Being in my mother's house when my mother isn't in it is sort of depressing. When I'm in my place, it's normal to be without Mom, but when I'm here, it's really not. I'm certainly not alone, of course, there are three boisterous cats - no, two boisterous cats and one lethargic ball of fluff - to keep me company, not that they do a good job of that when they're all sleeping in rooms where I'm not. Willi IS pleased to have me home, though, so much so, that this morning she woke me for food and then immediately curled up again in bed with me. I miss my Stinky Bee.

Yesterday, I saw Dr. Tovich, a strangely named man of Chinese extraction, who is remarkably pleasant. He is a neurologist of some note, and he has never treated me as a research possibility, a child, or a pest. He takes his time and asks a lot of questions, expecting his patients to ask many in return. Without resorting to catch phrases like 'it's just your migraine pattern maturing' he told me that there is little that can be done, other than pain management, and that my course of treatment is very good. This does not mean he dismissed the seriousness of the condition at all and, in fact, he's sending me up for a CAT scan.

Today, as I said, I slept late with a cat curled up with me, and then I spent a lazy few hours in my nightgown and robe watching, if you can believe this, Can't Hardly Wait, a teen movie that came out some time in the last couple of years. Amazingly, I got completely engrossed in it and even found myself completely filled with satisfaction by it's end. Bizarre. Then I decided it would be a very good idea to get some laundry done and put some decent clothing on.

I hopped in Scarlette and drove up to Portage Place to get some things done - including part of my gift to Rick for our 2nd anniversary. I was NOT pleased to hear that it won't be ready in time, but since I can't afford to pay for a rush order, I had nothing to do but accept that he'll have to wait for the final bit of his present. Oh well, there's nothing to be done but wait.

Upon coming home, I sat down at the kitchen table and finished Maya, a book by Jostein Gaardner, which Nick had bought for me. This was the same book that he read over the course of one night when he crashed at my house. What can I say about it? Um, it was philosophical, to the last, and confusing. Just when I thought I'd gotten it, a moment in which to shout out, "Eureka !", I realised that, in fact, I didn't get it. I -think- I liked it. I -think- I even agreed with much of it, but I don't know what I was supposed to get from it. I guess that's the thing about philosophy; all that thinking.

Chances are, if you breathe and can hear, you are aware that Canada won a gold medal in men's Olympic hockey for the first time in 50 years. In fact, fifty years to the day, if I am correct. You would also know that we didn't just beat the USA, we beat them into the ground. 3-2 was a lead, then 4-2 was an insurrance policy, but 5-2 was just overkill - not that I mind, of course. I had the game playing on the stereo at work, which, with the exception of one schmuck who didn't want to hear the game, went over quite well with the customers. There was a lot of healthy patriotism in the air. The celebrations began almost immediately after the victory.

The same celebrations that terrified a stray cat so much that it ran through traffic to seek shelter in the store's foyer. Worried about it, since a couple people thought it might have been hit by a car, we allowed it into the store where it immediately slunk into the corner behind the tarot table and chairs. It was a sweet black and white cat, that originally we thought was quite young. A woman from the street, a customer in Heretic (who'd bought that fabulous corset that I wanted), myself and Leala (?) from Siren (the compitition next door) worked the street trying to find out if the cat belonged to someone. No luck. Even less luck on the phone with the Humane Society and Animal rescue services. Apparently, they do not pick up cats. The humane society doesn't do it anymore (cut backs anyone?) and the rescue services don't because I suppose strays aren't worth it. Imagine that, it's an ANIMAL RESCUE SERVICE. One of the women involved in this rescue operation joked that we should call the cat a small dog in order for it to be helped.

Anyway, Leala said that she lived just past the Humane Society so she would take the cat there. The cat had not moved from behind the chairs for twenty minutes at this point. We were starting to worry that the little feline was truly injured. Finding a cat-sized box with a lid proved a bit of a challenge, but eventually one was procured and I donned my leather gloves for cat lifting. I didn't want to risk being bitten or scratched by what might actually be a stray cat. I shifted the table and chairs and cooed at the poor creature, then very gently lifted it up and cupped it under the bum, setting it into the box. That was when I realised that it was very likely a little female and she was pregnant. She was VERY wide, and very heavy, far more so than her stature suggested. She was also very sweet and pretty, with beautiful golden amber eyes.

