Want, Need, Must

I need help. I have no idea what I want for Christmas.

Here's what I've got on the list so far:

1. Record Player

2. New computer so I can start freelancing (difficult to do when I can barely open Microsoft Word, let alone try and write one blog entry without my computer imploding). New MacBook? Yes, please!

3. Trip to Peru with Chloe in April

4. A banjo

5. Debt Relief

6. Yoga Booty Ballet. (It's the only natural progression after six months of turbojamming. I am now a diehard fan of informercial workouts.)

7. French lessons

Since I'm clearly not going to get any of these things, I'm not going to ask for them. Therefore, can someone out there please tell me what I want for Christmas? What I absolutely must have? (And while you're at it, any brilliant gift ideas for the parents?)

Honesty

Tonight, a good four years after I first moved to Toronto, I went into Honest Ed's for the first time ever.

To be quite honest, it was somewhat anti-climatic.

Movember

I can't grow a moustache. But Andrew can.

I can, however, unthaw my credit card from the freezer and donate to a good cause on Andrew's behalf. C'mon kids--only $20 more and Andrew gets a free ticket to the gala, where maybe he'll meet some sweet ladies who are into the 'stache. Can you think of a better cause?

Foreshadows

I flipped through the pages of my journals tonight, looking for the foreshadows. But it's as though March and everything outside of the lab didn't exist.

It leaves me wondering what's in the margins right now? Who am I not writing about now that I should be? What am I not documenting that will be evidence for the court down the road?

The way Tony that the organic food store downstairs knows me by name? The amount of cream I put in my coffee in the mornings? The book that I read two weeks ago? Someone that I passed on the street? A movie I rented? A noise I heard through the wall? An email you sent me?

It's the mundane details that were lost somewhere along the way--and suddenly they matter. I want to cling on to them, to hold them close to me. I don't want my memory of the memories to pass.

I'm running out of space to write. I want to transcribe every moment as it happens.

I could just die now

Last night was a night that will go down in history as a perfect fall evening: I was challenged to not one, not two, but three games of Scrabble--all while watching the polls come in. I wasn't worrying about money, because I found out earlier in the day that I won a scholarship for "student who wrote extensively on women's issues. (Apparently writing about menstrual blood's capacity to fertilize household plants qualifies me for this. Realistically speaking though, it was the only award they could give me--there is no award for "student who wrote most extensively about conspiracy theorists and/or sex.") And it gets better--I made a baked cranberry and pecan brie puff pastry, which Natty and I devoured in one sitting. (Three weeks worth of turbojamming can't even begin to counteract that kind of gluttony.) I even discovered that GAYDAR is a playable word, according to the Scrabble dictionary.

And then, to top it all off, there was Obama. We're a continent in awe. Good times are coming.

(Although, I have to admit, I'm tempted to go down to Conspiracy Culture today to hear what the truthers are saying post-election.)

Only a Matter of Time

I've been a bad blogger lately. I have no excuses. The only one I can think of is that I'm afraid to write lately, because I'm afraid it will become too personal.

It's a strange thing this--keeping a personal blog, without revealing too much about my personal life. It's a precarious balance, but I think I've done relatively well in the last 4 years and I intend to keep it that way.

So here's what I've been up to (the edited version, of course): the token fashion week after-party. (If only for the gift bag.)

(And if only for the excuse to wear one of my favourite winter dresses.)

As for not blogging lately, autumn and I are duking it out to see who comes out on top. I'm filling up my time with volunteer commitments--some that make complete sense (Journalists for Human Rights) and some that make no sense at all (Limmud). Autumn, on the other hand, is tempting me with warm beds, cups of tea and syndicated peasant-vision television sitcoms.

Natty and I somehow managed to dress as the polar opposites of one another for Halloween--Playboy Bunny and bird lady. (Creating the least sexy Halloween costume ever? Success. What you can't see are my pants tucked into my socks and my awesome circa 1998 Reebok grass-stained running shoes. I didn't even wash my Value Village sweater after I bought it, because I wanted it to retain that authentic bird lady smell.)

Kaydi and Geoff had the best costumes of my life. Mainly because if I ran into Geoff in a back alley, I'm pretty sure I would be terrified.

What actually terrified me on Halloween is this--some dude actually hit on me on my way home from Chloe's party. This was scary because what dude in his right mind would hit on a chick in torn pajama pants and a North Reflections sweater when there are eight dozen trollops in naughty [insert blue collar occupation here] costumes drunkenly running around? A dude who's NOT in his right mind, that's who.

Oh, and did I mention as of November 1st, I'm officially an Ontarion? The thing is, I have a sneaking suspicion Alberta is glad to be rid of me. (That's right Ontario--this sexy bird lady is all yours.)