Apparently, this is me

Thanks to Kobrinsky, I have found the best website ever.

It's called facade.com, and it rocks. Need to make a decision, but don't have a coin handy? Never fear! It's got a coin flip feature! Awesome.

According to their Personal Profile, this is me:

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Tarot Card

(Equivalent of "11/05/1977")

The Empress: The essence of femininity and matriarchy. Creativity, productivity, and the foundation of civilization. Initiative and practical actions that promote prosperity, comfort and luxury. Fruitfulness and motherhood.

Rune

(Equivalent of "Alice")

Ansuz refers to a god or the spoken word of God. It is the voice of reason, law, prophecy and truth. It is the truth heard in the wind. This rune represents wisdom obtained or knowledge delivered. It is the rune of absolute good advice and true council - the message we all must strive to hear.

Birth Mates

(Equivalents of "11/05/1977")

Ariel Sharon, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Bill Gates, Brad Pitt, Butch Cassidy, Donald Rumsfeld, Enrico Fermi, Hugh Hefner, Jennifer Garner, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Jet Li, Joseph Stalin, Mike Myers, Nicole Kidman, Oprah Winfrey, Pamela Anderson, Paul McCartney, Richard Branson, Robert A. Heinlein, Rudi Bakhtiar, Russell Crowe, Sarah Jessica Parker, Sigmund Freud, Wassily Kandinsky

Public & Private Persona

(Equivalents of "Alice")

Words that embody your presence are "Asia, Axe, Baby, Beer, Bread, Day, Fact, Fear, Gin, Peace, Web".

Words that embody things that you may be a part of are "Fulfillment, Industry, Television".

Words that embody people or things in your periphery are "Chemistry, Fortress, Illuminati, Mercenary, Oyster, Periphery, Question, Security".

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Interesting.

Apparently, I'm a feminine voice of reason, truth and law (read: bossy) who can relate to Freud, Kandinsky and Oprah (read: crazy). I'm fulfilled by my job in the television industry (read: actually, that's a bit weird), can appreciate fact, beer and gin (read: I'm a pub quiz wizard) and am in close proximity to the Illuminati and oysters (read: um, oooookay).

Dude. It's like they can see into my soul.

Alternate Identities

In case I ever decide on a new career, I've got a list of possible alternate names.

PORN STAR NAME (Name of first pet / Street you live on): Cleopatra Harvist

MOVIE STAR NAME (Name of your favorite snack food / Grandfather's first name): Doritos Denison

FASHION DESIGNER NAME (First word you see on your left / Favorite pub): Weeks Warrington

EXOTIC FOREIGNER ALIAS (Favorite Spice / Last Foreign Vacation Spot): Cinnamon Prague

SOCIALITE ALIAS (Silliest Childhood Nickname / Town Where You First Partied): Allie Haliburton

"FLY Boy" ALIAS (a la J. Lo) (First Intial. First Few Letters of Your Last Name): A. Huz

ICON ALIAS (Something Sweet Within Sight / Any Liquid in Your Kitchen): Sugar Olive Oil

DETECTIVE ALIAS (Favorite Baby Animal / Where You Went to High School): Kitten Goderich

BARFLY ALIAS (Last Snack Food You Ate / Your Favorite Alcoholic Drink): Pringles Vodka Tonic

SOAP OPERA ALIAS (Middle Name / Street Where You First Lived): Elizabeth Fort Creek

ROCK STAR ALIAS (Favorite Candy / Last Name Of Favorite Musician): Bounty Bon Jovi

Thanks to Megan for the idea!

Ha HA!

I knew I hadn't made it up!

It may not be a Webster's dictionary word, but I didn't make up the word "skeeve".

Thanks Aaron!

Happy Londoniversary!

Yesterday was the third anniversary of my arriving in the UK.

That seems very strange - it really doesn't feel like that long ago.

I've lived in three flats since I moved here, in three different post codes - four if you count my brief housesitting stint for Clare & Jamie last year - five if you count the hostel I stayed in when I first got here. I've had three different flatmates, and two fish. I've technically had the same job for the whole time, although what I actually do has changed. I've been back to visit Toronto about four times, and I've been kicked out of the country once. Good times, good times.

I've only been to visit three other countries in Europe. (I think - Portugal, France and the Czech Republic. That's it. I'm pretty sure.) I've only been to visit one other city in the UK other than London - and that was two months ago. I should work on both of those.

I've made some really good friends here, and only lost contact with a few of them. I've been bad about keeping in touch with my friends at home, but I'm trying to be better. I haven't seen my family as much as I'd like to, but I've spent time with family that I haven't seen in fifteen years, so that's nice.

I've found that I use the word "home" interchangeably, depending on where I am. When I'm here, it means Canada generally, and when I'm in Canada it means here.

I've found a city that I love, in a country that has delightful accents. I haven't lost my accent - I hate it when people do that. I have a great hairdresser, a cute flat and lots of fabulous shoes.

I've made a life for myself here that I'm pretty happy with. Naturally, there's room for improvement, but things are pretty good. I miss things about Canada (my friends, Cheetos, Creamy Cucumber Salad Dressing, Kraft Dinner) but it's nice to miss things and go to visit - it makes them more special.

So, Happy Londoniversary to me.

Three years. Weird.

The Skeeves

Every once in a while, I meet someone who for no particular reason, gives me the skeeves.

(I know that many of you are unfamiliar with the term “skeeves”. Or to be “skeeved out”. This may be because it is a word I have invented. I have a habit of doing that. But it essentially means to be creeped out by someone who is slightly inexplicably sleazy.)