With that over with, though I'm sure there is a continuation of the story yet to come, I awaited Nicole's arrival at the store. This took only moments and there she was. Together we drove up to Home Depot and bought four feet of chicken wire, wallpaper paste (now called adhesive, though paste was pretty clear), and several feet of fine copper wire. It was masque making time ! Arriving at Nicole's parents' house, Mark was nearly finished cooking us dinner. He is a culinary master, I will have you know. He cooked stuffed red pepper with curried something or other and goat cheese, avocado and tomato salad with grated cheese, and asparagus in hollandaise sauce that he whipped up on the spot. It was one of the most amazing meals I've ever eaten. I thanked him profusely. Nicole confessed to me when he and his daughter had left that she had only imagined he'd do pasta and sauce.

She and I got very busy working on my masque, as it quickly became obvious that my plans were trickier than we'd thought. I sketched something out which she then turned into something a good deal more useable, and then we started tracing patterns onto the chicken wire for cutting out. I developed blisters on my fingers from the wire and pliers, but it was not only enjoyable, but completely worthwhile. By midnight, we'd created the frame over which the papier machee would be applied. It consists of a nose piece with lovely flared dragon nostrils, cheekpieces to which are attached cheek fins, a skullcap onto which have been placed two lovely large horns, and then the whole thing was wired together with the copper. We did all this while watching some amazingly odd cartoons on Teletoon. When I put on the helmet, it became an awesome helmet, of the sort found in "Excalibur". Fantastic. It was very late at this point, so I helped Nicole do the dishes and she said she would put the little dorsal horns on the top of the masque. We also rummaged through fabric because she's going to make me a shirt. I know, bad Maya, but whatever, I'm going to get it pretty much at cost, anyway, so nyah.

Today I worked very hard at the ROM and was pleased to note that I was there a full twenty minutes before my boss. Jerk. Then I left because my head was going to explode. Happily, tomorrow, I'm going to see a neurologist, so I will push for a brain scan. I'm feeling much better now, which is good, since I have to drive back to the Petes. I'll leave it at that and say toodles.

I am cold. So cold, in fact, that I held my hands over the toaster while I toasted my bread. Rick needs a space heater. He also needs shelves. But mostly, right this second, he needs a space heater. I'm wrapped in his comforter, sitting at his computer, while he's out doing his laundry.

I have a desperate need to do something. I'm bored out of my skull. And I feel sick. It's not a nice combination, really. The two feelings are at odds with each other. I have no money, so a movie is out of the question, and so is dinner, but I don't think I have any food back at A&C's place so it's not looking like a good eating night.

Tomorrow, I'm going to have to listen to the gold medal hockey game at work. Talk radio doesn't really go well with Heretic, but I don't think there's anything I can do. I can hardly schlep a television in there, can I? After work, I'm heading to Nicole's place for dinner and masque making. She's going to teach me how to make fancy masques for Sandra's wedding. That should be fun.

Work was sucking until about 2 o'clock when the Controler, the Evil One, the jerk, whatever you want to call him, skipped off work to watch the hockey game. Before that, he'd certainly been throwing his weight around with Sara and myself. God, he grates on my nerves and I just want to toss him out of a window. Not that I could, he's a sturdy fellow.

Anyway, this means I've had some time to surf as I stick addresses on envelopes. So, I looked up my mother's last name, Hogenkamp. I have discovered a few fascinating things: Previously, it was always stated that the double O versus the single O in Hogenkamp had to do with a family rift. It may well have more to do with a non-standardised spelling. I came across the same name spelled as Hogen Kamp and then Hoogenkamp, so, who knows? Also, there are Hogenkamps in *gasp* Germany, as well as Denmark. Also, they were part of the early settlers to New York in the 1600s. Maybe that's why she was so drawn there. Also, there's a restaurant bearing her name, that looks like it might be tasty. Another thing I've seen, in flipping through Hogenkamp personal pages, a good many of them have... prominent noses. There's also a big time appaloosa breeder named Hogenkamp - just happens to be one of my mother's favourite horse breeds.

