My day is separated into capsules of time; 20 mins to shower, 15 mins to do my make up, 40 mins to choose what to wear. Then there is the never ending list of things that no matter how often you do or for how long, you have to keep doing over and over and over. For example....Laundry. If life had a top ten list of things that don't stop until you do (meaning when you croak), it might look like this.
1. Making the bed- every time you get out of it, it needs to be made again. And washed- folded, flipped, and so on.
2. Sweeping/Mopping/Swiffering- Just cleaning the damn floor, cause you're always walking on it, making it dirty again, finding tumble weeds of fur that have been driven into corners by the flow of traffic and spills from moving a hot pot too quickly into the sink
3. Walking the dog/cleaning the kitty litter/pooh-duty- HA I said duty (oh wait, that joke doesn't work when you're reading it *insert sigh & shrug)
4.Dishes- including but not limited to all the pots and pans you cooked with and the plates and silverware you ate off of. And would you just wash that glass that's been beside the bed for the last 2 days? It has dust floating in it.
5. Groceries- if you want something to make your dishes dirty you need to go out and get groceries, carry them home, cut or chop, clean and store. Make room in the fridge, cupboards and on shelves, don't forget that organizing can help your digestive system!
6. Bills, taxes, receipts and just general bookkeeping and life management. If you want to know how you're doing life-wise, this is a good place to start and keep up with, cause people will hound you for $17. 86 (FED EX, I'm talking to you)
7. The Bathroom- clean, sanitize, polish and scrub. This room is always getting used by bums and naked bodies. It's important to clean it often and well.
8. Laundry- Clothes, towels, sheets and whatever else needs to be de-grossed, de-haired or just freshened up. A light, fresh, clean scent creates an air of country in the city.
9. Swiffer- Before I even get to number 10 it's time to Swiffer again, I mean Jilly and Lucy are eager for a little sister I guess. A baby Dat or Cog...I haven't decided, unless I just start knitting a fur sweater, which would be ecologically responsible, but really creepy.
10. Myself- I need showers and shaves and scrubs and de-fur-ing and plucking and tweezing and clipping and shaping and stretching and warming ad nauseam, though I do consider myself a pretty clean person. (Ironic emphasis on Pretty*wink)
Life is an ongoing holding pattern of mundane activities, but the one thing that isn't mundane is life....Wha? That sounds very Zen of me. I am always surprised to find myself happy with the little things, but I would be happiest if I didn't have to keep SWIFFERING!
This is the first time in my whole life, I have ever lived grown up. I am so proud I wanna high-kick all over. But this is also the first time I have had corners... Corners that around each one of them I catch my breath, cause I'm kind of a scaredy cat. And now we have a mirror that reflects the window reflecting back a scaredy cat vision of you. And the animals skitter. They skitter and scatter across the hardwood floor, they never had places to go before. Other rooms? They're always in other rooms making noises, sighs, grunts and wheezes. Playing in my paranoid brain is every theme to every slasher film, slowly building up the tension. Eeekke. Am I scared of my new house? I think yes. When I come home and there's no lights on and all the windows are dark...I get nervous. There's too many tiny nooks and crannies. Closets to hide in...Then I think, this is a new building, could there already be ghosts in here?
I spent all day in a post apocalyptic world pretending to be one of the only 500 people left on earth, in a scary underground location that's in the middle of nowhere. Oh and I am chilled to the bone breathing in 30 year old dust and squinting in the dark smokey air. My face is on fire, my nose is red and fragile. We are making a movie in the place that wind was created, the cradle of the slamming shutters and aluminum siding. There's also a haunting memorial where a dead body was found, at least that's the rumour. So when I come home and there's no lights on and the new door creaks, I tend to catch my breath, preparing for something lurking. It's never the same thing in the corners though, sometimes it's swamp thing in the shower or Jason in the closet, some sort of unmasked ninja bandits. I may be a little bit nervous but I hope that there is something universal keeping me safe in my house. Safe hidden away.
But at work, those victims are never safe...the bad guys just keep coming and killing and blood and guts and climbing and slashing, it's horrific. But I am going back to the past next week, so I just gotta hold out for that. It's a special olde timey kinda cold. It's a stinky, smokey, drippy, creaky and shaky feeling but otherwise safe. I am living other lives. And I come home with all the ghost and bad guys and scaredy cat feelings. Hoping to snuggle my Hubby, but he's not here and the lights are off, and it's just you and me, and my mind keeps on racing. Maybe I should watch more Mad Men, who could be scared of a world so beautiful?