There’s an old man that I keep running into at the Laundromat (or Laundrette, for you Brits) and he definitely gives me the skeeves. I could be all The Gift of Fear and say that he’s evil and creepy and out to do horrible things. However, I suspect that's not true. But I can’t quite figure out the reason for the skeeves.

Sure, he’s a creepy old man, but there are lots of creepy old men. And I'm not skeeved out by the majority of them. He does wear nail polish, and that’s a bit unusual. It was gold this week, but I’ve seen him in black and red. But that in itself is not the reason for the skeeves. He doesn’t appear to speak – he seems to communicate with a signal of hand gestures and noises. But he tries to talk, so I’m not sure what that’s about. I think he can, but just chooses not to. Again, though. Not the reason for the skeeves. Both of things add up to just a weird old man.

I think it’s the fact that he’s very friendly. Very friendly. Not in a creepy way. I mean, I don't think he's hitting on me or anything (ew!) , but there seems to be something slightly off about him. And he seems to think we’re buddies now that we’ve done our laundry at the same time more than once.

He just gives me the skeeves.

Maybe I should start doing my laundry on Saturdays now.

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?

Apparently, I'm Charles VI. I've often suspected I was the King of France, but I couldn't be sure.

Which Historical Lunatic Are You?

There's a lovely description. This is my favourite bit:

"In 1405 you stopped bathing, shaving or changing your clothes."

Good times, good times.

Photo-tatsic!

So, on the main page of Blogger, they have all these ideas for people who can't think of things on their own.

Normally, I shun this as I feel it's cheater talk.

But I liked this the other day:

Ask your readers to think of three photos they'd like to see posted to your blog. (Things around your house or whatever.) When you have enough requests, post them!

Despite the unnecessary use of an exclamation mark (which I would never do!), I like this idea. So, I think that you, the reader, should suggest three things. When I've got enough requests, or some sort of consensus, I'll post them.

Thwarted Love

Yesterday the man of my dreams failed to fall in love with me. Tragic, no? Our recently thwarted romance began when I was twelve. That’s when I fell in love with him. He was all moody and passionate and romantic and dangerous and ever so dreamy. Super dreamy, one might even say.

Sure, he lived in California and was seven years older than me and was dating a celebrity. But when I saw him for the first time, that all meant nothing. I just knew.

I was sure that Christian Slater and I were destined to be together.

He’s in several of my all time favourite trash films. Including, of course, his pivotal role of Arkansas Dave Rudabaugh in the classic Young Guns II. That, my friends, is love. (That also segues us nicely into my other secret love, but let’s not go there right now. Let’s just say I had the soundtrack and leave it at that.)

Sure, my love faded over the years. He is, of course, a criminal. Which isn’t really my thing. And he has appeared in several movies which makes me really cringe. And he named his son Jaden Zach Haddon-Slater. (Jaden? Really? Ooookay.)

But you never forget your first love.

You can imagine my shock when I arrived at work yesterday and heard Steve say “guess who I just saw eating outside at Raoul’s?” (Just to clarify, Raoul isn’t a person. It’s a restaurant around the corner from my office.) And yes. It was Christian Slater.

As you may or may not know, he’s in London right now in a production of One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest. And, apparently, decided to have breakfast in the restaurant around the corner from the very place I work.

Only one word comes to mind. Destiny.

Jess and I decided to take the only logical course of action. We strolled by the restaurant, ever so casually, to take a peek. And there he was. Looking exactly like Christian Slater.

Surprisingly, he didn’t look up and after meeting my gaze, stride over to me and declare his love.

Which was clearly odd.

So, Jess and I went to the newsagents, got her weekly copy of Heat and then strolled back past him, just to give him a second chance.

Again, he seemed engrossed in his phone call and didn’t notice us.

I was hurt, obviously, since destiny had failed me. But I’ve come to terms with it. It probably wouldn’t have worked in the end.

After all, he was in The Wizard. And that is two hours of my life that I will never get back. I don’t think I could forgive that.

Irrational Hate #1

Okay, here’s the thing. Toilet paper is not a decorative item. It’s functional. It doesn’t need to be pretty. It doesn’t need to be pink or orange or lavender or green. White is just fine.

I do not understand the appeal of coloured toilet paper. In fact, I find it vaguely offensive. I don’t feel the need to match my toilet paper to my bathroom. And even if I did, it’s 2004 – not 1974. My bathroom is not avocado and I do not need green toilet paper to match it. Even if I did have lavender walls, I would not require the exact shade to be matched by every single item in the room. Realistically, most sinks and bathtubs and toilets are white, so a normal white toilet paper is going to be the best match anyway.

I know what you’re thinking. “Dude, relax. If it upsets you that much, then just don’t use it.”

And I would be fine with that. If the freaks with whom I share bathrooms wouldn’t keep buying it. But they do! If they realized how much it pissed me off, they’d probably stop. I have mentioned on occasion that I prefer white, but they never seem to understand that by “prefer”, I mean “really really really hate any other option”. And clarifying that might make me seem a little crazy.

I try to avoid that whenever possible. The looking crazy. I try to at least look sane.

I could try to get over my hate. However, I choose to embrace the irrational hate. It’s my thing. Besides, in the long run I think it’ll be easier to just try to pre-empt the coloured toilet paper buying. And it’s best to not let freaks buy important household items like that.

(These people have some very educational information about toilet paper. If you’re interested. And I suspect you are.)