So, every year our townhouse community holds a weekend garage sale, wherein we all try and foist our crap onto our unsuspecting neighbours.
This year, the weather was...less than conducive to puttering about people's carports. It was misting passive aggressively and we were forced to sit outside on awkward folding chairs, desperately clutching warm drinks.
It was like camping, but without the nice campfire.
Garage sales are an interesting glimpse into the human psyche.
People will come in, cast their eyes over your paltry offerings and suddenly swoop down and grab something random, like a George Forman Grill and screech "WHAT'S THE LOWEST YOU'LL TAKE FOR THIS". And their eyes turn all wild, like they're fundamentally torn between needing this precious treasure and not paying more than $1.50 for it.
And the bargaining. OH THE BARGAINING.
I mean, I love bargaining as much as the next person, but when the item's already free...there's not much more I can do. Except throw in more crap. Which I gladly did.
I'm happy to say that, despite the gloomy weather, we got rid of a hefty pile of stuff and made a decent profit.
I have to say, that's it takes a lot of self-restraint to not push the hard sell on people wandering by.
I really had to work at not yelling things like "HEY! YOU IN THE HAT! YOU LOOK LIKE A GUY WHO NEEDS A CROCKPOT!"
Surprisingly, this did not help me sell the crockpot. Which is still looming at me, just sitting there smugly on its squat little legs.
Yes, I did just anthropomorphize a cooking appliance.
I blame the madness that comes from sitting in a carport for two full days.
Does anyone want a crockpot?
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Sea-to-Sky journey
SO.
In a rare bout of spontaneity, Adam and I decided to bolt off to Whistler for a portion of the long weekend.
We didn't commit to the full three days, because:
1) Crowds make us insane
2) We didn't want to spend mad cash
3) I had lamesauce homework to do
My Friday was spent boozing it up at a co-worker's retirement party. I didn't make that much of a fool of myself (I think...), but I did stumble out of there smelling like I poured every alcohol in the world on my shirt. Poor Adam. He dutifully picked me up and drove me home. Apparently, I started talking about a shirt made out of "baby owl fur". Yeah, I don't know.
So he put me to bed and I tried to pretend that the bed wasn't tilting from side to side.
My Saturday was spent doing horrible homework for my Forensic Investigator course(WOW FUN)and returning the 32342 library books I took out the week before. I was also sweating out all of the debauchery from the night before, so I decided to soak up the remaining alcohol with some carbohydrates in the form of pizza.
Yum.
After laying pretty low on Saturday, I was ready to go get my long weekend on!
So after visiting the most dis-organized Tim Hortons in the history of ever, we hit the road for a beautiful drive along the Sea-to-Sky highway to our destination.
Whistler wasn't as crowded as we feared and we happily wandered around the village. We spent that first day basically eating and taking pictures.
And, speaking of eating, I had the best caramel apple of my life there. Oh god, it was sublime.
I wish I was eating it right now.
Damn.
That night, we had dinner at the literally-named "21 Steps". I gnawed on some prime rib, at creme brulee and basically rolled myself back to the lodge.
Speaking of which, the place we stayed was...eccentric.
It was a loft set up, with a living room, kitchen and bathroom on the main floor and a bed up stairs.
And I mean Up. Stairs.
Seriously, you basically had to get out rock climbing gear to get up there. I was terrified to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night because I didn't want to break my legs. Because then I would have broken legs and a full bladder. Which would suck.
The suite also had a fireplace and we skeptically purchased one of those ~easy fire logs~ from the front desk. It was essentially wood chips and glue.
And it refused to burn. It would halfheartedly ignite on one side and then Adam I would watch it fizzle out in about three minutes.
Our dreams of cuddling beside a roaring fire were not to be. Instead, we read our respective books and drank tea.
The next morning, we ascended BlackComb mountain via two chair lifts and rode the "Peak to Peak" gondola to Whistler mountain.
The Peak to Peak was both scary and interesting. And also scary.
I'm always vaguely suspicion of technology that cradles my life in its cold, metallic hands.
And this was no exception.
And Adam totally helped ease my fears by saying things like "If we fall now, we're plummeting over 600 feet!"
Gee, thanks.
But the views were pretty! And it totally made me want to ski again.
I figured that I had just risked my life on the gondola, so I could totally handle strapping myself to two skinny boards and going hurtling down a mountainside.
We took much many pictures, so I'll let you enjoy some visuals:
Posing on a balcony
We're going up there?!
Hmm...
We abuse our bears in Whistler by sitting on them.
Tea + book = contentment
Adam on a chairlift. This is his "whee!" face.
Adam not on a chairlift. This is his "stop being paparazzi" face.
