NoodleDog

Well, it’s definitely not Christmas any more. It’s… something else. We have moved beyond the sprit of the season of kindness and giving, and straight into FREEZING YOUR ASS OFF.

Now, normally, I’m not that worried about freezing my ass off because I live in a house with heat, and hot water, and a stove, and reasonably good things to eat in my cupboards and refrigerator. However, this year, as I’m sure I’ve mentioned numerous times here, I’m moving into Rob’s house, so my place is a complete and total disaster, what with the packing and my whole brain exploding. The packing is very disorganized, unlike the last time I moved, which was into my very own place that I actually owned for the first time, ever, and that time was VERY structured and organized since I had many boxes and could just pack everything up and move it over WITH MOVERS who I paid to deal with the nasty end of the moving (lifting heavy things). All I had to do was put things in nicely labeled boxes. It was nearly easy. It was certainly NOT disorganized.

This time around, it is very disorganized and scattered, with me packing up parts of rooms here and there, putting things in to boxes that are clearly mis-labeled, since they say “office” but really contain “living room things”. LAST TIME, the boxes marked “Bar, Glass” contained glass from my bar. This time around, I think the box marked “Bar, Glass” contains liquor from the bar, which was as close as I could get. Anyway, I realize this is partly my fault for not getting rid of all my old boxes, like most “normal” people do after they move into what they figure will be a permanent residence, but as you’ve probably gathered, I’m not falling into any “normal” categories here.

Aside from the packing, which is chaos, I have also mentioned that we are supposed to go CAMPING for NEW YEAR’S EVE. When it is cold out, because New Year’s Eve foolishly falls in the middle of fucking WINTER. The weather forecast has, for the past week, promised that it will be cold tomorrow, and colder on Friday, which is, as you already know, NEW YEAR’S EVE!! Today, it is only cold, not HELL FREEZING OVER COLD, and that means it’s only around –10C. It’s cold, alright? I consider it cold out when you can see your breath. This is much colder than that. Tonight it is supposed to go down to –18C, which is even colder and approaching HELL FREEZING OVER COLD, and the day after that we are promised –27C. That is actually HELL FREEZING OVER COLD. All the little minions in Hell are already getting out their toques and mittens, and are starting to bitch about how it’s not usually this cold, and how they can’t see it getting much colder. Well, get ready, minions, it’s going to freeze your asses off. Right off, in fact. Because they will be frozen, and when you all fall to the ground, moaning quietly as your lips freeze together, your asses will shatter and fall OFF!

I, on the other hand, know this is coming. I have tried to convince my appendix to burst, which it has stubbornly not done. I have tried to break my foot, even, by jumping off the kitchen counter last night while I was packing a box with the things I had stored above the kitchen cupboards. It did not work, and all that happened was I bruised the bottom of my foot, and now I have to pretend it’s OK because if I limp and whine at all, Rob will think I’m trying to get out of camping (which I kind of am, but need a much better excuse).

My anxiety grows. We talked about it a little this morning, since I had heard three times on the weather report that it was going to be insanely cold, and the weather reporters used terms like “cold snap”, “arctic stream”, “extreme windchill”, and “deep freeze”.

ME: Of course you know, if this doesn’t work out, I will never want to go camping in the winter again, EVER.
ROB: It won’t be that bad, really. I don’t know why you think it will be so bad. We’ll even be inside most of the time.
ME: Well, then, why do we have to drive out to the middle of nowhere if we’re just going to be inside? We have “inside” right here in the city, at your house, which you own. It’s nice, and it has heat and a stove and a nice warm bed to sleep in. We could unplug the TV and pretend it isn’t there. Plus, it’s going to be really, really cold.
ROB: Hee. At least we have the camper. I’ve tented in weather colder than this.
ME: [rolling eyes at the tenting reference, refraining from telling him he may be insane] I’m serious! If you want “inside, but a more rustic setting”, we can go in the garage to eat dinner.
ROB: It’s going to be fine.

Apparently, we’re still going CAMPING IN THE WINTER!!

At least there will be no Tsunamis where we are camping. But if there is an earthquake, I will take it as a sign that camping in the winter is definitely nuts.

Alright everyone, I’m here at work while the majority, if not all of you, are out frolicking for at least one more day. It’s December 28th here, and although Boxing Day in Canada is a huge deal (we are all hard-core shoppers at heart), it is technically not a Stat holiday in Alberta, where we have Family Day in one of those other non-holiday months instead, and most people just use it as an excuse to stay up late and get drunk and go to the casino instead of spending it with their families anyway. So because Boxing Day (December 26th) is not technically at Stat holiday, we are not given today off in lieu, since Boxing Day fell on a weekend this year. Dave, our boss, who is one of the nicest bosses ever, is miserly and Scrooge-ish when it comes to days off. On Christmas Eve, one of the days of the year when people are running around like fools trying to get all their last-minute stuff done, there were people in this office working until 3:00 p.m. Atrocious. I know. I’ve said as much. And New Year’s Eve? The same thing. AND NO ALCOHOL IN THE OFFICE EITHER! Because Dave fears someone will get drunk and drive over someone else, I think. A fine reason not to have alcohol at work, but one that could easily be nullified by forcing people TO NOT DRIVE TO WORK THAT DAY AT ALL.

I was not one of those people in the office on Christmas Eve, I must admit, although I feel outrage on their behalf. True, one of them brought her dog in for company and entertainment, but still. It’s just not right. And neither will it be right when those same people have to stay here late on New Year’s Eve when I leave at noon (heh). It’s just wrong. So for all of you that might be employers, know that when you make your staff come in on days when you should be giving them the day off, they are slacking egregiously and are not doing any work anyway, and are just getting bitter about working for you. It’s bad.

