October 2006

Hello, I’m updating my blog two-hundred times today! Aren’t you lucky?

Today, rather than unpacking like a maniac, I have been running errands and picking up various things in various places.

I mention this not because running errands is all that interesting (generally) but because I managed to hit Zellers, Canadian Tire, a grocery store, Subway and McDietCokeLand and.. I DIDN’T GET LOST!

I even found my way back from all of these places without having written instructions. (I realize that, in most cities, the answer to ‘how to get home’ is simply to reverse the directions. Not so in KW. No, that would be too easy!)

Man, this day is TOTALLY going on my calendar.

We have made our first impression on the ‘hood.

I took the dogs for a long walk around the neighbourhood – up a hill, down another one, across a field.. Despite multiple parks and green spaces, there is only one garbage container anywhere around us and it appears that all walks will need to go by there unless I want to bring the little presents home with me. We will need to get creative. Coffee suggested we install one of these and I think he may have a plan, Stan.

As we made our way up one of the hills, I heard the sound of running feet fast approaching. I looked over my shoulder and saw what could only be described as a ‘herd’ of children barreling straight for us. The first child shouted, “CAN I PET YOUR DOGS?!” I said yes, but cautioned her that they ‘jump up’ a bit and that she should be careful of her face ‘just in case’. Within moments, every child in the class (and the teachers) were crowded in a circle around us. It was very paparazzi-like.

Both dogs were paralyzed with glee when every single one of the 30+ kids began petting, scratching and otherwise mauling their fuzzy bodies. Tails were wagging like mad, but both beasts had expressions of serious “you’ve blown my mind with this!” They couldn’t figure out what to do – so they stood still and enjoyed every second of it.

The kids, who were around 10 years old if I had to guess, were giddy and told me stories about their friends’ dogs, neighbours’ dogs and their own dogs. Each one had a better story than the last. (“Oh yeah? Well MY neighbour’s dog is named Barkie and he’s BIGGER than that!” “Yeah, but my dog’s name is Dave and he’s a poodle! He’s curly!”)

Meanwhile, Zooey had one kid’s face within reach and proceeded to lick until she could not possibly make it any wetter or grosser. The boy, however, had the biggest grin on his face. As his teacher commented, “And YOU said you weren’t having any fun on this walk!” I don’t know about ‘fun’, but I’m pretty sure what’s on his face now is drying to a fine crusty film.

As they walked away, the kids asked if they could take the dogs – and I fought the urge to hand them the leashes and run in the opposite direction. Maybe tomorrow I can just drop both dogs off at the playground of the school?

I’m off to Canadian Tire to pick up some basic necessities (and a bird feeder to encourage more wildlife). Maybe if I’m lucky a herd of handsome handymen will ask if they can pet rub my belly, too! Isn’t that how newcomers are welcomed in this town?

Remember when I said that driving in KW is kind of stupid? And that it’s very much a non-intuitive system of roads they’ve got here?

Allow me to provide an example – the directions from my home to Canadian Tire, as provided by Google Maps.

Directions
1. Head west from [my street] (so far, so good)
2. Turn right at [next street over] (okay, that works!)
3. Turn left at Blucher St (also good!)
4. Turn right at Weber St W (okay, we’re on Weber St W!)
5. Bear left at Weber St S (um, Weber St S?)
6. Bear right at Weber St N (what?? Weber.. North?)
7. Arrive at 400 Weber St N Waterloo, ON

Gee, that’s not even SLIGHTLY confusing now, is it? Sheeesh.

Did you know that movers are okay with hauling boxes around that weigh about 100 lbs? I did not know this.

Now that I have this information, I can see very clearly that we underpacked most boxes. It also explains why the movers were freaking out about the sheer number of boxes we were going to cram into this place. They thought each box contained large items or many items when, in all actuality, there were three cans of soup and four muffin pans in each one. We could have condensed our box needs to about half of what we used if I hadn’t been worried about crippling the movers.

While watching the three guys (Richard, Simon and Jim) carry load after load of boxes into the house, I realized that “mover” is yet another career option I can safely cross off my list of potentials. I don’t even like moving my own stuff, let alone someone else’s, and the guys had some fabulous horror stories about various customers that screamed incessantly about how they were packing the truck or were drunk at 7:30 am or.. well, you’ve met members of society, right? Picture them stressed out and taking it out on movers. Not my cup of tea.

