I don't know if you've heard, but we're having a heatwave. You can't go anywhere without people talking about it. Complaining- half heartedly. Only to correct each other with: "You'll miss this is November." At 6am while walking my Puppa stink I ran into my neighbour. We both smelled clean but looked wet. Crossing our collective fingers hoping today was a sweeter day. Knowing that soon we'd both be soggy again.
It's so hot that even my 12-step skincare regime isn't enough. I have to add 8 layers of sunscreen and another step of anti aging cream. The sun and heat are wearing my skin out. My hands are like crocodiles and my midsection is a haunting pasty white; bordered with irregular tan lines. My nails won't grow. My hair feels like a blanket laden with sweat. I've removed all my jewelry, I just don't want it touching me. All the city's women clad in sundresses and breezy fabrics; ponytails piled high on their heads.
On Saturday the sun came out after the spitting rain stopped. Not even close to the humidity cracking thunderstorm we we're promised. The storms we'd been begging for; the grass and trees needing it so badly. In heat like this everyone's looking for trouble. Men without shirts; hooting and hollering at the passing ladies. The Lakeshore blocked by high speed chasers and beer guzzlers. The sound of giant bumblebees without the sweetness of honey. People are restless and the animals are panting. It is hot. And were all trying to love it. Struggling through. Always uncomfortable, but it's Ontario weather, so what do we expect? When it gets like this our sports teams start loosing. The CFL, TFC and BJ's started their seasons well, now coming apart in the heat. My feet are swollen and I am bogged down and drippy. Trying to conserve energy, but ending up with none left anyway. Even Stephen. Six of one half dozen of the other. But man, it is hot!
All this aside, I needed an adventure. But this heat wears me out. It starts being comfortable outside close to 11pm, so you have to stay up that late just to go anywhere without sweating through your shirt. It's too dang hot. This past weekend I spent a lot of time on patios, in fan blown bars and the chilly A/C ofmy BBF. Hoping that I could find in some fun- and I did! My adventure started with a crosstown bike ride. The back roads were deserted; the streets we're open to a double wide lallygaging drift of a ride. All the stores I wanted to go to: Closed as though they forgot it was Saturday. So I settled for a bloody Marcy, a picker platter with smoked salmon and 'Baby it's cold outside' blaring from an ironic jukebox in 32 degree weather. The evening was catapulted by a flight of fancy; trying 9 new micro-brew beers. Suddenly, after way too much sun and beer came the invitation to my first ever penthouse- patio-party. A 2 floor condo with 2 bathrooms and 2 many people. Facing the CN tower and the lake. The city glimmering and calm. The temperature dipping and the breeze whispering through my hair. Finally a nice temperate adventure. Comfortable at last.
So, humidity and hops mix refreshingly well together. Turns out that by raising the adventure temperature, I managed to be hot and comfortable. Thanks Torontonians for keeping you're cool. But if there's a way we can swing it; I would like some of that rain I complained about earlier this summer:)
This week I spent a lot of time traveling. Time in airports; where every suitcase has a squeaky wheel. A symphony of out of tune squealing leading people to strange places and back home again. The televisions squawking equally in French and English. People tired from long journeys and others excited for their 's to begin. The sound of planes at touchdown. The smooth dulcet tones of landed attendants inviting their new passengers to board. The constant click of the baggage claim, telling you youre almost home.
Time on the highway; with lane closures slowing everyone and speed demons racing against an unseen timer. Six lanes of blacktop taking people long distances in a short time. Cars with lonely drivers singing along in voices louder than they typically dare. Cigarettes hanging out windows, for the first drag of the day or the last butt before home. Headlights brightening up dashed center lines and shining in my eyes.
Time on the subway; with snoring sun-stroked beach goers leaning against plexiglas partitions. Buses with inebriated minors acting out. Overdressed office women in uncomfortable shoes pretending to read their romance novels. The unidentifiable stain on the red almost velvet seat. Crowded bus stations with impatient commuters reading free daily newpapers.
People coming and going, the only thing they share is me. I sit and stare as people around me fill their commute with all the tools they've grown accustom to. Sleeping and waking at the right stop. Earbuds plugged into music mixed with the sense of solitude. I like being a traveller in the galaxy without leaving the planet. Each cosmos holding their own secrets and all of them revolving around the same sun. It is truly an awesome thought to sit as people flood out folding doors to offices, people on top of people, all working towards a different goal.
