Don't come knocking at my house in the evenings for the next while, don't call and don't expect facebook status updates, either. I'm busy. I have a date with Brenda Leigh Johnson.
The Closer is my all-time favourite cop show, and Kyra Sedgwick my all-time favourite TV cop, and the seventh and final season DVD showed up in my mailbox last night.
Didn't you hear the squeals of delight?
Here's the strange thing, though: I had to order the DVD from the US version of Amazon, not the Canadian site, because the Canadian site wouldn't sell it to me until October. The Canadian site's price was also nearly double. The US site had it to me less than a week after the show was released in the US, and at half the price.
I'm not complaining, I'm just wondering what's the point of having a Canadian site if Canadians get better, more prompt service from the US site?
Again, I'm not complaining, I'm not saying anything. I'm just eating chocolates and watching Brenda Leigh do the same while solving strange crimes with style, grace and that awesome Southern accent.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
A Better Man
It's important to get a periodic reminder of just how special and wonderful your life partner is and what key traits drew you to them.
I got that reminder last night when the 'phone rang and an old flame of mine was on the other end of the line. It was my Sweetie who picked up the 'phone, and the two of them had a great old chat before he handed it over to me.
Not only did the men talk, Old Flame was calling to plan a visit. The three of us will dine and drink together and I expect to have a grand time. We see him only about once every 18 months or so, but I think it's very telling that Sweetie is open to the relationship.
How many husbands do you know who would be willing to entertain their beloved's former beloved? I'd wager not very many. And Old Flame who's coming to see us isn't the only fellow from my past who remains a friend. This summer, another lovely guy I dated briefly came for a sleepover, too. We had been set up but the spark wasn't there and we became fast friends instead. Sweetie even helped with the design and creation of a quilt for Lovely and his gorgeous wife. Lovely and Gorgeous claim they were having trouble conceiving until they received the quilt. Three kids later, that quilt has been relegated to the spare room.
This is not to say every ex is welcome in our home, but Sweetie is rightly confident in my loyalty and knows there is no threat. He also believes there is no such thing as too many friends so as long as people are good people, why not be friendly?
That said, not even one of his former loves had better darken our door. He's clearly a better man than I.
I got that reminder last night when the 'phone rang and an old flame of mine was on the other end of the line. It was my Sweetie who picked up the 'phone, and the two of them had a great old chat before he handed it over to me.
Not only did the men talk, Old Flame was calling to plan a visit. The three of us will dine and drink together and I expect to have a grand time. We see him only about once every 18 months or so, but I think it's very telling that Sweetie is open to the relationship.
How many husbands do you know who would be willing to entertain their beloved's former beloved? I'd wager not very many. And Old Flame who's coming to see us isn't the only fellow from my past who remains a friend. This summer, another lovely guy I dated briefly came for a sleepover, too. We had been set up but the spark wasn't there and we became fast friends instead. Sweetie even helped with the design and creation of a quilt for Lovely and his gorgeous wife. Lovely and Gorgeous claim they were having trouble conceiving until they received the quilt. Three kids later, that quilt has been relegated to the spare room.
This is not to say every ex is welcome in our home, but Sweetie is rightly confident in my loyalty and knows there is no threat. He also believes there is no such thing as too many friends so as long as people are good people, why not be friendly?
That said, not even one of his former loves had better darken our door. He's clearly a better man than I.
Friday, August 24, 2012
Yellow Bellied
I may have finally done it. I may have gone too far in my love affair with yellow. I didn't think it was possible, but it appears to be.
When it comes to decorating, I find things pretty easy when it comes to colour.
Will the walls be yellow or green? That's pretty much it.
Keep in mind how much is room there is for variation when it comes to shades of yellow. The office, for example, is a bright yellow, whose name is Lemonade. The dining room and living room are a calmer hue whose name is Buttercream. The foyer and upstairs hall are Tea Rose, which is somewhere in between the other two, and the mud room and kitchen are in the bright and airy Firefly, flat and semigloss respectively. Of course they're Martha Stewart colours. Duh.
So, it's yellow flowing into yellow flowing into the next yellow and as I took down ancient blue striped wallpaper last winter, I began to wonder if perhaps I was going a little too yellow.
Now, I'm nearly sure I've taken it too far.
I put the first coat of paint on the 'back' stairs last night, turning them from a tawny brown I am sure was named Baby Poo to, you guessed it, yellow. Tea Rose to match the walls.
