and "we might have matching cars next week!"

What the eff? I am so bloody irritated. I know that a gazillion people have this car and it's not exactly unique -- in fact, it's altogether trendy. And it's not like I invented the damn thing. What's my issue? Well, that one is mine. You don't see me buying the exact same something as someone else I see daily. I may love something of someone's, ask where they got it, and get something similar -- but it won't be identical. (I indeed did get a fun laptop bag after admiring Jen's, but mine is a different style and colour -- from the same store, from the same designer, but not the same.) Copying someone's exact car is effing weird. And annoying. Times a thousand. Dude, the last thing I ever want to be is your twin.

I swear to god, she's like the really, really jackassed character on some wacky sitcom. If she ever quit, I would truly run out of things to talk about.

Lazy Writing

I stole this from Treava because I don't have anything productive to say today.

Accent: Not so much, especially when you consider that I'm from Cape Breton. People always ask why I don't have one when I tell them this little fact, and I point out that, even as a child, I was an un-fan of vocal inflections. Instead, I choose to yell-talk. Good times.

Booze: Beer. Preferably red.

Chore I Hate: Mopping floors.

Dog or Cat: Dogs. But I prefer neither for me, I hate the hair on things.

Essential Electronics: Laptop and iPod.

Favorite Cologne: Ick.

Gold or Silver: White gold.

Hometown: From Port Hawkesbury to Fort McMurray to Port Hawkesbury to Antigonish to Halifax. Now setting up shop in adorable Toronto.

Insomnia: Nah.

Job Title: Account director, grad student.

Kids: No thank you.

Living arrangements: I live with a boy in a cute loft downtown.

Most admirable traits: Work ethic, friendliness.

Number of sexual partners: I married the best of the lot.

Overnight hospital stays: Just one, when I had appendicitis this February.

Phobias: Hamface. Birds. [Please note: You can find effing ANYTHING on the internet. How did I google hamface and find the picture to the left? What sicko did this? I have to post it because it's so random and grody.]

Quote: Oh god, I never have anything clever enough for these things. I will update this later.

Religion: My dad told me to never discuss it in mixed company.

Siblings: One little sister.

Time I wake up: 6-6:30AM.

Unusual talent or skill: Convincing people that my ideas are their ideas.

Vegetable I love: Yellow peppers.

Worst habit: Procrastinating.

X-rays: I don't remember ever having any.

Yummy foods I make: I don't make a lot of food. Anything I make is yummy by default of being the closest thing I've got to a miracle.

Zodiac sign: Scorpio.

Why My Husband is Adorable

So now that he's no longer working in the boudoir, I've got one happy husband. Though it's a small-ish room, he finally has a unique space to dedicate to his office-y needs. Given the fact that this is a Foxy-free zone, it was quickly decided that it would be dedicated to more than techie stuff. One corner of it has been crafted into something he's always wanted -- a home recording studio. He's been obsessively and compulsively -- in the words of the Peanut -- "making [his] music". He has all kinds of fun with it, which I love.

So a few weeks ago, I came home to discover that he'd been fooling around with his equipment and recorded a cover of one of his favourite songs by one of his favourite UK bands. He played it for me and, I must say, the boy is certainly not without skills. Instrumentation, vocals, backup, and percussive bits and pieces were assembled by this kid over the course of about a day. The only thing missing was the drums and, while he does play, he can't set up here (until he gets the coveted electronic ones for practicing). While he was somewhat forlorn over it, I pointed out that it was great as it was. And that was that.

Right?

Of course not. My husband is a crazed perfectionist. He's not one of those people (like me) who starts something, gets bored, and lets it go. Next thing I know, he has somehow ended up getting the band's original drummer to bring the whole thing together. In Scotland. He put together an international collaboration of sorts. Over the web.

Now come on!

How can a girl not crush on that?

Ten Little Updates

I haven't updated in forever. I keep starting and then closing the window. In order to get back on the wagon, I must present ten little updates.