They say that life isn't about the destination it's about the journey. And this is a good one. Each day I hope to see something new, run into someone old and get to work on time. This weekend I want to sit in Victoria (a regal vehicle) with my BFF and sing with the sunroof open. Daylight coaxing more freckles out of winter hibernation. Coasting along to our favourite corny pop song. Her on lead vocals, Me Garfunkeling the harmony. Laughing all the way. Traveling together for more than just a ride. I am happy that this journey is filled with the sights, sounds and the sometimes awful smells that go along with it. Dear readers: Keep on trucking! And as always be prepared to merge:)
Hubby and I moved into our new place 3 months ago. Our first evening at our new place, we were sitting and watching out our new windows. There was a man in a white, crisp collared shirt with a big lady bulldog. Both Hubby and I remarking how cute the puppa was. Until she pooped and her owner pretended not to see it and then walked away. Needless to say; the Commissioner was not impressed.
Since that first day, the amount of excrement has drastically increased. Hubby is convinced that it all belongs to the bull-dogette, which would actually be very impressive. That stocky lady must eat a lot cuz there is a lot of poop at various stages of decomposition and petrifaction. It's been bothering my Hubby every time he takes our Stinker out. Bothering him every time he looks out our window. And it started to bother me when the Commish wouldn't stop obsessing about it.
Then this past weekend; after 3 months of stewing over pooh. While standing, some might even say lurking on our patio (the deck as I refer to it ironically). Low and behold, the lady bulldog with her owner, wearing the same white collared shirt, let's his big lady do her business in the same outback area. The man looks around taking stock of who is watching-sees no one and walks away from the chocolate swirl his big lady left:( Hubby has had enough, 3 months of starring at poo from our window and obsessing has emboldened him.
"You gonna pick that up?" To which the man looks up and sees the 2 of us watching him from the deck.
"You gonna pick that up?" the Comish asked again.
"Can you see where it went?" the man laughs
"Yeah, it's right there, where your dog pooped."
"Point it out to me."
Hubby leaning over the railing points into a dark spot and makes a broad sweeping gesture. The man in the collared shirt laughs it off, bends down to collect it, waves and then says goodnight. Hubby feels great. The pride he feels for sticking up for himself fills the air. Suddenly, there's a voice from below.
"Pick it up!?! What are you the shit police?" Hubby and I were both surprised to hear this. Shit police? No, we've got way bigger fish to fry.
"Dude who gives a shit if I pick up this dog shit?" looking down from our deck, we find our downstairs neighbour: the man in the collared shirt and his dumbass douche friend.
"Look at it out here." Backwards hat drunk friend says while gesturing to the construction holes, temporary fence and general disarray. His rudeness adding to the disaster that is our 'yard'. We are surrounded by mud and I understand that it can seem like a little dog turd is the least of our esthetic landscaping problems.
"Its a dump. You think one piece of shit is gonna make a difference?"
"I don't want to look at your dog's dump. Don't you want to make this dump a little better?" I ask with my heart on my sleeve and my optimism squeaking from my throat.
"Well, I don't even live here why would I even give a shit?" And why should he give a shit if we don't? It is our home; and we need to take pride in it, no matter the current state. Right?
So, what did we achieve? Hubby yelled at the man in the collared shirt who picked up one teeny tiny dog turd, leaving the rest on display. Then the man turns out he's our downstairs neighbour. What are the odds of that? In our 3 building complex there is an average of 20 suites per floor, each building having 8 + storeys. The only person we've yelled at is an unhappy downstairs neighbour with a sloppy lady bulldog and a douche with a big mouth BFF, making us feel bad for being the try-harddo-gooders we are. What are the odds? I guess they're stacked meliciously against us, but don't worry Comish, I am a great partner who's not afraid to call for back-up.
This having a full time job thing is really cutting into quite a few of my preferred activities. Like hanging out, hanging out with friends, hanging out with my dog, you know important things. What having a full time job is great for is spreading the news. You know that news really does spread, New York, NEEEW Yooork. Sorry, tangent*refocusing hand. The problem is; I am not used to knowing what's happening in the world. I mean hearing it all. Floods and fires and shootings oh my. That's not even to say that whole southern cannibalism thing or foot in the mail business.