Looking at my demographics on google analytics (a complicated algorithm I am slowly, very slowly learning to read), I am now aware that most of you live in Toronto, unless we're related and you live in Fergus or St. Thomas. As most of my readers- or at least clickers are from Canada, and Ontario specifically, I thought it appropriate to make a list of First world problems I have had. But first, what's a first world problem you ask? Oh darling, please believe me when I say they aren't really problems at all, mostly slight inconveniences that I have experienced or thought about, that if they were the worst thing that happened to you in a less civilized country, you would consider yourself lucky.- In a rush and I get the one cabbie who doesn't break the law
- 10,000 remotes and I still can't turn anything on
- I assumed the clocks at my new house were set 10 mins fast like my old house now I am just on time
- I spent the first snooze worrying about my alarm wouldn't go off, snooze 2 & 3 were much more relaxing
- WFT You screwed up nachos!?!?
- These poo bags aren't scented
- I decided to wear my good leggings- but I'm worried I'll ruin them
- How many opportunities can I miss without a 3G connection
- Canine anal bleaching?
- I am going to start calling myself Slim, and hope that it catches on
- Does chewing gum for 20 mins or eating Mint Areo count as brushing your teeth?
- My neighbour and his dog both got hair cuts this week. And now look the same. And I said so.
- Why do things that look stupid alone look amazing in pairs?
As you can see, none of these are really problems. But for some reason or another I worried about them. Though if you've ever had screwed up nachos, you know what I mean, it can ruin your whole week...If you let it. SO, what's the point? Well, the point is, I am very lucky, you are very lucky, let's not sweat the small stuff and we'll all go have a drink somewhere with GREAT nachos.
Do you know how often I think about how lucky I am to live in Toronto? I Effing love this city. I mean it's getting out of control how much I love this city. I love the waterfront and Queen street and the CN tower and I love the film community. I love it. That being said... There are a few things I would change given the option.
1. This construction, I mean did we have to plan every digging, drilling, laying & maintenance project at once? We must have hired in all of the Ontario labour board employees, it is truly remarkable that those skilled labour ads for apprenticeships are working.
2. The cuts to our essential services. Like street sweeping and garbage pick up. And sweeping up garbage from the streets. Our neighbourhood is littered (literally) with mix matched minutia of city life including but not limited to coffee cups, free flyers, dog pooh and a lonely shoe, seeking his missing mate.
3. TTC. Oh Red Rocket, you shiny and often disillusioning commuter car. Filled with the odds and bobs of this city, people who are trying to convince themselves that taking TTC is good for the environment, or faster than driving, or any number of bogus reasons to keep riding this slow, unreliable and often sticky and smelly lumbering giant. But the truth of the matter is, it's way cheaper than a car + you can read while driving (or in my case write)
4. Parking is another issue. With one-way streets, side roads and parallel spots keeping unskilled drivers circling, it is a nightmare, especially with snow removal hours, side-switching for road cleaning and bad drivers becoming bad parkers- taking up two or more spots. Also fire hydrants every 10 feet because of the occupancy regulations, which is great to prevent fires but not so helpful for people wanting to park closer to the venue.
5. Smile:) Turn that frown upside down! Everyone can do it, with the exception of a few with facial muscle disorders- sorry. But a smile can really change your day. Smiling actually helps you feel better about yourself, and feeling better about yourself is a good start to feeling better about the rest us:)
6. People puking on the side of the road, in front of the bank, at the corner of my building, the front steps of the bar and all over themselves. And not just the action of seeing someone puke, but the remnants of pukes past. Please go to the loo if you think you might loose your lunch, it's really the least you could do. Well, the least you could do would actually be if you didn't eat a whole bunch of crazy coloured food before drinking yourself stupid and losing it all over the sidewalk.
I love this city and I know it loves me too. I am 10 years into this love affair and it doesn't seem to be going away, it's only getting stronger. The little villages that make up this metropolis. The way people feel when they get here. This city is world class, she just happens to be more interested in socializing than grades.
Four score and seven beer ago, my onefather (and 3 friends) brought forth on this condo a new population. At least I think that's how it goes, I am paraphrasing from Kindergarten Cop. In my new and pretty condo, people gather and lounge. Like big cats in sunspots. They like to drink beer and soda pop. It is a fun place to be and people finally wanna come over to play. Hubby and I have always been homebodies who wanted to entertain but we've never had the space... Now we have space to spare. A foursome is easily accommodated for a movie, a twosome for a snuggle and a larger group spreads out and leans against walls, leaking into the den, where most of the Man-geek magic happens.