But somehow, it's looking like it might be the tipping point.
Sadly, I think I'm going to have to take the advice of a lisping minister and, (here it comes...) "Repaint, you thinner!"
When it comes to decorating, I find things pretty easy when it comes to colour.
Will the walls be yellow or green? That's pretty much it.
Keep in mind how much is room there is for variation when it comes to shades of yellow. The office, for example, is a bright yellow, whose name is Lemonade. The dining room and living room are a calmer hue whose name is Buttercream. The foyer and upstairs hall are Tea Rose, which is somewhere in between the other two, and the mud room and kitchen are in the bright and airy Firefly, flat and semigloss respectively. Of course they're Martha Stewart colours. Duh.
So, it's yellow flowing into yellow flowing into the next yellow and as I took down ancient blue striped wallpaper last winter, I began to wonder if perhaps I was going a little too yellow.
Now, I'm nearly sure I've taken it too far.
I put the first coat of paint on the 'back' stairs last night, turning them from a tawny brown I am sure was named Baby Poo to, you guessed it, yellow. Tea Rose to match the walls.
But somehow, it's looking like it might be the tipping point.
Sadly, I think I'm going to have to take the advice of a lisping minister and, (here it comes...) "Repaint, you thinner!"
Monday, August 20, 2012
In the news
It's very awkward to be telling a news story that's about your own home and family, but that's the strange position in which I found myself this morning. Happily, there was no murder involved, only a bit of mayhem.
This morning's newcasts included the story of a house in Collingwood that had been rammed by a car early Sunday morning.
The house? My house.
I was away for the night, at a cousin's wedding dance while Sweetie and Dear Darling Dog slept the sleep of the innocent, never knowing there were four cop cars, a tow truck and several witnesses on our front lawn. I find it strange that no one knocked on the door to inform them of the crash. Although with a demolished car and scary mess in the way, how would anyone get to the front door to ring the bell?
Sweetie found out about the crash only when he opened the front door on his way to a day of fishing. There at his feet, sunshine where no sunshine should be. The car had hit the concrete steps so hard, there now are gaps a foot wide between some of the concrete blocks, blocks which have been solid since they were installed sometime in the 1900s.
The porch is totalled. The very lovely OPP officer I talked with last night told me the car which hit it had been stolen. Apparently, the owner had left the car unlocked in their driveway, keys in the ignition and our culprit must have thought he'd hit the jackpot when he was rifling through vehicles, stealing change.
I expect some very interesting days ahead when it comes to insurance.
The good news is, I have always kind of hated that porch. It took me nearly a year to figure out what colour to paint it to make it disappear as much as possible. Other than paint, I hadn't figured out what to do about it. I'm already trolling websites and magazines for design ideas.
Here's another weird part to this story: we sent out for Chinese food last night and my fortune cookie told me I would find luck in an unexpected place. Maybe this is it.
This morning's newcasts included the story of a house in Collingwood that had been rammed by a car early Sunday morning.
The house? My house.
I was away for the night, at a cousin's wedding dance while Sweetie and Dear Darling Dog slept the sleep of the innocent, never knowing there were four cop cars, a tow truck and several witnesses on our front lawn. I find it strange that no one knocked on the door to inform them of the crash. Although with a demolished car and scary mess in the way, how would anyone get to the front door to ring the bell?
Sweetie found out about the crash only when he opened the front door on his way to a day of fishing. There at his feet, sunshine where no sunshine should be. The car had hit the concrete steps so hard, there now are gaps a foot wide between some of the concrete blocks, blocks which have been solid since they were installed sometime in the 1900s.
The porch is totalled. The very lovely OPP officer I talked with last night told me the car which hit it had been stolen. Apparently, the owner had left the car unlocked in their driveway, keys in the ignition and our culprit must have thought he'd hit the jackpot when he was rifling through vehicles, stealing change.
I expect some very interesting days ahead when it comes to insurance.
The good news is, I have always kind of hated that porch. It took me nearly a year to figure out what colour to paint it to make it disappear as much as possible. Other than paint, I hadn't figured out what to do about it. I'm already trolling websites and magazines for design ideas.
Here's another weird part to this story: we sent out for Chinese food last night and my fortune cookie told me I would find luck in an unexpected place. Maybe this is it.
