Oh hello, moving day

Seriously, you guys

Assuming that the movers actually show up as scheduled, it's moving day. Yes I said movers. I'm all grown up and shit now, remember? Please see previous post if you've already forgotten. Grown UP. My apartment is currently a sea of boxes and I'm having minor panic attacks every time I walk through the main room but I'm sure it'll only get worse better, right?

Please keep in mind that I'm once again moving into a *smaller* apartment so will somehow have to cram all this crap, two cats and an architect into a mini-space. Not particularly looking forward to it - trust me. Also not looking forward to the fact that I'm going to be cooking on an electric stove again.

Am looking forward to the new neighbourhood and the balcony and living with the architect again, though. It's not all bad. I just have to get through the next few days.

Or so I keep telling myself....

Acting like a grown-up

Last week the architect and I had one of the best conversations we've had in a long time. Possibly ever. We were pretty honest with each other about where we stood in the relationship and where we wanted to go. Result - I've given up on apartment hunting and will be moving into The Cottage with him. We've been mentally spending the money we're going to save (rent is $500 less a month!) on this not-quite-as-cute apartment and have high hopes that the increased fun money and the trips and outings and adventures it will bring can fix what was broken.

It's been a shitty, shitty 2010, guys, but I've always counted my years from September to September, so here's hoping that this one will be better. Fingers crossed.

In the meantime, we're going tonight to see a friend from my childhood play with Dan Mangan at the Belly Up tonight, so I'll leave you with Robots. We need love too, you know.

I rule. It's true.

So my Saturday evening is consisting of getting mostly dressed up to go out with a friend then realizing that he didn't want to go out until like 10pm and then I had a minor panic attack b/c I couldn't figure out wtf I would do with myself for three hours beforehand and I was worried that I'd drink myself stupid like I did the *last* time I went out to a club and so I cancelled.

Now I'm drinking myself stupid but I'm wrapped up in my fuzzy seahorse blanket in my jim-jams so that's ok. If I end up passing out on the floor at least I don't have to worry about waking up to realize that I've made an ass of myself in front of local radio celebrities. Not that I've ever done that.

More than twice.

In other news I've realized that, even though this separation / end of marriage thing is all my fault I seem to be taking it way harder (or at least not getting over it as easily) than the architect. Ironic, I know, and much as I enjoy the opportunity to use that word correctly, yeah not so much this time. Though good for him, I guess - he's getting out and doing things and having fun which is where all of the problems began (you know, 'cause he just wanted to hang out at home and never wanted to go out with me so I felt old and stifled and like my parents and now he goes out all the time while I sit at home wearing too much eye makeup and my pjs. Fuck you irony I see you there.)

skyscraper. I love you.

scattered pictures of the smiles

Sometimes I think back to how things were just over a year ago. Sure I was fat & getting fatter. I drank two bottles of wine a day. I made almost no money. We argued about that fact. But holy fuck compared to how I feel right now, I'd give anything in the world to magically teleport myself to those moments where I felt like I was at home, not this dislocated sense of being the world's most collossal fuck up.

Though shit let's not kid - I always was the ugly stepsister, doomed to a life alone with my cats, being discovered by my neighbours when my decomposing carcass begins to smell like week old shellfish left on the counter.*

I hate playing the what if game, but sometimes I just can't help myself. What if we'd stayed in Vancouver. What if we'd found a cheaper apartment. What if I'd never taken this job. What if we had paid attention to the stupid little signs that things weren't right. What if I wasn't such an emotional fucking cripple and had been able to express myself 4 months, six months sooner. What if What if What if.

What if and a six pack might catch you a buzz. Probably not, though - it'll just get you fat.



*FYI - that's also pretty much what the Salton Sea smells like.

It smells kinda funky

Yes these are dead fish.

