Here I am, edging the trim in our bedroom, smilin' away. Isn't painting FUN!!



Let me tell you, that smile eventually faded. Some genius told me it takes 45 minutes to paint a room and I believed them. Do you realize how grossly inaccurate that is? I thought, in all seriousness, we were going to have it all done on Sunday. In my deluded mind, we were going to paint four rooms in four hours, take a break for an early dinner, then apply the second coats and be done by 9pm.

Haha.

Hahahaha.

AHAHAHAHAAHHAHAAHAHAHHAHAHAA!!

It is now four days later and we have the bedroom completely finished, minus the trim, the dining room is finished minus the trim and edging around the ceiling, the living room needs a second coat, and the kitchen is still untouched.

Painting is HARD, yo. I felt like I'd been steamrolled on Monday morning from all the bendy-twisty-rolly action of the day before. You get sloppier and messier the longer you go (TWSS?) and you stop caring about being precise and neat in favour of finishing up already so you can have a stiff drink, clean up your spills, and cry. (Another TWSS? I'm on a roll).

Lesson learned: Next time, we won't bite off more than we can chew--we'll stick to one room at a time!

How can I put this in a way that doesn't make me sound like some sort of gross nudist pervert? I'm not always the most diligent about wearing clothes when I'm home. Years of living in apartments with no windows in the bathrooms, kitchen, etc. will do that to a person.

You're ready to hop in the shower and realize you left something in the bedroom, you don't bother covering up to go grab it...at least I don't. I'll just run out in the buff to get it. I'll be getting ready for work and the dress I want to put on is in another room. I don't get dressed to GET DRESSED, if you know what I mean. Peter doesn't complain and I don't think I've flashed any bits to any unsuspecting victims.

Anyway, I've gotten into the habit of being au naturel pretty often; not in an unsanitary way (I'm not sitting at the dining room table completely nekkid or playing Guitar Hero in my birthday suit), but yeah, I do prance around the house in various states of undress on the regular.

Saturday night was our first night spent in the new house. Sunday morning, I was home alone and needed to get dressed. Let me preface by saying the house is still quite a disaster zone...we're sleeping on the floor in the spare room and our clothes were in giant black garbage bags piled on the living room floor. So I went downstairs to find some clothes in my very natural state. Hunkered down over the garbage bags, I cheerfully searched away for the ones labeled "Amy" on a quest for a pair of shorts.

And then I realized...we have neighbours now. Neighbours right across the street. Neighbours who can easily see right into our living room windows through our very sheer curtains and are probably choking on their eggs and toast at the sight of my white ass in the air. I hit the floor and slithered, random shirt and shorts in hand, into the sanctuary of the kitchen. More windows! There was nowhere to hide! I squatted in front of the stove and yanked on my shirt (backwards) and shorts (inside out) in record time, panting and feeling very much like a deer that just dodged a pack of hunters and vowing not to parade around in the buff unless the blinds are securely covering the windows.

Lesson number one: do not let your neighbours see your bathing suit areas, especially on your first morning in the neighbourhood.

When I was almost four and a half, my happy little kid world was thrown into turmoil. My sister was born, a baby so fat her nickname was Michelin Man because her arms and legs had as many rolls as the Michelin tire mascot. With the arrival of this chubby newcomer, everything changed. Suddenly, I had to learn to share, both the spotlight and my toys. I had to be quiet during naptimes, even though Laura screeched at all hours of the day and night and kept me awake. Abruptly, I had to stop being the baby and start being the big sister.

I loved my new role. I volunteered to hold the baby, feed her, play with her. I read to her and played music for her and tried to teach her how to walk. I would follow her around the yard, holding her hands above her head and trying to hurry her along faster than her plump baby legs wanted to go. She'd fall on the ground, and I'd swing her back up to her feet, somehow not pulling her arms out of their sockets, and keep trying.

Before long, she was the one following me around, and I was getting tired of her always being there. My mom was busy with a new baby, our brother, so it was my job to entertain Laura.

We shared a room, and I'd flop on my bed with the newest Babysitter's Club or Nancy Drew in my collection on a hot afternoon. Laura would sniff me out after about half a second and want me to play with her. I'd scream at her to get lost and then stage a dramatic wailathon to my parents about how I didn't have any privacy. "You two are sisters. You should get along better," Dad would say. He built me a bedroom in the basement so I could have my privacy. The first night I slept downstairs in my new room, I lay awake half the night, listening to the noises of the house, imagining bugs in my bed, and wanting to be back upstairs in the pink room with Laura.

