Sweet Nothings

Yeah, it's 3:00 a.m. and I should be in bed. Not being able to sleep stinks. So I changed my blog around a bit. I was kind of over the old design. This is a bit cleaner, more contemporary. And adult.

So, after the show aired, suddenly it was like there was nothing going on. I had spent a solid year planning the wedding. Then there was the show to do, which took up emotional energy and time. Then after the wedding there was still the reveal, then planning our honeymoon, then waiting for the show to air.

It all came with either anxiety or excitement. Once the show aired, there was an abundance of nothing and I was overwhelmed by how ordinary things suddenly were. I had gotten used to feeling like things were immediately impending, with a certain level of worry. And then it was gone. And that made me feel weird and anxious. And then that went away.

And now? Now I'm enjoying the nothingness. I'm finally writing my book, I'm spending time with my friends, playing with the kitties, collecting dresses and seeing movies. It's remarkably pleasant to have such calmness and peacefulness again.

But that doesn't mean there is nothing on the horizon. Other than writing my book, I'm starting a savings plan for a 2013 trip. It'll be a final hurrah before we begin trying for a baby. I'll be 30 then and it'll be time. Emotionally it feels time now, but biologically it would be foolhardy not to get on that when I'm certain I want a family.

One thing we're not going to do is buy a house. We've talked about it extensively and looking at A. Our income, B. Our savings, C. Interest rates presumably going up, and D. Other more detailed extenuating circumstances, it's not in the cards. If we were living in our hometown, we could easily afford a house, something really nice for $200,000 or modest and charming for $175,000. But here in Toronto, where the average house costs $500,000? No.

So we're going to rent. We're going to rent indefinitely. We'll stay here for several more years and when we grow out of it we'll re-examine our finances and the housing market and go from there. We have a space downstairs that can convert into a nursery, we have a yard, and we can afford to save and travel. It's difficult to reconcile not buying a house with feeling financially secure, but times are changing. There's more than one way to achieve success, and a house is not for everyone.

And of course it'd suck to be house poor, which we would be, and not be able to add to my growing dress collection.

I have this dress on the way. w00t!

I heart this. How adorable is it?
No really, it's perfect.

I love this. It's by Knitted Dove, which I'm in love with right now.

No, we're not putting off buying a home so I can be pretty. Ha! But it is a lovely side effect to low housing costs to be able to have nice things.

Maid Service

Two posts in two days! The madness!

I'm hunkering down in my bedroom. The Dude and I decided to get maid service today. There's going to be some filming in our home and we don't keep this place that up to snuff. It's "lived in" around these parts.

Truth be told, it's messier, generally, than I would like. The Dude is a sloppy guy. He leaves too many spills, his dirty laundry coats the bedroom and he doesn't rinse his hairs down the sink after he shaves. So I have a few options: 1. Clean after him myself, 2. Nag him until he does it, 3. Learn to live with it, or 4. Hire a maid.

My method is a selection of all of the above, mostly 3, a touch of 2 when I think a dirty habit is worth forcing some change upon him, occasionally 1 when he's not around and I need things cleaner, and infrequently 4 if the situation justifies it. Today would be such a situation.

I feel odd having someone clean while I goof around, but I was a chamber maid in a hotel once. There were two things I hated while I was working: people hanging around in front of me while I was trying to clean, and worse, people trying to help me, which was no help at all because they slowed me down and messed with my mojo.

So I'm downstairs, away from the maid's efforts, and leaving her well enough alone to go about her business without intruding. It feels off for me, but based on experience, I'm pretty sure that's what she'd prefer. I can hear her bustling away up there, things sound like they're happening quickly. It's the pleasant hum of someone who knows what they're doing.

The Dude is with his brother this afternoon. He's working on a wedding project that had been his idea. No doubt he regrets it now. It's a display for the seating cards.

I bought these wooden tags, pink twine, some blackboard paint and rollers, and a chalkboard marker. I got the idea when I was trying to figure out a way to do a seating chart that, while being nice to look at, allowed me to make last-minute changes and yet work on it in advance, without having to print or frame anything, without selecting everyone's specific seat for them.