Anyway, because this is definitely one of those days that should just be given to us to take off, but has not be so decreed, I am slacking the entire day in protest. I’m in here this morning for a while to check my bank balance on line, make a few phone calls to personal friends and family, and then, this afternoon (and by that, I mean at 12:01 p.m.), I will be off to “inspect my properties”. Heh.

However, this being the season of silliness, I have stories to tell. The first is about Evil Dogs. You may remember that, before Christmas, I detailed Cooter’s exploits with inedible things when we left him alone for one and a half hours when we went grocery shopping and I got my car washed. Well, he learned NOTHING from that experience, other than that inedible things are fun to chew. We left the dogs alone in Rob’s house when we went out on Boxing Day, and sure enough, Cooter decided to chew the hell out of the Atari and Intellivision that were downstairs. The upstairs looked fine when we came in from our expedition, wherein which we purchased many clearance-priced items and finery (the outing was a success in that respect). Upon closer inspection of the basement, however, the terrible tragedy was discovered. The Intellivision was Rob’s from when he was young. The Atari was my family’s answer to the gaming craze of the ‘80s. Both utterly destroyed! Wires were in ruins all over the place. Two innocent paddles had met their doom at the mouth of the Cooter. One game cartridge was chewed up as well. And a piece of firewood had also succumbed, although that may have been the work of the NoodleDog. I do suspect that the NoodleDog was sleeping and not playing with Cooter, who is young, energetic and easily distracted, so he probably decided that he needed some entertainment. Being unable to actually work the game (you need several remote controls, opposable thumbs and have to plug various wires into various ports, so it’s more complicated than you’d think), he ate it instead. Rotten Dogs.

Christmas itself was a great time. We had Christmas Eve at Rob’s brother’s house, with his family including his father and great-aunt, and his brother and sister-in-law and their two girls. Dinner was great - Rob did the cooking. I’m sure I’ve mentioned before that Rob is a great cook. Rob is a fantastic cook, based on his stuffing. If you eat his stuffing and want to sleep with him afterwards, I will not blame you, although I will probably not allow it.

Christmas morning, the animals opened their stockings at my house, and so did Rob and I. Smudge loved her little rattle-y mousies. She likes to fetch them, which drives Cooter bananas. Cooter watches her all the time, now, and if she moves, he wants to move after her. All that does is make her move faster, which he likes, so he keeps doing it. Eventually, the game ends when she turns around and bops him on the head with her tiny paw, which is pretty entertaining to watch. The NoodleDog prefers rawhide chewies that he can consume to actual toys, so he tries to steal all the ones that are given to Cooter in addition to his own. He gets one, and Cooter gets one, and then Cooter gets distracted by Smudge, so he runs after her, and then the NoodleDog steals Cooter’s chewy, so when Cooter comes back, you have to give him another one. And then the NoodleDog tries to steal that one, too. Naturally, Cooter eventually wants to chew something, so there’s always a little scuffle when they work out which is whose.

After that fun, we went over to my sister’s place. I had been worried about that whole situation, with Christmas being in a different location from usual, but it worked out alright. There were many, many, many presents, and Christmas cheer, and strange things to eat that I did not eat. Banana-walnut grilled cheese on whole-grain nut bread, is one I can recall. I cooked up a pound of bacon instead. We eat a lot of bacon, Rob and I. More so, now that we’re together, I think, than when we were not together. Anyway, it was one of the non-fruit/vegetable-tainted items at Laura’s house, so I ate lots of it. Not as much as you’d think, though, because Rob had brought the thick-sliced stuff, which makes up fewer slices than the regular-sliced bacon, and my father and others were also eating it. So all in all, I probably only got five slices or so. Rob says that they count for more because they’re thicker, but man, when that stuff is cooked-up, it shrinks.

We then went and collected Rob’s father, and his brother’s dog, and we took all the dogs to play ball. The NoodleDog LOOOOVES playing ball. However, competing with Cooter, who is fast but misses the ball half the time, and Bailey, who is a border collie and kind of lives for playing ball, he got aced-out of the deal most of the time. He would run after the ball, and the faster dogs, barking his little heart out. If they missed it, he was so happy to get it and bring it back to us. If Cooter got it, and brought it back to us, he tends to drop the ball kinda in the vicinity, and then the NoodleDog can get it and give it directly to Rob. If Bailey got it, though, he was right out of luck, because Bailey drops it RIGHT on your feet, the better for you to throw it again immediately with no further time delays trying to reach for the ball, or trying to get the dog to “bring it here!” closer to you…

We spent the afternoon at the movie theatre, watching “Meet the Fockers”. It’s funny pretty much all the way through, and I was particularly glad to see it since it assuaged some of my fears of having Rob’s father exposed to my family, who, in comparison to the families in the film, are really not that bad. After the movie, we went for Christmas dinner at my parents’ house. Everyone was there. My sister and Shane, and his parents, and my brother, and my parents, and Rob and his father, and me. We left our dogs at Rob’s house, which was probably a very good thing. The Mac’s dog, Snowy, was there, though, and after dinner (which went well), Laura played with Snowy for about 45 minutes. And when I say “played with”, I mean “chased her around the house like a madwoman, throwing toys for her to get, barely missing my father’s head several times in the process”.