(1) The loft is mostly set up. We still have to buy a coffee table, another living room chair, and some artwork, but it's pretty peachy. I can't get over how lovely and quiet it is here -- no jerky upstairs neighbours screaming at each other, no crack pipes in the backyard. Ah, this is the life, baby.

(2) Pam came to visit! The triumvirate of fun -- gossip, libations, and sneaky cigarettes -- came together fabulously for her trip to the city.

(3) Jen and I went to 'ho school (or at least that's what my charming boytoy called it). Please note: that is not -- I repeat, not -- us in the picture to the right. In fact, however, those women are effectively the other twenty or so women who were in our class. You know the ones. They're the professional dancers and athletes who -- instead of making silly faces and doing stupid dance moves when they can't do a flying backwards spin around a pole with one leg gracefully out in front of them -- have the instructor come over to show them said move more carefully, then proceed to practice it for two minutes only to master it as if they'd been on the pole for ten years. I don't think I've ever felt more deflated or taken more of a self esteem beating in my life, but the stories were worth it. Despite the humiliation, I managed to heartily entertain my husband with a few flashy moves when I got home, after which he couldn't stop laughing for ten minutes then followed up with a request that I never, ever, under any circumstances bring these moves forth in the boudoir. Mission accomplished?

(4) We had to replace our new mattress with a second, less fluffy new mattress. The original mattress was pocket coil + memory foam pillowtop. This sounded dreamy, and felt altogether cozy in the store. However, upon getting home, we discovered that said mattress was altogether delicious for lying in, it was not at all made for sleeping. After waking up about ten times every single night for a month then finally sleeping soundly the two nights we spent on a mattress from the 70s at the cottage, we knew a switch was in order. The new baby arrived yesterday and our whole sleeping situation is now conducive to the sweetest of dreams.

(5) I finished my first year (apparently the toughest of the three, in terms of volume and intensity) of my dastardly MBA. It may make me crazy, but I am a sucka for the madness. Last semester was a complete bitch, as our poor little group had dwindled down to three. By some miracle, we still completed everything (no thanks to a boatload of bullets) but I'm relieved to know that the school has reorganized all of our groups so I'll be back in a decent sized lineup next semester.

(6) We booked our trip to London to see a fun band in July. I don't know what we'll do the rest of the days, but I'm pretty sure we'll think of something. I haven't been to the UK since I was fifteen, which was a distressing thirteen years ago. I spent so many years of my life not being able to afford travel, it's just thrilling to finally be able to jet around when I feel the urge.

(7) My sister's wedding shower is in a few weeks, and I'm making the trip home to enjoy gossip, delicious dips, and mimosas. Strangely, this will be the first trip to Cape Breton since Christmas 2004. My parents have painted my old bedroom for the occasion. My sister and I plan to recreate our famous Three Pub Crawl on the Saturday night.

(8) My beloved little Mini uses just over half a tank a week. Hah! In a world of ever-increasing gas prices, this makes me want to kiss that car every time I get in it. The Saab used just under a full tank a week, and I really felt that was effing awesome. I do a lot of driving (to work, home, to work, to school, home, to work, to meetings outside the city, to warehouses, to suppliers, to meetings downtown, to work, to school, home, etc.) so this freaking rules.

(9) I started meditating to reduce potential for emotional responsiveness. I am generally not someone who responds emotionally, but given how stressful things are with work and school (and given the fact that my MIL -- who has meditated religiously since the 70s -- looks ten years younger than she is), it has to be worth something. Serenity now!

(10) I've worked out for 60+ minutes every day for five weeks. I haven't lost an ounce, but am down 1.5" each in the waist and hips, and 1" each in bust, arms, thighs, and calves. I can't really tell via the eyes, but for every four weeks of commitment, I am nonetheless rewarding myself with a decadent purchase. This time, I won myself a pair of Fidelity jeans.

PS: I should've made it eleven little updates, as I just changed the visuals of this blog. I know you're mocking me in your head, but I think my fourteen-year-old-girl-style rules.