I have always wanted to be the condo the neighbours walk by thinking; "Aww, that sounds like fun." My old neighbours used to have that kind of party (every Thursday, Friday and Saturday with a sleep over brunch on Sunday, which is a bit much) and all I wanted was to be invited to one. All this longing, knowing that once the day of the party arrives I would stress about having nothing to wear that would show how fun I am*insert jazz hands. Only to decide on the same thing I wore in the last set of Facebook photos of a party I was at. When I do get to the party, usually the first guest, I start helping out, bowling snacks or chilling beer. I make myself busy to hide the fact that I'm a bit nervous to be there. When other guests arrive, appropriately late (which is a weird thing, right? I mean if you wanted people there for 7:30, why not just say that? Don't call it for 7:00, knowing people won't arrive for a half hour, 'cause I'll arrive at 7:00, it's rude to be late) I am tossed from the kitchen and into the fray of people: some I might know, some will be strangers. This should be exciting right? It is the most terrifiying situation, Zombie apocalypse not withstanding. If they are comedy people the night demands one-up-manship and witty banter- which means I have to be on my toes! And though I am not competitive, I don't like to loose. If the group is 9-5ers they are easily off put by an overly eager me trying to connect with them on some topic, pumping them for mutual interests, anything that we could jive about for a standard party interval. And if the guests are family, oh dear, I am the black sheep, and I believe that as my family they are mandated to love me, and they do, but that doesn't mean they don't think I'm outta my everloving mind.*insert sad jazz hands
I think I might be trying too hard. I just want people to like me, I mean I want people to want to like me. I don't want to ask people to like me, I want them to do it on their own. Is that so strange? I mean it seems to me that I am a good person, with good intentions and I am doing good things... Well, mostly good things, I J-walk and break minor bi-laws on occasion, damn the man. I think if you invited me to your party you would have fun. I am the world's cheapest party entertainer... special mid-week rates apply:)
It has been a week since the move. A glorious, spacious, tiring and amazing week. This week was filled with the unrecognized pang of separation anxiety. In my 5 years of being with Hubby, I have never been more than a room away from him. Now, when I am talking to him from the Bedroom (oh, just listen to that newly added word to my vocabulary) he doesn't hear me. Or at least says he doesn't. Our new place rocks for the following reasons:
1. A couch- this 6.5 foot raft floating in our living room has been slept and snuggled on by all 4 members of this family without squabbling. We now have our favourite seats, another new experience. Also this couch actually works, when sitting on it you want to spill your guts (therapy style) which is perfect for blogging.
2. Closet(s)- There is a giant closet in our Bedroom (there's that word again:)) and in the hall a 2nd closet, wait, condos can have more than one closet? Yes! yes they can. And I have 2. Finally the segration of indoor and outdoor clothes, Mr. Rogers would be proud.
3. The epic hallway. I mean, right now it's jammed with things that need to go down to the storage unit, but it's still there a long hallway that muffles the sound of our washer and dryer.
4. Washer and dryer... Thank Rod. Is there more I can say? A washer with enough capacity to hold 2 hoodies, 2 pairs of jeans, 3 pairs of socks and my overflowing gratitude. Phew, what was 6 loads of 3 hours is now 1 load of 20 mins!!! I am getting my life back. Sweet, sweet Freedom. The dryer is quiet and has the sucking power of a tropical storm, dehairing my clothes and restoring a blanket to the grey it started as, instead of the puppy colour it had become.
5. New wedding gifts: last year hubby and I got married, but since we were in such a teeny tiny space, none of our gifts would fit. And I was not going to let those new, shiny presents touch the disaster we came from. But now... oh now, my dishes match and stack easily, my pans don't shed teflon into dinner and I don't make a mess bigger by using a dish towel. It's amazer-beams. Having nice things actually makes you nicer to them. This is the first time I've ever felt that. And I am so grateful.
6. Anti-slam cupboards and drawers. For 2 clutzy folks. That's self explanatory.
7. Picking new places for things to go. I have been living away from home for almost 11 years *insert age revelation cringe, but this is the first time I felt like I was building a home. It's a strange feeling to know that I get to pick how this place looks and feels, and what people see and what's hidden. I can't believe how fun this game is.
8. My new dance yourself skinny dance floor- with surround sound, refreshment bar and no noise complaints, yet. Having more than a bedroom means I can put my music on and dance, wait, not dance- DANCE!!!! We are 3 months into this year and the 2012 Dance-yourself-Skinny mix is coming along nicely. You will be alerted when that album drops.
