If I were a character on the Simpsons, I just might look like this.
Of course, I'd be way cuter. But this isn't too bad.
There are some limitations, but this is fun.
For the record: I would never wear those colours together.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
Alice, Springfield resident.
If I were a character on the Simpsons, I just might look like this.
Of course, I'd be way cuter. But this isn't too bad.
There are some limitations, but this is fun.
For the record: I would never wear those colours together.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Six Days Later: Jetlag Defeated
I think I finally may be over my jetlag. And it only took six days.
We flew back on Sunday on an overnight flight from LA that got us into Heathrow at 3:30 in the afternoon. I had to go into the office, so by the time I got home it was about 6. I stayed up as late as I could, but went to sleep at about 10. I slept until 3:30 the following day. I got up, did some grocery shopping, did some laundry, watched some TV and then went back to bed at about 10. Got up at 7 on Wednesday and went into work.
If you do the math on that one, you'll see that I slept for just over 26 hours in two days. Sweet.
The rally itself was hellish, as I knew it would be. I had some truly awful news from a friend just after I got there, and spent the rest of the time wishing I could be more help to him. I only cried about three times, and only wished I could just quit my job about five. So, all in all, slightly better than I exepcted it would be.
The rest of this week has been a catch up from the jetlag. In retrospect, those drinks on Thursday night were a baaaaad idea, as I felt like the undead on Friday at work.
The kittens seem happy to have me back, although they were a bit "oh, were you away, we barely even noticed, oh, I don't feel like being pet now, maybe try again later, who are you again?" when I first got back. We're all good now though.
Today is day of cleaning and buying phone chargers because I'm using my old phone again and I can't find the charger (suitcase fell on new phone. It's a long story) and maybe seeing The Break-Up, which I can't help feeling I will love.
I'm so rock-n'-roll right now, I can't even tell you.
We flew back on Sunday on an overnight flight from LA that got us into Heathrow at 3:30 in the afternoon. I had to go into the office, so by the time I got home it was about 6. I stayed up as late as I could, but went to sleep at about 10. I slept until 3:30 the following day. I got up, did some grocery shopping, did some laundry, watched some TV and then went back to bed at about 10. Got up at 7 on Wednesday and went into work.
If you do the math on that one, you'll see that I slept for just over 26 hours in two days. Sweet.
The rally itself was hellish, as I knew it would be. I had some truly awful news from a friend just after I got there, and spent the rest of the time wishing I could be more help to him. I only cried about three times, and only wished I could just quit my job about five. So, all in all, slightly better than I exepcted it would be.
The rest of this week has been a catch up from the jetlag. In retrospect, those drinks on Thursday night were a baaaaad idea, as I felt like the undead on Friday at work.
The kittens seem happy to have me back, although they were a bit "oh, were you away, we barely even noticed, oh, I don't feel like being pet now, maybe try again later, who are you again?" when I first got back. We're all good now though.
Today is day of cleaning and buying phone chargers because I'm using my old phone again and I can't find the charger (suitcase fell on new phone. It's a long story) and maybe seeing The Break-Up, which I can't help feeling I will love.
I'm so rock-n'-roll right now, I can't even tell you.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
The Dodge Grand Caravan
Farewell, Dodge Grand Caravan. We've had some good times, haven't we?
I'll miss you.
I'll miss you.
Wednesday, July 26, 2006
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Chicago - Kansas City
Oddly, this car attracted more attention than our white Dodge Grand Caravan. Weird, eh?
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
Too busy for a real post? That means it's meme o'clock!
I'm going to the States (and Toronto) on Thursday to film again, and I'm too stressed to write a real post. But I didn't want to neglect y'all. So it's meme time!
1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says.
' "Have you tried calling him?" I asked Connie. ' (Boring! It's Ten Big Ones by Janet Evanovich.)
2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can...what do you touch first?
My morning episode of Quincy. Sam, who works with Quincy, was trying to prove that someone wasn't responsible for killing themselves because they were given radioactive LSD (seriously!) by the military in an interrogation. Sam's my favourite character. He wears a lab kimono instead of a lab coat. Awesome.
4. WITHOUT LOOKING, what time is it?
Um, 3:30?
5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?
3:18. Close.
6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
The air conditioner, someone walking in the hallway and the radio playing BBC Radio 1.
7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
I walked to the bank to order a massive amount of US dollars. Seriously, I could live in Mexico for a long time on this cash. It's lucky I'm so honest.
8. What are you wearing?
A white camisole-y top over a pink tank top with a pink flowered skirt. I'm ever so summery.
9. When did you last laugh?
When Ellie, my boss's daughter, was just in the office a few hours ago and doing pretend office work. She's hilarious.
10. Seen anything weird lately?
Weird? I don't think so.
11. What did you dream last night?
I can't remember. It's a pretty good bet that it was about work though.
12. When did you last laugh?
Dude. We already did this question. And no, I have not laughed since I answered question 9.
13. What's on the walls of the room you're in?
It's my office, so it's pretty boring. Some whiteboards, a plasma TV, my lists of phone numbers.
14. What do you think of this survey?
It's taking a lot longer than I thought it would. Memes are supposed to be speedy!!
15. What's the last film you saw?
Pirates of the Caribbean 2 with Julia. And it was so great. I loved it so much. Can I be a pirate when I grow up? Arrrrrrrrr.
16. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?
A new flat. Or a car. Probably a car, actually. Or some jewellery. Or some new clothes. I'm going to be honest, I have no idea. I'd probably be in a state of shock that would take me weeks to get over.
17. Tell me something about you that I don't know.
When I worked at a summer camp, all the counsellors had nicknames. Mine was Konobe, because I didn't know that Obi Wan was spelled Kenobi. My friend Jackie was Anniken. Again not knowing about the whole Anakin thing.
18. If you could change one thing about the world, what would you change?
Hmm, I guess I should be all altruistic and whatnot. But I think we all know that would be a lie. What I'd probably change is make it so that people were more honest with each other. Lying and game playing makes me tired.
19. Do you like to dance?
I love it! I especially like going dancing with the girls at The Garage. Good times!
20. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
I like Maggie, short for Margaret. Or Madeline. Or Alice Jr. We could call her AJ!
21. Boy?
AJ works for a boy or a girl! But my old school boy names are Simon and Elliot and I still like those.
22. Would you ever consider living abroad?
Well, I do. So yes.
1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says.
' "Have you tried calling him?" I asked Connie. ' (Boring! It's Ten Big Ones by Janet Evanovich.)
2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can...what do you touch first?
My awesome giant stamp that I use for invoices. It's so great. It makes this wicked "ca-CHUNK" sound when you use it.
3. What is the last thing you watched on TV?My morning episode of Quincy. Sam, who works with Quincy, was trying to prove that someone wasn't responsible for killing themselves because they were given radioactive LSD (seriously!) by the military in an interrogation. Sam's my favourite character. He wears a lab kimono instead of a lab coat. Awesome.
4. WITHOUT LOOKING, what time is it?
Um, 3:30?
5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time?
3:18. Close.
6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear?
The air conditioner, someone walking in the hallway and the radio playing BBC Radio 1.
7. When did you last step outside? What were you doing?
I walked to the bank to order a massive amount of US dollars. Seriously, I could live in Mexico for a long time on this cash. It's lucky I'm so honest.
8. What are you wearing?
A white camisole-y top over a pink tank top with a pink flowered skirt. I'm ever so summery.
9. When did you last laugh?
When Ellie, my boss's daughter, was just in the office a few hours ago and doing pretend office work. She's hilarious.
10. Seen anything weird lately?
Weird? I don't think so.
11. What did you dream last night?
I can't remember. It's a pretty good bet that it was about work though.
12. When did you last laugh?
Dude. We already did this question. And no, I have not laughed since I answered question 9.
13. What's on the walls of the room you're in?
It's my office, so it's pretty boring. Some whiteboards, a plasma TV, my lists of phone numbers.
14. What do you think of this survey?
It's taking a lot longer than I thought it would. Memes are supposed to be speedy!!
15. What's the last film you saw?
Pirates of the Caribbean 2 with Julia. And it was so great. I loved it so much. Can I be a pirate when I grow up? Arrrrrrrrr.
16. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first?
A new flat. Or a car. Probably a car, actually. Or some jewellery. Or some new clothes. I'm going to be honest, I have no idea. I'd probably be in a state of shock that would take me weeks to get over.
17. Tell me something about you that I don't know.
When I worked at a summer camp, all the counsellors had nicknames. Mine was Konobe, because I didn't know that Obi Wan was spelled Kenobi. My friend Jackie was Anniken. Again not knowing about the whole Anakin thing.
18. If you could change one thing about the world, what would you change?
Hmm, I guess I should be all altruistic and whatnot. But I think we all know that would be a lie. What I'd probably change is make it so that people were more honest with each other. Lying and game playing makes me tired.
19. Do you like to dance?
I love it! I especially like going dancing with the girls at The Garage. Good times!
20. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her?
I like Maggie, short for Margaret. Or Madeline. Or Alice Jr. We could call her AJ!
21. Boy?
AJ works for a boy or a girl! But my old school boy names are Simon and Elliot and I still like those.
22. Would you ever consider living abroad?
Well, I do. So yes.
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
The Routine
Every evening when I go to bed, I have a fairly clear idea of what the plan is for the following morning, timing wise.
It should look something like this:
- 7am - Alarm goes off. Press snooze button.
- 7:15am - Get out of bed. Open bedroom door and dodge kitten attack as they race into the bedroom.
- 7:20am - Have relaxing shower.
- 7:40am - Follow skincare regime - toner, moisturizer, eye cream. Admire fabulous looking skin.
- 7:45am - Return to bedroom and turn on TV to ITV3 to watch Quincy. Comb hair, apply styling product and begin drying.
- 7:55am - Finish drying hair, put on makeup, get dressed.