We left around 8:30p, headed home and watched the present that my cats got for Rob (Spiderman 2). And then we went to bed. Finally. And that was not the end of it, no, because the next day was Boxing Day, and we had to take advantage of all the very, very good sales. So we did that, even though it had really snowed a lot on Christmas night, and the roads were kind of a mess. Thankfully, due to the weather, traffic was light, and we were able to get into FutureShop without any problems. While we were there, and looking at a CD-deck to install in my winter car, the salesman tried to talk us out of buying it. He kept telling us we’d need to get it professionally installed at an exorbitant rate, and that we’d need various adapter kits and extra wiring and that the installation, quite frankly, would be a nightmare. All that did was make me not want to buy it at all. The deck itself was only about $60, and not worth struggling with. Rob says that’s how they make their money, by installing things for more than they’re worth, but really, if that was me buying things all the time, I’d just not want to buy them at all, for all that hassle. I hate the radio more than pretty much anyone I know, especially the radio in Calgary, which is nearly unbearable, but still, I’d rather stick with it and just have road rage all the time from the inane chatter rather than deal with annoying salespeople.

We ended up getting it anyway. I have faith in Rob, because he can fix most things, and I think he can install the thing just fine. If he can’t, well, then oh well. I’m really no worse off for trying.

Yesterday was alright – the first fairly quiet day we’ve had so far since Christmas time started. It wasn’t THAT quiet, though – we had to get up, feed cats, get ourselves down to Rob’s place to run errands and do things, and walk dogs, and clean the house. His house is clean now. I vacuumed most of it. I did laundry, too. Rob worked in the shop to clean it up and get ready for camping for New Year’s. Yes, I know. Winter camping. I’ve heard it all. I’ve probably said it all, too. Camping when it’s Very Cold out is probably a crazy idea. However, I’m committed to it now, and there’s no going back – I have to at least try it. It might be fun. Items of expensive warm clothing have been purchased to keep me from freezing and complaining all the time. Provisions have been made to ensure I do not die from the cold. Modifications to the sleeping arrangements (extra bedding and blankets, and an electric blanket) have been made to the camper to keep me from freaking out too much. I’m cautiously optimistic. If I get appendicitis before I go, though, well, then I will just have to cancel the trip. My appendix has been uncooperative in the past when faced with situations like these, so I’m not actually banking on that cancellation factor. Instead, I will rely on my friend, Rye, to keep me from feeling too cold. When I wake up, if I am cold, I can leave for civilization. I’m told there will be a cook-shelter we can hide out in that will have a fire and propane heaters (running in an enclosed space, by the by, which I think is not right, but then again, what do I know about propane other than what I read on the labels that expressly say “DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCE, UNDER PAIN OF SEVERE EXPLOSION OR DEATH FROM ASPHYXIATION BY INVISIBLE, SMELL-LESS GASSES BUILDING UP, OPERATE IN ENCLOSED SPACES”?). I am trembling, yo, and cannot tell if my trembling is from fear, or extreme cold.

And that, my friends, is where I’m at today. I have already been forced to do more work today than I had planned, and my only hope is to escape to “inspect my properties”. I hope you all had a very Merry Christmas and that your New Year’s plans include warmth and friends and good cheer.

The Mac arrived yesterday, in the early evening. I happened to be at the parents’ house at the time with the NoodleDog and Cooter. Snowy was ushered into the house while the NoodleDog and Cooter were outside, frolicking and barking at The Mac. They were all carefully introduced, and everyone got along just great! Poor NoodleDog, though – he likes Snowy so much, and he really likes Cooter, but when those two start playing together, he gets a little left out. They’re both a little quicker than he is, and they both like to play “keep away”, where they take whatever toy he is playing with, and then tease him with it and don’t let him have it back.

Anyway, The Mac arrived safe and sound, although I’m told he has a sore throat. Snowy survived the trip as well, although she drank a whole pitcher of water when she got out of the car. She doesn’t like the car very much, so she pants the whole time they’re driving and then gets dehydrated. Poor dog.

As Christmas gets closer and closer (two days away!), I realize how much I totally haven’t done yet. I don’t think there’s time to do it all. Yet somehow, each year, it all gets done. Maybe there are elves.

Merry Christmas, everyone!! I hope you have a great holiday, and that you’re spending time with loved ones.

The Mac is coming!! The Mac is coming!! He’s coming up for Christmas from Smallvcitysville, USA in the Midwest somewhere. It’s about a two-day drive. He was supposed to have left yesterday morning, which puts him in the vicinity, oh, say, right around NOW!! Yay!!

Actually, I expect he’ll be around this evening sometime. Hopefully the roads have been kind to him. They were not at all kind last year – his Jeep Cherokee broke down on the way here, and his poor, poor dog Snowy had to endure all sorts of endless waiting around while the shop fixed it in Minot, North Dakota. Minot is an alright place to stop for the night, especially since it has easy-access motels right off the road, and one particularly cheap-cheap-cheap one that The Mac likes to boast about staying in since it’s so cheap.

However, last year, when The Mac visited us, he ended up kinda stranded in Minot having the shop fix his vehicle. Snowy, being a dog, isn’t really allowed in most of the places you’d go into while you’re waiting (like, shops and stuff), so The Mac walked her around the place. Last year, it was cold. Very cold. Poor Snowy.

Then, last year, on his way back to his home, the Jeep broke down a second time. It was as if the universe was taunting him.

This year, hopefully he has not broken down anywhere, as we have not heard from him to say that he has. So hopefully, he’ll be here very soon, and we can hang out. Hanging out with The Mac is good because he’s pretty funny. He’s also pretty damn smart (probably too smart for his own good), so he knows lots of good stuff. The NoodleDog will get to play with Snowy, who he loves, and Snowy will get to meet Cooter, and hopefully she doesn’t hate him and want to kill him. Because sometimes she decides she doesn't like a dog and wants to kill it. Hopefully this is not the case.

Also, this year, The Mac will get to meet Rob, who wasn’t around last year at Christmas time. Personally, I really really hope they get along. I don’t foresee any problems, since Rob is very cool and The Mac is very cool, so it should all be alright.

Mac, here’s hoping you’ve traveled safely like I advised, and that you’re here sooner rather than later.