It can't be a coincidence that the world is going a bit crazy this year can it? That the four horsemen of the apocalypse are starting to saddle up and ride around our over populated world the way the Mayans predicted? Do you remember partying like it was 1999? Thinking that computers were going to implode and/or take over the world because they had never changed over a century. Well, that was one hell of a weird time too. People buying water, batteries, generators and stockpiling basements; as if it would really help. What did we think was really going to happen...oh right, we didn't know. That was the problem.
Now, let's talk Toronto this past week. There was a shooting in the Eaton's Centre with 8 injured and 1 dead. Rumour has it; it was gang related. And not to seem insensitive but that relieves me, I am slightly less horrified than I would be if it were a run of the mill psychopath who merely wanted to murder some mall shoppers. I feel awful for the injured parties. I also feel bad for the people who work at the mall, as it's been closed for investigation until further notice. Most of those part time employees don't have insurance to cover the lost wages.
The Union super flood? Let's break that down for a sec. It rained so hard and so fast that our Toronto transit couldn't keep the 3 lowest subways from flooding. They were closed the better part of the day. A system that people rely on to get them around the city, what's supposed to be the Better Way flooded like the lower decks of the Titanic. People running for their lives, again...Anybody else see a problem here? Oh, and what goes hand in glove with flood? Fire; that's what. The Ontario forest fires to be exact. The rain was needed to quench that; but Ontario's largest city got it instead. I heard estimates of rain as high as 60 cm...which I think is impossibly high, but my meteorology is a bit rusty.
As for the CDC releasing a statement to the effect that: Hey everybody, it's not a Zombie outbreak. It seems strange that we were worried it was. I will expand on this further, you better believe that we'll talk Zombie Infestation plan soon. But for now let's just glean. Okay, so of all the monsters in the whole wide range of monsters; humans are by far the scariest. Especially humans with a cannibalistic disease that can't be tested for or tracked. That's scary. People eating people, and more and more often. It's just a matter of time before human meat becomes the ultimate in eating locally:$
Alright, alright. Maybe I've seen one too many end of days movie; but it's typically the guy with the conspiracy theory that cracks the code (or dies first). So, maybe I should pick up a coulpe cases of water, some batteries, a shot gun and a good pair of running shoes. Or maybe I should loosen my tin foil hat and take a deep breath. Then again, it never hurts to be prepared.
Weekends suddenly make sense to me. I have been living day to day. Jumping from gig to gig for the past 5 years. Without a steady job- other than this... So, the weekend never meant that much to me. It was just 2 more days of the week that I could be working or waiting for the work to call or sweating that it had been 3 days since I worked, etc ad nauseum. But when you're booked into a steady Mon to Friday work week; the weekend is two days off. Back to back, days where I am my own boss. Not worried about when my next job is coming. It's coming Monday. Those 2 days are allocated to my whim. And with this my first Free Weekend I learned the following things in no particular order.
1. The Horseshoe Tavern is Toronto's best music venue- especially if the band has a fiddle
2. Bone marrow, horse meat and cow tongue taste amazing if the chef knows how to do it right
3. Free beer is the best beer
4. A DJ playing to an empty room doesn't take requests
5. My bike needs a softer seat
6. A rare book doesn't have to be old but it helps
7. Law schools are designed to inspire greatness in their students
8. Sundays are designed for Mommas
9. My Puppa loves me more when I smell like bacon poutine
10. Scotland has born some pretty wicked people
11. Lucy doesn't want to play the game "look I’m a pirate and she's a parrot" while standing out on my shoulder
12. Bye, bye Birdie is wicked- this I already knew but it’s important to be reminded
13. Baby Belle won't play herself and I need to practice
14. Coffee in Paris is cheaper at the bar than at a table
15. New shoes make me feel great and guilty
16. A change of facial and body cream are a gateway to better cheeks; which means better smiling
17. Sunshiney weather brings out my freckles
18. My bike basket is not an acceptable handbag
19. Most people yelling in the streets aren't talking to me
20. Queen St though busier is better than Dundas for now
21. Having reliable people around means you breath better
22. Having a slogan on your shirt; allows people to stare at your chesticles
23. Being dressed up and looking good with someone you love is better than being in comfys alone
24. Having a BFF who is pretty helps to see the beautiful things around you
25. A spring breeze is best when blowing through the new spring leaves
26. I will never stop loving Jelly shoes
27. Rose water smells amazing on me
28. Whenever you get something you actually need. When you get home you'll find you needed 2 of them
29. Freddie Mercury still rocks
30. Stopping to smell the flowers sometimes means actually stopping to smell the flowers
31. Painting your toenails navy; encourages one to hum the Village People
I know, I know these aren’t shocking and amazing revelations, but it sounds to me like I had a pretty informative weekend. I just wish that I was taking a weekend from this- and getting paid again Today :) Ah the dream! Happy Monday to all you daily grinders, and Happy non-specific day of any generic work week to all you freelancers.