- 8:10am - Feed kittens, feed fish and water plants. Try to close bedroom door, remove kittens who have raced into bedroom, close bedroom door
- 8:20am - Locate iPod, mobile and anything else I'll need for the day. Brush teeth.
- 8:30am - Leave for work.
- 9:30am - Arrive at work, on time.
It seems so idyllic, doesn't it? And like a crazy person, every single night, I convince myself that this will be what happens in the morning.
I am twenty eight years old. I have been working full time for eight years. That's approximately 1,960 work days.
You would think that, by now, I would be more aware that this is going to be more likely the situation:
- 7am - Alarm goes off. Press snooze button.
- 7:15am - 8am - Continue pressing snooze button, deluding myself each time that I will get up after the alarm goes off the next time.
- 8:15am - Sit bolt upright in blind panic, realizing that I have to leave in 15 minutes.
- 8:16am - Race to bathroom, tripping over kittens in haste. Kick kittens out of bathroom after they attempt to jump in bathtub. Have world's fastest shower.
- 8:20am - Slap on toner and eye cream. There's no time to moisturize! Cannot admire face, as mirror is still steamed up from shower. Assume I look fine. Race back to bedroom.
- 8:22am - Turn on TV. Curse the fact that Quincy has been moved to 8:45 and I now have to watch stupid Heartbeat as I get ready. No time to find something better.
- 8:23am - Dry hair and get dressed at the same time. While choosing outfit, choices are limited, as a large portion of my wardrobe is disqualified. There is no time for ironing. Curse the pile of clothes on my chair, wrinkling clothes as they sit there.
- 8:26am - Put on makeup and jewellery at lightening speed.
- 8:28am - Kick kittens out of bedroom, and shut door.
- 8:29am - Realize I've forgotten my rings, phone and iPod. Get them. Kick kittens out of bedroom again, and shut the door.
- 8:32am - Feed kittens and fish. Debate whether or not there is time to water plants. Feel guilty for being a plant killer. Water plants.
- 8:36am - Brush teeth.
- 8:38am - Leave for work.
- 8:39am - Realize I've forgotten my phone, and whatever I needed to bring to work. Return to the flat.
- 8:42am - Leave for work again.
- 8:42am - Realize that although I have still forgotten something, I can't return to the flat again. There's no time!
- 9:45am - Arrive work. Late. Again.
Clearly, my morning plan has flaws. But unless I start setting my alarm for 5am, I don't think that this problem can be solved. Curse my love of the snooze button! Curse it!
I think the start is a new alarm clock - this one may be the ticket.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
I am a plant killer no more.
I am a miracle worker. From mere seeds, I have created life. Truly, I have staggering abilities.
I have flowers! In my garden! That I planted myself, and they didn't even die!
To truly appreciate how cute that flower is, you really need to see it in detail. Isn't it just beautiful?
And not only that - the seeds in pots are a-bloomin' too!
And the plants that I bought and then re-potted? They're flowering and looking beautiful!
Best! Trip! Ever!
I wasn't going to write about it, because I thought it would jinx it, but since Heather spilled the beans, I guess I can tell y'all.
Guys, we are planning the BEST TRIP EVER.
Picture it: June 2008. Three sassy Canadian girls living in London and one as-yet-unnamed but sure to be equally sassy other girl fly from London to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Upon arrival, they hire a vehicle, as you would for almost any trip.
Do they hire a sensible compact car? A sporty convertible? A huge-ass SUV?
Oh, no. They hire possibly the coolest vehicle ever.
Guys, we are planning the BEST TRIP EVER.
Picture it: June 2008. Three sassy Canadian girls living in London and one as-yet-unnamed but sure to be equally sassy other girl fly from London to Halifax, Nova Scotia. Upon arrival, they hire a vehicle, as you would for almost any trip.
Do they hire a sensible compact car? A sporty convertible? A huge-ass SUV?
Oh, no. They hire possibly the coolest vehicle ever.
A recreational vehicle. That's right. A Winnebago. (And yes, I am aware that "Winnebago" is a brand name, but it just sounds cooler than "RV")
They then, over the course of the next three weeks, drive this kick ass vehicle across the whole of Canada, excluding Newfoundland and the territories. Territories are for suckers. I have no problem with Newfoundland, it's just inconveniently located.
Because I am a huge geek, as soon as Heather and I first discussed this, I worked up a tentative route that would get us across the country, from Halifax to Vancouver, in 21 days with rest stops in all the places we're from - Toronto, Winnipeg and Edmonton. And then I looked up the mileage, converted it from miles to kilometers, made an Excel spreadsheet, formatted it nicely and printed it off. Dude. I told you - huge geek.
We'd be looking at a total of over 7,150 kilometers (actually 7,159.7 by my reckoning) over the three weeks. In a Winnebago! How awesome is that?
I've always wanted to do this trip. And, as those of you who have heard me rave about the coolness of Winnebagos in the past will know, it only makes the dream better to do it in an RV. Think how much tacky souvenir crap I can buy! Bliss!
Because we are poor, it's going to take us some time to save up the money, hence the 2008 thing. But that just means more time for planning! How awesome!
I can't wait two years! I want to go now!
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
Man, I listen to an odd mix of music..
Yet another fun meme via Gwen. (updated 29 June with missing song titles added)
The Rules
Step 1: Put your iPod/MP3 player or iTunes on random.
Step 2: Post the first line(s) from the first 20 songs that play, no matter how embarrassing the song.
Step 3: Post it on your blog and let everyone guess what song and artist the lines come from.
Step 4: Update the list with the song title when someone guesses correctly. (I will identify any unguessed songs by next week some time.)
Step 5: Make your guesses by leaving a comment or sending me email. You have to identify both title and artist, and you're not allowed to Google any of these, either.
1. Hello, hello, hello, is there anybody in there? [Buffy: "Comfortably Numb" by Scissor Sisters]2. Raise a little hell , raise a little hell, raise a little hell! (Man, these are tough, eh?) [Heather: "Raise A Little Hell" by Trooper]
3. It's been one week since you looked at me. [Aaron: "One Week" by Barenaked Ladies]
4. Four o'clock in the morning, my mind's filled with a thousand thoughts of you. [Le Chat: "Last Thing On My Mind" by Ronan Keating and LeAnn Rimes]
5. A lovestruck Romeo sings a streets a serenade [Kobrinsky: "Romeo & Juliet" by Dire Straits]
6. It's pretty good, the wine, the way that we look ["Used To Be Alright" by I Mother Earth]
7. I didn't hear you leave, I wonder how am I still here ["Here With Me" by Dido]
8. Come to my window [Aaron: "Come To My Window" by Melissa Ethridge]
9. Hey now, where you going with that load of nothing in your hand [Jocelyne: "Going Down To Liverpool" by The Bangles]
10. Touch me, how can it be, believe me [Lady Librarian: "The Sun Always Shines On TV" by Aha]
11. Drove downtown in the rain [Aaron: "Brian Wilson" by Barenaked Ladies]
12. She calls me from the cold ["Shimmer" by Fuel]
13. Hello, I saw you, I know you, I knew you [Stinkydog: "Pop Song 89" by REM]
14. Once upon a time, not so long ago, Tommy used to work on the docks [Aaron: "Livin' On A Prayer" by Bon Jovi]
15. I took my love and I took it down [Gwen: "Landslide" by Dixie Chicks]
16. As he sat down upon the train, silence settled in his brain [Le Chat: "Runaway Train" by Blue Rodeo]
17. Today is gonna be the day that they're gonna throw it back to you [Aaron: "Wonderwall" by Oasis]
18. We've got stars directing our fate [Buffy: "Millenium" by Robbie Williams]
19. Little ditty about Jack and Diane [Gwen: "Jack and Diane" by John Cougar Mellencamp]
20. Now there's a backseat lover that's always under cover [Sarah: "Walk This Way" by Run-DMC]
I'm a little embarassed by some of that, but I'm going to power through the shame. And it's amusing how many of them are SO FREAKING EASY!
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Concrete Blonde
Brad asked: What I want to know is do you still have that Concrete Blonde t-shirt?
Answer: Hell yeah.
Imagine, if you will, Toronto in September 1992. A young girl from a small town is about to attend her first non New Kids On The Block concert with her two best friends. It's Concrete Blonde on their Walking In London tour and Wendy was a big fan.
All three of us bought t-shirts, as I am prone to do at concerts, and Steph and I wore them pretty constantly. By the time I got to university, it was pretty worn out but I still loved it. It was my signature look - long black skirt, Doc Marten MaryJane style shoes, tights, Concrete Blonde t-shirt and plaid shirt.
I don't wear it anymore, but it's still a much loved item of clothing. It's comfort clothes. It's lasted 14 years, and I think with a bit of care, it'll last another 14.
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
Question
Internet, I have a question for you.
Let's say you get an order of chips (that's what those crazy Brits call fries, for all you North Americans) with your kebab when you come home a bit tipsy on a Monday night. Now, you don't feel like eating them at the time, so you stick them in the fridge. Then, the next day, you reheat them in the microwave and eat them.
Gross or no?
Sunday, June 11, 2006
Outed: I am a Bon Jovi fan.
In January, tickets went on sale for a concert. A concert that I had a not-so-secret desire to see. I immediately called Buni and Sarah, thinking they were pretty much my only friends would be up for the concerty goodness. Sarah declined, as she had already seen the band in concert. Buni was in.
And thus it began.
I bought Bon Jovi tickets.
They were more than I thought they would be, but still I thought, Bon Jovi. C'mon! They're clearly worth it. It was scheduled to be at the new Wembley Arena, so I bought mediocre seats and thought no more of it.
A few months ago, I got an email from Ticketmaster. Wembley wasn't going to be ready, so the concert was being moved to Milton Keynes. Travelling to see Bon Jovi? Even better! Now it's an event!
And yesterday was event day.
The gates opened at 2, so we figured we'd get there for about 3. Nickelback, the opening band, was scheduled to go on at 6, so that would give us plenty of time to snag a good spot. Oh, that's right. We did some planning.