Good stuff. Update - somepoint in the 3rd period - Canada is beating Belarouse (sp?) 7-1. So, we'll be playing either Russia or the USA for gold.

There was some confusion on Rick's part about the whole talking/kissing comment from the last entry. I did NOT smooch Evelyn, nor did it cross my mind. I only say such things to make Nick blush. It's cute when he blushes. So, nyah.

Last night I dreamt about working at the ROM tomorrow (today). It was not a pleasant dream. It was about myself and the other people being tormented by the Evil One, our manager, and how we came together to bring justice upon him. We entered into a group meeting with Ania, and explained our hurts and angers, humiliation and depression. It was vivid and full of my dislike, liberally coating everyone's opinions. We lamented, cried, pleaded, accused... All under the dirty yellow light of too many old institutions. Ania listened and nodded, and we hoped that we would be vindicated, that the Evil One's behaviour would be punished. Sadly, it was not to be the case. Some quite, some returned to work, but all of us were broken individuals now, our hope obliterated.

Nice, eh? On that note, I get to go into work tomorrow to face him. Won't that be pleasant.

Tonight, Rick joined Nick, Evelyn and myself for dinner at Insomnia. It was fantabulous. It followed on an amazingly unexciting day at Heretic. I began it at Java, eating brunch with Nick and Evelyn. They came to the store following that, and we called Arthur. After a bit of a wait, Arthur arrived bearing leases for us to read over and sign. What wacky leases, too, all gothic in speech with referrences to water closets and... pianolas. Bizarre, but a fine lease, nonetheless. So it was signed and Arthur went on his way, and Nick and Evelyn lingered, and then he went to work and she went out into the wet world in search of adventures. I sat alone in the store for another three hours. No one came in. Then Evelyn came back, and soon after, Nick. And then much trying on of clothing and taking pictures with Nick's fancy camera.

I must have the plaid corset.

Then dinner. Rick saw the pictures of me in the corset and he decided he would buy it for me... eventually, and then he saw the picture of Nick in the waist cincher and robin hood... and he was afraid. It was scary. And I've already told you dinner was great, which it was, and now I'm home and not yet sleepy.

Canada beat Finland, 2-1 ! Yay ! We'll play Belaruse on Friday at... 2pm EST?! What sort of time is THAT? I'm going to have to do something creative for my breaks and lunch at the museum, otherwise I'll miss the game, and I really can't let that happen. I figure, if I take my lunch and breaks all together at 3pm, I'll be set for the final half of the game. Let's hope the snot will let me. *rolls her eyes*

Tomorrow, Thursday (I believe it is actually Thursday now, but since I haven't gone to bed...), Nick and I will be signing our lease. Yay !

And Evelyn is here. She is cool. Cooler than many other people. A little nutty, but super cool. Rock. And she and I won't tell Nick what we talk about. Mostly because kissing isn't really talking at all, so there's nothing much to tell him. So evil.

Well, okay, I was wrong, or optimistic, or something. My boss, at the ROM isn't just under pressure from HR, he's also a jerk. "Goodmorming" was quickly followed by a lecture, or really, more of an interrogation, about whether or not I was doing something (or wasn't) particular in certain files. I said that I probably wasn't, in that I've been doing this since the system was developed, but he pressed it. I said that I might have let it slip, because no one is perfect, but he wanted me to say I'd fucked up a whole batch. I would not say that, because I didn't. The best is, he did this in the middle of the department for all to hear. Very nice.

It turns out a whole LOT of people are very angry with the way he's been handling things, and Sara (another part-timer doing what I do) remarked that it had broken up the unity of the department, putting people into cliques that are either with him, or silently fuming. He's undercut all the full-time people, ripping what independence they had out from under them, and he's just absolutely squashing the will of the part-timers. The worst is, when people have tried to speak with the branch director, it becomes very clear that she likes him. Why not? She's got him doing half of her job.

So, did I mention that the Canadian men's Hockey Team is sucking shorts? God.

