The list about last weekend:

  • The Fiery One and I went to Cosmopolis to see our friends and family again. We don't get to go up there very often, so when we were offered a cheap car trip by one of his co-workers, we jumped on it.

  • I do not eat a lot of meat, especially beef, but over Friday and our trip up to Cosmopolis, I ate a beef burger, a chicken burger, pork spring rolls, chicken breasts, and a dish of blackened chicken linguine. Ew. Choosing to go the vegetarian route never looked so good to me or my small intestine.

  • Over the two nights that we stayed there, we drank beer and more beer and then some gin, because that's what we do when we're there. It was fabulous, and then it hurt, and then it was fabulous again, and then it hurt again. My liver is surely wishing that I was a quicker learner.

  • As illustrated by the previous two points, I treated my body like a garbage bin for three days, so now I have a sniffly and achey cold virus. It's all my fault because of my refusal to be all growed up, so I am making myself sit at work on drugs. It's not so bad, because I'm too whacked out to feel any pressure or stress whatsoever. I am in a happy place that hurts just enough to keep me awake.

  • Good things came out of our visit, too. I did the customary shopping at my favourite second-hand clothing store and came away with:
    • A light brown suede coat worn in just enough that I avoid looking like an uptight suburbanite attempting hipdom and still look damn good in it.
    • The scarf of my dreams. It is a Forsyth scarf circa 1964 in the ever lovely maple leaf tartan. I have a weakness for this line of vintage wear and already own two different Forsyth shirts and a man's wool tie in this classy pattern.
    • A sage green, mid-length, wool winter coat with a reddish fox fur collar. It is also circa the 1950s or 1960s. It came with a matching mid-calf, A-line skirt, which I gave to my mother-in-law.
    • A faux-leather purse in deep burgundy. I have been schlepping around with an embarrassing black rubber bag threatening to come apart at the seams, so it is nice to be able to hold my head high and carry my purse with confidence.

  • I have not had the funds to indulge in retail therapy for ages, so on top of all my other purchases, I also went out and bought the new Elliott Brood cd. I am a goofy schoolgirl fan of this band. If anyone can make you accept banjoes outside the folk music genre, this band can.

  • We went out to a restaurant with my parents, and next to our table was a family with a multiply handicapped little boy who reminded us very much of Wade, my older brother. My parents have a habit of staring openly in public, which I think is some kind of holdover from having grown up in a hamlet, and I was uncomfortable with the family possibly not understanding that we weren't staring because of any kind of prejudice but out of nostalgic reminiscence.

    It turned out that my father had taught the parents years ago and helped the husband of that family come to terms with his grieving over the birth of a differently abled son. He and his new wife at the time were only in grades eleven and twelve. So, in the end, it was much less embarrassing and way more touching-on-the-verge-of-true-human-contact.

    That is, it was until the mother person asked me how it was growing up as the younger sister of someone like my brother. Then, I wanted to leap under our table and pretend to look for a contact lens, because, YIKES, that's a big and complicated question when I don't even know your name and it's Sunday lunch at a family restaurant.

    He's the biggest reason why I might never bear children, for gad's sake, despite how much I love him and would never give up having grown up with him. I just told her something lame like it bettered me as a person and left it at that. Don't hit me with the hard sincere crap after two nights in a row of heavy drinking.

The list about stuff other than last weekend:

  • The Fiery One saw some guy checking me out at the grocery store last night. Me! I got checked out!

  • I am starting NaNoWriMo today, so updates, if they happen at all over the next month, might be sparse, short, and grammatically depressing.

  • I wrote an entire first page of my NaNoWriMo project over the lunch hour today. I was all proud and self-back-patting until I arrived home after work. I assumed that I had e-mailed myself a copy of what I wrote, so I deleted it from my work computer's desktop before leaving for the day. Guess what? I didn't e-mail it to myself. I just wrote it, and then I deleted it. Boo.

  • I am designing a weblog template for someone, and she stumbled upon it accidentally, and she likes it! This thrills me. I was just going into an overthinking spiral, convincing myself that it was not at all what she would want.

  • Oskar, the poor kitty, has to have his food taken away at 8:00 pm tonight, because he goes in to have his fuzzy wuzzy testicles hacked off tomorrow morning. I am feeling an unreasonable amount of guilt about this, because there is no way for us to explain to him why he can't eat or why in the hell he is going to feel so awful tomorrow.

    I just found myself cuddling with him and explaining in a soft voice how this is all for the best and to please not hold it against me. Which one of us in this scenario do you think really needs the therapy?

Now I am off to recreate that which was already created and then destroyed, because completing NaNoWriMo isn't going to be hard enough without deleting my first spurt of inspiration. Bloody hell.

Wish me luck!

It's Kind Of Like Looking At That Book About Cats That Paint, Only Different