And thus it began.
I bought Bon Jovi tickets.
They were more than I thought they would be, but still I thought, Bon Jovi. C'mon! They're clearly worth it. It was scheduled to be at the new Wembley Arena, so I bought mediocre seats and thought no more of it.
A few months ago, I got an email from Ticketmaster. Wembley wasn't going to be ready, so the concert was being moved to Milton Keynes. Travelling to see Bon Jovi? Even better! Now it's an event!
And yesterday was event day.
The gates opened at 2, so we figured we'd get there for about 3. Nickelback, the opening band, was scheduled to go on at 6, so that would give us plenty of time to snag a good spot. Oh, that's right. We did some planning.
This was the crowd when we arrived. We got there at about 4, and we thought this was crowded.
Oh, we had no idea what was coming. We snagged a spot on the sloped bit, just to the right of this walkway thingy.
After about an hour, a few more people had turned up.
Man, that's a lot of people. So, we sat in the sun for a few hours, drank some beers, contemplated which t-shirts to buy, chatted, the usual. Good times were had by all.
At about 5:30ish, the first opening band went on. It was a band called Spin, who won some kind of contest on some radio station to open for Bon Jovi. They were from Leeds, I think. They were kind of annoying. The lead singer was all "Milton Keynes! You must love us! Now sing along to this song you've never heard! Woooo!" Dude. Relax. They're here to see Bon Jovi. No one cares about you.
Nickelback was on after them. Now, I am not a Nickelback fan. I find them annoying. I tend to describe their music as "that one song and all those other songs that sound like that one song." So, I assumed that they would suck.
Now, we all know what happens when we "assume", don't we? That's right. Nickelback isn't as bad as you think they'll be. What? That's the definition of assume that I'm familiar with. This is just the first time I've been able to properly use it.
The lead singer guy was very funny and charming. So even though I wasn't the hugest fan of their music, I find myself liking them now. At one point Buni turned to me and said "Dude, he just sounded just like you." We're both Canadian. It's in our Canadian genes. We're funny, and we all sound the same.
Not everyone enjoyed the Nickelback though.
This lady slept right through them. Well, you can't win 'em all.
But then Nickelback was done! And you know what that means!
That's right. The last of the sixty five thousand people turned up. All there for Bon Jovi. Sixty. Five. THOUSAND. That is a LOT of freaking Bon Jovi fans.
And then there they were! Bon Jovi, right there in front of me. Well, there were about thirty thousand people in between us. But still!
Bon Jovi! Hee! They came onstage, and I turned to Buni and was all "Dude! That's totally Bon Jovi!" Hee!
I have to say, they were pretty awesome. They played for two and a half hours, pretty much straight. They played most of their big hits, and in a good order. They mixed the big singalong hits with the slightly more obscure songs and newer stuff. And they were great.
They had a bass player, rhythm guitarist and keyboard player with them, but they didn't get any screen time. That was all for Bon Jovi. And they were awesome.
The part that I loved best was that they were clearly having such a good time. And they obviously like each other a lot. And goddamn, Jon Bon Jovi is a good looking guy when he smiles. They were obviously loving the fact that there were sixty five thousand Bon Jovi fans singing along with every word.
When they sang "Livin' On A Prayer", Jon Bon Jovi started by singing the chorus alone by himself on the stage, and got the whole audience singing along. Sixty five thousand people singing the chorus to your song, and clearly loving every single second. How could that not be the biggest rush of all time?
It was dark by this time, and when the song started, the sea of people in front of me lit up with little white lights. Thousands of people recording video and audio on their mobile phones. Awesome.
They didn't play "Blaze of Glory", which was the only disappointment, but it's technically a Jon Bon Jovi solo song, so I didn't really mind.
As the concert was ending, I was getting nervous though. Sixty five thousand people in Milton Keynes. Now, let's say that a quarter of those people were taking the train back to London. That's probably a conservative estimate. So, that's sixteen thousand two hundred and fifty people getting trains, the last of which is leaving at 12:13am. Bon Jovi finished at 10:30. It's a half hour walk back to the station. That means that there will be one hour and 13 minutes to get those sixteen thousand two hundred and fifty people onto trains.
Obviously, some of them are going to be stranded in Milton Keynes. I was determined to not be one of those people. Fortunately, we got on a train. I was happy that we made one. Not everyone shared that sensible attitude. This short blonde woman wearing inappropriate footwear was moaning the entire time we were lined up to get into the station. Now, I thought they had the whole thing organized pretty well. The line was moving, they were only letting people into the station when there were trains to get on, and there were obviously more trains than normal running. But no, she was all "this is so stupid and frustrating, I'm meeting someone, why am I not on a train already, I'm so angry, this is so annoying, why aren't I on a train, I'd better meet that person or I'll kick some ass".
I wanted to kick her ass, but I resisted. I'm strong like that. We got on a train, sadly without any seats left. I sat on the floor and we got to Euston in time for me to catch the second last tube train. Sweet!
Not so sweet was Buni's experience on the tube, where she caught her last train, and ended up on the same car as annoying blonde woman. Apparently her friend was pointing out to her that even though they got back to London later than she planned, they were lucky enough to get the last tube train. Obviously, logic is not welcome to such a crazy person. She's just lucky I wasn't on that train, because I don't know if I'm strong enough not to have kicked her ass then. You do not want to mess with me.
In summary: Bon Jovi is awesome. Blonde women with inappropriate footwear are annoying. The rest of the photos are here. Woo! Bon Jovi!
This Post Is Not About Bon Jovi
I was all set for the next post to be a witty and entertaining story of the adventures of Buni and Alice and their Bon Jovi concert attendance.
That was until a bug flew in my ear.
People, a bug flew in my ear.
It did not hover in the perimeter of my ear area. It did not do an uncomfortably close fly-by that freaked me out. It did not fly into my hair and get stuck.
A bug just flew into my ear. Into the inside of my ear. As in, there was a bug in my head.
Now you might be the most rational and calm and able to deal with a crisis person in the world. But I defy you to remain calm when a bug flies into your ear. It's just not possible.
It's not just freaky because you're aware of the bug on a logical level, and it's icky. It's freaky because you can hear the wings flapping inside your head. INSIDE YOUR HEAD. And that is a level of freakoutedness that I had not believed possible, until I achieved it moments ago.
My first instinct was a "get it out get it out get it out get it out" panic that had me scratching and poking and trying to get the bug out. That didn't do anything, and the bug was clearly panicking as the wing flapping was very intense and frequent. My freaking out only increased with the bug's panic levels, so I raced to the bathroom to try and use a Q-Tip to extricate the bug. That was also unsuccessful. Also unsuccessful was banging the other side of my head, as if I had water stuck in ear, and not a living, breathing flapping bug.
I was practically in tears at this point, so decided to call NHS Direct to see if they had any protocol on getting bugs out of people's ears. Maybe there's a system. I don't know. I've never had a bug in my head before.
Imagine, if you will, my panic increasing and freakoutedness reaching startling new levels as I proceed to do the following: start up the computer, open Explorer, Google "NHS Direct", call, listen to the huge introduction message, get disconnected, call again, listen to the huge message again, get put on hold, and finally speak to someone.
She refused to talk to me, because I don't know the number I am calling from. They need a call-back number apparently. And yes, perhaps I should know my own home number by heart, but I never call it! Or give it out to people! Or really use the phone for anything except ordering takeaway food.
Anyway, she wouldn't help me, so I hung up in disgust.
By this point, the flapping had slowed. It was now a long pause, feeble flap, long pause pattern, rather than the short pause, intense burst of speedy flapping, short pause that was FREAKING ME OUT.
And then the the flapping stopped.
So, you know earlier, when I was all "I had a bug in my head"? That was misleading.
The truth is I have a bug in my head.
But I think it's dead now, so hopefully I can get some sleep.
That was until a bug flew in my ear.
People, a bug flew in my ear.
It did not hover in the perimeter of my ear area. It did not do an uncomfortably close fly-by that freaked me out. It did not fly into my hair and get stuck.
A bug just flew into my ear. Into the inside of my ear. As in, there was a bug in my head.
Now you might be the most rational and calm and able to deal with a crisis person in the world. But I defy you to remain calm when a bug flies into your ear. It's just not possible.
It's not just freaky because you're aware of the bug on a logical level, and it's icky. It's freaky because you can hear the wings flapping inside your head. INSIDE YOUR HEAD. And that is a level of freakoutedness that I had not believed possible, until I achieved it moments ago.
My first instinct was a "get it out get it out get it out get it out" panic that had me scratching and poking and trying to get the bug out. That didn't do anything, and the bug was clearly panicking as the wing flapping was very intense and frequent. My freaking out only increased with the bug's panic levels, so I raced to the bathroom to try and use a Q-Tip to extricate the bug. That was also unsuccessful. Also unsuccessful was banging the other side of my head, as if I had water stuck in ear, and not a living, breathing flapping bug.
I was practically in tears at this point, so decided to call NHS Direct to see if they had any protocol on getting bugs out of people's ears. Maybe there's a system. I don't know. I've never had a bug in my head before.
Imagine, if you will, my panic increasing and freakoutedness reaching startling new levels as I proceed to do the following: start up the computer, open Explorer, Google "NHS Direct", call, listen to the huge introduction message, get disconnected, call again, listen to the huge message again, get put on hold, and finally speak to someone.
She refused to talk to me, because I don't know the number I am calling from. They need a call-back number apparently. And yes, perhaps I should know my own home number by heart, but I never call it! Or give it out to people! Or really use the phone for anything except ordering takeaway food.
Anyway, she wouldn't help me, so I hung up in disgust.
By this point, the flapping had slowed. It was now a long pause, feeble flap, long pause pattern, rather than the short pause, intense burst of speedy flapping, short pause that was FREAKING ME OUT.
And then the the flapping stopped.