Growing up I think we were always just one or two years too far apart to be really close. When I was suffering my way through puberty, she was still playing with dolls. When she was starting to get crushes on boys, I was driving and drinking (not at the same time!!) Our lives didn't really overlap except for the occasional brief little bonding that would happen over a girly movie, a shopping trip, a song on the radio or a parental injustice.

But even though we had very little in common, I always felt like I could vent to her. Even if she had no idea what I was talking about, she would listen and nod, generally agree with me, and once in a while throw in a little bit of insight. I told her secrets like crazy and knew she wouldn't rat me out and to this day she is one of very few people I can confide in.

Once Laura got out of high school we became a lot closer. Suddenly we're both adults, and for the first time in our lives, the playing field is level. We can both drink and go to R-rated movies and own vehicles and come and go as we please. We've both lost jobs, survived messy breakups, and embarrassed ourselves while waaaaay too drunk. We're peers now and we're more alike than either of us ever thought when we were kids.

Next weekend, Laura is getting married and it's weird for me, because as silly as it sounds I'm still getting used to the fact that she's grown up, that she's actually old enough to be someone's wife. I'm going to have to get used to the notion, but a big part of me still sees her as the chubby little toddler in the yard. I'm glad we've been able to become friends, and I'm happy to say she's one of my best friends. Dad was right...sisters should get along. I'm happy we do.

And I'm definitely going to bawl at the wedding.

Last night, I admit I got a little misty-eyed and emo looking around our apartment. We've lived here for two years, and it was the first place *we* picked out together and decorated together...the first apartment I have lived in that truly feels like it's been a home. The apartment is nice and spacious, it has AC, it has pretty maple cabinets and stainless steel appliances and a jacuzzi tub and a ton of good memories. (Why are we moving again?)

Then we went to bed...and one of our awesome neighbours decided to operate a circular saw until 1am. What apartment dweller even owns a circular saw? Who does carpentry work on Sunday night at midnight?! WHAT COULD POSSIBLY NEED CUTTING AT 1AM???? As I lay there, unable to sleep, I began thinking about the things I won't miss about apartmentland.

1. Weird Neighbours.
There will still be weird neighbours on our street, I'm sure. The difference is we won't be attached to them. They can be as weird as they want in their own house and in their own yard. Run your circular saw 24/7, I won't give a shit.

2. Elevator Drama.
I will not miss waiting for the elevator, riding in an oppressively hot elevator that smells like farts, being squeezed into an elevator with eight large senior citizens, or making awkward unwanted conversations about the weather.

3. Laundry Drama.
Currently there are about 12 units sharing two washers and two dryers. Nine weekends out of ten, one of our riff-raff neighbours will put their stuff in the washing machines on Saturday morning and leave their wet clothes in there all day. I refuse to be the jerk who moves people's clothes out of the machines so I usually just stew and run out to check every 15 minutes until they move their stuff to the dryers, slamming doors and making a lot of unnecessary obnoxious noises in the hallway to get the point across. Being able to wash and dry clothes whenever we feel like it will be a nice little luxury. Bonus--we'll be able to hang clothes outside to dry!

4. Parking in the Elements.
I almost can't wait for winter so I can NOT brush snow off my car and scrape ice off the windows. Almost. I am going to be able to go from house to car without even stepping outside. Suck it hard, Mother Nature!

5. Power Failures Do Not Apply.
Our apartment building runs on a generator which is awesome/awful. Awesome because the power never goes out. Awful because when other people get to call in to work because they had no power to get ready, I have no excuse, but have to show up all clean and blow-dried and such. Now I too get to stay home and freeze with candles and a deck of cards and boxes of stale crackers! Woo hoo!

6. White Walls.
The first thing we're doing, after we clean the new house top to bottom, is painting. Nary a white surface shall remain.

7. Going Outside Requires A Plan and A Vehicle.
So a few weeks ago, it was a nice day and I wanted to go outdoors to read. I had to give it some serious thought as to what park I was going to go to, drive there, find parking, and walk to a suitable reading spot only to be sexually assaulted by someone's dog. Then another dog came out of the contaminated harbour where it had been swimming and shook fecal harbour water droplets allllll over me and my book. I'm really excited to be able to go outside and sit in the grass or on the deck in our yard whenever the urge hits, without investing an entire afternoon or getting molested by strange animals.

8. No Trick-or-Treaters!
Living in a security building with very few children, we never got any trick-or-treaters before on Halloween. One of the things I'm most excited about is having kids come to our house to trick or treat. Our new neighbourhood is very kid-heavy and I'm sure I'll be taking back my Halloween enthusiasm after we've doled out treats to a couple hundred kids, but right now, I'm excited to have our first batch of ghosts and goblins arriving. Same goes for Christmas lights. Being able to decorate our yard for Christmas sounds really fun right now, and will probably continue to sound fun, until we get our December power bill.