This was my answer to those concerns. It was alterable, something I could start any time, and I would not need to frame a thing or involve a calligrapher (Blackboards lend themselves aesthetically well to personal penmanship).

I would paint two tags per person, one rectangle, the other a circle, write their name on one and the table on the other, and then string the tags together with the twine. The Dude suggested we make a valet-key/hotel key-like display to hang them on, and I'm not one to turn down creative ideas I don't have to execute, myself. So that's where he is, getting wood and framing cut to size.

We stained the wood last night and it looks like a kitchen cupboard from 1987. So we'll be doing a white wash on it to keep the pronounced grain but lose the yellowing in the wood, making it more contemporary. Just one more step the Dude hadn't counted on. Such is wedding planning in general.

I really should post photos of this project, but the wood is gone right now, and even if it wasn't, I wouldn't feel natural disturbing the maid so that I could take photos of some apparently random planks of oak strewn about the apartment.

Floor Pt 2

Today is day two of the floor laying extravaganza. We decided not to kid ourselves with the giant linoleum rolls and went the vinyl tile route, which required yet another mystical journey to Home Depot, which sticks on the floor and is easy to cut to shape. It's actually quite perfect for a rental addition space. Regardless, it looks significantly better than grody carpeting from school portable hell.

Here is a view of the work in progress from the kitchen.

Here is the view from the middle landing.

There is the Dude measuring away.

It's been a banner day at the Jendra residence. The floor isn't the only new addition. My work delivered a new computer for me to replace my 10-year-old model. What prompted this was my wrist pain and the fact my old clunker no long ran my dictation software, and that I was slowly crippling my hands from all the straight hours of typing. When you do what I do for nearly seven years, these sorts of issues crop up.

But now with my new beaut of a computer, I can work safely again. I like that I can count on my department to take care of me in these ways when I need it. All I had to do was call and my needs were met. It's nice. I know that's what they're supposed to do, but not all places actually care.

But back to the floor, come tomorrow, things should be better. The kitchen can be cleared of clutter and junk and the (bleh) cat litter again, and resume its normal duties of just being a kitchen. The Dude will put the finishing touches on the new flooring while I try out my new Kitchen-Aid mixer and bake some happiness. The kittens, of course, will go on being kittens with fewer things to poke their noses into. And all will be well.

Home Improvement

The Dude and I are undergoing a major home project. We're property managers at our apartment, so on top of the Dude handling garbage duties, snow removal and general upkeep of common areas, we also give our landlady options to improve the place. She pays materials, we (meaning the Dude) provide the labour. We live in a better home, she has her property maintained.

So we thought (meaning I thought) the carpeting on the stairs leading to the basement was grody and had to go. It smelled, was constantly dirty and it was the sort of crummy threadbare rush job you see in school portables.

Day 1 was the day of my shower. The Dude attempted to get the materials, the bank card didn't work in three separate locations and he came home totally aggrieved and nothing got done that day.

Day 2 was yesterday. We bought the materials: vinyl flooring rolls, adhesive, adhesive trowel, a crowbar-like tool for prying nails, and a vinyl knife.

Day 3 was today. Today we lifted the carpet from the stairs. Holy merciful Jebus. The dust. The unimaginable dirt that had been sitting and living beneath this carpeting. And the nails in the runner were rusted-- and they were nails! Not screws, nails!

Here are the runners, rusted, dented

and now in need of replacing.

Here is a piece of carpet,

waiting to be disposed of in a land far, far away.

And a view of the stairs from the middle landing,

stripped of nasty carpet.

Tomorrow the real difficult work begins: the measuring and cutting of the floor, and renting a roller to lay the damn thing. But it'll be worth it. I hate that stupid carpet.

No Homemaker

I am not a good housekeeper. I'm not a dirty person or anything, but I'm lax in the tidy department. I'm comfortable with a bit of grime and dirt. And that is the current state of affairs of my home at present. Not gross or unhygienic, but... rustic, let's say.

When left to my own devices I'm merely sloppy, a little unkempt in the living room area, dishevelled in the bedroom and a dish piler in the kitchen. But the spills get cleaned, the bathroom gets scrubbed and garbage goes to live in the trash. Living with the Dude, life's gotten a little messier.