So, you know earlier, when I was all "I had a bug in my head"? That was misleading.
The truth is I have a bug in my head.
But I think it's dead now, so hopefully I can get some sleep.
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
Hello Kitty!
Well, hi there Internet! I'm glad you stopped by. I've got a couple adorable girls I'd like you to meet.
Meet the most adorable kittens in the world.
The name debate carried on until yesterday afternoon, when my friend Jess at work pointed out that I would be getting them on 06/06/06, so they should have eeeeeeeeeevil names. Jess came up with the names, and Aaron came up with the abbreviations. It's all about teamwork here at the blog. My friends are very clever, so I'd like you to meet Lucy and Beez.
Lucy (short for Lucifer) is on the left, and she's very adventurous and outgoing. She's also sleeker looking and a bit bigger. Beez (short for Beelzebub) is on the right and she's much shyer. She's also quite fluffy.
And they could not be cuter if they tried. Seriously, they're adorable. It's a wonder I could make it to work today, what with the overwhelming cute factor in my flat threatening to keep me at home.
How can you not love this face?
This is Beez, looking adorable.
They were a bit shy and scared when I brought them home and had them in the kitchen, but once they got into the living room, the inhibitions came off and the cuteness ran rampant.
They really liked the shelves.
They're just as cute as can be and I love them to bits already. We just need to work on Beez's shyness. Last night, Lucy slept on my bed and Beez slept under it. Aw, bless.
For the full photo spectacular, Flickr away, Internet. Enjoy.
Monday, June 05, 2006
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Potential Cat Names
Right, people. I am getting the adorable kitties in a mere 6 days! I am very excited.
So, now it's time to think about names. These are the current forerunners.
So, now it's time to think about names. These are the current forerunners.
Cagney & Lacey
Lucy & Ethel
Laverne & Shirley
Betty & Veronica
Mary & Rhoda
Mary Jo & Carlene
Wilma & Betty
It's time to vote! Alternate TV and/or comic themed female duo names welcome in the comments.
This is so true.
Your results:
You are Catwoman
Click here to take the "Which Superhero am I?" quiz...
You are Catwoman
| You have had a tough childhood, you know how to be a thief and exploit others but you stand up for society's cast-offs.  |
Click here to take the "Which Superhero am I?" quiz...
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
Television Designed To Make Me Cry
So, I'm sitting here on a Tuesday night, waiting for my chest of drawers I sold on eBay to be picked up, watching a bit of TV.
I'm watching an episode of King of Queens when an ad pops up on the screen that makes my heart go all a-flutter and my eyes begin to well up in anticipation.
Paramount Comedy, a channel that shows American and British sitcoms, does this thing on weekends, where they have a theme, and the weekend is dedicated to it. Recently there was an "Americana" weekend, with episodes of Cheers, Roseanne and the Wonder Years all weekend. Quality. You see the idea.
And what are they planning for the coming weekend? Oh, they're airing is airing a Finale Weekend. I won't tell you who it was that was once caught crying over the last episode of Fresh Prince of Bel Air, but you have to be made of stone to not get a little weepy when Will tells Uncle Phil that he wants to call him and Aunt Viv on Sundays, when his kids call, and Uncle Phil hugs Will and says "you are one of my kids." Seriously, you're dry-eyed? Are you actually made of stone?
Anyway, the point is that I am so the target audience for the Finale Weekend. It looks like in the ad that there are finales for Cheers, Frasier, Seinfeld, Roseanne, M*A*S*H, Ally McBeal, Veronica's Closet, and Becker. I do not care about the last two, but I am prepared to weep like a baby at all the others.
I love a good finale. Tears at the ready!
I'm watching an episode of King of Queens when an ad pops up on the screen that makes my heart go all a-flutter and my eyes begin to well up in anticipation.
Paramount Comedy, a channel that shows American and British sitcoms, does this thing on weekends, where they have a theme, and the weekend is dedicated to it. Recently there was an "Americana" weekend, with episodes of Cheers, Roseanne and the Wonder Years all weekend. Quality. You see the idea.
And what are they planning for the coming weekend? Oh, they're airing is airing a Finale Weekend. I won't tell you who it was that was once caught crying over the last episode of Fresh Prince of Bel Air, but you have to be made of stone to not get a little weepy when Will tells Uncle Phil that he wants to call him and Aunt Viv on Sundays, when his kids call, and Uncle Phil hugs Will and says "you are one of my kids." Seriously, you're dry-eyed? Are you actually made of stone?
Anyway, the point is that I am so the target audience for the Finale Weekend. It looks like in the ad that there are finales for Cheers, Frasier, Seinfeld, Roseanne, M*A*S*H, Ally McBeal, Veronica's Closet, and Becker. I do not care about the last two, but I am prepared to weep like a baby at all the others.
I love a good finale. Tears at the ready!
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Kittens!
For quite some time now, I've been wanting to get a cat. I couldn't have one in any of the rented places I was in, and now that I'm in my own place, I thought this is the time.
But my first attempts did not go well. I called one cat rescue place, and I couldn't manage to coordinate with the woman who needed to do a home visit because she was very weird. Then I went to the Battersea Dog's Home and went through the whole interview process, but they needed to visit my house to make sure I had a cat flap to the garden, and anyway they mostly have old cats and I wanted kittens or young cats.
I mentioned this to Jess in the office the other day, and she got all clever on the internet and found an ad on a London forum from a lady who had two kittens she was looking for a home for. After some emailing and calling, I went to see them yesterday, and they are the cutest things ever.
The two black ones are the females, and they're the ones I'm going to take. The ginger kitty is their brother, and he's staying with his mum.
The one on the top of the kitty pile is pure black with some white patches on her tummy, and she's the shyest of the kittens. The middle one in the kitty pile looks like she'll be black and brown tortoiseshell patterned with some white patches on her tummy, and she's the most outgoing of the kittens.
They could not be cuter if they took a PhD in cuteness. They'll be ready to leave their mum in two weeks, so I'll get to have them then. Yay! I'm very excited about all the kitten adorableness.
And I would completely recommend as the antidote to a bad day at work the cuddling of kittens. I was in a horrible mood when I left the office, and in a great mood when I got home.
Now, to think of names. Any suggestions?
But my first attempts did not go well. I called one cat rescue place, and I couldn't manage to coordinate with the woman who needed to do a home visit because she was very weird. Then I went to the Battersea Dog's Home and went through the whole interview process, but they needed to visit my house to make sure I had a cat flap to the garden, and anyway they mostly have old cats and I wanted kittens or young cats.
I mentioned this to Jess in the office the other day, and she got all clever on the internet and found an ad on a London forum from a lady who had two kittens she was looking for a home for. After some emailing and calling, I went to see them yesterday, and they are the cutest things ever.
The two black ones are the females, and they're the ones I'm going to take. The ginger kitty is their brother, and he's staying with his mum.
The one on the top of the kitty pile is pure black with some white patches on her tummy, and she's the shyest of the kittens. The middle one in the kitty pile looks like she'll be black and brown tortoiseshell patterned with some white patches on her tummy, and she's the most outgoing of the kittens.
They could not be cuter if they took a PhD in cuteness. They'll be ready to leave their mum in two weeks, so I'll get to have them then. Yay! I'm very excited about all the kitten adorableness.
And I would completely recommend as the antidote to a bad day at work the cuddling of kittens. I was in a horrible mood when I left the office, and in a great mood when I got home.
Now, to think of names. Any suggestions?
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Sleeping Stories
Those of you who know me in the real world will know that I'm a pretty sound sleeper. And by "pretty sound", I mean that when I told my mother I was the fire warden in my residence in the first year of university, her response was "But if there's a fire in the middle of the night, you won't wake up! What if your whole floor dies?" Thankfully her prediction did not come true and it was a fire free year. I did get a very ugly hat out of it, but that's not really the point.
I know what you're thinking. "Sure, sure. You're a sound sleeper. I know lots of sound sleepers. You surely must be exaggerating for comic effect." I appreciate that you are a discerning and questioning audience, so I will support my claim with the facts.
Example 1
I am thirteen years old and living in Goderich. Our house was on the very edge of town, and just past us was a field with a barn in it. One night, the barn caught fire and burned down. Now, you can imagine that this was a pretty spectacular sight. Pitch black sky. Burning barn. Clearly, a sight to be seen. So, my parents woke up my brother, brought him to the window, and tried to wake up me. Now, I have no memory of this, but apparently, after much shaking and talking, I got out of bed, walked to the window and proceeded to babble about random non-fire related things. At this point, my parents realized that I was still asleep and I wasn't waking up any time soon. They walked me back to bed, and proceeded to have all the fun of watching a building burn down without me.
Example 2
I am eighteen years old and at university. My friend Sean has left his shoes in my room during a night of drinking and merriment. When he wakes up in the morning, he realizes that he is shoe-less. Normally, this wouldn't be a huge problem, but on this particular day, he was going to see the Dini Petty Show being filmed. I do not recall him being a big Dini Petty fan, so I'm not sure why this was.
Anyway, many hours after his departure, I wake up to the following messages on my phone:
Example 3
I am twenty four years old and living in London. My clubbing flatmates have arrived home at four in the morning with a group of mutual friends. They decide, in their drunkenness and/or highness, to include me in their fun. Allegedly, flatmate Claire knocked on my door, opened it, and said very loudly "Hey Alice, want to come and have a drink with us?" Allegedly, I sat up in bed, growled and/or muttered something unintelligible, lay down again and was all cozy in sleep land once again. I heard the story the next day. It was considered quite the high comedy and it took me moving out of the crazy flat to escape it.
So, you can see. I am a sound sleeper.
But every good rule has an exception. I worked at a summer camp for four years. And, for the last two of those years, I lived with my friend Kristine in the youngest kids' section. And if one of those kids even whispered my name in the middle of the night, I was up like a shot, and in their cabin to find out what was wrong. The someone-in-need is the only thing that can penetrate my sound sleeping.