9. No Dogs.
This is a huge one for both Peter and me because we both grew up with dogs, we both love dogs, and we both suffer from serious dog envy when we see people walking their pooches around our neighbourhood. We haven't lived in an apartment where having a dog would be practical or even fair, since we hate the idea of keeping a dog cooped up in a small space all day and only letting him out for quick breaks. Our new house has a fenced-in backyard so there will be lots of room for a dog to run around without taking off.

10. Old People Are Firebugs.
Our building is largely populated by old folks: good because they are total watchdogs and will notice right away if there are any unsavory characters around, AND because they're mostly deaf (turn up the surround sound as much as you like...they can't hear a thing.) However, it's bad because they do stupid stuff like put a casserole in the oven and then forget about it and wander over to the mall for six hours or fall asleep. We have a lot of fire alarms, and sometimes they're legit fires. Last year the whole eighth floor was destroyed because some lady forgot her supper was cooking and went out visiting, her food burned and the sprinklers came on. Knowing that we won't be burned alive because of old people being forgetful makes me feel just a tad safer.

Those are just a few things I won't miss about life in an apartment. There's plenty I will miss: for example, not having to shovel snow or do yard maintenance, and being able to just call the landlord anytime something isn't working right, and generally having no real responsibility...those are all pretty fantastic. Depending on how you look at it, renting and owning both have their benefits. What do you guys think?

Never have I ever...

-mowed the lawn. (Or started a lawnmower. I don't even know how to turn it on. I THINK it's a pull cord?)
-planted a shrub.
-painted a wall.
-cleaned an oven.
-changed a light fixture. I have changed a light bulb, I'm not a complete imbecile.
-operated a barbecue.

It's not because I was spoiled growing up, ohhhhh no. I worked hard in other ways. Have you ever spent a 35 degree day with zero shade walking up and down a field throwing bales of hay up onto a wagon? It was because I was such a clumsy kid my parents didn't dare let me operate anything motorized. I would have absolutely been the kid you hear about on the evening news that runs itself over while mowing the grass and gets chopped into little bits.

Anyway, it's time to take off the white kid gloves because I'm going to be doing all these things and more very soon. We do our final walkthrough this weekend and if all goes well, we'll have the keys by Monday. (Who am I kidding? I'm still not going to mow the lawn.) And then it'll be two weeks of cleaning, painting, moving, unpacking and decorating. Goodbye apartment, hellooooo housey.

I am feeling totally unprepared. Hold me.

In six short days, we get the keys to our new home. Pete and I are both very excited. Only one of us is freaking out. Hint: this person wears makeup, drinks Diet Coke and occasionally menstruates. Any guesses?

How do men stay so bloody composed all the time? They maintain this veneer of calm no matter what's going down. Peter could be engulfed in flames and he'd just stop, drop, and roll like it's his job, without making a peep. I'd be a fireball running screaming into the night. I would burn to a crisp. Peter would dust himself off and go eat a piece of chicken and not even mention the incident again.

So, as per usual the moving thing is playing out like everything else we do as a couple, with me being an agitated witch and him remaining completely unruffled. Well folks, this move is going to be unlike any other because guess what? I'm turning over a new leaf. Welcome to Operation: Don't Panic.

Rather than being the crrrrrrrrazy wife who shrieks and cries and throws sharp things and acts insane when the going gets tough, I'm going to basically pretend I'm a dude. I'm going to put stuff in cardboard boxes and not shed tears about it. I'm going to purge my closets and drawers and not get sentimental about keeping things. The less stuff I keep, the less stuff I have to pack, is my new mantra. It all needs to get done, and I can either cry and bawl or I can shut up and do it, right?

Right.

I will put on my music and pack my things like a normal human being and not a tempermental hyena. I will clean the new house without stabbing anyone. I will paint the new cupboards and walls peacefully and reward my hard work with a nice cold Moose Light. I will remain presentable throughout the unpacking and decorating process and the new neighbours will not have to cover their kids' ears to muffle the sounds of my cursing.

And in less than three weeks we are going to be snug and cosy in our new, clean, pretty house and I'm going to look back and say, "That wasn't bad at all! Why was I such a psycho?"

Operation: Don't Panic commences now.