OK. So as you all know, I’m moving. I’m moving IN with this GUY, and I’m trying to SELL my OWN LITTLE PLACE that I bought and paid for with (part of my mother’s money which I’m paying back, but mostly) my own hard-earned money. It’s causing me no small amount of anxiety. I feel that part of the anxiety is normal Christmas-time anxiety, but have a hard time justifying that statement because I love Christmas so much! Yay!

Last night, I got home and started packing more of my precious, precious belongings into boxes, all wrapped up with packing paper, and when I ran out of that, newspaper, which turned my hands all sorts of black and coloured from the front page section which has pictures. Pictures of what? You’d have to unpack my things to find out because in my frenzy to get things done, I did not notice what the pages had on them before I crammed them into the box (and if you want to help, you just let me know and I’ll buy you beer. Lots of beer.). Usually, packing is somewhat relaxing because it’s just a mindless activity (if you don’t think about the fact that your things might get broken, of course), and you can take the time to read all the newspaper stories you did not read when you first got the paper some time last year. Yesterday afternoon, though, I was not reading at all, I was packing, and sort of frantically at that, because I looked at the whole mess my whole house is (which is more than the normal mess it usually is) and FREAKED OUT!

As I was packing, and ignoring the NoodleDog’s quiet, strained whining because he was waiting for me to take him for a walk, the doorbell ran, and the NoodleDog switched from quiet whine mode to full on BARK BARK BARK mode, which either signifies a strong desire to irritate me or his excitement at being able to lick a whole new person. It was the latter (duh – doorbell) although the whole new person at the door was not the kind you’d want to lick. That doesn’t matter to the NoodleDog, who wants to lick everyone and everything, including your pants, especially after he has had a drink of water. This whole new person was a Horrible Realtor Woman.

The HRW stood outside the door as I struggled to hold on to the NoodleDog and surveyed me with quiet disdain. The HRW is from South Calgary, which is a snooty area of the City, and I live in a NOT SNOOTY area of a smaller town outside the City, so she was pre-disdainful of the whole situation. I threw the NoodleDog outside for a few minutes so she could come in and survey my place disdainfully, and survey the cats disdainfully, and stalk disdainfully through my house, which is messier than usual. I said to her, I said “Don’t mind the mess, ha ha, I’m trying to pack.” And she just sniffed.

She sauntered scornfully through the house in a matter of seconds (and although my house is somewhat small, if one was examining it for the purposes of obtaining my business as a real estate seller, you’d think one might spend a few more than 45 seconds doing it), and then we sat down to chat about my “options”. She presented me with the MLS listings from all the units exactly like mine that have sold since I bought mine just about two years ago. She went over the recent sale prices, which are slightly higher than what I paid for the unit (about 3.2% higher) and sniffed occasionally to signify her contempt for the entire situation. She also then explained that if I was planning on making money on this deal, I would have to immediately abandon that concept because the realtor had to make at least $3,000 on the deal in order for it to be worth their time. I then inquired politely as to what, exactly, the realtor would be doing for that $3,000, and was told that, well, the $3K only buys you so much – like listing in the MLS (for approximately $75), and office fees of $900, and this and that, and, well, I could plainly see that the actual profit the realtor was personally going to take away from doing the work of driving to my place aaaallll the way out of town to sign me up as a customer because these realtors don’t have any buyers “at this time”, was ONLY going to work out to be $1,100, after we deducted all the other expenses that came out of the $3,000.

I thanked her politely and said I’d consider her, and that I had to let my dog in now, and I’d be “in touch”.

Oh. Let me briefly describe this HRW. She was older (around 60, I would say, and that’s probably being generous), with tired coloured, permed hair that had seen better days, and closely approximated this anti-smoking ad I had once seen in jr. high school, which said: “Smoking. Glamorous, isn’t it?” and had a picture of a very terrible-looking old woman on it whose skin had all sagged and whose eyes were all sunken-in.

I was not impressed.

Then, I took the NoodleDog for a nice walk, and had a million-dollar idea, whereupon I called my fantastic Rob and explained it to him. We chatted briefly about it after I got home, and as the conversation proceeded, I thought about all the things I had to pack, and all the things I had still to do before Christmas happens, and the desserts I have to make and my brain started to work on various negative scenarios, which may be an asset in my job, but is certainly NOT an asset when you’re trying to contemplate major life changes.

And sure enough, I started to freak myself right out. What if I get all this stuff packed-up, and he cancels the move? Then I’ll have to unpack it all, and I’ll probably lose precious, precious things in the whole ordeal, and I’ll be miserable thinking of the lost opportunity. What if I pack all these things up, and take them to his house, and he cancels the move? Then, I’ll have to bring it all back, and that will be hard because there will be lots of lifting heavy things and trying to figure out what is in these hastily-packed boxes that are marked “Office” from my previous move, but actually now contain “Kitchen” items. What if I pack all these things up, take them to his place, and this actually works out, but my house doesn’t sell? Then, I’ll have to forever be paying lots of money for a place I don’t live in, and the stress will get to me and I’ll be more difficult to live with, and he’ll then cancel the whole deal, and I’ll have to move BACK into the place I moved out of, and, well, it will be very horrible, all of it. I may also be a little afraid of success, too, because what if it just works out and nothing goes wrong at all? What then?!!

Also, I thought about where will all my things go when I get them to his house? We’ve been over this before, a few times, and he was trying to be very patient with me as he usually is, and told me over and over it was all going to be “fine”, but really, in reality, all that did was cause me further panic because all it did in my brain was underline the fact that he doesn’t understand how serious this whole situation is, and doesn’t understand the complicating factors.