Anyway, the downside to disappearing to the desert for a 3-day minibreak is that on the day you have to come home you find that you really really REALLY don't want to come home and so you decide to take a 100 mile detour to the Salton Sea because once you saw it on Bourdain and it seemed all romantic and cool-like but it's really just smelly and full of dead fish. Also you develop a massive stomach ache that feels like someone has grasped your esophagus in their fists and is SQUEEZING your carne asada quesadilla back up towards freedom, which isn't good because it's kinda chewed up now and couldn't make it on its own in the real world. Fortunately I don't have any photographs of the carne.

praise jeebus for sangria

The good think about taking yourself on a 3-day minibreak to the desert is how fucking HOT the desert is, so really all you can do is lounge poolside drinking sangria from a (BPA free, thank you very much) plastic bottle that you smuggled in under the watchful eye of the rentacops. Every once in a while you peel your sweaty self up off the lounger and kind of melt your way towards the pool where you splash around listlessly (way to hot for any kind of list) (though I was probably listing after a bottle or two of sangria). Lather. Rinse. Repeat. When even this becomes too much effort you wander upstairs for a shower and a nap. Clearly I should have spent more time in the desert when I was unemployed, because that is the life I was born to live. Of course I couldn't afford to do it then (and can't really now, because I have 8 days to vacate my apartment and still nowhere to relocate myself or the cats). But that's a story for another day.

this just in

So somehow when I was sunning my whalebelly on Sunday I managed to sunburn my ass. Not my whole ass, of course, just the sections surrounding my bikini. While I do have a small ass for someone of my advanced years, I'm not quite brave enough to bare it to the world in Balboa Park.

Now, though, I kinda look like the cross section of a radish. It's not a good look. Just sayin'.

Of course the chances of anyone actually seeing it to appreciate the essential radish-ness of said posterior are slim to none, unless I accidentally (heh) forget to lock the door to the ladies room at work tomorrow. Nothing like that frisson of workplace exhibitionism to really add spice to the job.

In seperate yet not unrelated news, I'm headed up to the desert for a minibreak this weekend. Sadly I shan't be accompanied by Hugh Grant, his voluptuous head of hair or his sporty convertable. Just some girls from work. I'm ok with that though. Who wouldn't be? I mean, of course it would be better if Hugh was coming too,(or, better yet, Dave Grohl) but I'm sure I can get into enough trouble sans Dave. Or Hugh. Or heck, even Jenson Ackles. Who, by the way, was apparently galivanting around Vancouver shirtless last week. This is the shit that happens when I leave town. Assholes.

Let's not kid - all three would be best because, heck, a girl's got needs and variety is the spice of life and all that crap. And I just decided that J.Ackles would not be allowed to wear a shirt the enitre time. In fact, he may never be allowed to wear a shirt again.

You are welcome.

around the internets

Ok so I'm home sick in bed and I finished my novel at the beach yesterday and am way to depressed to read David Foster Wallace (currently my brain is functioning at a level incapable of anything more complex than eating chocolate ice cream out of the container with my fingers) I've been surfing the innerwebs looking for something to amuse myself.

I found this blog that I'm loving (people are so much better than I am) which led me to this post. I know that I don't really have many readers left (the whole once a year posting thing is a bit much to force on even the most loyal web-friends) but in case you are out there, check it out. Oh. Not if you are a boy. You will run screaming into the night before the end. Trust.


**edit**
Also this one - very boy-friendly, though if you are sensitive about your (or your children's) half assed hallowe'en costumes you should give it a miss. And take the pickle out of your bum.

Gut check time (result - soft and squishy and unhappy)

As I lounged at the park yesterday I had to stop and contemplate wtf has happened to my life. A year ago I was broke but really pretty fucking happy. The architect and I had a great relationship, I was bored as hell sitting at home all the time but I felt like I had a home, at least.

Now, though, the architect and I are separated and don't know if we can work things out. I have a job that I mostly really enjoy but pays a pittance so I'm faced with finding a new apartment (can't afford the rent at Chateau Wyatt Earp on my own)so will still be broke, but am not happy and don't feel like I have a home.

How the fuck did I end up here? I'm 38 years old. I miss my family, especially my kid. Why can't I be happy? What is fucking wrong with me?

Home sick today because I woke up with a stress headache at 4am. Took some painkillers but they hurt my stomach so here I am.

proper workplace bathroom etiquette

Riddle me this, loyal readers.

Yes all two of you.

I understand that there are times when you have to "use the bathroom" when you are at work. You know, "USE the bathroom". While (imho) such activities are best confined to your own personal bathroom, in the comfort of your own personal home, I allow for emergencies. Shit, so they say, happens.