Last night, I was sound asleep, when I thought I heard flatmate Buffy say my name. Well, I thought I heard her say "Al", which is what I am called from time to time. I was immediately up like shot and crept into the hallway.
And what is the lesson we learn from this? If you are in the vicinity of me sleeping, do not speak quietly and say anything even remotely resembling my name, because apparently that will wake me up.
I would prefer to be yelled at by name and shaken. I'll sleep right through that.
I know what you're thinking. "Sure, sure. You're a sound sleeper. I know lots of sound sleepers. You surely must be exaggerating for comic effect." I appreciate that you are a discerning and questioning audience, so I will support my claim with the facts.
Example 1
I am thirteen years old and living in Goderich. Our house was on the very edge of town, and just past us was a field with a barn in it. One night, the barn caught fire and burned down. Now, you can imagine that this was a pretty spectacular sight. Pitch black sky. Burning barn. Clearly, a sight to be seen. So, my parents woke up my brother, brought him to the window, and tried to wake up me. Now, I have no memory of this, but apparently, after much shaking and talking, I got out of bed, walked to the window and proceeded to babble about random non-fire related things. At this point, my parents realized that I was still asleep and I wasn't waking up any time soon. They walked me back to bed, and proceeded to have all the fun of watching a building burn down without me.
Example 2
I am eighteen years old and at university. My friend Sean has left his shoes in my room during a night of drinking and merriment. When he wakes up in the morning, he realizes that he is shoe-less. Normally, this wouldn't be a huge problem, but on this particular day, he was going to see the Dini Petty Show being filmed. I do not recall him being a big Dini Petty fan, so I'm not sure why this was.
Anyway, many hours after his departure, I wake up to the following messages on my phone:
Message 1: "Hey Alice, it's Sean. I left my shoes in your room, so I'm going to come and get them. Be there in a sec."
Message 2: "Hey Alice, it's Sean again. I just knocked on your door for like five minutes. Are you there? I'm going to try again. I need my shoes."
Message 3: "Right, that didn't work. I know you're in there. WAKE UP! I'm going to try again."
Message 4: "Do you have a head injury? Should I seek medical help? Why won't you wake up?? I'm trying one more time."
Message 5: "Fine, keep the shoes."
Example 3
I am twenty four years old and living in London. My clubbing flatmates have arrived home at four in the morning with a group of mutual friends. They decide, in their drunkenness and/or highness, to include me in their fun. Allegedly, flatmate Claire knocked on my door, opened it, and said very loudly "Hey Alice, want to come and have a drink with us?" Allegedly, I sat up in bed, growled and/or muttered something unintelligible, lay down again and was all cozy in sleep land once again. I heard the story the next day. It was considered quite the high comedy and it took me moving out of the crazy flat to escape it.
So, you can see. I am a sound sleeper.
But every good rule has an exception. I worked at a summer camp for four years. And, for the last two of those years, I lived with my friend Kristine in the youngest kids' section. And if one of those kids even whispered my name in the middle of the night, I was up like a shot, and in their cabin to find out what was wrong. The someone-in-need is the only thing that can penetrate my sound sleeping.
Last night, I was sound asleep, when I thought I heard flatmate Buffy say my name. Well, I thought I heard her say "Al", which is what I am called from time to time. I was immediately up like shot and crept into the hallway.
Me (whispering): Buffy? Are you okay?
Buffy: [silence]
Me (slightly louder): Buffy? Is everything all right?
Buffy (appearing at her door): What? Of course it is.
Me (confused): Oh. I thought I heard you say my name.
Buffy (also confused): Um, no.
Me (still confused): Okay, goodnight then.
Buffy (no longer confused): I did run into the crate on the floor when I was coming back from the bathroom. I said "ow" real quiet like.
Me (so very tired): Right. Ow and Al are different words. Goodnight.
And what is the lesson we learn from this? If you are in the vicinity of me sleeping, do not speak quietly and say anything even remotely resembling my name, because apparently that will wake me up.
I would prefer to be yelled at by name and shaken. I'll sleep right through that.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Garden Update
And speaking of gardens, this was the garden growing situation on April 30th.
Three weeks later, the same pot. I think I might have flowers soon!
It's all very exciting!
In which Alice is proved wrong
Remember when I had problems with pigeons? No, not that time. The other time.
Anyway, Sean left this comment at the time:
And what was my response? I laughed. Oh, I laughed.
Don't worry about me, I laughed. Squirrels aren't nearly as common here as they are in Canada. I've only ever seen them in parks. I'm sure it won't be a problem. Ha ha, I laughed. Squirrels. How silly.
So, I'm sitting this morning, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the Golden Girls (it was the episode where Blanche gives the other girls a share in the house to avoid one of them being evicted and Dorothy finds out that Sophia was married before she married Dorothy's father).
Anyway, I hear a bit of rustling in the garden. And what do I see?
Oh, that's right. It's a squirrel. And I can't be sure about this, but I think he's eating a peanut from the feeder. His eyes weren't as glowing red and evil as they appear in the photo. He was actually kind of cute. Or, he was until he started to make a run for it.
Anyway, Sean left this comment at the time:
You think the pigeons are bad?
Just wait till the squirrels find your pretty feeders.
On the up-side, you will get to watch the ominous Squirrel/Pigeon war as it unfolds. In future days, you will be able to refer to it as the war of aught-six, and discuss the cunning infantry rushes, or the role of Air-power in controlling strategic feeder positions.
Or, you could just dust off and nuke the site from orbit.It's the only way to be sure.
And what was my response? I laughed. Oh, I laughed.
Don't worry about me, I laughed. Squirrels aren't nearly as common here as they are in Canada. I've only ever seen them in parks. I'm sure it won't be a problem. Ha ha, I laughed. Squirrels. How silly.
So, I'm sitting this morning, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the Golden Girls (it was the episode where Blanche gives the other girls a share in the house to avoid one of them being evicted and Dorothy finds out that Sophia was married before she married Dorothy's father).
Anyway, I hear a bit of rustling in the garden. And what do I see?
Oh, that's right. It's a squirrel. And I can't be sure about this, but I think he's eating a peanut from the feeder. His eyes weren't as glowing red and evil as they appear in the photo. He was actually kind of cute. Or, he was until he started to make a run for it.
He knew I was watching! Look at him! He's out to get me!! I'll be keeping an eye on this little sneaky squirrel, you can count on that.
But I've got to say. I'd take ten thousand of these little bastards over even one pigeon. They're vermin, I tell you. VERMIN!
(And now I've got a terrifying vision of ten thousand evil squirrels out to get me. Enter nightmares ........ now.)
Monday, May 15, 2006
RIP Little Fish
We've suffered a sad loss at Casa Alice today. A member of the family is sadly no longer with us.
Little Fish succumbed today to a long unknown illness. He'd managed two moves, a holiday stay at a friends, and a brief period where he was almost named Tenille. But he'd been unwell since the move from Tufnell Park, and after a brief return to his usual charming self, he passed away today.
I've had Little, as he was affectionately known, for just over two years, and he was an absolute delight that entire time. Although smaller than his buddy Big, he was no less friendly and charismatic. He had a wonderful personality, and I like to think that he knew me. He may have been just a fish, but he was loved.
Little Fish, April 2004 - May 2006.
He is survived by his longtime bowlmate Big, newer friends Grumpy and Pretty, owner Alice and flatmate Buffy. After a brief memorial service, he was laid to rest in the garden.
Goodbye little buddy. You'll be missed.
Goodbye little buddy. You'll be missed.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Reasons I Could Not Call In Sick To Work Today
- My phone was dead, so I couldn't send the subtle yet effective "am ill, staying home, on mobile if you need me" text.
- My new phone, with hopefully longer battery life, is supposed to arrive at work today, and I can easily devote an hour of work time to playing with it.
- We do have a big meeting tomorrow that I should prep for.
- My hangover is really telling me that I want a baked potato with coleslaw and cheese for lunch, and I can't get that at my house.
- I have plans to go to the pub quiz tonight, and my mother's mantra of "if you're too sick to go to school, you're too sick to go out" means that I will feel too guilty to do that.
- Who will spend hours of work time browsing the internet if I'm not there to do it?
- I am not actually sick.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
All About Me
Monday, May 01, 2006
The Garden Saga
So, you know how I have a garden right?
Well, up to this point in my life, I've been what's known in the horticultural world as a "Plant Killer". It's not pretty, but it's true. I have never managed to keep a plant alive. Not once in my whole life.
What's even sadder is that genetically, I come from a good people. My mom is an amazing gardener. She's incredible. But could I have inherited the good gardening gene? Noooo, of course not. I got things that are of little to know gardening use. Which is all well and good, but doesn't solve the problem we've got here.
Anyway, I now live somewhere with a garden. And I am determined that it will be beautiful. Even if it kills me.
There are already some plants in the garden, so I've been working around what's there. I started with pots - lots of pots in which I've planted seeds and plants and shrubs.
I ran out of dirt, so I can't plant more of them, but I think it looks pretty as it is. I've got a colour scheme worked out. Pinks and oranges and yellows, with the occasional red and white thrown in for a bit of a kicky surprise. I'm going to get lots more pots, because the bit on the other side of the door must be equally filled with pots, so as to look as equally precious.
There was already a raised flower bed, so I planted some ivy there and a few plants and then lots and lots of seeds. LOTS of seeds. In all liklihood, too many seeds. We'll see when they grow. It also was a bitch to weed this part. There was this crazy plant that had these huge roots running through the whole thing and I cursed them many a time as I was trying to dig them up. But it's essentially weed free now and chock full of seeds.
I also planted bulbs. "Oh wait, Alice!", I hear you saying "you've gone mad! Pots and seeds and bulbs! It's craziness, I tell you!". Well, you may be right. I'm not saying you're not. But there was a bit that looked kind of flower beddy when I took out all the weeds and I went a little crazy with the bulb buying, so I put them all in here. I did the math and there are something like 135 bulbs in this tiny patch of dirt. Too many? Most likely. We'll see how many live.