In the face of a messy guy living with them, a lot of women will take on the extra housework themselves and grow agitated. I personally have just lowered my expectations for my home's cleanliness. It's easier.

I tell myself that my children's immune systems one day will be glorious and that mine must already be ready for the plague. Well, maybe not the plague, I mean, my place isn't that bad. But still, this isn't exactly suitable for the delicate.

All of this means that we have to clean this place. We're having a BBQ this Sunday and while I'm comfortable with a certain amount of crust (Ha!), I can't bear the thought of exposing the people I care about to it. It's bad enough when unexpected service people have to poke through my place and I have to say, "Excuse the mess."

I do love entertaining though, and not just because I love seeing my friends (Which I do). It's a delightful way to instigate a massive clean up and get the Dude interested in scouring the apartment with me.

Cleanliness ahoy!

Le TV

The Dude and I got a new TV a few days ago. Was this terribly wise, considering we're saving for a wedding? Yes and no. Dude's been wearing me down for years on this topic. I had this tube TV that's about 7 years old, which was obsolete when I bought it. It was all of 26 inches, heavy as ass and it still worked. And that's all I cared about.

I'm the sort of person who doesn't upgrade. I will use anything until it breaks. I have the same toaster I bought to take with me to college 10 years ago. It was bottom of the line and it has no special functions. But damn, it makes toast. My electric kettle came from my late grandmother's house 10 years ago.

I had a touch tone phone with a cord that I was given for Easter when I was 13. That was my home phone until I was 23. I finally threw it away when it stopped hanging up properly and I missed calls, the last one notably a person I'd invited over and who could not buzz me because the phone didn't ring. I've never fully stopped feeling bad about that one.

My laptop I bought refurbished at the end of 2007 to replace the eMac I bought in 2004. Apple had stopped making eMacs by the time I bought that bad boy, so I got a great deal. Only when it stopped working and died on me did I consider getting a new computer.

I had the same futon bed and mattress for about six years, which I had bought to go away to college. By the end it had developed a deep grove in the centre and we'd fall asleep on an angle. In the morning the Dude and I would wake up on top of each other. It also smelled funny. So I cracked and splurged on a new bed, a proper adult bed with a pillowtop mattress. But to the Dude's dismay I didn't get a queen. The double seemed more practical.

So I was ready to hold out getting a TV for quite some time. But this living room is so dang small compared to the last one and the TV stand takes up too much valuable real estate. But such a large stand is needed for such a bulky old TV. So the Dude won and step one of making more space was getting a modern flat-screen TV.

And okay, it's pretty amazing. We didn't get the very best TV (of course) and we bought the floor model. We didn't get the 42-inch or the newest model. We stuck in a budget I could live with and quality the Dude could live with. And this was our first big shared purchase.

And it occurred to me that doing this before the wedding was actually kind of a good idea. We breezed through our decision making, sorting out the pros and cons and came to a consensus. It was the same way with choosing paint colours and it's been this way with making wedding plans. It's nice to know our communication holds up for large purchases for the home.

And I guess it's nice to have something up-to-date in the house. Such a rarity.

Found!

Oh my God, we found Sprinkles. I was in misery and then in a moment I was joyous. Such is the power pets hold over their owners. Or for cats, the power they hold over those they own.

We had given up for the night. It was dark, chilly and she's a calico, which meant excellent at blending into surroundings. It was hopeless.

I went upstairs a little after midnight to grab something from the old apartment and I heard a thud. Akin to "That sounds like a silo tipping over," I thought, "That sounds like a kitten jumping off a surface onto the floor!" I turned around and there was Sprinkles peeking out of the bedroom doorway. My heart sang, it really did.

We had worked out that after she ran out, she then crept into the hole under the stairs and stayed there. At some point, much like the ninja she is, she snuck back into the apartment and had been hanging out there for some time. What a character. Had me in tears and depressed and worried, and all along she was safe and avoiding us.

When I went to her, she was spooked still. The move was unsettling, the strange person in the house was frightening (she is not fond of men), and she was not interested in anything I had to offer. I eventually cornered her, took her in my arms and snuggled her against her will.