However, and this is a big one, what kind of person leaves the bowl anything less then pristine? There's a container of soap right there. There's a toilet brush RIGHT THERE. Who are you? Where were you raised? Did your mother teach you nothing?

Swear to god I've cleaned more toilets since starting this job than I did in the entire year previous. *shudders*. I have no desire to bask in your atomized e.coli, believe it or not, and I'd really prefer it if you would take care of your own business, after you take care of business.

Thanks very much.

stinkin' facebook

Seriously.

Not that I'm an addict or anything, or that I rely on Facebook to schedule my private life and keep in touch with pretty much everyone I've ever met (or not met, what with some blog-friends being up in there as well) but the past couple of weeks my account had been "unavailable due to site maintenance" or other issue and it's driving me off the frickin' edge of the world I swear to dog.

And this blog post has been brought to you by Social Media, in its bid to take over the world.

Other than that... went for drinks last night at a local beer / pizza joint and had a grand time. I think it's fair to say that most of our money worries have been more or less resolved. While I loved being able to sit about the house in my jim-jams most days, life sans paycheque was getting a bit stressful. I mean, the only thing the architect and I ever argue about (aside from my occasional drunk belligerency) is money so it was a bit rough at the end, there.

Now we're talking about buying a house and going out with friends for dinner and I've started to re-build my boot collection so it really feels as though all is good in the world.

Especially the boot part.

Having just finished Julie & Julia, I decided to make Oeufs en Cocotte for breakfast. I'm not actually using Julia's recipe 'cause it's not the first one that turned up in the search on the google-machine but I still feel as though it counts. They smell good (and fat-drenched but that's beside the point) so that's something.

------------

Hi, Vince - nice to know I still have a reader out there, somewhere. I had the good fortune to meet up with him for lunch when he was passing through SD. Oh and I went back to that Thai place when our office took our department out for lunch and the wait was equally long, despite the restaurant's echoing chambers. So there's that.

...

Oh.

Hi, blog.

Long time no visit. I'd like to say that I'm taking this opportunity to get back on the wagon, and make all kinds of grand pronouncements about devotion to daily writing and crap like that, but let's be honest with each other, shall we? I'm busy. Things will probably never be the same between us - I don't have a crazy lifestyle worth writing about; you don't care to hear about my boring every day lifestyle.

But you are my blog, goshfukkit and if I feel like boring your pants off, well then heck I will.

So there.

yeah so

Two months down the road and not much has changed. I'm a year older and a year dumber and same old.

Distressing news for those of you who have been following the life of the kiddo. After breaking up with his high school sweetheart he took up with a party girl and lost himself head over heels. Sadly, though, he fell back into his party ways and has been delving a bit too deeply.

Now she's dumped him and he's bereft and I'm hearing it all second hand, of course, because I'm thousands of miles away and I don't know what to do. I feel like crying and puking my guts out and tearing out my hair but of course none of those things are helpful.

Any words of advice or whatever would be appreciated.

Pdjjaaag

Fireworks and charred meat

Another semi-eventful US birthday celebration spent here in the bear republic. We didn't actually do too much - pulled our bbq out onto the sidewalk/lawn in front of our apartment and chilled with drinks and some neighbours - but it was a good time. We all talked about doing it more often. I have to admit it reminded me of being back home on the front balcony with the sister and the architect, except all that could be heard from three sides was the distant boom boom thrump of fireworks.

The fourth side was, of course, my fancy new MGMT Pandora station. Have I mentioned how much I love Pandora? And Jian Ghomeshi, despite some apparent internet backlash against him. Granted this backlash is half a decade old. Is he a douchebag? Or was all that controversy mitigated by Billybobgate? And he was in Moxy Fruvous? Who knew? Does this change how I feel?

Well not really, since the basis of my deep emotional thrust towards Toronto is based entirely on three words: "Well hi there". I don't actually need to listen to the rest of the program, as long as I have heard that. Sad but true.

Summertime CBC

Happy day after Canada Day! Though technically it's not a holiday, here, I am unemployed so was free to sleep off my hangover, eat PB & Banana sammiches in my chonies, and get crumbs in the bed before heading down to San Diego's only real option as a Canadian bar - an Irish pub owned by someone from Vancouver.

We drank Labatt's Blue and Moosehead (neither of which I'd ever drink in Canada, btw), I handed out dollar store Canada pencils, and had a jolly good time.