Toward the end of the packing process, I started to get a little funky with my labeling of boxes. (Coffee, on the other hand, wasn’t labeling things at all by the end.) I wrote, “Lesbian Oven & Muffin Pans” in place of ‘toaster oven’. And instead of writing, “Socks, Underwear, Lingerie” I grabbed my Sharpie and scrawled, “Socks, Gitch, Whips, Chains, Porn and, oh, hell, alcohol too!” I was entertained by that. Greatly.

On seeing that box, the movers told me stories about things they’ve had to pack for people (that’s one of the services they offer in addition to simply hauling stuff around). Things like swings over the bed and handcuffs that they had to request the keys for from the owners. Things like strap-ons and dildo collections. Large pump bottles of lube. Weird things they couldn’t identify (!!) and frighteningly large butt-plugs. Things, in short, that I’d be inclined to pack myself – not necessarily out of modesty (I mean, we’re all having sex, right?) but because I couldn’t handle the idea of someone touching it or being freaked out by it.

That part of being a mover would rock. Not the sex-toy-stuff necessarily (though it’s always good to know what the new toys are, right?) But there is nothing I love more than snooping through someone’s stuff – and, quite frankly, it’s rare that you get a chance to do it. I can’t bring myself to pry open someone’s medicine cabinet when I use their bathroom, let alone rifle through bedside tables. Part of the joy I found in house-hunting was shuffling through every manner of decor, every style of wall-hanging, and wondering at how people come to find paisley wallpaper appealing. I’m sure the people who toured our house were wondering about us, too, so it all balances out.

I was so grateful to the movers, though, for.. well, moving me. It would have taken me two weeks to load up a truck and two more weeks to unload it. Not to mention we’d have needed three times more boxes due to my weak and feeble girlie arms. To hell with three cans of soup and a muffin pan – I’d have had one can of soup in each box and STILL complained about carrying it. It was hard to restrain myself from tipping them each with every penny in my bank account just because I was so pleased not to be sweaty and sore at the end of the day.

My mother used to say that there was no shame in doing any job in the world – manual labour or otherwise. We need lawyers and doctors and garbage collectors and painters and teachers and movers and all the rest – and I’ve got to agree with her on that, of course. I need those people very much. All of them.

Having just emerged, shivering, from a very long and hot soak in a bathtub, I feel it is necessary for me to tell you all the things I love about the new house. I’m just not mentally prepared for a big ol’ blog post or a jaunt through my inbox (I’m kind of afraid to open it, really!) ..

The first, obviously, is the soaker tub. I mean, DUH. I am wrinkly and pruney and all of my muscles are relaxed and this is just plain fabulous.

I’m pretty sure I could have avoided all those panic attacks last year if I’d had a tub in which I could submerge myself (instead of lying in 2″ of rapidly cooling water with my belly, breasts and knees popping out from the surface of a very shallow tub!).

I could very easily lie down and have a nap right now, except..

Coffee is coming home for dinner tonight! He’s taking advantage of that option this evening and we’re going to eat some leftover pizza and some of the Chocolate-Chai cake Melle brought us on her way out to dinner last night. (Mmmmm. Chocolate cake with chai icing is.. heaven.) The possibility of seeing Coffee in the afternoons? Unspeakably decadent.

I am madly in love with the solarium and have spent every spare moment out here watching the birds, the squirrels and even the chipmunks. CHIPMUNKS! The sun felt so nice on my face this afternoon – especially without the cold chill of the wind. The dogs, too, think it’s the greatest thing since pork chops.

I love that there are several trees near the house (but not TOO near) with limbs and branches that will be perfect for hanging bird feeders.

I love that the new house is very quiet. I can hear cars in the distance, occasionally, or a siren from a far-off emergency vehicle (we’re not far from a fire house) but there are no rumbling steel trucks or honking horns. It’s quite reminiscent of the house I grew up in, to some extent, in that I can sit still and not hear anything other than my breathing.