9. My puppa barked here for the first time. Doesn't sound like a big thing or even a good thing and though it scared me and hubby, it is great. That means that my co-dependent puppa-roo is starting to feel like this is a home she needs to protect. Which means that even though she was scared and confused, she is settling in.
10. Miss Lucy has perched herself peacefully on everything at least once. She is confident to roam around without Jilly the beast chasing her back into the bathtub. Personalities have space to grow here and she's stretched out in every sun spot or curled up in your seat, because it's still warm.
11, 12, 13 & 14. This is my home. It didn't take long. That's my favourite thing. People can feel it when they walk in, it smells like home, it has all the conveniences of home. It welcomes you, because we're so happy. It has already become a favourite gathering place for friends. A home.
As for my worries about the things I'd miss, my list of new things I love is way bigger. I can still see the CN tower every walk with Jilly, I brew my own Douche bag drink 5 out of 7 days a week. But now there is a jumping pad, fountain and astroturf playground for grown ups and then there is the fun and though it's not cool to call it fabulous, it is fabulous Queen street atmosphere. I am happy here. And every married man knows, happy wife, happy life- at least that's what they say. I like to think happy life-happy life, but I guess that's not as snappy:)
This is the scariest question I get asked every time I meet someone new. I sit there and wonder how to answer. Scrolling through my brain for the most accessible and/or acceptable answer. In all the pretend conversations I have with myself on a daily basis, I always forget this is the one that needs the most work. I am always meeting new people, some of them I meet at work though, so they never ask me...Well they ask me what ELSE I do, cause no one can sustain themselves by acting alone. For them I have many well rehearsed but still cockeyed responses. The problem I have is with everyone else asking. Cut to a nice girl or inquisitive boy struggling to make conversation with the socially awkward me... "So, what do you do?" Suddenly the world's magnetiscope shifts to me, I begin to perspire, my bones quake, and all I can think about is how my Mama looks forward to the day when I settle down and open a restaurant (which I think is way more stressful than acting). The seconds tick by and a gurgle of response starts building. Ultimately, I sell myself short. But legitimately, what do I do? I mean I Do a lot of different things, but is the questioner really asking what I do to pay my bills or what I do because no one pays me? The things I do because I want to? I guess that's a question for them, why are you asking what I do? Because it's a question you know with an answer longer than "yes"? Or because society has taught us that a person is what they do? Instead of what they eat, which kinda stinks, cause I would like to be a peach for a few sunshiny days. I try never to ask what a person does, cause even though I am very nosy, I find most things people do boring. And I don't mean I find most people boring, 'cause I love people, I just find 78% of jobs to be soul sucking and time consuming and resent filling for most people. A perfect example, let's look at the GO Train at rush hour. There isn't a smile on board, no conversations (which I thought surely there would be, Hello: Train 48, which was one of my dirty little secrets) no one sings or solves mysteries to the dining car, just a bunch of commuters pretending to sleep. If that is any indication of what those people Do, I don't want to do it. I want to go bopping down the street with Jilly on a Thursday afternoon, belting out Karmin and know that I worked on me today. "So, what do you do?" I do ME, I am a liver of life (though I am not sure liver can be a verb), I am a goal oriented me-aholic. Is that an acceptable answer? As I am apt to do, I answer my own question, "yes".