There was then a very complex spiral effect, where he would tell me it was going to be fine, and my brain would take that as a complete and total insult, and overreact by further plunging me into absolute negativity. “It CAN’T work out,” my brain would say, “because he doesn’t understand what needs to be done. And if he doesn’t get that part of it, what’s going to happen when you two try to have a child, and you have back pains, and you can’t see your feet, and you feel really fat – fatter than usual – and he just says “don’t worry, honey, it’ll be fine.”…SEE?!!”

OK, so it only played that whole child-card when the conversation had deteriorated beyond salvage, and I was so totally freaking out that I was in utter despair and looked around me at all the things I had to pack and thought how hopeless this entire thing was going to be. Because I have to pack it all, but I still have to live there for a while longer, and I can’t pack the stuff I need, but I still have to get it out of the house so I can clean the place and list it and sell it, and aaauug, I can’t be in two places at the same damn time.

Instead, I just started to pack everything. I figure, well, what the hell? If I need something I’ve already packed, well, then, either too bad, or I’ll just have to unpack and find it. And I whirled into action, and packed many things, and archived files I had meant to archive for the past year now, and cleaned out credenzas and packed the bar, and packed away all the liquor (a terrible idea in hindsight), and started to pack the main bedroom, and then I started wrapping Christmas presents, because my brain was entirely scattered by then. I like multi-tasking because it feels like I’m doing more than I am, and probably, in reality, I’m doing less, but at least I feel better about it.

By the time he called me back to say goodnight, I was in a horrible state of mind, thinking that everything I was doing HAD to be done by me and only me, and there was no way he could help with anything, and it was all on me, and the only way this WHOLE relationship was going to work was if I DID ALL THE WORK, and made ALL the sacrifices, and changed my WHOLE PERSONALITY!! So if anyone out there has a spare personality that is better than mine, please let me know and if you want, I’ll trade you my condo for it.

I realized, as I was brushing my teeth, that I was being totally stupid, and called him back after I climbed into bed and was surrounded by warm, purring cats, and apologized for the stupidity, and told him I missed him and was just freaking myself out for nothing.

And while the nice, rational part of my brain that peeks out from all the panic, confusion and the Big Freak-Out understands that it’s probably all going to be alright if I will only just calm the hell down, the rest of my brain beats it with sticks, kicks it when it falls to the ground in the fetal position, and then pours sauce on it and EATS IT!!

Most of the time, the negative part of my brain gets turned off when I get home and turn on the TV. However, we haven’t had that nice down-time I usually look forward to (blame the television producers and schedulers who have filled the time-slots this year with inane reality shows and poorly-scripted dramas, like “Lost” – thanks, ABC, you’re causing the demise of my favourite category of television), so that “bad” part of it is working overtime and is probably getting a little tired and cranky.

So think good thoughts for me, all of you. Feel free to send me comments of support, or to, you know, laugh at the craziness. I’m laughing. Hysterically, maybe, but at least I’m laughing. Heh.

OK, well maybe that’s a little misleading – I’ve had some weird Christmases before, but this is the first Christmas where I will have more than one place to be. There are several factors this year that have unexpectedly come into play, and it’s going to be “interesting” trying to sort them all out.

Factor 1: Rob. I’ve had the occasional Christmas when I’ve had a boyfriend before, and yes, presumably they’ve all had families, but this is the first actual year where I’ve had a Christmas to spend with more than one family at the same approximate time. This factor kind of resolves itself in that Rob’s family does Christmas on Christmas Eve.

Factor 2: My sister. My sister, Laura, has a sort of fiancé-boyfriend-type-guy she has been with for, oh, say, about ten years now. They got engaged, they got unengaged, they built a huge house on the South West side of the city last year. They are now living in their large house, and his parents are going to be in town. So Laura now wants to have some portion of our family Christmas celebration to be held at her house. While I can certainly understand that desire, and I can appreciate the possibility of such a thing happening, I’m not entirely sure this is the year to do it.

Factor 3: My cats. Since I’m moving in with Rob, I haven’t set my place up for Christmas, really. I have no tree, the place has boxes all over for the packing, and we’re slowly moving over the furniture and stuff. However, my cats are still at my house, and will remain at my house until Rob’s roommate vacates his place at Rob’s house. We don’t want to take the cats over until he’s gone because, well, it would be a little strange. It’s not that I think he’d be mean to them or anything, but he doesn’t like smells of any kind and it’s already awkward enough as it is with him still there and me moving my stuff in. So we have to be in the place with my cats so I can give them their stocking and toys. Yes, I do that. No, I don’t think it’s strange. My cats have been with me longer than any guy, so far, and they’re like my own little family. I got stockings for the dogs, too, so if you think that’s weird, well, I’m not sure what I can tell you.

So add all these factors together, and it looks like a busy week ahead.

On December 23rd, we’re going for dinner with Rob’s friends. I’m sure I’ve commented before on the strange, close-knittedness of the group he belongs to, and this time of year is no exception to the group’s unfamiliar compulsion to do stuff together. I do like his friends, so I’m sure this will be fine, and I’m hoping I won’t hyperventilate myself into a blackout situation. I did bring up my strange aversion to these large group gatherings to my medical doctor, in case I have some sort of social anxiety disorder or something, and was advised that no, this is completely normal, and that a better way to get to know these people would probably be in smaller groups, a couple at a time, here or there. However, too late now, and here we go! Plunged into the icy waters of large group gatherings. At Christmas, when stress levels hit the redline in the stress-o-meters. Whee!!

On December 24th, we’re having dinner at Rob’s brother’s house. Sure, it’s a little odd, in that I’ve met his brother and family, say, 2.5 times so far. However, I’m assured it will be fine, and I get to meet his aunt, who I’m told will want to talk to me. No pressure there! I’m also making dessert, so if all else fails, I can stuff myself with chocolate and try to enjoy the endorphins from that.