In other news, Nick and I found a place ! It's hideous, the room he's taken, for example, having fire engine red walls, a white ceiling, and black trim around the nasty brown tiled floor. It's big, and cheap, and I can bring in my cat, and we can repaint, so it's all good. Or at the very least, it's better than a kick in the head. No, actually, it's very nice if you can withstand tiled floors. It's going to be exciting. We took it when we'd only seen one other place. That's how amazing it was. And the laundry is included and it isn't even coin-opperated !

The weekend was lovely, with Rick and I going to Hamilton for a Valentine dinner in support of the Cancer Society. It was a lot of fun. It was also very nice to see most of the entire family there, not fighting, instead, smiling and joking - a very suitable experience considering the generosity and the day. Rick danced, too, which was nice, even if I had to take my big-heeled boots off. *laugh* It was very nice, lots of fun. Rick is a good egg.

Guess where I am ! No. No, silly, not there. Nope, not there either. I'm at school. That's right, as in back at Seneca, sitting at Brian's computer - only Brian doesn't sit here anymore. Dan's teaching on the Mon/Wed/Fri schedule, so he told me to come in and get back into it, which is nice, and important. I sat down when I arrived, opened Maya, and was stunned by how much I'd forgotten in the short span of a month. This time last month, I was napping on the couch in the lounge, waiting for my project to render, then putting the final touches on everything. Now, at this point, a month later, I don't even know where I packed my demo tapes or project files. It's irritating.

Let me jump back a day or two in order to bring this weblog back up to speed with my life. I've been so busy with so many things that have only been marginally entertaining. Now, many of you would say that life is not about being entertained, but I will happily argue. Really, what's the point of doing anything that takes up most of your life if you don't enjoy it? Some would say, do it - for instance, a certain job - and then take what you earn and enjoy holidays or hobbies... I say, make your holidays, hobbies, or whatever INTO the job. I don't like menial tasks. I like a challenge to my creativity. My creativity, of late, is being sadly under challenged. Whoops, I've digressed.

Wednesday: the day before St. Valentine's Day. Naturally, this makes for a better night to see Rick. I'm not a fan of Valentines at the best of times, and Wednesday fit my schedule better. After working at Heretic, I went to Rick's house, arriving late because I'd had to put my car up in the old neighbourhood where I still have a permit to park. We watched the Olympics and ate a lovely spagetti dinner that he made for us. He gave me a card, despite my grumbling, and it was very sweet and funny, so I guess he got away with it. The rest of the night was lovely, relaxing, and intimate - no need to say more.

Thursday was, of course, the glorious Hallmark holiday of love. *rolls her eyes* When I was a child, I loved St. Valentine's Day because my mom would give me cards and little gifts, and I always liked exchanging cards in school. Or, rather, I did until people stopped remembering about me. I would find that I would get eight cards and the majority of kids would have twelve or fifteen cards. The final straw was when someone realised I hadn't gotten a card from them, and they took one meant for someone else, crossed off the name, and wrote mine in over top. Valentines became humiliating for me. Then in high school, I had stupid teenage-girl expectations about boyfriends and the 14th of February. Fights usually happened instead. By the time I was eighteen, I had lost all interest in celebrating the day at all.

So, on Thursday, I went to work at the store, and had a lovely day, mostly. There was a steady flow of people through the shop, and in a slow moment, I got to do some art for the MUD Companion. The last hour, however; was marred by a woman who needed to power-trip me and ruin my day. Her husband (lover, boyfriend?) was very nice and as I stripped every bloody manequin in the store of their displays for her to try on, he and I chatted. The woman even had me take down the window display in order to try it for herself. She kept asking for my approval and her husband's, and we offered help and compliments where appropriate. I was sure she'd buy something. After nearly an hour of that, she took everything off, bundled it all up and handed it to me.

HUSBAND: You don't want anything?
WOMAN: No, I just wanted to try it on.
WOMAN looks at ME: I was just playing. Have a nice night !
ME: Just playing?
WOMAN: Yup, I didn't actually want to buy anything. Bye.