This past weekend was a beautiful and picturesque one. The sun was shining, the birds were chirping and I was convinced that no matter what, we were gonna have a great time. So, I coerced my fabulous Hubby to take a leisurely stroll along Lakeshore with a plan for drinks at Sunnyside Pavilion and an ice cream if he was good. What I forgot was, I am married to the Commissioner of the Universal police force- a unique and tactical group of people who govern the general public without election or qualifications. His jurisdiction is an impressive one, covering all forms of media and most of southern Ontario.
Being the Commissioner's wife is a lot of pressure- just ask McMillan and his wife-hijinks! But Rock Hudson is a well paid-highly trained-climbed through the ranks- police officer. My Hubby is a freelance, sorta strategic nay-sayer with a knack for the grumps.
On this particular day his mandate was 'Road wise, Street smarts'. It all began when I crossed the street- to a suddenly crowded corner. And we were pinned behind, between and among tourists with cameras and backpacks, street kids with jingling dreadlocks and a tiny woman who wanted to pick-up my poor shy Stinkeroo. I will admit, he was not wrong to be uncomfortable. My next mistake was leading the Commissioner to the shared walk & bike path. With a posted speed of 20k/h and a mental speedometer registering high speeds, the Commissioner was on the lookout for infractions. We have a long running joke about reckless drivers and the wish to have a sack of marbles to ding their vehicle on the way by. But sadly neither the Commissioner or I have the guts to do it. And quite frankly- it's a much higher stake to hit a bicyclist with a glass sphere launched at them as punishment for breaking the suggested bike path speed limit.
Don't get me wrong, tough Hubby is one of my favourite Hubbys, followed closely by chef Hubby and 'you're so pretty, I have stars in my eyes' Hubby. But the Commissioner is hard on me. Especially on a beautiful day when the family is out walking together, and your heart feels like singing and the grass is soft and green, I wish the Commissioner would take a day off. But he doesn't, Hubby is married to his job- which wouldn't be so bad if his benefits were better and the vacation time was paid. Well, at least one of us got ice cream:)
While exploring our new area, Hubby and I stumbled upon a magical place. A place where vanilla malts and black cherry floats live together in harmony. A place where the bells and whistles compete but also stand alone. A place filled with flashing lights and chomping sounds. We have found our Parkdale Shangri la, but I am weary to share this with you; because I want it to be all mine.*insert maniacal hand rubbing. Hubby and I love games. We love playing board gams; competing strategically. We love playing video games; though I am more of a trivia/side scroller and Hubby is just plain obsessed. Our relationship was founded upon the Wii, for crying out loud. Tricking little innocent me into going to his apartment to play tennis. But this place is different, it's a mecca of vintage and top rated pinball machines. In all my excitement of this place, I want all the flipping glory for myself. I don't even want to tell you what it's called, okay, okay...it's called The Pinball Cafe. And it's awesome sauce. Our Thursday evening wasn't going according to plan. See Hubby wanted a bison burger from what used to be the best bison place in town...Well, they've changed and now even though there is still a GIANT bison on their sign- they don't offer it. Sad, but what can you do? Then we were nearly run off the sidewalk by a gentleman in a rascal traveling just under light speed, taking in the sights. Followed by 3 different looney toons, all of whom are ranting what could easily be stitched into a hip-hop lyric. For example, drop this beat: "We didn't make the bombs, we were busy singing songs, making love and conquoring, 2 perverts, just 2 perverts, open them legs and give me them eggs." Now, we're both hungry and Hubby is disappointed; and being disappointed and hungry is no good combo; he's like the Hulk without the smashing. So, we walk on. We eat our favourite Roti, enjoying every mouthful. But we're still unsatisfied...we are seeking something more. Food for our souls, a sentimental dink like me might say. Parkdale, you promised us something special. You came through! Parkdale you beautiful b*%#h. Knowing that Hubby and I were desperate for a sign that we belong here, you opened up your tickle trunk and pulled out- 2 hours of bell ringing, ball baring, elastic flipper, Miss PacMan with a roasted marshmallow milkshake. I am not sure that a Thursday has any right being that fun. I mean, I spent 10 quaters + the cost of the Shake. It's a cheap and wicked way to spend an evening. If you don't like the bell ringing, there are board games too. But don't look at the leader boards, with the #1 slot being in the billions...it makes me feel stupid that I loose 2 of the 5 balls right off the spring, but what's the adage? A pin ball in the hand trumps a bison sign, and Parkdale ain't so shabby- as long as you stay off the sidewalk.
