Milk and Honey

It has recently come to my attention that my apartment is somewhat 'cluttered.'  Defiantly, I say that my apartment is so tiny the only way it could look is cluttered.  Storage space does not exist.  My attempts at making my own storage space only adds to the clutter.  Tall shelving units with prettily patterned boxes contain this, that, and other, but are still a distraction to the eye.

In all of my random bibs and bobs, I've acquired something new.  A boyfriend.  I know, I know, it's quite exciting.  This new boyfriend has a house all to himself.  A house with cupboards, closets, drawers...reasonable places for reasonable (and unreasonable) items.  His house is clutter free.  We spend most of our time at his house, spacious as it is.

The boy is so clutter free, even his kitchen cabinets and fridge are sparce.  Imagine my chagrin on a Sunday morning when all I want is a decent cup of tea and there is no milk in the fridge, no sugar in the bowl.  Bless his sweet soul, he bought me Earl Grey tea, which I can happily manage without the milk and sugar.  Being that he is not a tea drinker, he failed to notice the label that said "Decaffinated."  So I packed up a little bag of Tetley and stashed it in his cupboard.  Tetley is my go-to tea.  I've been drinking it since the wee age of 3, when my grandma would make a milky cup just for me.  Tetley without milk is unfathomable to me.

He always apologizes profusely for the lack of milk.  I tell him it's ok, as I groggily stumble to the couch and daydream of caffine. 

I have to wonder at his shopping plan.  Without fail, Sunday is his shopping day.  He's usually out of food by Friday.  My shopping days are sporatically placed, as I zip over to the grocery store when I can and as needed.  My fridge never has a lack of milk, my sugar bowl is not empty. 

In fact, my fridge has items that can be thrown together to make a meal, at pretty much all times.  It may not be the most amazing meal of your life, but a meal I can make.

The cluttered conversation comes up - he says he does not like clutter, I defend my teeny apartment brimming to the ceiling. 

He says "Even your fridge is cluttered!!"

*silence ensues with a death stare*

I say "It's called I have food."

*no comment from the boyfriend*

 Clutter may be a visual distraction, clutter may be a little too much of hanging onto things.  But clutter in the fridge keeps me happy.  And if I may, my fridge is organized in a tidy manner...you can find most things in just a moment.

Book It

According to my list, I read 15 books last year. I won't say that is impressive because I know there are many who read much faster than I. However, I will say that in review of the list, it was a delightful selection which I thoroughly enjoyed most of - which is impressive. I even had a few surprises in there that I was not expecting to like so much. A couple disappointers, but it was bound to happen, right?

Fingers crossed that my selections this year are just as worthy. I've started with Book of Negroes. If you haven't picked it up yet...wow, you need to. Amazing book. I don't usually go on so much about a book, but this one deserves the praise it gets! That Heather, whoever she is, she has some good picks.

I'm a little neurotic about finishing what I start, even when I don't like it. There was one that has recieved immense buzz (guess which one!!!) and everyone loves it. Well...I thought it was a little lacking. Limited character development, not enough attention to creating a visualization of the setting and characters for the reader, and mediocre writing style. I can see how it would make for an amazing movie, but for a reader like me...not so much. I was lent the book, along with the second in the series. So of course I feel obliged to read the second. Even though I am sure I won't enjoy it. But it's like there is an imaginary person holding a gun to my head saying 'read this book or I'll shoot.' Actually, it's more like 'read this book or you'll be immensely curious forever to know what the book was about since it's sitting on your bookshelf right now and if you just give it back you'll be annoyed with yourself that you didn't read it. Even though you know you won't be thrilled by it.' Or something to that effect. You know what I mean, right??

So I've started off the year with a bang of the book, I'll dip to a mediocre one, and then hopefully I'll swing back up to the good stuff!

A Year in Review

To Number 1:

Thank you for reintroducing myself to myself. I had forgotten. Also, thank you for introducing me to Malbec wines.

To Number 2:

Thank you for reminding me of simple activities that can bring me inner peace. I had been missin' that fishin'.

To Number 3:

Thank you for letting me be me. And for teaching me the trick to napping. I am now a napping whore who naps on the weekends all the time. It's delightful.