So, out they went with all seven of her bags from other stores along the strip, leaving me with two naked manequins and eight garments to rehang/display, plus jewellery lying on the counter. She made me very unhappy, and she knew it. She can be as controling with her husband as she wants, if he likes it, but it is NOT nice to take advantage of those who are just trying to be helpful and friendly because it is their job. I thought my night was ruined at that point, and as I walked home when I'd closed the shop, my funk just got worse. When I turned up Manning Ave to go get my car in order to drive back up town, my head was full of black sadness. At that moment, I had no idea that something would completely reverse it and make me feel wonderful again.

About fifteen houses north of College, on Manning, I came upon a most marvelous article of ... garbage. Or, at least, the people tossing it out thought it such. I did a double-take before stopping dead in my tracks. Lo, there was a low counter beneath which were three long drawers and cabinets on either side. Surely something would be wrong with it, though, I thought. I tried the drawers and all three opened smoothly. I opened the cabinets - they were nice and deep. The thing was white, with a scratched up top in the most vibrant emerald green I've seen on a piece of furniture. Add to this, a lovely 1950s industrial late Art Deco styling with fake chrome accents, and you can understand why I stopped. I practically trotted up the street to my car, worried someone might take it before I got back to it.

The question of how I was going to heave the thing into my car all by myself didn't occur to me until I pulled Scarlette (the car) up along side of it and opened the trunk. I hmmed for a moment then noticed a fellow with casual, intellectual, heading-home-or-to-a-laid-back-lounge sort of look to him coming toward me down the street. As he approached, I decided he looked like a fun sort of guy and called out to him.

ME: Hey, you know what you want to do? [Clapping hands once and pointing at him enthusiastically]
GUY: Hey, no, what do I want to do?! [Stopping and grinning]
ME: You want to help me move this piece of garbage into my car !
GUY: You're right ! I absolutely do !
ME: Awesome !
GUY: Will it fit?
ME: You bet, that's why station wagons rule.
[Much organising of crap in the trunk of car, then removing of drawers from piece of furniture and some positioning inside Scarlette so that it would fit, all the while discussing what I'm going to do with the thing and where it's going to go in my house]
GUY: Is this a Subaru?
ME: It sure is, she's great. She's 13 years old and still kicking.
GUY: I thought so. They're great cars; I had one up to a couple years ago. Is it a 4WD?
ME: You bet ! What's the point without it?
GUY: Ya, my Subaru was good. They're excellent cars. [Both regard the item of furniture in the car for a moment]
ME: I think I can handle the rest now. Thank you so much for your help.
GUY: Well, you're welcome, but how could I possibly refuse, especially with an invitation to adventure like that?
ME: Woohoo ! You're a hero !
GUY: Hey great, I've done a good deed ! I hope it looks lovely in your future living room.

That guy, whoever he is, was super-awesome, which, if you did not realise, is even better than normal awesome. He made my task possible, fascilitated a person's garbaging habit, and was cool, too ! I've no doubt that as much as he made my night wonderful - even magical - again, I made his quite enjoyable as well. It was fun. Also, I now have a fantastic bit of future-home shuckling around in Scarlette's trunk.

Today, Nick and I are looking at those future homes. We saw one this morning which will be the benchmark house, though we really can't take it. The owner lives below and she absolutely requires quiet living. It's a shame, because mostly, Nick and I -would- be quiet, only, once in a while, we need to bubble over and become boisterous and shrieky. We're going to look at some other places later this afternoon, but they're not in so wonderful a location, and chances are, they won't be so nice. Oh well. There's next week for looking as well. We will find something, of that I have no doubt. I will pick up the Saturday Star tomorrow, too, because it has the massive classified section. Whee !

I could rant about how the Canadian pairs skaters, Sale and Peltier, were screwed out of the gold medal last night, even though the Russian pair that won were technically imperfect and the Canadians gave a flawless skate, but that would be distasteful.

I found out that all this dicking with hours at the museum and anal attention to time in/time out, isn't because my supervisor is a jerk. It turns out, Human Resources (who are neither a resource, nor are they much in the way of human) is coming down on everyone about hours and lieu time and overtime. It's not a good scene, here, and everyone is pretty pissed off. My boss looks like an ass for picking on people, when in truth he is not being given a choice in the matter. Maybe, just to up morale a little more, they should try another round of lay-offs.