So, that's the plant bits. The lawn is currently looking a bit nasty, because I killed the weeds, but haven't replanted seed yet, so it's a bit patchy and ugly. It'll look better, I promise.
I bought cheapo furniture at Argos, and I have to say, it will be a delight to sit out here when the plants are all a'blommin' and looking super fantastico. A delight, I say!
And the plants - they're growing! They really are! Maybe I'm not a plant killer after all!
Now I just have to clear up the rest of the crap that's in the garden. It's harshing my pretty garden buzz, I tell you.
These are the flowers I've planted. It's all very exciting.
Bulbs
Anemone
Crispa Marginata Begonias
Dutch Iris
Dwarf Fowering Gladioli
Homeria
Peony
Ranunculus
Sparaxis
Zephyranthes
Seeds
Aster
Calendula
Candytuft
Chrysanthemum
Clarkia Elegans
Cosmea
Eschscholzia
French Marigold
Godetia
Lavatera
Mesembryanthemum
Nasturtium
Nemesia
Poppy
Stock Virginian
Zinnia
Too many? Perhaps. Perhaps.
Friday, April 28, 2006
Seriously? No soul?
I got this over at Janice's blog.
| You Are 36% Abnormal |
 You are at medium risk for being a psychopath. It is somewhat likely that you have no soul. You are at medium risk for having a borderline personality. It is somewhat likely that you are a chaotic mess. You are at medium risk for having a narcissistic personality. It is somewhat likely that you are in love with your own reflection. You are at low risk for having a social phobia. It is unlikely that you feel most comfortable in your mom's basement. You are at low risk for obsessive compulsive disorder. It is unlikely that you are addicted to hand sanitizer. |
I'm mildly offended by this. Only mildly though, so maybe it's right.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Question of the Day!
So, I was having a conversation a little while ago with my lovely flatmate Buffy about what you call the person that you're dating. Obviously, it's easy if you're married. But what about before then?
She felt she was too old and grown-up to have a "boyfriend", so was looking for an alternate word. Now, I've got to be honest with you. When I hear people call their significant other their "lover", I want to vomit. I don't know why it grosses me out so much, but it does. I think it's because in my mind it brings up 1) the idea of those people having sex, which is not always pretty or 2) them saying it with a ridiculous accent "Have you met my lovvvvverrrrrrrrrr?"
But the alternatives aren't that great.
"Partner" really only works if you're gay. Otherwise, it just doesn't work for me. It sounds like you're trying too hard, you know?
And I also have a problem with people who are all "my man" about their men friends. I don't know why, but it gives me the skeeves.
Personally, I have no problem with "boyfriend", even though I would hope that the next person I date is not so much a boy.
Now that I've offended you all by being mean about the words you use to describe your special fellas and ladies (Hi! Sorry about that! Don't hate me!), I'm going to take an informal poll. Internet, this is your chance to have a say. What do you think? What's the ideal word? Or, if you've got alternates, votes in the comments please!
She felt she was too old and grown-up to have a "boyfriend", so was looking for an alternate word. Now, I've got to be honest with you. When I hear people call their significant other their "lover", I want to vomit. I don't know why it grosses me out so much, but it does. I think it's because in my mind it brings up 1) the idea of those people having sex, which is not always pretty or 2) them saying it with a ridiculous accent "Have you met my lovvvvverrrrrrrrrr?"
But the alternatives aren't that great.
"Partner" really only works if you're gay. Otherwise, it just doesn't work for me. It sounds like you're trying too hard, you know?
And I also have a problem with people who are all "my man" about their men friends. I don't know why, but it gives me the skeeves.
Personally, I have no problem with "boyfriend", even though I would hope that the next person I date is not so much a boy.
Now that I've offended you all by being mean about the words you use to describe your special fellas and ladies (Hi! Sorry about that! Don't hate me!), I'm going to take an informal poll. Internet, this is your chance to have a say. What do you think? What's the ideal word? Or, if you've got alternates, votes in the comments please!
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
The Age Gap
One of the editors we work with pretty frequently is Canadian, although he's lived in the UK for ages and ages. But because we have the Canadian-ness in common, he often likes to regale me with Canadian facts and trivia. One of our previous converstaions involved Vancouver, and how I possibly would end up out there if I moved back to Canada. He then told me that it rains six months of the year in Vancouver. That was maybe a week or so ago.
This is a conversation that occured this morning. (And I'm not being as abrupt as it seems - I was making a cup of tea. It takes a lot of concentration.)
Editor: You know, it rains six months of the year in Vancouver.
Me: Yeah, you mentioned that.
Editor: That's what you get when you live in a rainforest.
Me: That's true, I suppose.
Editor: And their team didn't do well this year.
Me: The Canucks? Do they ever do well? I thought they sucked.
(Note: I know very little about hockey. The Canucks could be awesome. I've got no idea.)
Editor: Well, they've never won the Cup, but they've made it to the playoffs a few time. You'll remember the playoffs in '82?
Me: Not really. I was 5 in 1982.
[Pause]
Editor: Well, maybe you've seen history programmes about the playoffs in '82?
Excellent recovery! Well played, Editor. Well played.
This is a conversation that occured this morning. (And I'm not being as abrupt as it seems - I was making a cup of tea. It takes a lot of concentration.)
Editor: You know, it rains six months of the year in Vancouver.
Me: Yeah, you mentioned that.
Editor: That's what you get when you live in a rainforest.
Me: That's true, I suppose.
Editor: And their team didn't do well this year.
Me: The Canucks? Do they ever do well? I thought they sucked.
(Note: I know very little about hockey. The Canucks could be awesome. I've got no idea.)
Editor: Well, they've never won the Cup, but they've made it to the playoffs a few time. You'll remember the playoffs in '82?
Me: Not really. I was 5 in 1982.
[Pause]
Editor: Well, maybe you've seen history programmes about the playoffs in '82?
Excellent recovery! Well played, Editor. Well played.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Welcome to Barcelona!
What's that you say? You'd like to see photos from my trip to Barcelona? Really?
That's so sweet.
Okay, here you go!
And sadly, no. There are no photos of the fashion avenged. I'll do better next time.
That's so sweet.
Okay, here you go!
And sadly, no. There are no photos of the fashion avenged. I'll do better next time.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Fashion Avenger: Barcelona Edition
Dear People of Barcelona, Both Residents And Tourists,
Hi there! How y'all doing? It was super to see you all when I was in Barcelona last weekend. Wasn't the weather nice? And yes, I did get a bit of a sunburn, thanks for pointing that out. I did forget that you can burn when it's cloudy, it's true.
But we're not here to talk about me, are we? No. No, we are not.
I can't address all of the issues that we encountered on my trip, but there are a few of you that I wanted to speak to. And yes, I'm sure you know who you are.
Girl wearing the asymmetrical short stripey skirt with black checked patterned tights and white flats? Yeah, what the hell were you thinking? Do your friends hate you? Did you lose a bet? Are you actively trying to repel guys? You didn't really think this was a good look, did you?
Lady wearing the white macrame-type top with a skirt that looked like a jean miniskirt with more white macrame-type crap hanging down to your ankles? First of all, ew. I'm really really hoping this was a holiday look, and you don't actually wear this crap in public in a town in which you know people. Because they must be so embarrassed for you, and I don't want that for them. They've done nothing wrong.
Woman with the too-tight jeans/crop top combo with quite a fair bit of stomach bulge hanging out? Look, I don't mean to be cruel, but the size that you think you are? Is not the size that you are. And I really don't want to hurt your feelings, because I'm sure if you dressed in clothes that were the right size, you'd be all cute and stuff. But as is, you made me turn away from my giant beer to comment "sweet mother of god, did you see that?" to my friend, and it wasn't in the good way, if you know what I'm saying.
Lady wearing see-through plastic stiletto heels for a day of tourist type activities? Just FYI, those shoes make you look like a whore. It's 3pm and you're in line for a cable car. More of a "daytime" look is really appropriate here. Your whoreish-ness is scaring the children. You can't tone it down for the day? Seriously?
I know I seem like I'm being a bit harsh on the ladies, but there are just so many more ways you can go wrong in women's fashion. And, oh people of Barcelona, so many of you were getting it so wrong. Now, that's not to say that all of you were badly dressed. Lots of you looked perfectly fine. And you're a lesson to those who persist in wearing clothes that make me want to poke my own eyes out with a fork to prevent myself from having to look at them.
Let's just hope that lesson gets learned.
Come on, Barcelona. I've got faith in you. You can do better. I know you can.
Love,
Alice
Hi there! How y'all doing? It was super to see you all when I was in Barcelona last weekend. Wasn't the weather nice? And yes, I did get a bit of a sunburn, thanks for pointing that out. I did forget that you can burn when it's cloudy, it's true.
But we're not here to talk about me, are we? No. No, we are not.
I can't address all of the issues that we encountered on my trip, but there are a few of you that I wanted to speak to. And yes, I'm sure you know who you are.
Girl wearing the asymmetrical short stripey skirt with black checked patterned tights and white flats? Yeah, what the hell were you thinking? Do your friends hate you? Did you lose a bet? Are you actively trying to repel guys? You didn't really think this was a good look, did you?
Lady wearing the white macrame-type top with a skirt that looked like a jean miniskirt with more white macrame-type crap hanging down to your ankles? First of all, ew. I'm really really hoping this was a holiday look, and you don't actually wear this crap in public in a town in which you know people. Because they must be so embarrassed for you, and I don't want that for them. They've done nothing wrong.
Woman with the too-tight jeans/crop top combo with quite a fair bit of stomach bulge hanging out? Look, I don't mean to be cruel, but the size that you think you are? Is not the size that you are. And I really don't want to hurt your feelings, because I'm sure if you dressed in clothes that were the right size, you'd be all cute and stuff. But as is, you made me turn away from my giant beer to comment "sweet mother of god, did you see that?" to my friend, and it wasn't in the good way, if you know what I'm saying.
