July 28!?!
July 28!?! Holy crap, where has the summer gone? I wish to register a complaint. Man, is that ever going by quickly. Granted, with each passing year, a month takes up a smaller percentage of your life span, but still. Heck, we had a chance to go to the beach this past weekend, but a deadline got in the way. Instead, stuck here, resigned to drowning our summer sorrows with copious amounts of margarita.
You know, this is what we should have been doing.
Unclear on the concept
Seen in a grocery store on Friday night; Veal and tofu sausages. I shit you not.
Mmmmm, hard nipples
I know it’s bad for the ozone layer, and is contributing to increasing global warming, but on hot muggy days such as we’ve had this week, I sure do love me that air conditioning.
I think I might have found my religious calling
Not sure if I have to sacrifice sea urchins, but I’ll soon find out. Hail my new god.
Not my idea of a car freshener
In my ongoing quest to eat more healthily (and to slow the expansion of my girth), I decided to prepare a lovely mixture of veggies for lunch, all topped off with your typical olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Get in the car, head to work (btw, construction holidays should last all year. Just saying), park the car and grab my satchel. Stain on the seat. Crap, I didn’t close the container well enough, the oil dripped through my bag, onto my seat.
Strangely, this is the second time that this has occurred with olive oil and, at $17 per bottle, these are becoming expensive accidents.
Shout out to my oldest fraternal unit
Thanks to him, the milliner got to live out a dream, seeing Chris Isaac in all his sequined splendour at the Ottawa Blues Fest last night. I forgot how much fun getting comped can be. Too bad we had to drive back to the city. Oddly, the milliner seemed in her own little world. Hee.
There was also what seemed to be an interesting tribute to Gram Parsons, but we unfortunately missed most of it.
Edit: I am so sleeping on the couch for the next while.
Stop me if you’ve heard this before
Because, most likely, you have, but I want to whinge: can anyone do anything about Montreal radio? Fuck, it’s awful, and it just got worse now that Go and Groove Shinny are on hiatus (one of them has been cancelled, can’t remember which). Yeah, we could go to hell and back disparaging CHOM, but it’s been done. Nothing else is better.
We’re sitting around Sunday, doing the Sunday morning thing of, well, doing nothing, reading, drinking coffee, the tv is off because, besides the surreal gourmet, Sunday morning television will turn your brain to mush, what with no reality shows on or anything. Turn on the radio, the same old shit we’ve heard ad nauseum. Regardless of the station. Oh, sure, I could pop in a CD, but sometimes you just want radio. I want, dare I say it?, intelligent alternative radio. Something like Radio Paradise (I mean, where could you hear the theme from the Peanuts followed by Blondie?). Honest, there has to be a market out there, folks in their mid-20s to, ahem, 40-somethings, disposable income—we did our alterno-lifestyle way back when and have survived, though some of us with more mental and physical scars than others, but I digress, (Oh look! A penny!)—who would support this format and the advertisers.
As it is, I have to boot up the computer now just to get radio that I can stomach. Anyone want to buy a stereo? Because I ain’t using it anymore.
Shake that booty
Is it okay to admit that, for the first time ever, last night, I initiated my own personal dance once The Amazing Race came on? Unfortunately, it was more difficult to get the milliner to join in. Oh, but she did. Oh yes, she did. Granted, it required a few well-placed electrical shocks, but all’s fair when it comes to the TAR dance.
Yeah, I knew that already
Finally, a month after coming down with, as it turns out, a slight case of Bell’s Palsy, I got to meet with a neurologist this morning. (Un)fortunately, he recognized me from our meeting in March. (Yeah, yeah, fucked in the head jokes, I’ve heard them.) So, he makes me do some facial calisthenics, takes down a bit of history, and proclaims, “Well, you’re all better now.”
Yup, that’s it.
Gee honey, we could make some concessions…
So, the chick and I have been scouting possible places to buy in the next year; taking into account size of the place, price, style, neighbourhood, etc. We’ve filled out the charts where you enter your income, your expenses, bla bla, and now have a rough estimate of what we can afford.
Early last week, I picked up one of those free real estate catalogues that you find at ATMs and, leafing through it, found a really affordable, beautiful loft space. Saturday, we head over to check it out. Oh my, old industrial building from the early part of the last century, wide hallways, everything exposed brick and hardwood. Original wood support beams and pillars. Fifteen-foot ceilings with 10-foot windows, space enough to build a mezzanine to make the place even bigger, open concept bathrooms, in fact everything open concept, but shaped in a squared-off U so that it lent some sense of privacy.
The price? Cheaper than what we pay for rent. Much cheaper. For a bigger space.
The deal-breaker? It’s in a crappy neighbourhood. In St-Jean-sur-Richelieu. We could deal with being on the South Shore (I guess), but when your view, no matter what side of the building you’re in, is of either a parking lot or a strip mall? Not so much.
One last thing: Can I mention that 3 Amigos sucks? Big time. Tell everyone you know.
The Tinman's Thoughts 