I'm not being serious, of course, that would be horrible and this institiution cannot take another hit. After the first major restructuring and then the following redirecting of the museum's purpose (hello, it's a museum - not a fun fair, but never mind that)... I lost my train of thought. But you probably know where I was going with this anyway. Oh, I'm so ranty today.

I'm letting my slightly less-than-delicious soup cool. I figure that it's a bad sign when I have to breathe through my mouth after each swallow and then down a swallow of cold water. I'm impatient for eatin' !

Nothing too much is going on today, just me at the ROM, wishing I was elsewhere. There's a general lack of connexion for me at home as Al has not yet been able to figure out why Natasha won't connect. It's sort of frustrating. I've been looking forward to getting active on the MUD again, but the Powers That Be have other ideas, I suppose.

Gah, soup still too hot. Ouch. Breathe. Sip.

It's a most wonderful day today, I must say - frigid, but sunny ! Oh so sunny. If only the snow were fresh and not the half-melted, refrozen grey muck that is the definition of Toronto winters, then it would be perfect. Perhaps it will snow tonight. That would be fitting, especially since it's Olympics season. Lots of people can't stand the Olympics, like I can't stand most major sporting events, but for me, the winter olympics just... rock. With the exception of snowboarding and short-track speed skating, there isn't a sport I won't watch, and I will watch those two, I just don't care hugely one way or t'other. Heck, I go out of my way to watch the hockey, figure skating, long-track speed skating, and x-country skiing.

My soup is cool enough to eat now, so I'm going to do just that. Well, it's still hot, uncomfortably so, but I'll suffer because my lunch break is over in five minutes.

A simple question: Why are the commercials that are run during the Olympics, moreso than any other major television event, so much more engaging than the typical ads we're forced to watch? I find that in the three weeks, or so, leading up to, and through, the Olympics, the quality of the commercials, at least those aired on the hosting station, is greatly improved. I mean, they're FUNNY. They're entertaining. They're... CLEVER. Imagine if they were always this good? Imagine a world where we didn't despise advertising.

Lately, I haven't had the gumption for long entries. To all my fans, I'm sorry. Perhaps sending me candy will help. Or at least get you a mention in my weblog.

My visit to the doctor yesterday was unpleasant to say the least. It seems that this woman, who is only filling in for the regular doctor (presently out on maternity), believes she knows my head better than me. To make a long story short, she patronised me something fierce and poopooed my migraines telling me that I should take less painkiller - hello, they're MIGRAINES. The worst is, she could clearly see me getting annoyed with her and she actually started to smirk. I was so angry when I left her office that I was shaking.

I did get one dig in on her, which she seemed to understand, when she asked me about the jobs I work. I explained my retail job and how it wasn't exactly taxing or stressful, and then I said how much I didn't like the ROM. She asked me why not and I said, grinning slightly, "They treat me like I'm a child and patronise me something fierce. I cannot stand being patronised, especially when I've been working there longer than my boss." She got it, and she cooled her attitude. Bitch.

I've been recovering from the tenth migraine in 35 days. Tomorrow, I am going back to my doctor (I was just there on Monday) so that she can refer me to a neurologist. Mom is pushing for a brain scan, and frankly, as it just gets worse and worse, I am too.

In other news, I've been painting a ringwraith miniature for the Games Workshop LotR game competition. I won't win. I never win. I am far too subtle a painter. Oh well, it's a bloody (especially around the horse's hooves) nice piece of work and I'll get it back when the competition is over. I even painted a portion of the 'One ring' verse to encircle the base. I figured I'd use the portion that concerned the ringwraiths directly: "... nine for the mortal men doomed to die..." Cheery, hey? I inscribed it in Tolkien's runic alphabet, even. I had intended to do it in Quenya, but I just didn't have the patience of all the curviness.