I took the squirmy kitty down to the Dude, who had passed out on the couch and woke him up while holding Sprinkles. She was dusty and wide-eyed, he was confused and then relieved and completely jazzed. She and Bea have been exploring the new place and seem to have adjusted, though Sprinkles is still a little extra skittish.

I can't imagine how parents feel when their child goes missing. I mean, I was sobbing and in agony over a cat I've had three months. We let the Dude's brother know we found her. Her said it was a good Friday. And it is.

As for the apartment, more things are unloaded and moved down. We need a whole lotta stuff to make this place work for us. It's gonna be expensive. And now I'm feeling extra happy I've already put down deposits on wedding stuff while I had extra monies and was able to get finite numbers of what stuff costs. For the next few months, we're going to be needing furniture.

Man, if we were 23 we'd be looking for milk crates and begging off old crap from family. Now I'll be looking to finance some condo furnishings from The Brick. I feel old.

Now I'm off to my hometown for some Easter goodness. Lent is almost over and I can have cake. The Dude is staying behind to be useful, god love him. It's been one hell of a week.

Sort of moved

I'm sitting on the couch in my apartment, the one I'm moving out of. There is little else left in this room: a lamp, DVDs, scratching post. Me. Sometimes the kittens, who totally have no idea what to make of this chaos.

The downstairs is really coming together. I have a lot ahead of me tomorrow. The Dude will be at work and after he's done, his brother is coming over and they'll be men and move the heavy stuff all man-like. I am no mover. I'm 5'2" and have the physique of... well, I don't know. No one impressive. Athletic I am not.

The Dude had a lovely time with me as I nearly dropped the TV stand, the bookshelf, the TV, unable to get a grip with my small hands and my short arm span with about zero muscle to get 'er done.

I'm kind of a liability with that sort of moving. I usually make better use of myself hauling the smaller, manageable loads. My thinking is that stuff needs to get done anyway, and it frees up the time and energy for stronger folks to do what I can't. That tends to be how moving goes with me. I'm essentially better than nothing.

But it was just the two of us this evening and the man I love must really love me because I would have driven a less enamoured man to drink. We painstakingly hobbled large things down the stairs, inching our way down. These various daunting trips exhausted me early, and further hindered stage one of the move.

What remains is our detachable couch, the bed, my vanity table, the bathroom storage unit and my work desk, none of which I can do anything about.

So tomorrow I'm lugging down clothes and toiletries, my nightstand, vanity chair, and the kitchen stuff. I also have to wait on the Bell guy to come and make the magic happen. So I'm still helpful, just not as helpful as the Dude's brother will be.

Home is where the effort is

Okay, so this whole moving thing be the pits. I'm really looking forward to Friday. Why Friday? Because on Friday all our junkola should be moved downstairs. And that would be glorious.

But some major work has been done. Painting, for example, is over like dover. McPal and his boyfriend came over and helped me get a couple rooms done Sunday. The Dude and I got it started Saturday and we polished it up today and then got to work cleaning the general grime 'n slime from the previous tenants. Not that they were dirty people. But there was the dust and goo and grit and crumbs that are standard issue in any rental and it all had to go.

Oh man... there is so much to do. More cleaning tomorrow, basically. And then we'll start the move and do that for a few days after work. Yep.

I'm feeling ambivalent about this whole thing. It may be that the impossible has happened. After 12 years of frequent, almost yearly moving, I'm finally completely over it.

What the hell have I been searching for? Why do I do this?

I guess I like the sense of promise a new place brings. Or a place I thought had charm was in a lousy location. Or the rent felt like too much. Or the neighbours were frustrating. Or I was going through a life change.

I've been wanting to settle in and nest for years. With this apartment we did that. We painted. We fixed things. We installed shelving. And now we're starting all over. It's really coming together and it's going to be nice, but damn if there's not a ridiculous amount to do. And when we're done moving in, we're going to need to reseed the back lawn, and remove junk and debris, and dig up a space for a garden. Why do we need to do this stuff? Because we're both aching for a home and not just a place to stay.

Is it weird how much I'm going to miss the living room? I really, really like it in here. The window is large and the light is lovely. The room is perfect for me. I think part of what holds me back from being enthusiastic about this whole venture is I kind of already feel like I'm home when I'm in here. I don't like moving away from home. Everywhere else since I was 16 has been a place to stay until now.