There are countless articles and news reports about how women lug far too much stuff around on a daily basis in our bags, how it can throw our spines totally out of wack, and how we'll become some sort of sideways Quasimodos by age 35 unless we start leaving unnecessary stuff at home. Well, doctors, I am going to have to disagree. Carrying around granola bars in assorted flavours, 15 lip products in different textures and shades, and a selection of emergency tampons in various absorbencies is not negotiable.

Fabulously Broke shared an interesting post today about the value of what we carry around every day. The theory is that most gals are hauling hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars' worth around on the regular. She did an analysis of everything that's in her bag, including the bag itself, and tallied up the result. I decided to try it too.

Bag: $450. (Remember that Coach post from last week? And how I was going to go "look" at the bags?)
Sunglasses: $6. Yay Forever 21!
Phone: $150.
Wallet: $65.
Cash: $4.27. Big spender!
Sharpie: $3.
Burt's Bees lip balm: $3.
Camera:$150. I don't usually have my camera in there but I brought it along for the weekend.
Prescription glasses: $200.
Headband: $4.
Calcium chews that I overdose on because they're chocolate: Probably about $1 worth. I am going to have a BULLETPROOF skeleton.
Granola bar:75 cents?


TOTAL $1,037.02

I have never considered this before. Suddenly, I feel a lot more paranoid.
Please don't rob me.

How much are you carrying around?

GPOYW: "I'm alone in the office making faces at my computer" edition. I have my bangs pulled back today because they're at that awkward, needing to be trimmed stage and I'm not sure whether to cut them again or grow them out.

Exhibit B: With bangs:



I'm not sure what to do. Why do bangs grow so much faster than the rest of the hair on my head?!

Any thoughts? Snip or grow?

I'm too shy to go to a sex store to buy penis-shaped accessories for a bachelorette party.

My sister's stagette is Saturday and today I went shopping for it. I got all the standard dollar-store accoutrements: the veil, the boas, a dice game, a scavenger hunt, et cetera. But something is missing from my bag of hot pink fun and games: there is a distinct lack of wang.

Unfortunately, Dollarama and the Great Canadian Dollar Store don't sell weiner paraphenelia, being respectable family environments, so my only option is to go to a bona fide sex shop. And in my town, such establishments are either (a) in sketchy neighbourhoods with unsavory characters lingering around outside looking for God knows what, or (b) in the very centre of the city located at the corner of an extremely busy and well-lit intersection.

So basically I have two choices: get shanked and left to die in a gutter full of empty Tim Horton's cups, or have clients/coworkers/friends/neighbours (because I KNOW someone's going to see me slinking through those doors no matter how sneaky I try to be) think I'm some sort of role-playing sexual deviant out shopping for strap-ons or flavoured lubes or whatever vibrating contraptions they sell.

I don't understand this shyness! Number one, I'm not shy. Number two, I'm not a prude. Number three, if someone told me they were too skeeved out to go to a sex store, I would make fun of them. When the shoe's on the other foot? I can't do it!

Because of my hang-ups, my poor (lucky?) sister is going to have a stagette party that's penis-free, unless there are some gutsier bridesmaids in the wedding party that are willing with putting their lives on the line to get a cup that's shaped like a wang.

I did pick up a bum pincher...



Look out!

Halifax is getting a new Coach store today and when I first heard it was opening, I got very excited. But the more I think about it, the less of a hoot I give. Here's why:

I'm cheap.

Coach doesn't really apply to me. Upon browsing their websites, it appears that the cheapest shoulder bag is $298.00. That's about...$248.00 more than I've ever spent on a bag. As pretty as they are, I simply can't justify spending 300 bucks on a bag. Yes, I know it's an investment. I know that you take the total price of the bag and divide it by the number of times you'll wear it over the course of a lifetime and it actually costs JUST PENNIES A DAY!!

For example, let's have a look at this little number, the Alexandria. *swoon*



Price: $358.00
Frequency of Wear: 3x/week
Duration of Wear: 6 years

3 x 52 = 156 x 6 = 936
$358.00/936 = 38 CENTS PER WEAR

How affordable is THAT!? Yet for some reason, I'd rather pay $25.00 for some canvas shit at H&M that I wear maximum 10 times before I spill an entire double rum and coke inside it and have to throw it out.

For me, it's easier to justify spending money on something that's more boring practical--new furniture or a car tune-up.

Never mind that the bag is kind of an investment. And I'd use it practically forever. And it is totally necessary. After all, how can you carry things without a bag?! And it would go with everything. And it's pretty.

I might go to Coach today, after all. Just to look and browse and stuff. I might pat one of the bags. I might try it on and practice carrying it around. But I won't be buying anything. No sirree. Not this bear.