Lady wearing see-through plastic stiletto heels for a day of tourist type activities? Just FYI, those shoes make you look like a whore. It's 3pm and you're in line for a cable car. More of a "daytime" look is really appropriate here. Your whoreish-ness is scaring the children. You can't tone it down for the day? Seriously?
I know I seem like I'm being a bit harsh on the ladies, but there are just so many more ways you can go wrong in women's fashion. And, oh people of Barcelona, so many of you were getting it so wrong. Now, that's not to say that all of you were badly dressed. Lots of you looked perfectly fine. And you're a lesson to those who persist in wearing clothes that make me want to poke my own eyes out with a fork to prevent myself from having to look at them.
Let's just hope that lesson gets learned.
Come on, Barcelona. I've got faith in you. You can do better. I know you can.
Love,
Alice
Thursday, April 06, 2006
Amusing Stories from My Recent Canadian Visit, Part 2
I went out for dinner with an old friend from back in the day while I was in Toronto. Not that she's old. She's my age. We've just known each other since we were 10, which is definitely the longest I've known anyone that I'm still in touch with, not counting family and/or family friends.
Anyway, I haven't seen her in ages, and we met up for dinner and drinks at this really nice restaurant in the Annex which I will not name due to the incriminating story I am about to relate.
She got to the restaurant first, and was waiting when I turned up. (I wasn't late, just to clarify. I got there mere moments after she did.) We were eating at a cute little restaurant, and there was only one other table of customers when I got there. As I was about to sit down, the waiter (and possibly owner) swooped over to take my coat. We took the bold move of ordering a half litre of wine - red, not white, as I no longer drink white post "The Incident", which we no longer speak about so I don't know what you're talking about.
Waiter/owner man left us alone with our menus and wine for a while, and there was much catching up and amusing banter of the "my mom saw your grandmother at the airport" and "hey do you know what so-and-so is up to?" and "your little brother has a beard??" variety.
We'd pretty much decided on food when waiter/owner man swooped to the table again. He was a swooping kind of guy. The other table had left by this point, so we were the only customers in the place. We ordered our main courses (I ordered the paella) and smiled politely.
Waiter/owner man: No appetizers for you ladies? You must have the appetizers!
Us: Thanks no, we're thinking we'll get dessert instead.
Waiter/owner man: The desserts are disgusting.
Now, this caused us a moment of confusion. You've got to understand that he said this with absolutely no humour or sarcasm in his voice. It was a total deadpan "The desserts are disgusting." Needless to say, we weren't sure quite what he meant by this. Were the desserts actually disgusting? Was he kidding? Were they so good they were disgustingly good? What did he mean?
After an awkward pause, we decided that he was kidding and laughed awkwardly. He chortled to himself and swooped away.
We exchanged a look of "well, that was weird" and continued the catching up and amusing banter. Much merriment was had.
The food arrived and the waiter/owner man insisted on introducing himself and learning our names. Um, okay. Sure, why not? It's a friendly place, right? That's nothing to think is weird.
The food was really nice, and when we were done, we did indeed feel in the mood for desserts, assuming they weren't disgusting. Once again, waiter/owner man swooped to our table.
Waiter/owner man: You're finished! How was the meal?
Us: Delightful, thanks. What desserts do you have?
Waiter/owner man: Oh, they're disgusting. We have an awful chocolate cake, it's very rich. We've got a disgusting lemon tart, it's horrible. Our rice pudding is absolutely repulsive. The apple pie with ice cream is sickening, and our house speciality is the cheesecake, which is nauseating.
Us: [confused pause]
Waiter/owner man: [smiling in anticipation of our disgusting order]
Us: [confused look exchanged] Uh, I guess the chocolate cake please?
Waiter/owner man: [grinning] You'll love it. It's disgusting.
So, he clearly meant disgusting in the "disgustingly good" sense, but that so was not clear when he was describing the desserts. What is up with that? How is belittling your food and calling it gross a good selling technique?
From now on, I will be using this terminology at every opportunity.
"And your haircut is finished. What do you think?" Disgusting.
"Congratulations! You've won a million pounds!" Disgusting!
"And how do you take your coffee?" Disgusting?
And for the record, the cake was pretty good.
Anyway, I haven't seen her in ages, and we met up for dinner and drinks at this really nice restaurant in the Annex which I will not name due to the incriminating story I am about to relate.
She got to the restaurant first, and was waiting when I turned up. (I wasn't late, just to clarify. I got there mere moments after she did.) We were eating at a cute little restaurant, and there was only one other table of customers when I got there. As I was about to sit down, the waiter (and possibly owner) swooped over to take my coat. We took the bold move of ordering a half litre of wine - red, not white, as I no longer drink white post "The Incident", which we no longer speak about so I don't know what you're talking about.
Waiter/owner man left us alone with our menus and wine for a while, and there was much catching up and amusing banter of the "my mom saw your grandmother at the airport" and "hey do you know what so-and-so is up to?" and "your little brother has a beard??" variety.
We'd pretty much decided on food when waiter/owner man swooped to the table again. He was a swooping kind of guy. The other table had left by this point, so we were the only customers in the place. We ordered our main courses (I ordered the paella) and smiled politely.
Waiter/owner man: No appetizers for you ladies? You must have the appetizers!
Us: Thanks no, we're thinking we'll get dessert instead.
Waiter/owner man: The desserts are disgusting.
Now, this caused us a moment of confusion. You've got to understand that he said this with absolutely no humour or sarcasm in his voice. It was a total deadpan "The desserts are disgusting." Needless to say, we weren't sure quite what he meant by this. Were the desserts actually disgusting? Was he kidding? Were they so good they were disgustingly good? What did he mean?
After an awkward pause, we decided that he was kidding and laughed awkwardly. He chortled to himself and swooped away.
We exchanged a look of "well, that was weird" and continued the catching up and amusing banter. Much merriment was had.
The food arrived and the waiter/owner man insisted on introducing himself and learning our names. Um, okay. Sure, why not? It's a friendly place, right? That's nothing to think is weird.
The food was really nice, and when we were done, we did indeed feel in the mood for desserts, assuming they weren't disgusting. Once again, waiter/owner man swooped to our table.
Waiter/owner man: You're finished! How was the meal?
Us: Delightful, thanks. What desserts do you have?
Waiter/owner man: Oh, they're disgusting. We have an awful chocolate cake, it's very rich. We've got a disgusting lemon tart, it's horrible. Our rice pudding is absolutely repulsive. The apple pie with ice cream is sickening, and our house speciality is the cheesecake, which is nauseating.
Us: [confused pause]
Waiter/owner man: [smiling in anticipation of our disgusting order]
Us: [confused look exchanged] Uh, I guess the chocolate cake please?
Waiter/owner man: [grinning] You'll love it. It's disgusting.
So, he clearly meant disgusting in the "disgustingly good" sense, but that so was not clear when he was describing the desserts. What is up with that? How is belittling your food and calling it gross a good selling technique?
From now on, I will be using this terminology at every opportunity.
"And your haircut is finished. What do you think?" Disgusting.
"Congratulations! You've won a million pounds!" Disgusting!
"And how do you take your coffee?" Disgusting?
And for the record, the cake was pretty good.
Wednesday, April 05, 2006
Amusing Stories from My Recent Canadian Visit, Part 1
The day after I flew into Toronto, a friend of mine had his thirtieth birthday party. The timing, was she not excellent? It was at a bar/restaurant type place in Toronto called Alleycatz. Note the super cool "z". This is no ordinary bar, my friend.
Actually, it was really nice. There were about 20 of us for dinner, and the bar bit had a band playing and they were really good. The food was excellent, the drinks were plentiful, Sean got some great gifts, there was cake and party favours. An excellent night, wouldn't you say? But what could make this night better? What could add some hilarity to this night?
That's right. The fakest English accent ever. Ever!
When we got to the bar, we were seated by the hostess lady (after the mandatory coat check - clever bastards!) and then the waitress came over to the table. Now she looked completely normal. And then she opened her mouth.
Waitress: Fancy a drink, luv?
Now, I am prone to exaggeration. I'll freely admit that. But you need to believe me when I say that this was the fakest English accent ever. It was just so bad. It was a mix of every stereotypical accent you can imagine. So, so bad.
Now I assumed that as I live in England, I would be more aware the badness of this atrocity than the others I was with.
But sometimes, I underestimate my friends sometimes. As soon as she left, I couldn't hold in my disbelief. And that was quickly backed up by the others at the table. Seriously, such a bad accent.
Anyway, they all were pressing me to bust her on her fakity fakeness. And I would have loved to have done it, really. But at heart I am a nice and somewhat shy person (shut up, I totally am), and want to make her cry in front of a huge table of people. A goodhearted friend tried to step up and help me out.
Goodhearted Friend: That's a great accent. Where are you from?
Waitress: Oh, thanks. I'm from Manchester.
Me (in my head): Manchester? Like fuck you are.
Now, I'm sorry for the profanity, but really. Manchester has a quite distinctive accent. It's easy to figure out when someone is from Manchester, just by their accent. And sure, if people live in London or the south, they can lose their regional accents, blah blah blah. If she was from Manchester, I'm from ..... well, somewhere that I am clearly not from. Paraguay, let's say. If she was from Manchester, I'm from Paraguay.
And, because I would like to be a meaner person than I am, I devised a clever test to check her supposed Manchester origins.
Me (planned clever test): Oh, you're from Manchester are you? I live in England myself. I forget, what are people from Manchester called again?
Waitress (anticipated response): Um, Manchesterites? Manchestersons? Manchesterians? Fine. Fine! I don't know. I'm really from Mississauga. Stop harassing me! [runs away in shame]
Me (anticipated glee): Glee!
Because there is no way she would have known the answer to that question, unless she'd actually lived in Manchester, or at least somewhere in the UK.