I won't be moved from the downstairs unit. Not til we buy. We've put more into this new place than we did to move up here. The Dude said something similar to this the other day. I was glad to hear it. My apartment wanderlust is over.

Unless it's haunted down there or something, in which case I take back everything I said. Ha!

Lent

There's something inherently nail-biting for me about having my landlord show my apartment. I always feel so judged and up for inspection, which really I am. And in this instance, it's also a look at potential new upstairs neighbours. I also hear what's being offered, and it's higher rent, higher utilities, and meanwhile the Dude and I have negotiated a wildly good deal for the downstairs apartment, so I also feel unnerved knowing that in comparison the upstairs place isn't such a steal.

Oh, but it's hopefully done now. I shouldn't let it rattle me so much, but it does. It's not like I am against the place being shown whatsoever, either. I just somehow feel guilty. I think because, again, we made such a good deal and I get concerned that we'll be judged more harshly on how we keep the place. That, and I have a tendency towards neurosis in a couple areas of life, like business and haggling, which essentially this is.

In a completely unrelated matter, I've decided for the first time in about eight years that I'm going to do Lent again. I grew up with it and it always did me some good. There's no real reason to throw away something so beneficial for me simply because I've lost my faith in Catholicism. I can pick and choose what I want for myself.

So I've given up dessert. No cake, chocolate, ice cream, or any other sugary treat that could be dessert material, like pastries, tarts, cookies, squares, mints...

It's day four and I'm not climbing up the walls. Frankly, I'm astounded. I'm not even fighting the temptation. It's weird. I eat sugary treats every single day. They please me, they make me happy, I love them, etc. I think it's the combination of having posted my decision on Facebook (Thus making me feel accountable to over 200 people in my list-- whether they care is besides the point), and the fact that while I don't know for certain whether any deity exists or not, I have just made a promise to whatever's out there and I dare not break my word just in case.

I do all sorts of things my former religion tells me not to,and quite happily, but as an adult I never freely agreed to those rules, so nuts to it. This however is a commitment.

When the weather started to really get ass and I started allocating money elsewhere, dance went by the wayside. Temporarily, but still. I've lost muscle tone and have gained a bit of flab. So frankly, I could use the opportunity of Lent to reduce my calorie intake. We'll see what happens.

The Dude came home from Cobb's bakery this evening and told me they were selling a St. Patty's day scone that was chocolate mint. I could've killed him.

Me: Why'd you tell me that?!
Dude: What?
Me: Now I know about it and I can't have it! Damn you!
Dude: Well, do you want me to buy you one and freeze it?
Me: ...Yes.

C'est expensive

Toronto is an expensive place to exist. Mostly due to rent and housing prices. You don't appreciate this sort of thing when you're in high school, or even when you're in college. I moved away for college, and I was shocked by rent costs in my GTA apartments. Living with roommates cost me over $400 a month.

Oh, but living with a roommate in actual Toronto was $675 a month. And then living alone was-- never mind. I once found a charming one-bedroom for $750 in the west end, a convenient two-minute walk on either end from halfway houses and a needle exchange. And I'm not being sarcastic calling this art deco place charming. It was an adorable nook of a place.

But I saw a filthy homeless ass, there were drug dealers lurking in the shadows, decrepit locals hanging outside of dingy bars, dog feces on the sidewalks and I felt very ill at ease being out past 10:00 p.m. It was the neighbourhood that was the problem, specifically the southeast end of Parkdale. Shortly before we moved out, a neighbour was shot in the leg with a shotgun. I never really regretted leaving. They say it's up-and-coming, and I'm sure it is. But I wasn't prepared to invest more of my time and sanity to wait it out.

The Dude and I fantasize about home ownership. First thing's first, of course: the wedding. We have a good handle on how we're going to pay for a decent one without going into debt. A home, though, is another beast entirely. Here we pay for rent and 1/3 of the gas and hydro bill. Home ownership means you pay 100% of all the utilities. Something breaks, it's your problem, so you need an emergency fund. You also need monies for property taxes.