Also, I went to see 'The Royal Tenenbaums' last night (the last ten minutes being mostly overpowered by a more-severe-than-average migraine) and I must say that it was lovely. It wasn't nearly as laugh-out-loud funny as I thought it would be, but it was intelligent and sweet in ways I never dreamt it would be. Overall, a success. Also, one of the very few roles in which I liked Gwyneth Paltrow. It was serious and emotional and heartwarming and entertaining. I don't think most of the viewers here in Peterborough get the urban (Jewish?) neurosis quite the same way Mom and I understand it, you know, that first-hand experience thing, so a lot of them left feeling weird. One couple brought their child and left within the first twenty minutes because the movie clearly wasn't what they thought it was going to be. Meh. I was charmed. And also hurting in the head, so perhaps a second viewing will show me things the pain blocked out. Yes. Good idea.

Anyway, I'm going to bed. My head is still very tender and this monitor with its bizarre wobble doesn't help at all. It may even be partially to blame. Anyway, more to say another time, but while I'm gone, check out this link.

The connexion my mother has at her house, the one I set up for her, is, without a doubt, the most pathetic connexion I've used since my 14.4k modem. I mean, come on, Sympatico is supposed to not suck, and it certainly doesn't suck in Toronto, but out here, it just can't seem to handle anything. It isn't the computer, it is the provider, I'm almost certain, since it only happens during peak periods of the day. It SHOULD NOT HAPPEN AT ALL WITH A MAJOR, REPUTABLE PROVIDER.

Okay, rant over.

Nick sent me an email about a place he's heard of above the wacky Stephanian Drugs store on College St. Apparently it's two bedrooms, a kitchen and a bath. I bet it's over priced. Woo, listen to me, Ms. Negativity. However, I shall tell him, IF I can get the connexion to remain stable long enough to hit the reply button, to have a look and poke around in it. I won't have a chance to see it until after 8pm Thursday night, at the earliest, or Friday after work, so I trust him to see if things function. Also, finding out how much it costs would be a good idea.

I saw a film last night called "Kandahar". It is a fictional journey through a very real, documentary view of Afganistan. It takes place in the days leading up to the final eclipse of the twentieth century as one Afgani woman (from Canada) tries to find the sister that was left behind when the family fled. It was not an uplifting film, nor was it pessimistic. It showed bravery in the shadow of adversity, courage to carry on, the risks people will take in order to survive, and the desperation of many. I did not weep at the end, though it was not happy, and while I did laugh at various points, the humour was dark and honest. A fantasic journey through a forbidden world as seen through the eyes of a woman who will not give up.

I just this minute did a quiz about Nick, which I found in his weblog. Fancy. Even better is that I scored a reasonably high score. I will fully admit to having done the test twice, but I didn't change my answers much the second time through. In fact, I think it was mostly thanks to two questions with answers that were toss-ups. Anyway, I scored 80. Yay !

I've been so naughty, what with my not writing anything. Boo on me.

I shall attempt to rectify this situation now with some much needed updates beginning with the long awaited Tales from Moving Day.

Wednesday: I picked up Ryan around 10:30, which was only marginally later than I would have liked, but since I was pre-coffee, it was expected. He apparently answered his phone moments before my arrival thinking the caller to be me, but instead it was his honey-diva. I bet she was unpleasantly surprised to be called Booboo. Then he had to explain that he thought she was me and of course that led to the inevitable question of why do you call Maya Booboo. *shrug* No harm done, though, so whatever.

We got lost on the way to finding the U-Haul rental. Naturally. A quick trip to Tim Hortons and my handy cellphone and we were back en route. Renting was certainly nothing like the hassel I had at the airport when I tried to rent a friggin' car, but that's another story. I was more than happy to let Ryan do the truck driving since he grew up on a farm and had driven more trucks than I ever have (and since I've NEVER driven a truck, it was hardly worth debating). The truck moved at a snail's pace, which is to say, bloody slow. We began to call her such horrible (yet somehow affectionate) names like, Sucking Whore, and Guzzling Bitch. I can hear MS. Magazine screaming at me right now.