For those of you that are curious the answer is Mancunians (pronounced Man-cue-nee-uns) or Manks for short.
And seriously, fakest accent ever.
(And just for the record. I did not actually confront her. That was all imagined. Did I not mention I'm a wuss?)
Actually, it was really nice. There were about 20 of us for dinner, and the bar bit had a band playing and they were really good. The food was excellent, the drinks were plentiful, Sean got some great gifts, there was cake and party favours. An excellent night, wouldn't you say? But what could make this night better? What could add some hilarity to this night?
That's right. The fakest English accent ever. Ever!
When we got to the bar, we were seated by the hostess lady (after the mandatory coat check - clever bastards!) and then the waitress came over to the table. Now she looked completely normal. And then she opened her mouth.
Waitress: Fancy a drink, luv?
Now, I am prone to exaggeration. I'll freely admit that. But you need to believe me when I say that this was the fakest English accent ever. It was just so bad. It was a mix of every stereotypical accent you can imagine. So, so bad.
Now I assumed that as I live in England, I would be more aware the badness of this atrocity than the others I was with.
But sometimes, I underestimate my friends sometimes. As soon as she left, I couldn't hold in my disbelief. And that was quickly backed up by the others at the table. Seriously, such a bad accent.
Anyway, they all were pressing me to bust her on her fakity fakeness. And I would have loved to have done it, really. But at heart I am a nice and somewhat shy person (shut up, I totally am), and want to make her cry in front of a huge table of people. A goodhearted friend tried to step up and help me out.
Goodhearted Friend: That's a great accent. Where are you from?
Waitress: Oh, thanks. I'm from Manchester.
Me (in my head): Manchester? Like fuck you are.
Now, I'm sorry for the profanity, but really. Manchester has a quite distinctive accent. It's easy to figure out when someone is from Manchester, just by their accent. And sure, if people live in London or the south, they can lose their regional accents, blah blah blah. If she was from Manchester, I'm from ..... well, somewhere that I am clearly not from. Paraguay, let's say. If she was from Manchester, I'm from Paraguay.
And, because I would like to be a meaner person than I am, I devised a clever test to check her supposed Manchester origins.
Me (planned clever test): Oh, you're from Manchester are you? I live in England myself. I forget, what are people from Manchester called again?
Waitress (anticipated response): Um, Manchesterites? Manchestersons? Manchesterians? Fine. Fine! I don't know. I'm really from Mississauga. Stop harassing me! [runs away in shame]
Me (anticipated glee): Glee!
Because there is no way she would have known the answer to that question, unless she'd actually lived in Manchester, or at least somewhere in the UK.
For those of you that are curious the answer is Mancunians (pronounced Man-cue-nee-uns) or Manks for short.
And seriously, fakest accent ever.
(And just for the record. I did not actually confront her. That was all imagined. Did I not mention I'm a wuss?)
Saturday, March 18, 2006
Damn birds!
So, you know when you have good intentions, and it all turns horribly wrong?
Now, as you know, I have recently moved into a fabulous new flat with a delightful garden. It's all very exciting, and I'm looking forward to the whole "actually keeping plants alive" thing that is the whole goal of having a garden.
I also get a fair bit of wildlife in my garden. There are foxes that use my garden as a pathway into the neighbour's place, which is very cool. There are also birds in my garden, which I do really like. I like the birds, for the most part. They're pretty and make lovely bird noises. You know, chirping and whatnot.
In my garden planning, I've been looking at furniture and plants and all sorts of things, but I decided what the garden really needed was a birdfeeder. You know, for the birds and whatnot.
I took a peek on eBay, and found a birdfeeder that looked very pretty. It had a flat tray for birdseed, three hanger things for hanging birdseed and a water tray. Perfect, say I! I bid on it, got it and within mere days it had been delivered to my house.
I went to my local Woolworths and bought some birdseed for the tray bit and and some hanging birdseed things for the hanging bits and put it all together.
And, I have to say, it looked pretty freaking good. I set it all up, and the next day, although I hadn't seen any birds yet, I noticed that the tray was empty.
The birds have discovered my feeding station, I though. Delightful!
I refilled the tray and waited in anticipation for my first bird sighting.
About a week later, I got it. I went to feed the fishes in the morning, and noticed some birds eating from the tray.
Was I delighted?
Sadly, no.
Because the birds that decided to visit my feeder? Pigeons.
That's right. I was the inadvertent feeder of the Balham horde of rats with wings. God damn.
So, now my back garden has become some kind of pigeon sanctuary. And I believe my hatred and/or fear of pigeons is well documented.
And so it happens, that as I was attempting to attract birds, now I have to figure out how to get rid of them. Because I haven't bought my garden furniture yet, but when I do, I don't want it covered with pigeon poop. Gross, gross, gross.
Such a disappointment. Stupid pigeons. Always ruining my fun.
Now, as you know, I have recently moved into a fabulous new flat with a delightful garden. It's all very exciting, and I'm looking forward to the whole "actually keeping plants alive" thing that is the whole goal of having a garden.
I also get a fair bit of wildlife in my garden. There are foxes that use my garden as a pathway into the neighbour's place, which is very cool. There are also birds in my garden, which I do really like. I like the birds, for the most part. They're pretty and make lovely bird noises. You know, chirping and whatnot.
In my garden planning, I've been looking at furniture and plants and all sorts of things, but I decided what the garden really needed was a birdfeeder. You know, for the birds and whatnot.
I took a peek on eBay, and found a birdfeeder that looked very pretty. It had a flat tray for birdseed, three hanger things for hanging birdseed and a water tray. Perfect, say I! I bid on it, got it and within mere days it had been delivered to my house.
I went to my local Woolworths and bought some birdseed for the tray bit and and some hanging birdseed things for the hanging bits and put it all together.
And, I have to say, it looked pretty freaking good. I set it all up, and the next day, although I hadn't seen any birds yet, I noticed that the tray was empty.
The birds have discovered my feeding station, I though. Delightful!
I refilled the tray and waited in anticipation for my first bird sighting.
About a week later, I got it. I went to feed the fishes in the morning, and noticed some birds eating from the tray.
Was I delighted?
Sadly, no.
Because the birds that decided to visit my feeder? Pigeons.
That's right. I was the inadvertent feeder of the Balham horde of rats with wings. God damn.
So, now my back garden has become some kind of pigeon sanctuary. And I believe my hatred and/or fear of pigeons is well documented.
And so it happens, that as I was attempting to attract birds, now I have to figure out how to get rid of them. Because I haven't bought my garden furniture yet, but when I do, I don't want it covered with pigeon poop. Gross, gross, gross.
Such a disappointment. Stupid pigeons. Always ruining my fun.
Wednesday, March 01, 2006
Shattered Ambition
So, when I moved into my new place, I was super excited about all the decorating and painting and unpacking and arranging of furniture. I went out the weekened after I moved in and bought my paint.
The living room is going to be Sea Urchin 6 (a very light greeny colour, for those of you too lazy to click) on three of the walls, and Spainsh Serenade 1 (a dark purpley colour) on the wall that faces the couch. I've got the purple couch and the white chair, so the trim will be white and it'll look super. It'll be very modern and calming.
My bedroom is going to be Waterlily Blush 3 (a dusty rose sort of colour). The furniture is all going to be white, as is the trim. It's going to be very pretty and girly.
The hallway is Rum Caramel 4 (a warm taupe-y colour), which is very warm and inviting without being too blah and neutral. Again, the trim will be white.
So, I buy the paint for the walls, and for the trim (Brilliant White in Eggshell). And I paint two thirds of the hallway.
That was about a month ago.
I've done no painting since. In fact, the thought of doing any painting makes me so tired and exhausted that I want to lie down and have a nap right here.
I know I should just get it done, and I'll be so happy because it will look so good and I'll be so glad it's done.
But, apparently, I am just that lazy. I'm hiring a painter. To be fair, he's a friend of Buffy's so it's not like I'm getting in quotes and having contractors and all the whatnot. But still. I am going to pay someone to paint my house because I am too lazy. I am shamed.
(But I bet it's going to look even better. I mean, he's a professional. I'm a mere amateur! I'm sure he'll do much better work. And probably won't get tired and sulky and sit down with a cup of tea and an episode of Scrubs when he should be working. And now I can say things like "Oh yes, my painter recommended I do .... you know, something involving paint" and impress people with my grown-up-ness.)
The living room is going to be Sea Urchin 6 (a very light greeny colour, for those of you too lazy to click) on three of the walls, and Spainsh Serenade 1 (a dark purpley colour) on the wall that faces the couch. I've got the purple couch and the white chair, so the trim will be white and it'll look super. It'll be very modern and calming.
My bedroom is going to be Waterlily Blush 3 (a dusty rose sort of colour). The furniture is all going to be white, as is the trim. It's going to be very pretty and girly.
The hallway is Rum Caramel 4 (a warm taupe-y colour), which is very warm and inviting without being too blah and neutral. Again, the trim will be white.
So, I buy the paint for the walls, and for the trim (Brilliant White in Eggshell). And I paint two thirds of the hallway.
That was about a month ago.
I've done no painting since. In fact, the thought of doing any painting makes me so tired and exhausted that I want to lie down and have a nap right here.
I know I should just get it done, and I'll be so happy because it will look so good and I'll be so glad it's done.
But, apparently, I am just that lazy. I'm hiring a painter. To be fair, he's a friend of Buffy's so it's not like I'm getting in quotes and having contractors and all the whatnot. But still. I am going to pay someone to paint my house because I am too lazy. I am shamed.
(But I bet it's going to look even better. I mean, he's a professional. I'm a mere amateur! I'm sure he'll do much better work. And probably won't get tired and sulky and sit down with a cup of tea and an episode of Scrubs when he should be working. And now I can say things like "Oh yes, my painter recommended I do .... you know, something involving paint" and impress people with my grown-up-ness.)
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