In a rare bout of spontaneity, Adam and I decided to bolt off to Whistler for a portion of the long weekend.
We didn't commit to the full three days, because:
1) Crowds make us insane
2) We didn't want to spend mad cash
3) I had lamesauce homework to do
My Friday was spent boozing it up at a co-worker's retirement party. I didn't make that much of a fool of myself (I think...), but I did stumble out of there smelling like I poured every alcohol in the world on my shirt. Poor Adam. He dutifully picked me up and drove me home. Apparently, I started talking about a shirt made out of "baby owl fur". Yeah, I don't know.
So he put me to bed and I tried to pretend that the bed wasn't tilting from side to side.
My Saturday was spent doing horrible homework for my Forensic Investigator course(WOW FUN)and returning the 32342 library books I took out the week before. I was also sweating out all of the debauchery from the night before, so I decided to soak up the remaining alcohol with some carbohydrates in the form of pizza.
Yum.
After laying pretty low on Saturday, I was ready to go get my long weekend on!
So after visiting the most dis-organized Tim Hortons in the history of ever, we hit the road for a beautiful drive along the Sea-to-Sky highway to our destination.
Whistler wasn't as crowded as we feared and we happily wandered around the village. We spent that first day basically eating and taking pictures.
And, speaking of eating, I had the best caramel apple of my life there. Oh god, it was sublime.
I wish I was eating it right now.
Damn.
That night, we had dinner at the literally-named "21 Steps". I gnawed on some prime rib, at creme brulee and basically rolled myself back to the lodge.
Speaking of which, the place we stayed was...eccentric.
It was a loft set up, with a living room, kitchen and bathroom on the main floor and a bed up stairs.
And I mean Up. Stairs.
Seriously, you basically had to get out rock climbing gear to get up there. I was terrified to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night because I didn't want to break my legs. Because then I would have broken legs and a full bladder. Which would suck.
The suite also had a fireplace and we skeptically purchased one of those ~easy fire logs~ from the front desk. It was essentially wood chips and glue.
And it refused to burn. It would halfheartedly ignite on one side and then Adam I would watch it fizzle out in about three minutes.
Our dreams of cuddling beside a roaring fire were not to be. Instead, we read our respective books and drank tea.
The next morning, we ascended BlackComb mountain via two chair lifts and rode the "Peak to Peak" gondola to Whistler mountain.
The Peak to Peak was both scary and interesting. And also scary.
I'm always vaguely suspicion of technology that cradles my life in its cold, metallic hands.
And this was no exception.
And Adam totally helped ease my fears by saying things like "If we fall now, we're plummeting over 600 feet!"
Gee, thanks.
But the views were pretty! And it totally made me want to ski again.
I figured that I had just risked my life on the gondola, so I could totally handle strapping myself to two skinny boards and going hurtling down a mountainside.
We took much many pictures, so I'll let you enjoy some visuals:
Posing on a balcony
We're going up there?!
Hmm...
We abuse our bears in Whistler by sitting on them.
Tea + book = contentment
Adam on a chairlift. This is his "whee!" face.
Adam not on a chairlift. This is his "stop being paparazzi" face.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Like a Wounded Duck
Dear faithful reader(s): I have another injury.
From the state of my recent blog postings, you would think I need to be secured in bubble wrap to protect me from myself. And you would probably be right.
This injury involves the soft, helpless underside of my left foot. And because there are no obvious shattered bones sticking out, the doctor diagnosed me with the ambiguously named "soft tissue damage". Which could really mean anything from a bruise to a torn ligament.
I wish I could be as general at my job and still get paid for it.
"Sir, it appears to me that you may or may not need to disclose that information, that may or may not be material in nature. Oh, and you may or may not be in default"
Actually, that's pretty on the mark.
Anyway, back to the injury.
As part in parcel with my soft tissue diagnosis, I was also given crutches and painkillers.
The painkillers are more fun.
The crutches are a lesson in faulty limb co-ordination and awkward flailing. And that's just trying to get down a hallway.
If you add doors and other elements (like tea) into the equation, you're met with embarrassment of the most epic proportions. And tea-stained clothing.
But, my foot is healing. But don't tell Adam. Because I'm rather enjoying bossing him around and making him fetch me things.
Here is how our conversation goes:
Me: Adam!
Him: ..yes?
Me: I need a snack!
Him: But you just ate dinner.
Me: I NEED A SNACK TO HELP ME HEAL
Him:...
Me: *puts on sad eyes and points to foot*
Him:...
Me: *puts on even sadder eyes*
Him: Sigh. Fine. What do you want?
Me: Nothing - I was just testing you. Congrats! You passed. If this had not been a drill, I would be eating pretzels right now.