Packing took quite a bit longer than it should have, but I suppose I'd gotten a lot less done than I'd imagined. It was a righteous mess, too. Over the course of three hours, Ryan and I moved all the big stuff out of my appartment and into the truck. Let me take this moment to comment on the amazingness of this feat just due to the narrow width of the stairwell. Holy ! Ryan and I should be given medals of courage (or great stupidity) for our amazing achievement. We called Carrie and she came over too, for which we shall be eternally greatful. You see, though her stature is small, her help literally kept Ryan and me from experiencing the falling-off of our arms.

Putting stuff into storage was more pricy than I think it should have been, but by that point there was no other option. Insurrance is important, and though it seemed like I was only storing maybe a thousand bucks worth of stuff, it was a good deal more. My art books alone, those which were stashed in storage, probably value at something close to 1500$. I own a lot of fantastic books and most of them did NOT come to Al and Carrie's. Did I mention getting lost on the way to the storage place? No? Well, we got lost. I had Ryan turn right, not left, and we ended up most of the way to Etobicoke before I said, "I think it's the other way, let me call and find out." By the time we got to Al and Carrie's appartment, Ryan and I thought we were going to die. Much juggling of things in the elevator ensued, with somone always guarding the stuff and/or holding the elevator doors open. Al was home by that time and he dragged my stuff into the appartment while Ryan, Carrie and I did adventuresome things in the lobby.

Dinner was not remotely healthy. I gave Al fifty bucks and said, "Order." He asked, "Pizza?" I replied that we'd all had pizza for lunch so we settled on KFC. I know, I know. GROSS. Utter grossness. That said, for once in my life, the idea of grease-slicked chicken-parts sounded like the most delicious thing a person could eat. Ryan and I dropped off the truck (more getting lost while looking for a gas station that sold diesel) and arrived back at the appartment just as Al returned with the KFC ungoodness. Yum. Finally, though exhausted, I was not about to let Ryan make his own way home, no matter how much my body thought he should, so I was a hero and drove him home.

The night was not finished, yet, though, by any means. Nosirree. I came back to the appartment and had to set up my room, or at least make it livable. I did it very quietly so as not to wake up my new flatmates, and Pepper, their cat, was most helpful. The plan had been to wrap myself up in a blanket and just lied down on my bed for passing out. I ended up making it and having something closer to a proper sleep.

I woke up the following morning, to a blizzard. Yay. Which meant that when I finally made it to the store, I had to shovel. To add insult to injuries (like my muscle aches having aches), I dragged Rick back to my appartment in order to shlep out the last bit of crap from my place on Manning. Again, there was more crap than I'd anticipated, but he was helpful. I decided to leave that stuff in the car in the parking garage when we reached the appartment building, though. At that point, my body had threatened to file for divorce from my soul and I wasn't up for a further battle.

More stories to come as the gumption arrises.

God help me, I've signed on for a second day a week at the ROM for the month of February, and probably March as well. Sadly, I never heard back from Larry about the TA thing, so, there's really nothing I can do about it. I'm about to become severely restricted in a financial sort of way because Seneca screwed up. When I got my loan, the school was supposed to withdraw my owing tuition before the money ever reached my bank account. Naturally, this did not happen, which means that a month and a half later, I get a letter saying I am overdue and pay IMMEDIATELY. Like it's my fault. Yeesh. At least I hung onto the money rather than fritter it away. I just knew something of this sort would happen.

Now I really can't quit this horrible job the way I'd intended to. Bah.

Al and Carrie's is a pretty good spot, if a little far from everything, like restaurants, and pizzarias and pubs and whatnot. Oh well. At least there's water pressure and heat - too much heat, perhaps, but heat nonetheless. I don't know if Nick has given his landlord notice yet, but as my body is still screaming about Wednesday's physical activities, I'm in no mood to move again just yet. Mid-March would be lovely. Anyway, I'll talk to him later, or when I retrieve my phone from Heretic where I left it yesterday.

What else, what else? Oh, well, I will write about my moving day adventures later tonight, hopefully from my own sweet computer (ahh, Natasha, how I do miss you...). Another adventure that is coming up will be me doing laundry at the appartment building tonight. Good clean fun. I'm not sure it's going to be fun, so let me rephrase that as 'good clean... clothes'.