On December 25th, we’ll be doing some presents for the animals at my house when we get up. Stockings, rattle-y furry mice, dog biscuits and chewies, and no Christmas tree. Due to the moving and time constraints, I have not gotten a Christmas tree. Aside from the fact that Rob prefers the artificial tree because it doesn’t kill real trees, I just haven’t had time to set it up, and there are boxes everywhere, and furniture slowly being taken out of my house, so it’s not all that Christmas-y. However, we will try to manage. I do have a number of Christmas CDs that I bought on sale after Christmas last year, which I will be breaking out in an attempt to Christmas-up the place.

Then, we are supposed to go to Laura’s house to do the whole family presents thing and brunch. Traditionally, we spend Christmas morning at my parents’ place, opening presents and eating whatever we can find in the kitchen and the chocolates we have opened. The Grumpaw has even been known to make pancakes with a “secret ingredient”. It’s a fine time. This year, we delve into the unknown. I haven’t been over to Laura’s house since the summertime. There has been some strife in her relationship with Shane (her guy), although I’m assured that this is alright now, and that Christmas won’t have any problems (heh). Additionally, his parents will be in attendance this year to add yet another complicating factor. So this should be interesting. My sister is the kind of person who abhors fat of all kinds, and eats according to a strict rule of law that prohibits most sugars from the house. Due to the whole Crohn’s thing I have going on, fruits and vegetables are kind of off my list of things I can eat without enduring a stabbing pain in my gut, so it should be interesting to see what I can scrounge. I have a feeling I will be bringing my own “brunch” (read: BACON, and lots of it!).

Later in the day, we plan on seeing a movie with Rob’s dad. This is a prelude to taking Rob’s dad with us to Christmas dinner. Some brief talk was had of having Christmas dinner at Laura’s house, although that would just be too weird and strange, so hopefully it will be held at my parents’ house, on familiar ground, on ground that won’t seem so strange to Rob’s father. He has already met my parents, which we implemented in a pre-emptive strike for the express purpose of preparing him to be invited to Christmas dinner. So Christmas dinner at my parents’ place will include the two of them, my brother The Mac, Laura & Shane, Shane’s parents, Rob and his father, and myself. That’s ten people, which is a lot of people for any place, really. It will require that we add the kitchen table to the dining room table to accommodate everyone. That way, we eliminate the “other table” syndrome, where there is a smaller, less prestigious table for those of lesser stature, usually reserved for children and guests you wish hadn’t shown up. No one likes the “other table”, because you miss out on all the good conversations and you have to probably cut up food for the other kids at the table. Plus, if there ARE children in the mix, they will likely be loud and obnoxious and might spill something on you. So under no circumstance should anyone of any civility put an adult guest at the “other table”. Take note, all of you hosting Christmases or other events at your houses – the “other table” is not alright. Make room at the large table, or just invite fewer people.

Hopefully, it all goes according to plan. I’ve already had several small anxiety attacks about this Christmas, and I’d prefer that we just play it according to the drafted regulations. The stunning oversight to this plan is, as you’ve already no doubt guessed, THE DOGS. We don’t know where they’ll be or what they’ll be doing, but hopefully they will not be taking vengeance upon us by destroying any bottles of Lysol or eating any cherished “good” Christmas pictures (as Cooter did this weekend when we left him alone for ONE HOUR in my house – probably because we didn’t walk him before we went out), or pilfering bacon grease from the frying pan ON the stove and theoretically out of reach, except for the NoodleDog’s extended tongue (which was his stab at disobedience this weekend – he couldn’t let Cooter have all the fun, now, could he? At least he went for something edible…). I just have to comment that as Cooter destroyed the bottle of Lysol and ate the only good picture of Rob and me from Rob’s Christmas party, there were two boxes of dog biscuits left ON THE FLOOR along with a giant bag of dog food he neglected to chew open. Instead, he went for the most inedible things in the house. I can’t imagine picture paper tasting that good, but he did consume the picture. I really can’t imagine Lysol holding any interest for a dog, but he punctured it and spilled it all over the living room. Oh, and he chewed up my drywall tape as well, which is totally incomprehensible, although when I showed the tape to the NoodleDog, he sniffed at it and went to eat it, so maybe that stuff smells good to dogs.

However, the dogs remain the rogue factor in this year’s Christmas plan. They can make it or break it. Here’s hoping they cooperate…

It’s Monday again, obviously, or I wouldn’t be at work writing the blog…

The weekend went alright – Rob has demonstrated yet another amazing skill, he can drywall! I had drywall delivered to my place on Friday afternoon, and even though they put it RIGHT in the driveway rather than on my deck like I had asked, it worked out alright. We carried it in, very slowly because that stuff is pretty heavy when it’s two sheets taped together, to the house on Friday afternoon, then walked the dogs, and then carried the sheets down in to the basement. That was about enough work that evening for me, so we called it “Stage 1 – Complete”, and went to watch TV. Rob is very good and patient and fantastic to do work with, because he doesn’t yell at me, and we have a fun time doing whatever we’re doing. I did tell him that at my parents’ place, loading anything anywhere that required two people, especially if one of them is my father, is a bit of a problem. There are orders barked, and because he’s not the most physically endowed man in the world, things invariably are harder to move around, and someone’s end slips, and then there are shouts of “tilt your side! Tilt it!” and “I AM tilting – you tilt YOUR SIDE!” and then “LIFT IT, lift it… No, LIFT it!” and then “Quit yelling at me!” and then “Where are you going? Don’t you want to get this in the house/car/wherever?”