Remember that feeling? The sunshine, the fresh cut grass, your mother yelling at you to stop daydreaming and get your head in the game? For me it was soccer (or scoccer as I used to spell it) but for one special season; it was baseball. Baseball is a national pass-time. It's America's national passtime, but there are many little Canadian leagues. Baseball is 9 innings of 9 players trying to score, though not with their balls. Well, I guess with enough balls you can score, but it's not the gentlemanly thing to do. Baseball is about working together, sacrificing a bunt to move a player closer to home. It's about trying to get more than you had by stealing... It's about pennants and famous first pitches and national anthem screw-ups. It's about the love of the game.
Do you remember Toronto's back to back World Series wins in 1993-94-1995? The way all of Canada suddenly erupted in cheers, people filling the streets- without riot*insert raised eyebrow toward Vancouver. Celebrating together, as a city, as a province and as a country. The feeling you get as a little kid watching the adults around you bite their nails in anticipation of the much sought title and trophy with the golden pennants. Watching baseball into October, the leaves falling before we won the World Series. That was amazing, that's what baseball is all about. It's the Love of the game, the Tin Cup, the Natural, Bull Durham, it is A League of their Own.
This season Toronto fans have been treated to a winning worthy baseball team, and lucky us! With amazing outs and a high flying fun, it's coming together... Now, we've been down this slippery slope before, our early season enthusiasm overshadowing the fact that the spring training suntan is fading and the damp Toronto air steals the Jay's verve (which we're already starting to see*sigh). As far as I am concerned, win, lose or tie; I can't remember having a bad day at the Sky Dome. I just love the smell of the field from the 500 seats, starring up through the Dome at the CN Tower, the crunching peanut shells on the floor with a giant lemonade in one hand and a Ballpark frank in the other. As for you my early season Blue Jays, it's important to remember there is no I in team; but there is an I in win.
A long time ago, my Bro and I created a character for my Momma; the crazy bus driver. We decided that she should change careers to; screeching harpie of a bus driver woman, with curlers in her hair, staring into the oversized rearview mirror; threatening to "Drive this death-trap off a cliff, if you little SOBs don't settle down!". A charming hybrid of Pee Wee's Large Marge and Chris Farley from Billy Madison. Come to think of it, it wasn't so long ago... Sadly, my Momma never became that bus driver, though yesterday's ride to work could've used her.
My new commute takes me up Dufferin, a reasonably safe route during daylight hours (after dark is anybody's game). Heading to work at 10:30am on a Tuesday, I never expected to find myself in an all-ladies- fight club, but that's where I was. Having perched myself in a prime spectator seat, I witnessed the following unfold:
1. The bus is full of the typical rag-tag group of business men and women, uniformed kids late for school, old ladies with push carts and me.
2. A beautiful Spanish looking 27ish year old; stands with her boyfriend, casually chatting. She's wearing a blazer with black jeans and camel coloured heels, hair tied up in a loose and romantic bun. She looks confident and collected. Hereafter referred to as Conchita.
3. In a stream of new riders, there is a woman- short, grey long stringy hair, acid wash-parachute pants, skin like a brown leather bag filled with cottage cheese. Hereafter referred to as the Crazy.
4. The Crazy is slinking towards the back of the bus, starring through the stringy hair hanging in front of her face, she zeroes in on Conchita. Within 2 stops of the Crazy getting on the bus; she is now standing next to Conchita; who is oblivious to being watched.
5. The PUNCH heard around the bus. The Crazy has launched a hay-maker which connects to the lower left jaw of the smiling Conchita- effectively shattering her social bubble and ruining her lipstick.
6. A stunned Conchita spins on her heels- scans the Crazy up and down, then flies into a blinding-white-hot Spanish rage! Flailing at the Crazy, driving her back into the arms of the 2 Sumo wrestler looking men seated behind her. Conchita, grabbing the Crazy by the collar of her dirty shirt, lands 3 solid closed fisted, skull rattling, lip splitting punches. Conchita's boyfried wraps his arms around her waist and lifts her up and back, which in effect frees all four extremities for retaliation. Arms and legs flying through the air, grasping at the Crazy with all her might.