And a nice Toronto home that's not soaked in cat urine or out in non-Toronto need-a-carland? Starting around $400,000 in neighbourhoods that aren't so great yet. Once they are great, toss on another 100 to 150 grand.

Condos then, yes? A two-bedroom not in a horrible area, you're looking at $250,000 minimum. But maybe only 700 square feet. And don't forget the condo fees. *Sigh*

On top of everything, the Dude is a freelancer. So only my income will really matter when pre-approving us for a mortgage, as I'm the one with the reliable job, 'cause that's how banks like to do things and they're the ones in charge.

There was a time a home cost a person a year's salary. Now they cost many, many year's salary. How is that reasonable? Well, I suppose I do get it. There's only so much land, and way more people than ever. Demand, demand, demand.

And this, my friends, is the sort of blog post you get when the writer can't fall asleep and watches a couple hours of Property Virgins on HGTV.

La Baker

Yesterday I fulfilled a small ambition I've had for years. I went to a cake baking class, step one of learning how to do cake design. I now know about a dozen things about cake baking that I didn't know before. Plus I came home with recipes, and some new tools. Wheee!

I made a bitchin' little vanilla buttercream cake. It was bakery good. I feel like I got my money's worth for the class, which was a prerequisite for the decorating. I can now make a tasty bakery-style cake prepped for fondant frosting. I'm pretty jazzed about that. Unfortunately, I now have 3/4 of a cake in my fridge and not enough mouths to eat it before it goes south.

I also realized something about my current place. I need a bigger home. More to the point, I need a bigger kitchen. Looking about the little box that constitutes my current kitchen, it's totally impossible to make cakes in there, not with the kind of room and appliances I'd need. And I have to bring a prepped cake to the decoration class, which I've made at home. And we're 12 months away from being able to move anywhere. *Sigh*

But it was still a step in the right direction. I learned I love baking cakes. I already knew that (I love baking in general), but working with kitchen mixers and palate knives really brought it to another level. Cooking = meh. Baking = yay!

I miss the kitchen in the house I grew up in. It wasn't anything special, really. The house was not very big. The kitchen was a small-medium size with a regular electric stove/oven and a small double sink. There was enough counter space for a dish rack, microwave, hand blender and a little empty surface area. There was a country-styled kitchen table, long and rectangular. I used to make cakes and cookies then, and it was enough space for me. It's to this day the biggest kitchen I've ever had at my disposal. It was also cozy and charming.

I've made the mistake of not making my household kitchens a priority. When I was first living alone, my bedroom was the most important, the bigger the better. I was still mentally stuck with teenager concerns. Then it was location, and then closets. The next place I live, I'll be thinking Kitchen.

No heat = hibernation

I'm still writing my book. It's coming along slowly, but every time I take a go at it, I move the plot forward. So this is good. So long as it doesn't feel painful, impossible or stale to write, I should be okay. It's a huge project. I just need to stay on task. Unlike every single other time in my adult life when I've tried to complete a full work of writing.

I won't be writing today, however, because I'm overtired. I keep sleeping far too long and at the wrong time. The result is feeling like a lumbering groggy bear being disturbed during hibernation. Speaking in full sentences today is proving too much to ask of me. Also, it's chilly in this place. Had a conversation with one of the downstairs neighbours yesterday. She said she would address the heat issue at a later time.

There would be no heat issue if they would just come to accept the fact that the Dude and I are deserving of warmth in our own home. I mean, come on. It's November in Canada. There will be no more turning off the heat, I don't care how much money you'll save if I freeze to death during the day.

I need to practice my dance choreography for the student gala. But lately I've been too damn cold to get motivated. I don't want to be out from under the covers. Unfortunately, being cozy under the covers leads to falling asleep, and therein lies the basis for all my irritations today. Amazing what a little heat in my apartment would solve.

Can't Take The Heat

Happiness is an organized closet. Actually, happiness is when your living room is no longer cluttered in junk because the closet is organized. Total bliss is when your boyfriend does it himself and you reap the benefits. Eventually I'm going to post some pictures of the place all finished and junk. It really feels like an honest-to-peaches home.