All I need is a little bell that I can ring. To get Adam's attention if he's hiding out in the basement.
From the state of my recent blog postings, you would think I need to be secured in bubble wrap to protect me from myself. And you would probably be right.
This injury involves the soft, helpless underside of my left foot. And because there are no obvious shattered bones sticking out, the doctor diagnosed me with the ambiguously named "soft tissue damage". Which could really mean anything from a bruise to a torn ligament.
I wish I could be as general at my job and still get paid for it.
"Sir, it appears to me that you may or may not need to disclose that information, that may or may not be material in nature. Oh, and you may or may not be in default"
Actually, that's pretty on the mark.
Anyway, back to the injury.
As part in parcel with my soft tissue diagnosis, I was also given crutches and painkillers.
The painkillers are more fun.
The crutches are a lesson in faulty limb co-ordination and awkward flailing. And that's just trying to get down a hallway.
If you add doors and other elements (like tea) into the equation, you're met with embarrassment of the most epic proportions. And tea-stained clothing.
But, my foot is healing. But don't tell Adam. Because I'm rather enjoying bossing him around and making him fetch me things.
Here is how our conversation goes:
Me: Adam!
Him: ..yes?
Me: I need a snack!
Him: But you just ate dinner.
Me: I NEED A SNACK TO HELP ME HEAL
Him:...
Me: *puts on sad eyes and points to foot*
Him:...
Me: *puts on even sadder eyes*
Him: Sigh. Fine. What do you want?
Me: Nothing - I was just testing you. Congrats! You passed. If this had not been a drill, I would be eating pretzels right now.
All I need is a little bell that I can ring. To get Adam's attention if he's hiding out in the basement.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Circles beat Triangles
Dear blog reader(s) - I have a bruise.
It's quite a spectacular bruise, with colors like a Mediterranean sunset. It's all purple and blue and green. I'd call it pretty, if it didn't hurt so dang much.
I acquired this bruise at work and, no, it wasn't because I hip checked my co-workers in a fit of rage.
Essentially, it came to the fact that:
a) I only have two hands
b) I was trying to carry four things (including tea)
c) I have all the spatial awareness of a horse with blinders on
d) I was talking AND walking at the same time
This, my dear reader(s), is a recipe for disaster.
Basically, my tea was looming at a dangerous angle, so instead of being smart and putting something down, I tried to do a creative juggling maneuver and ended up maneuvering my thigh right into the corner of my co-worker's desk.
Ow.
Ow. ow. ow.
I made a dignified noise (like a stuck pig) and limped off to the bathroom to examine the damage.
Nothing looked out of place so I was all "Oh, it's not that bad...".
HA.
And then the bruise came.
And boy, was it a doozy.
I would take a picture, but I don't want to offend the delicate sensibilities of my reader(s).
The sad thing is, this sort of thing has happened before.
In fact, I've actually managed to bruise the heck out of my arm because, get this, I tried to crawl into bed sans glasses and...
I MISSED THE BED.
Oh yes. I mistook the deep shadow around the bed for the bed itself and put my hand...on nothing.
And fell. Onto my bedside table.
Sigh.
I think I need to move to a world where there are no sharp edges or corners.
For my own safety.
It's quite a spectacular bruise, with colors like a Mediterranean sunset. It's all purple and blue and green. I'd call it pretty, if it didn't hurt so dang much.
I acquired this bruise at work and, no, it wasn't because I hip checked my co-workers in a fit of rage.
Essentially, it came to the fact that:
a) I only have two hands
b) I was trying to carry four things (including tea)
c) I have all the spatial awareness of a horse with blinders on
d) I was talking AND walking at the same time
This, my dear reader(s), is a recipe for disaster.
Basically, my tea was looming at a dangerous angle, so instead of being smart and putting something down, I tried to do a creative juggling maneuver and ended up maneuvering my thigh right into the corner of my co-worker's desk.
Ow.
Ow. ow. ow.
I made a dignified noise (like a stuck pig) and limped off to the bathroom to examine the damage.
Nothing looked out of place so I was all "Oh, it's not that bad...".
HA.
And then the bruise came.
And boy, was it a doozy.
I would take a picture, but I don't want to offend the delicate sensibilities of my reader(s).
The sad thing is, this sort of thing has happened before.
In fact, I've actually managed to bruise the heck out of my arm because, get this, I tried to crawl into bed sans glasses and...
I MISSED THE BED.
Oh yes. I mistook the deep shadow around the bed for the bed itself and put my hand...on nothing.
And fell. Onto my bedside table.
Sigh.
I think I need to move to a world where there are no sharp edges or corners.
For my own safety.
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