Things I've (re-)learned about myself whilst listening to the Ceeb this AM:

1) So they were playing a documentary about living on Fair Isle off the coast of Scotland and I was reminded of how I have a strong desire to live in the middle of nowhere in a small place. I mean, I'm a city girl but at the same time I've got just enough granola in my sushi to make me yearn for a simpler life. Of course I have a total black thumb and am seriously addicted to dinners out and easily accessible cheap red wine so I've no idea how that would work.

2) I have a crush on Jian Ghomeshi(sp) that is based entirely on how he says "well hi there" at the beginning of Q every day. Yes I'm a loser.

Tenuous grasp fingertips of mortality

I had a phone message this morning from a former neighbour. I guess one of the other fellows who lived there passed away yesterday, after spending 8 days in a coma. I don't know any details, just that his husband is trying to sort out all the details and deal with everything and that a fantastic human being isn't here anymore.

I have to admit that I feel a bit guilty. This man was a caring human being who did his best to make us feel welcome when we lived in that little complex and I feel like we didn't do enough to show our appreciation or friendship. You always think that you should call or visit, and then you get caught up in what you are doing and it slips your mind. No big deal, you think, I'll pop in the next time I'm in the area.

Actually I thought that exact thing on Thursday, when I was at the salon down the street. I should pop over and see if anyone is around... say hi... but I didn't. Of course, by that point it was too late, and Chris was already in a coma that he wasn't going to wake up from. I didn't know that, though, and maybe his husband would be there and need a hug or just a quiet ear.

It is almost a miracle that they managed to get married during the short time it was legal here in California, since he spent his last 8 days in ICU. His husband had to show the hospital their marriage certificate just to get into see him.

That's two people I've met in SD who have passed away this summer. Is it the age? Now that I'm in my mid 30s my friends and acquaintances are going to start dropping like flies? Ick.

Just beat it.

Am I the only one who's already tired of hearing about Michael Jackson's untimely death? I can't possibly be. It's all over twitter, the facebook, the rest of the innerwebs, and even my beloved CBC. Sighs.

So I've decided on a name for my little business. For the sake of world's colliding privacy, I shan't post it here, but if you send me a little email I'll send you a link to the in progress website. It is not, by any means, anywhere near completion so be merciful, please.

So we were supposed to go to a little cocktail hour last night for the architect's work, but by the time he got home he was totally tired and not into it. There I was all little black dress & camel leather shoes, pretty hair & perfume, not a dinner preparation in sight and he wants to veg on the couch.Fortunately I've become a recent convert to a big salad with a poached or soft boiled egg on top, so we had that for dinner along with some bruschetta, and it all turned out awesome. Since I've been unemployed I've been making increasingly elaborate meals during the week - it's not like I've got much else to do, after all - and I kind of forgot how sometimes a light, simple meal can be super satisfying.

Not that I'm turning this into a food blog, or anything, just sayin'.

Stretch out your legs and dance with me

After an extremely low key yet somehow rather rewarding weekend I find myself unwilling to make the transition to my day to day weekly routine.

And when I say routine I mean walking to the library and/or grocery store, cleaning, and lounging on the patio vs lounging in my bed.

The idea of actually getting a job is something distant. It's not that I don't *want* to work - I do, and not making my own money is kind of awful - it's that I don't know how I would transition from being on my own slow southern time to being back in the workaday rush rush rush. Plus when would I cook? We'd be eating dinner every night at midnight if I were stuck in the commute home. These are the things I obsess about when I wake up at three am and can't get back to sleep, which has happened the last three nights in a row. Le sigh.

Discombobulated

So I got a facebook message last night from TNB (blast from the past), asking if I would write him a character reference letter.

Since it's not for a job, I assume that it is in reference to some kind of custody thing. I'm happy to do it of course, but I find it a bit ... weird isn't the right word. Interesting works, but in the old Chinese curse sense of the word. May you live in interesting times, indeed.

I need a name for my little business venture. I have some ideas for business cards (similar to the new blog header up top, there), stationery, advertising etc, but need a name before I can go much farther than that. Any suggestions would be welcome in the comments. My first instinct is to avoid the raspberry motif, but then it is something I am fond of, so who knows.