p.s. wedding-related blog blowout to begin next week!
My cold is definitely getting better but I'm still a little congested. Last Sunday I totally lost my voice, now I sound like a breathless Kathleen Turner, which everyone agrees is kinda sexy.
I have been doing waaaaaaay too much sitting and lying down over the last three weeks, and absolutely no working out. Now my formerly injured left shoulder, hip and knee are starting to get all stiff and sore. So most of the time, I actually sound more like a very grumpy, breathless Kathleen Turner.
The workouts will resume Monday afternoon.
Perfect! Just enough time to get over the New Year's hangover I'm planning.
Pooped by poopee shmoopee at 9:36 p.m.
My Internet access has been wonky the last few days, which has been fairly convenient seeing as I've also been sick with a nasty headcold AND have the worst cramps of the year.
I was living in a crazy bubble of sickness for days. I hadn't read a paper, listened to the radio or watched anything on TV that wasn't movies at all the whole weekend. Then Melissa came over yesterday to take Oscar for a walk for us and she told me about about the Asian Tsunami. Talk about a reality check.
I'm donating all my Christmas money to the Canadian Red Cross.
Pooped by poopee shmoopee at 10:31 p.m.
I'm sitting here thinking about what to say about the last few days and how shitty they've been. Instead, I'm sitting here, in total bliss, listening to this CD that Melissa gave me yesterday for Christmas.
Feist it sultry, sexy, soulful AND sweet. I haven't seen or heard anything like this since Jeff Buckley.
Pooped by poopee shmoopee at 7:44 p.m.
Kirk is still home sick today and I left work early today after having barfed 3 times in less than an hour - with only green tea and a hard boiled egg in my tummy.
We've officially dubbed our home "die auspumpenhütte", which is a literal translation of "the poop hut" using BabelFish.
Translated back it reads: the pumping out hut.
When Kirk found this for me to cheer me up, I laughed so hard I almost pooped myself.
Pooped by poopee shmoopee at 6:41 p.m.
I'm going to warn all of you right now that Kirk and I are planning to get married next fall. That means that I'll be posting to my blog about it, about EVERYTHING; dresses, banquet halls, flowers, family, friends, photgraphers, invitations.
EVERY. SORDID. DETAIL.
Our current goal is a late September/early October 2005 wedding. I'm not sure where yet 'cause evry in Toronto books over a year in advance, so I'm scrambling a little for a place to hold it. All I know is that I want to have the ceremony and reception at the same spot. Probably something non-denominational since I was raised Roman Catholic and he Lutheran, we figure we're going to hell anyway for all those years of living in sin.
My parents have generously offered to help us with most of the cost of a reception as long as (there's always a catch) I invite certain people that I hadn't originally wanted to invite. Since my father IS Italian and likes to get his own way (a infuriating trait that I've inherited from him), my first instinct was to tell him that I'm not a little girl anymore and IT'S MY GODDAMN WEDDING AND I'LL INVITE WHOEVER I DAMN WELL PLEASE. But don't worry, I didn't actually say it out loud this time.
My dad is very Italian, very Catholic, and VERY protective of me. When I moved out of the house at the age of 23, he thought I was insane. Even my grandmother told me that no man would EVER want me because I didn't live at home with my parents like a good girl. Then 2 years later when I told him that Kirk and I were moving in together after only 6 months of dating, and that we had no plans to get married, I thought he was going to have an aneurism. Here's a brief excerpt from that conversation.
ME: "I'm moving in with Kirk next month."
DAD: "No you aren't."
ME: "Umm, I love you and know this is hard for you to accept, but I'm not here to ask your permission."
DAD: "Obviously you don't care about me or what I think."
ME: "Dad, I care very much about you and what you think, but I love Kirk and it's my choice to make."
DAD: "So you're having sex then"
I'll just leave it there cause it's at this point that things really started degrading. I mean, this was the only time my father and I had, and have, spoken of me and sex in the same sentence.
After so many years of uncomfortable dinners, and lots and lots of therapy to get over the guilt and shame of dissapointing my dad and the joy of living with my best friend and the love of my life all at the same time, we're finally at a good place in our relationship.
I just couldn't ruin this for him and tell him to take his generous gift (which will help so very much) and shove it. He is just so proud and happy that we're "doing the right thing" and I know he just wants to share this special day with as many people as possible - and I love him for it. All this means is that instead of an intimate attendance of 80 we're looking at about 130 - I can deal with that.
OK, that's enough wedding talk.
Here are some pics of some of my recent artwork.
This one is titled Sunset on Salerno. It's from a photo I took at the cottage. I gave it to my aunt Debbie and uncle Vic cause they used to have a cottage on the very same lake years ago.
This is the comissioned portrait that I did of Keira, my boss' 7-year old daughter. It's from a photo of her jumping up and down on a bed.
This is a painting of my mum, age 3, done from an old photo. It's about 40% completed.
This morning Kirk woke up with the flu. Oh boy. I've been so crabby all week, with adjusting to working full time and all, so I've set aside my grumpiness to take care of my sick shmoopee. In a few hours I am going to be mean though and go out to meet Jen, a university buddy, that I haven't seen in about 4 years. We're going to Saigon Sister for some delicious vietnamese munchies while he's all snug in bed. Oscar will keep him warm and safe for me while I'm gone.
Pooped by poopee shmoopee at 1:23 p.m.
There have been a few things that have happened here in Toronto over the last couple of weeks that have made it just a little harder to get up in the mornings, much less blog:
Handguns are NOT necessary. Not EVER.
If there is ANYONE out there who believes that this is the only way out, please, please get help. Props to Heather B. Armstrong- an amazingly courageous woman, and mother, who GOT HELP.
I love living in here but what the FUCK is going on????
Oh yeah, I'm also starting back to work full-time next week. For the first time in 3 years.
Pooped by poopee shmoopee at 3:52 p.m.