I love that when I woke up this morning I wasn’t feeling panicked or worried – I felt “at home”. I felt comfortable and safe and, even though I slept badly due to being in a new place, relaxed. Part of this might just be due to the relief of being “moved” now – but I think the house has very good karma.

I love that I’ve been unpacking and.. unpacking and.. unpacking boxes in the kitchen and there’s still room in the cupboards for all the various things I have not yet unpacked. (And oh, the boxes just will not END!) There’s a lot of storage in that little room!

I love that there’s a water softener for the shower – I forgot how different my skin feels and how well soap/shampoo lathers with the softer water. My hair detangled almost instantly when I ran a brush through it afterward! Another reminder of my childhood home, though the softener there wasn’t installed until I was in my teens.

I love that there are interesting plants in the yard – plants I’ve never seen before! – and that, when spring returns, I’ll be surprised by all the blossoms and blooms and green shoots. I can’t wait to figure out what everything is – and I intend to harass Kelly and make her break out all the key information to help me out!

I love that there are french doors everywhere. I love the light and the windows. I love that I can have all the doors open – or closed! – on a whim.

I love that there is a dining room AND a living room instead of one big (and poorly planned) room. I feel fancy walking around in my own house!

There’s more – so much more! – but it’s nearly 5pm and Coffee will be home for dinner soon. I’m going to go and unpack a few more boxes (upstairs, though) before he gets here. Wheeeee!

The concept of a solarium – or a “sun room”, if you’re male – is fantastic. A big room that’s mostly made of glass that allows sun to stream through and a fabulous view of everything going on outside – but with none of the crappy effects of being outdoors. No chilling cold, no freezing wind, no bird-poop-on-the-head.

My only complaint about the solarium on our house? It’s so bright that I am squinting while I type this.

Man, my life is HARD.

The movers pulled their gigantic truck out of the driveway here in Kitchener around 5pm yesterday and left behind more boxes than I ever imagined. I had forgotten just how much crap was in that 10×10′ storage locker and had only been focusing on the stuff we recently packed. Oops. Still, the movers were quick and efficient and came in UNDER budget. Rock ON.

Now I just need to find the urge to unpack something other than my laptop. (Priorities..)

It seems pretty likely that I’ll update again later – once I’ve walked the dogs, showered and found some additional caffeine. For now, however, I am home and I am very happy.

(Shhhh, I’m not here! Don’t tell anyone!)

It’s very early in the morning on M-Day. Very early. VERY EARLY. I feel delirious and sick to my stomach but I chugged most of my coffee anyway because, did I mention it’s very early? When the alarm started blaring this morning at 4am it was playing “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails (the uncensored version – because, did I mention? It was 4am) which lended a bit of a surreal feeling to the situation. I remember partying to that song at various 4a.m.s in the past. Yeesh.

Last night we drove up to the new house to check it out and drop off a few boxes. We wandered from room to room touching walls and peeking out windows and flipping every light switch off and on a few times. I planted a garden gnome on the front lawn and a hippo on the front porch (it’s akin to peeing on a tree – I’m marking my territory!).

I think we’re going to be very happy there. I really do. Once my anxious teeth-grinding stops, I mean.

At any rate, it’s now 5am and the coffee is kicking in and I need to go and change out of my jammas and start shoving final bits and pieces into boxes. The movers will be here at 8am and then we can GET THIS PARTY STARTED.

I’ll be back soon! Thanks for all the good-moving wishes!

It is time.

For the past week and a bit I have (mostly) avoided email, commenting on other people’s blogs, obsessively playing Combat Sudoku and gnashing my teeth into oblivion. Now it is time to take the next step in fully demonstrating my commitment to moving.

It is time for me to stop writing here and actually pack the rest of the boxes.

Consider it a mini-vacay from me until at least Tuesday (when the internet switch is turned on at the new house) at which time I will be full of fantastic stories, adventures and giddy descriptions of our new abode. Maybe even a photo or two. Possibly some hysterical stories (and by ‘hysterical’ I don’t mean ‘ha ha’ I mean ‘ohmygodmakeitstop’). But we will be moved and I will finally unclench my teeth. All good.