Fingers crossed that next year there is only a Number 1. And that I will not be inspired to write a silly little year in review to remind myself that more than 1 is ok, even if it's not ideal.

I meant for this to sound nice, not annoyed. I think I diverted from my intent.

Opps.

My Favourite Driving Technique

I wouldn't say that I am a terrific driver, but I'm certainly not a bad driver. Perhaps I feel that I am a better driver than many people out there on the road.

I would definitely say that I am a confident driver.

I would also say that I am a driver who happens to experience road rage on the odd occasion. And by odd occasion I mean quite often. *averted gaze*

Yesterday as I was driving to work, the car behind me was driving precariously close to my tail end. So close, in fact, that I could determine the colour of the driver's eyeshadow by looking my rear view mirror. As we encroached a small town I dropped my speed accordingly, as did the driver behind me.

Yet she did not ease off. My road rage started to simmer at the surface. I muttered at her to get off my tail. Obviously, she did not hear me asking her to give some space between us. I tapped my brakes a couple times, in the hope that this little signal would relay the message.

No such luck.

The simmer turned to boil.

I pursed my lips. I flared my nostrils.

I employed my favourite driving technique for tailgaters.

I slammed on my brakes enough to decrease my speed 20 kms/hr in an flash.

Tee hee.

I saw the look of surprise cross the face of the driver behind me as she came even closer to my tail lights, her eyes widen with panic at the thought of hitting me.

I sped back up to my 55 kms/hr, and watched her slow her pace, growing the gap between us to a more than reasonable distance.

Sigh. My road rage started to subside. I happily motored on.

It's a great trick, I tell ya. Of course, I'm sure one day it will backfire on me and I'll actually get rear ended, but until then...it's so much fun to see those faces of shock in my rear view mirror!

Since when is 12 the magic number?

I heard on the radio the other week that the average North American woman has 12 relationships before she gets married.

Excellent.

Seven down, five to go. I'm more than halfway there now. Score for me.

*rolls eyes*


I'm hoping this definition of relationship includes these little blips of 'relationships' that I tend to find myself involved in. You know, the ones that last only a couple months, where you're not sure if the guy is your boyfriend or not.

Otherwise I'm two down, and ten to go. Man, I'll be like 70 by the time I get married. Can't wait. I think I'll just marry myself. Send out little cards saying I'm registered at shoe stores and makeup counters, and buy myself a nice dress. Throw a party for me and me. It will be a good time. You should come.

*with sarcasm dripping from my fingertips, I hit the 'publish post' button...*

The Rural Compromise

Throughout my wanderings across Southwestern Ontario, as I am sure you have realised, I have landed myself in both urban and rural places to live.

As I currently live in an urban centre (not Toronto...don't worry, I won't put myself through that again!), I still find that I yearn for the small town loveliness. (Just like when I lived in the small town, I yearned for the city. It's like I just can't be satisfied. Pfft.) Well, I may have recently found a good compromise. Live in the city, but work in the small town. I know, I know, most people do this the other way around. I like to be different, what can I say??

It's only been a few weeks of the switch up with work, but it's off to an excellent start. I spend my mornings driving through the countryside, enjoying the horse paddocks to the right, and the patches of forest on the left. Traffic is minimal, a tractor or two on the road to slow us down, but that's about it. I mean, it's not as ideal as my two minute roll to work when I was working at the city office, but I really can't complain.

One of the projects I am working on right now is setting up an event. This really defines why I love small towns. I stroll on into the Legion to scout out their hall as a potential venue. As I look around the hall, an older gentleman walks through. He stops.

"You looking to get married here?" he asks me.

A little startled at the question, I hastily answer "Uh, no, sir."

He raises his eyebrows in wonderment as to why I am there.

I think quick. "Can't find anyone to agree yet!" I exclaimed, whilst snapping my fingers and doing the classic finger gun.

He chuckles and carries on to the bar side.

See, in a small town, this is a funny, friendly old man. In the city...he would be classified as a creepy old man.

Small town charm seeps into everyone. You just can't help it.

Sleep Tight

I am 31 and a half. Recently I've taken to sleeping with my teddy bear again. He's 30 and a half. We've been in it together for the long haul. But seriously. Like I am physically falling asleep with my teddy bear tucked up in the crook of my arm. What am I, 5??

What the hell is up with that???