I live here!

I have no idea why this teensy little space has two sinks. I mean, of all the luxuries that might have been doubled (like, oh, the size of the bed, which barely fits me and a pizza box at the same time, my standard of decency) why the sink? And in fact my drawing isn't totally accurate (fooled you!) because Sink No. 2 is actually two sinks, side by side, in case I ever feel like setting up an elaborate wash-rinse-dry cycle in my bedroom. Which MAYBE I would want to do, if we had any dishes to wash. You have to be creative around here. Wine out of a coffee mug. Pasta eaten right from the strainer. Cereal out of the bowl of the kitchen scale (why do we even have a kitchen scale?).

Another, uh, winning aspect of this place is the very unlikely colour scheme, which consists of nicotine-white and scrubs-green:

Everything here follows this scheme, from the toilet-rooms (they do not qualify as "bathrooms" because they contain no suggestion of cleanliness or sanitation, not even a sink, which maybe explains why I have two) to the wood stain on the desk to the bedside lamp. I wonder about the private relish of the person who chose these colours, knowing they would scald the retinas of hundreds of future teaching assistants with their unnatural hospital-bright glare. But I think that even the hired painter grew weary of the green, because he didn't bother to paint all the way to the bottom of my closet door. A few halfhearted strokes towards the floor and he called it a day. But I sort of like it. Reminds me of the wavery, single-layer coat of jet-black paint which circled the ceiling of my Woodward room and which no one could ever explain.

Non-sequitor: I've been thinking about my birthday. I know there are some people who are so charmingly self-restrained that they don't tell a soul when their birthday is approaching, and maybe they have the world's tiniest celebration with their cat and dog and possibly a couple of humans, and that's plenty. But me? I might as well order t-shirts that say "AVAILABLE FOR BIRTHDAY FUNNESS THIS FRIDAY, SUGGESTIONS WELCOME, APPLY ABOVE." I started getting excited about it, oh, two months ago. Once September hits I'm all birthday excitement, all the time. Admittedly, this year's whole Move To France fiasco bulldozed all other excitement out of the way, but it's back now. Seven days to go and I will be A QUARTER OF A CENTURY old. I know I will miss the giant Scorpio party of 2007 and all the VIPs who celebrated along with me, but I do have a few ideas floating around about how to make this year a particularly awesome one. One thing is for sure... I am definitely going HERE:

An entire restaurant for ice cream.

Uh.... YES PLEASE.

Next Friday I'm going to knock down their door and order everything on the menu. And then I'm going to ask Lara to roll me out of there like a barrel and tip me towards home, where I will incubate in my ice-cream birthday coma until I turn 26.

I think I would be okay with not having an oven if I could eat ice cream 24/7. Yeah, that seems reasonable. I suppose nutrition might be a problem, but nothing to lose sleep over. However, the need to eat AS MUCH ICE CREAM AS POSSIBLE is definitely a reason to lose sleep, because you know that Aerosmith song about how loverboy dreads drifting off to dreamland because he doesn't want to miss a thing? I don't want to fall asleep because I don't want to miss a second of White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle dipped in Sticky Toffee Gourmet Fondue. My life has new priorities....


OOOOOOOOOOH baby.

Had an internet date (much more innocent than it sounds) with one of my Montreal friends last night, except that his microphone wasn't working so basically our "conversation" was me delivering a two-hour monologue while he weighed in with a chat window. It was surprisingly easy for me to talk that long without anyone talking back (or maybe not so surprising?), but he did his best, and the archived transcript from his typed half is so VERY hilarious. In fact when I wasn't ranting and gesturing (and possibly knocking over another glass, plastic this time) I was falling out of my chair in laughter. Plus the advantage of being the only one able to speak meant that I could curse him out much more effectively when necessary, though he held his own using the vilest combinations of punctuation:

Jean-Marc: hey!
Jean-Marc: listen woman!
Jean-Marc: /////
Jean-Marc: take that!
Jean-Marc: +3pu y0-j5*9/
Jean-Marc: delayed reaction
Jean-Marc: i'm sternly not laughing back here

Advantage: I could just minimize his chat window and keep on ranting. Uh, not that I did that, JM.

The internet is a marvellous thing.

Jiggity-M and I in Montreal, way back in the golden days of '07