So when we lifted the heavy sheets of drywall, which are actually two sheets taped together (which I believe I mentioned), and they hurt my hands, and I had to say “I’m gonna drop this if we don’t set it down for a minute…”, Rob didn’t yell at me at all to “lift your side higher” or “tilt it” or anything. He just said “OK.” And we set the sheets down so I could get a better grip. It was great!

The sheets were gently maneuvered into the basement, the only casualty of which was a lightbulb that was clearly in the way to begin with, so it was promptly executed, SMACK, by a sheet of drywall. That’ll learn it! Then, I had a doctor’s appointment on Saturday (yes, my doctor works on SATURDAY! Amazing!), so I had to navigate icy roads to get in to town to see him while Rob worked on the basement. When I got back, man, it was fantastic! There was drywall up all over the place! There were holes cut where they should be, and it looked very different from the giant open concrete room I had there before. We worked on it together for a while (well, I tried to put in the screws to hold the drywall up, but mostly ended up poking holes in the drywall with the drill and swearing profusely).

We stopped about halfway through the job and went to find something to eat. We stayed at Rob’s place on Saturday night because we had more parties to go to (I tell ya, it’s nonstop partying with this guy!), and on Sunday, we stayed in town visiting with Rob’s family most of the day. So we didn’t get back to the drywalling until Sunday evening. I over-ordered, of course, and have six sheets of drywall to take back. We have one little section that will be finicky to finish. I say “we”, but really, Rob is the one who did all the work. He measured everything, and did all the cutting, and fitted the finished sheets onto the wall. All I did was put in screws with the drill, which you would think would be easy enough, but, well, see above re: swearing profusely.

The room looks amazing. I think I would have paid more money for my place if it had had the room in it. I mean, it makes the whole basement usable. It makes the laundry equipment more accessible (in that if you were sitting downstairs watching TV, which is what the room is kind of designed for, you would be more inclined to do laundry without having to run up and down stairs every half hour or so to turn cycles on or off or put stuff in the dryer… I hate doing laundry for that exact reason). If someone wanted to, they could put in a nice bathroom downstairs with a nice Jacuzzi tub, which was my original plan as well. I was going to set up a nice theatre room, install a bathroom with a Jacuzzi tub, and then make the main floor into more of a guest-entertaining area where I’d have some Nice Furniture and laminate hardwood flooring.

Only now, I don’t have to worry about it. I just wanted to drywall the basement so my house will sell better. I had it framed up last year, and then never did anything with it. I had lofty plans! I was going to do the work myself! I was going to save money and make the house more valuable! But, as you know, I’m lazy lazy lazy, and did nothing. Well, lazy and lacking surplus funds.

So while I have not accomplished much in the way of packing, the basement is well on its way to being done, which makes me feel a lot better about the way time is flying by. I still have Christmas shopping to do, but it’s all fun stuff, and Christmas is a fun time of year, so I don’t mind at all. The animals have all been curious about what is going on in the basement. Rumble came downstairs to watch and sit on my shoulder for a while. Smudge frolicked around as the walls went up, although she was not at all keen on the noise the drill made. The NoodleDog and Cooter won’t come down the stairs to the basement – I think because they are kind of narrow and are not covered with carpet, so they might slide around and fall down. Cooter just looks from the top of the stairs, and the NoodleDog won’t even come near the stair area.

Now, though, it’s Monday, and the week looms ahead. I can’t believe it’s December 13th already – less than two weeks until Christmas. I still have so much to do to get ready to move. It just seems like time is flying by. I wish everyone happy Christmas shopping and safe travels this time of year!

Last night, when I was getting ready for bed at Rob’s place, the bathroom sink failed to drain. I tried a couple of things (jiggling the plug, tapping the plug, trying to compress the water down with my hand... etc.), and none of them worked. So I had to go and get Rob out of bed, ask him what he wanted me to do. He said he'd look at it, but I offered to try and plunge it out. That failed miserably when I heard water spilling into the cabinet below the sink, so we abandoned that. By then, Rob was up and trying to figure it out. Then, he figured he'd just take out the little arm underneath the sink, so he set to unscrewing that, and further water spillage ensured (of course). Towels and a bowl to collect the water were obtained and set beneath the elbow pipe. Then, he managed to get it off, and yuck - the smell! Eeew! Putrid, rotting yuck!

So because he had been handling the elbow pipe, and the black, greasy rotting material that was stuck in the pipe had gotten on his hands, his natural reaction was to wash them. In the sink. From which he had just removed the elbow pipe. Water everywhere! I suppose I wasn't much in the way of help because I was just standing there laughing and commenting on how gross it was, offering useful statements like “maybe you shouldn’t use the sink!!” after he had turned the water on... He cleaned out the elbow pipe in the kitchen sink, and reinstalled it. Then, we tested it and it totally failed. The clog was further down the pipe. So he took the elbow pipe back off, and again, washed his hands in the unsecured sink. AGAIN! Much to my entertainment. The clog wasn't where we could get at it, so I suggested he get a coat-hanger and stab through it so that when we applied the Drano later on, it would have a chance to get to the clog. So he did just that, stabbing away at the clog in the pipe with a coat-hanger, bringing out little globs of awful black stuff. Only, see, the coat-hanger got stuck on something after he had jammed it in there a few good tries. Then, he started pulling on it, harder and harder. I stood there, kind of watching in concerned horror. I said to him, I sez "Do you think... I mean... maybe... you... shouldn't be... y'know, yanking on it... that... hard..." and SCCLOOOONK! Rob's hands flew back in the air, and I involuntarily flinched and closed my eyes, and when I opened them, pure hilarity. The coat-hanger had come out alright, and had brought with it a giant clump of whatever had been clogging the sink. And most of it had ended up all over Rob. Smaller black greasy clumps were all over his body, and because he had just gotten out of bed, he was only wearing shorts, so those were covered too.