7. The Crazy surprised by Conchita's passionate and tactical reaction; begins screaming over the bally-hoo; "She punched me in the face, that B*%$H punched my Effing face!" (expletives removed to protect my Momma's sensitive eyes) Conchita responding with; "Eff that! That Crazy B*%$H punched me first!"
8. Enter the frenzy-The Hipster with a b/w checkered shirt and white rimmed sun glasses; "Yo! She (pointing to the Crazy) did punch first! I got it all on tape." Holding up his smartphone triumphantly! (Ha, tape- a true hipster:))
9. The 2 Sumo wrestlers are now holding up the Crazy by the armpits- carrying her off the bus, her unlaced shoes barely touching on the floor. To which the bus driver asks dazedly; "Hey, what's going on?"
10. At the next stop the Crazy is thrown from the bus (like Momma from the train) and the cosmos that is the Dufferin blue line breathes a sigh of relief, while Conchita and her man watch the Hipster's video and re-tell the story.
Now, I am no stranger to street fights, or bus fights, or really just fighting... I don't fight of course, I am a flighter, but they seem to be attracted to me. So much so, that I have been honing my gift for the detailed re-telling, in case I am called upon as a witness. If my Momma were driving that bus, she would have snapped those two ladies into line real fast, but she would have punished the whole bus; that's how she rolls. If you can't play nice, then you can't play at all, it wasn't me though- That crazy B*%$H punched first, Hipster can prove it. So, I called my Papa to tell him, he loves a good story.
Dear Opportunity, So very much has happened since we had our chance meeting at Starbucks when I wasn't wearing any makeup and hadn't washed my hair. It was so nice to see you, looking like you just stepped off a runway with matching accessories. Where to begin? Well, we moved. As I tenderly wrap my Marilyn sweater into a hug and nestle her into my new closet on a new wooden hanger, I thought of my Little King, and laughed. Four long years in 400sq ft, this is so much better. I am still figuring out where my life belongs in this place. Where to sleep? Or nap- both being very important and separate resting periods. Where to snuggle? Where Lucy curls up. My hubby thinking I am crazy trying to find places for things. I've never had to worry where things went. They only had one place to go: there. Where's the faucet position for optimal hand washing temp. Turning lights on and off for the first time, and guessing what Hubby is doing in the other room by the sounds. It's amazing. Using the new washer and dryer. Them, I love- cutting my laundry time in half by 3 days. Throwing out unpaired socks. Cause they won't find themselves and move over. Realizing that unsupervised Jilly will nest inside warm, clean laundry. Oh, then there's Jilly one week after vaginal reconstruction surgery and feeling much snappier. Being stubborn as usual and pulling me toward the dog park. Weird thing though she's still running into walls with her giant plastic cone, which I honestly thought by now she would've learned how to navigate. The impact may actually be making her dumber. A worrisome thought when you just spent $3,000 on surgery. But insurance paid for that, well most of it. But not the taxes, never the taxes. *insert fist shake Our new house isn't all washing machines and dog surgeries though. Don't forget the flood, the mail standoff, the mis-wired door buzzer and the constant upgrades, it's a disaster. The slow return of the neighbours, coming home to their dry but damaged stuff. It's an antique collectors nightmare! Irreplaceable heirlooms. Wood that's now more prone to cracking, splitting and splintering. One neighbour explaining why she thought she didn't need insurance; "Cuz nothing she owned was valuable"...Except when it all gets ruined at once and needs to be replaced. That's what insurance is for...Oh yeah, and of course, the last booming machine sucking up humidity into a giant plastic garbage tub is right outside my door. So, I decided to take advantage of the noise and put in a load of laundry. It's amazing how a sound can change when it's answering to your sock and towel whims and not the building manager's, who is scared everyone is gonna sue. It's a fantastic time of inconvenient building posts and no base boards. Otherwise, It's been a wicked month. I have a slightly regular job. Slightly meaning- 2-3 times a week. Commercials on the side, and this. I have watched my Likes grow and my web traffic increase to a steady flow. I created my first guest blog for Misfits & Mascara! Now, I have you. Your my new favourite and when you don't comment I get lonely. But as I say- I want you, to want to want me, but I don't want to ask.Love and Likes.Melicious
|
RSS Feed