Unfortunately, as I mentioned before, there is a heat issue with the downstairs neighbours. There's always something. We thought it was going to be smooth sailing with these sisters at first. They introduced themselves right away, were friendly, and we were charmed by their pleasant Australian accents.

But then it turned out they don't like turning on the heat. We couldn't understand it at first. I thought perhaps it was just warmer down there. The Dude thought perhaps they were cheap. Well, the Dude was right. I was a little right; it is warmer downstairs, but they keep turning off the heat because they're trying to cut down the bill.

This would be a decent energy-saving idea if it weren't for the fact I work at home and shivering at a desk in a 14-degree apartment is not going to fly with me. So the heat goes on.

We're trying to be reasonable about saving money on the bill. We've planned to insulate a door, shrink-wrap an old window in the hall, and live with 18 degrees instead of a more comfortable 20. But that still has not seemed to ease their minds downstairs.

One sister knocked on the door the other day and told Dude they wanted to cap how much they would pay and have us pay the rest. Our lease agreement says we are to pay 30% of the utility bill, as we occupy roughly 30% of the building. So we're not going to be subsidizing their share of the utility bill.

It's just so awkward. They're from a much warmer country than Canada. One sister said the gas bill was outrageous. We looked at it, and, well... seemed pretty standard for a Toronto winter. Heating bills get high in this city in December, January, February, and turning off the heat at any time in -15 degree weather is so not going to happen. How do you politely get the point across to your new and otherwise pleasant neighbours that if they can't afford their bills, that's not really your problem?

I know that for them they had a sweet deal being able to turn off the heat while everyone was gone at work. But that deal was, you know, a deal. Now the "sale" is over and it's not up to us to make sure they can still afford the gas. We moved in knowing we can afford it. I feel kind of like we're being controlled by another household's budget. I hope this gets resolved.

In happier news, my bee costume arrived. And I was right, I don't look sexy, I look cute. But that being the story of my 5'2" baby-faced life, I'll take it.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, I'm a bumble bee
Cutest little bee that you ever did see,
I like to make my own honey
Buzz, buzz, buzz, I'm a bumble bee

(And a total kid, deep down inside)

The stomach growls, the body shivers

Putting off buying groceries means finding creative ways to eat. The Dude and I haven't gone grocery shopping since we moved... 13 days ago. Yeah. 13.

We've done the old run to the store for a handful of things, ordering in, grabbing takeout, eating snacks, filling up on popcorn at the movies, eating at other people's houses and so on. We need to go today. It's getting ludicrous. It came to a head for me when I went to go make some toast and found the bread was mouldy. So I ate what was left of a bag of BBQ ruffled chips for lunch. I feel like a slug.

I crave vegetables. I've been dreaming about them again, making meals with zucchini and carrots and peppers. Then I wake up and it's a godforsaken tease and I go scrounging in the kitchen for scraps of something, old takeout, forgotten leftovers, something, anything.

This needs to stop. I did this all the time when I was 22. I'd say nuts to groceries, as I was a bad cook and often didn't bother, and I'd just run out and grab a sub, or a pita. Problem solved. Now the thought of doing so depresses me. I want a homemade meal. I've gotten accustomed to eating like a real person. The thought of more pizza makes me feel like retching.

In other off-skilter-tilter type news, the Dude is downstairs talking to the neighbours about the heat. It was 14 degrees in here last night. We share the heat controls and they're about five degrees warmer than us. I hear a pleasant conversation taking place. That's encouraging. Last night we clung to each other and shivered ourselves to sleep. Apartment growing pains, they keep a comin'.

Moneys

Sometimes I want to be an angsty teen again, only because I never had to pack up all my belongings and pay the bills. Sure, I cried for no reason and had pimples and went to high school and over-analyzed my crushes, but whateves. I spent my money on candy. And to get said money, I babysat and worked at a pita place occasionally. Oh, and a hot dog cart. I really liked working at the hot dog cart.

I also spent money on clothes, movies, slushies, poutine, temporary tattoos, hair dye, highlights, nail polish and alcohol I bought on the sly. I miss that. I miss being an irresponsible frivolous person.

And now I'm off to go buy paint for my new apartment, and putty for the walls. Yep.