Eeeeew!! Hee! But super-ew! Funny as all hell, and I could not stop laughing. I'm sure I wasn't much help at all. He just sat there, too, covered in the glop, looking alternately amused and disgusted. We decontaminated him in the shower, and I worked to clean up the floor and globs of goop everywhere... It was a good time.

I suppose this just goes to indicate how domesticated I’ve become. Unclogging a sink amounts to a good time. I did remark afterwards (after I managed to calm down, stop laughing, and breathe) that a clogged sink at my parents’ place would have constituted a calamity. The whole house would have been shut down. Assessments, investigations, and inquisitions would have begun. Cries of “What did you put in the sink?!!” would have echoed throughout the place. Recriminations would have ensued, my father would have said “I’ll take care of it later…” and my mother, in a couple of days, would be so fed up she’d call a plumber, who would invariably charge her a small fortune to snake it out or pour liquid plumber down the drain. Then, my father would find out she’d hired someone, and would have his nose out of joint, and a stony silence would descend upon the dwelling.

At Rob’s house? Pure entertainment, baby. Sniggering, giggling, then outright hands-down laughter until the tears rolled down my face. Because seriously? Seeing him sitting there on the floor, all covered in goop? All I could think was that he was so cool.

Ok, are you ready for this?

Really, really ready?

Because it’s big news, for me anyway.

I’m moving. Well, I’m getting ready to move in March. I know what you’re thinking – that’s a long time to be getting ready to move, but really, it isn’t. Time is flying by, people. And where, you ask, am I moving? Into Rob’s house.

Yes, it’s a big step. It’s huge, even. It’s a fairly scary for a couple of good reasons: I’ll be leaving my own place, and I haven’t lived with anyone for ten years now; I’ll be moving into someone else’s house, and that’s a difficult adjustment for me. I’m used to having my own place, being on my own, with no one touching my stuff or eating my food, or moving things on me, or leaving dishes around…

Not that I think Rob will do any of that. That’s why I’m OK with moving in. I’m more than OK, in fact, I’m very excited about the whole thing. It’s exciting for a lot of good reasons, too, like I’ll be able to wake up with him every day, I’ll be able to have dinner with him without having to drive to his house from mine (which is about 40 km away, by the by). I’m really looking forward to it.

March 1st isn’t that far away, though, and that means I have a lot to do. I have to pack up a bunch of my stuff so I can get it out of the condo to list it. I’m hoping to sell it, and failing that, at least rent it out so it doesn’t cost me money. This means I have to clean it, too, which is harder than it sounds because the cats have managed to destroy some of the flooring, and that which is not outright destroyed and requiring replacement needs to be at least power-cleaned. Having a dog means having mud in the house whether you are careful or not. The NoodleDog is a lot better than he used to be – now, he sits at the front or back door and lets me clean his feet off before he runs through the house. But last year, there were several (many) incidents when he would come in from being out in wet weather and just zip past me right onto the WHITE carpeting that is everywhere in the house. There is more dog hair than cat hair in the place, something I never thought possible. The cats are fairly neat – if they’re going to shed, usually it’ll be in the place where they sleep (chairs, blankets, wherever). The dog sheds pretty much everywhere. I find entrenched sections of it on the stairs for crying out loud. How does he do that? I mean, he doesn’t slide up and down the stairs, scraping off fur. The stuff must just fall off him wherever he goes.

Rumble doesn’t shed much at all, and for a cat with fairly long hair, that’s a feat. He doesn’t like to be combed much either, so when he seems nice and relaxed, I try to run the comb over him, getting huge clumps of fur in it. I collect the fur and save it in a bag. That might seem like a symptom of insanity, but his fur is soooo soft and nice, I do entertain the thought of spinning it into yard and making it into a sweater or something. For now, it just stays in a bag.

Caspar and Tobey shed their fair share of hair, but they’re white, and it blends nicely into the carpet. It does not, however, blend in at all with my black pants, which they seem perversely attracted to rub against whenever I get them out.

Smudge is really too small to measure shedding quantities. Her long hair is camouflaged, as well, because it is grey, white and orange, or any combination thereof, and is very fine so it tends to blend in well with whatever it lands on.

Anyway, aside from the fur on the rugs, I think the place is alright and can be cleaned up to sell in about a month. Like I said, I’ve started packing early, so I can get most of the stuff I don’t use every day put into boxes and put away, either to wait for movers, or directly at Rob’s place in his basement. So basically, the plan is to get everything done in the condo and get it listed by early January, giving myself a couple of months to get it sold. I have to finish drywalling the basement, however, and although I can buy drywall, and probably even lean it up against the framing, mudding and taping might be a bit of a trick. Good thing I work in an industry where I know a lot of trades.

I did go into the office on Sunday, to try and clean it up a little. I hadn’t been in there to clean in, oh, about four months or so. And that last “clean” visit was more of a “dump stuff in there and run”. So I had bills sitting in there from March (really) that needed to be filed, and piles - stacks - of paper that could probably find homes in the filing cabinet under “miscellaneous” or “personal”.

But I’m optimistic and very excited about the impending move. I am never tired of spending time with Rob, and am always very happy when I know I get to see him. I’m hoping that this will carry over to living with him, and then I’ll just be happy all the time. Well, happier, anyway, because most of the time, I’m pretty content. Rob’s Christmas party was on Saturday, and before we went out, we spent about an hour sitting in the kitchen, just chatting about cars and all sorts of stuff, and I remember being happy, but it really hits me now how happy I really was. It was so nice to just sit and be with someone I care so much about. I’m very, very lucky.

So cross your fingers for me – that the packing goes alright, the cleaning isn’t too expensive and that the place sells in the allotted time.