Don’t forget me while I’m gone, ok? I mean, if you’re gonna’ remove me from your blogroll or your RSS reader, now IS the time to do it because I won’t be here to see it, but in a way, that’s kind of like sneaking out of a party when the hostess has gone into the kitchen to refill the pigs-in-a-blanket.

Look, I don’t even know what I’m talking about anymore.

I’ll be back sometime after Tuesday, please send good vibes for a smooth move (ex-lax!) and I’ll catch y’on the flip side..

The beagle is not a fan of this concept called “sharing”.

If there is food in the room and she can access it, the only way to prevent her from scarfing it down is to somehow wedge your body between her and the edibles. This is also referred to as “taking your life into your hands” because the beagle is not known to be a big fan of negotiation. It is HER food and YOU are an idiot if you think otherwise.

Most mornings the breakfast-time feeding of the dogs goes smoothly. I toss some chicken chunks to the big dog and then some to the little dog and they eat them peacefully before they go for their morning walk around the neighbourhood with me.

The trick is to keep the beag from seeing Daisy’s food and going for it. Once she has it in her mouth it’s a horrible process of yelping and howling and snarling when we try to retrieve it. As much as possible, we try to avoid any need to take food from her jaws.

This morning both dogs were happily gnawing on their food when I realized that the beagle was wandering around the kitchen with the chicken in her mouth. She’s usually very good at staying in one section (so no one can get her food away, of course). I wondered what was up, so I made my way over to discover that she was shitting while eating.

She was shitting AND eating at the same time. Food went in one end, poop came out the other. Simultaneously.

Now, the dilemma with this is that the moment I try to grab her and get her outside (to finish said poop in a more appropriate locale) she will begin to snarl and freak out and swallow the chicken in giant wolfing mouthfuls in order to make sure I cannot take it away from her.

This howling and frothing will upset the other dog who will flee the kitchen (likely will carrying her chicken) and I’ll have to then chase her around to avoid a mess of bloody chicken bits on the living room carpet. It’s also quite likely that the beag, having scarfed down a whole chicken in one bite, will spend a portion of the day ralphing it back up.

So, rather than cause a meltdown first thing in the morning? I let the beagle shit. As she ate. On the kitchen floor.

My life is so glamorous.

Of all my preferred activities, and of all the things I love to do most in life, sleep is pretty darned high up on that list. Napping and sleeping late are the hallmarks of a Good Day in my world. If I could snooze for a few hours every afternoon I’d be a very happy girl.

As a kid, I had the earliest bedtime of any of my same-aged friends. It wasn’t because my parents were evil (though at the time I was pretty certain they were because I wanted to stay up ’til the same time my friends did) it was because I am a complete asshole without sleep.

Missing even a few hours of my precious unconscious time leads to misery for everyone around me. It usually starts in the mid-to-late afternoon.

First I become irritable. I snark and I bitch and I complain and I scowl. Once I have made everyone else crabby with my completely unreasonable idiocy, I switch over to being overly emotional. Now all the grouchy faces that I CAUSED with my earlier snarking? They make me cry. Oh, woe is me, everyone is grouchy!

God help you if I go through a bout of insomnia or have early-morning appointments two days in a row. Break out the holy water and just stay faaaaaaaaar away from me.

My life encourages sleep! Not having kids means I do not have to get up at any particular time any day of the week. I make the choice to get up with Coffee in the morning – to spend some time together and wave goodbye to him when he leaves for work – but it’s not something that I have to do.

Not working means, of course, the same thing. It also means that I am free to nap ‘as needed’.

Without an alarm there is a chance I will sleep until noon. When I wake up too early – by alarm in particular – I feel sick to my stomach. Literally, I am physically sickened by the process of waking up to an alarm clock. Thus, I try to avoid them whenever possible.

My friends are all aware of my reluctance to commit to early-morning rendezvous more than ‘occasionally’. When we coordinate to get together the question is inevitably lobbed at me: What time will you be getting up? I do get up very early sometimes, like when we’re heading for a cross-border shopping trip, but there’s no guarantee of coherent conversation from me or even an awareness that conversation is taking place.

I get teased a lot – about being lazy, about being narcoleptic, about being just like a teenager – when it comes to sleep. Just know that I nap FOR YOU. I do it so that we can continue to be friends!