Now, now I know what you're saying....WTF! I mean how is that possible? How can you mistake one for the other? Well it's easy: (Please just go with me on this one, otherwise I am going to be in a lot of trouble)
My hubby has a doppelganger, not in the typical sense of the word, but a doppelganger none the less. This man is the personality mirror of my Hubbby (notice the capital, and by association the importance). They like the same things the same amounts. They talk about the same things just as much, if they were to battle, it would never end as they are equal. Here's where I get into trouble... After 2 beers I attempt to assimilate the two boys like twins, and further to my chagrin, as the 1988 hijinks classic Twins, assigning Swarchenegger to the doppleganger and Devito to my husband, in hindsight, not the most diplomatic choice, although if they were remaking the movie and both men were auditioning I would assign them as such. My husband jumping to the understandable conclusion that Devito was the lessor twin, which I adamantly contest and still do. Swarchenegger/Devito is a delicate balance of ying and yang, one cannot exist without the other but both are truly unique.Let's talk Swarchenegger/Devito pro-cons:1. Swarchenegger was governor of California- yeah yippy skippy, a figure head really2. Swarchenegger was Mr. Universe- yeah but only for his body in 19673. Married 25 years to Maria Shriver, still couldn't keep it in his pants.4. Oh and I am gonna guess on his way to broke, now not real life broke, but famous person broke.1. Devito has an Emmy a Golden Globe, and thriving career and production company2. Married 30 years to Rhea Pearlman and still married...I guess you get my drift honey, Hubby, love of my life, I would rather be married to a Devito any day of the week. And I am glad you are my Danny. :)
So all day I have been struggling about what to write. I couldn't think in the shower, I couldn't think in the checking of my morning emails. I couldn't think. And then my pretty pregnant friend arrives, for an early morning visit, as she is at term and has to be on bed rest in the afternoon, which I think means she is close to having a baby. And we visited while I drank my Douche bag iced Starbucks coffee and she sipped on water, the only non-alcoholic beverage I have in this newly moved house. We talked about babies, and what to expect when you're expecting, which I was surprised at how little I knew to expect. Like pregnancy is actually 10 months, oh geez, I didn’t know how I was going to make it 9 months. And bedrest, which sounds great in theory, except you can’t leave your bed. And I still couldn’t think. All I could think about was how great a mother she was going to be, and how I wasn’t a mother yet, I was still a little girl. Then my other girl friend calls me, she's in my new hood and wanting to drop in, and being friends with my fav-baby-maker I invite her by. A quick catch up and another text from my sister-wife saying hello and enjoy the sunshine but not too much cause she’s working. Hugs and kisses and goodbyes, and I still couldn’t think. I mean enough for one day about the move, what else have you got to say. A walk out in the sunlight adding another girlfriend for lunch and patio deliciousness at a new local restaurant and I still couldn’t think. Smiling and hugging and sunshine and I am thinking about how I can’t think. I am thinking about how this girlfriend would be a great mother, and how she is motherly to me and my childish whims and how she knows I am thinking about how I can’t think. And my new friend knows I am thinking too hard about it, and that won’t help me either. And I still can’t think. We talk about ourselves and how we reflect in others and how we drive ourselves crazy and how others drive us crazy, and about how crazy isn’t so bad. We hug and pose and laugh, and I think. And I finally realize I am thinking about you, and her, and me, and she, and my grandma who could sit and solve a crosswords for hours with a dog-eared crosswords dictionary next to her. I am talking about my mother wanting to have a big family, but getting 2 kids with really big personalities instead. I think about my grandmother sitting in her chair and knitting a little tiny nothing into an afghan that was made to wrap you like a hug, making you feel better. The sun is tanning my cheeks that are already sore from laughter and I am thinking about how I couldn’t think, only to realize this is the thinking I was doing all along. And I was thinking about you, I love you. Just something to think about.
We moved Saturday, I had the flu of course. I haven't been sick all year, but my immune system chooses now to go on vacation. So I am not in the best shape to begin with, and the worst shape to be moving. Thank Rod, I am only moving a teeny tiny one room condo. We'll not so much moving, as pointing my moving staff where to go. With 2 emergency stops and a 20 min power pass out between loading shifts I managed to hold my shit together- literally. But my new home has welcomed me.
In my former neighbourhood wearing my lulus on a Sunday dog walk was totally acceptable, especially after a drinking holiday like St. Paddy's, but not here. I am not sure if Fashion week is still on, but my new hood is ready for a Grid style on the street article anytime. That puts a lot of peer pressure on a poor, sick and newly moved tenant, who’s having trouble finding all her clothes. This area is: Thin and trendy only. Which also means I have to bitch slap the gym. The Jones' are way ahead, and though I am not competitive, I don't like to lose.
As for Kitty/Puppy... well, they may need a serious whispering. These poor beasts have only known life cooped up with Hubby and I in one room. OH the stress of walls, doors and limited visibility. Can you imagine having to guess what your mother was doing one room over? I mean, she could be playing with your toys or eating your food, the possibilities are endless and you have to know, heaven forbid you sleep your typical 20 hours a day while they could be chowing down on steak (Jilly forgets we don't eat meat), dropping morsels onto the floor to be eaten by some other animal that could be in here... There's just too much room for error. *insert dramatic gasp So, as I move from room to room I have an unmatched pair of furry anklets, with tiny clicking nails following me, very helpful while carrying boxes. As I blog now, which might be the longest I've been stationary, I am pinned by a snoring Puppa and a happily purring Lucy who expects me to type on-handed while stroking her. I am happy that they are spending more time together in this bigger space than they did in my teeny King. Like a pair of feuding sisters binding together against adversity.
With that I am off touting my Flu-thin body in my haute couture prêt-à-porter garment to catwalk my Doggie. I'll show these Jones' who's keeping up. Though these stilettos might get mud covered, but that's a blog for another day.
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