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Pointless
There's no point in buying a new mattress without a new bed underneath it, and no point in having the bedroom empty if you're not going to paint the floor like you've planned to for several years, right?
These were the discussion points in my head in June when Sweetie and I innocently began a teeny tiny renovation project.
Sadly, when I went out for my stroll with the doggie last night, nearly three months later, I still had white paint splotches on the back of my right thigh.
Here's why:
There's no point in painting the bedroom floor if you're not going to paint the baseboards, too.
There's no point in painting the baseboards if you don't paint the doorframes.
While you're painting the doorframes in the bedroom you'd better paint the door, too.
There's no point in painting the bedroom door if you're not going to paint the trim around the bedroom door in the hallway.
There are four more doors in the hallway, and there's no point in having just one of them trimmed out and painted.
There's also no point in painting out those other doors if you don't paint the baseboards in the hallway.
There's no point in painting the baseboards in the hallway if you don't also paint the window frames and the windows.
There's no point in painting the baseboards in the upstairs hall if you don't also paint the baseboards down the back stairs.
And really, there's no point in painting the baseboards in the back stairs if you don't also repaint the stairs themselves, which are in sore need of a new coat of something.
Please, please could someone point me to a lounger?
These were the discussion points in my head in June when Sweetie and I innocently began a teeny tiny renovation project.
Sadly, when I went out for my stroll with the doggie last night, nearly three months later, I still had white paint splotches on the back of my right thigh.
Here's why:
There's no point in painting the bedroom floor if you're not going to paint the baseboards, too.
There's no point in painting the baseboards if you don't paint the doorframes.
While you're painting the doorframes in the bedroom you'd better paint the door, too.
There's no point in painting the bedroom door if you're not going to paint the trim around the bedroom door in the hallway.
There are four more doors in the hallway, and there's no point in having just one of them trimmed out and painted.
There's also no point in painting out those other doors if you don't paint the baseboards in the hallway.
There's no point in painting the baseboards in the hallway if you don't also paint the window frames and the windows.
There's no point in painting the baseboards in the upstairs hall if you don't also paint the baseboards down the back stairs.
And really, there's no point in painting the baseboards in the back stairs if you don't also repaint the stairs themselves, which are in sore need of a new coat of something.
Please, please could someone point me to a lounger?
Monday, August 13, 2012
Review: Borin' Bourne
Sweetie and I have a longstanding joke about our relationship with movies: We TALK about going to out the movies but we never actually GO out to the movies.
But we do. About twice a year. Mostly when there's a big action flick like Mission Impossible 692 or a new Bond film or, as was the case this weekend, a new addition to the Bourne franchise, which, in case you missed the hype, does not actually contain a Bourne.
Nope, there's no Matt Damon in the latest Bourne movie.
There's also barely a plot.
Sweetie and I were discussing this on the way home from the theatre, bellies gurgling from too much double buttered popcorn and too much overpriced candy. (Really? Maltesers? Really? What was I thinking?)
I asked whether the first Bourne flick really had a plot to it, rather than merely plot devices, and we decided it certainly did have an actual plot: guy wakes up with no notion of his own identity and slowly discovers he's a killer being targetted by the people who trained him. I loved the scene where Bourne speaks to and then beats up a pair of Germans, discovering to his surprise that he speaks German! And can fight!
The subsequent two movies featured plots that were a bit ... convoluted, shall we say, however, there was definitely something going on. This one? Not so much.
Ostensibly, the Bourne Legacy is taking place concurrently with the Bourne Identity, and the main character is also an agent, but in a different program. Because of what's happened with Bourne, the entire program is cancelled. When the program is cancelled, the agent's lives are forfeit. One survives.
While Jeremy Renner and Rachel Weisz put in good performances, it just feels like someone at the movie studio said, "Plot? Character development? Bah! What we need are more killers with no conscience and more chase scenes through crowded city street! Oh, and jerky camera movements! Yeah! That's what people want!"
And that's what you get. Surely for all the money spent on blowing stuff up, which they do a LOT and very well, there could be a couple hundred bucks slipped to a writer to come up with a bit more of... something.
And while I'm being taken advantage of at the movie theatre, don't get me started on paying $43.18 for two tickets, popcorn and pop to share and two wee bags of candy -urp-
But we do. About twice a year. Mostly when there's a big action flick like Mission Impossible 692 or a new Bond film or, as was the case this weekend, a new addition to the Bourne franchise, which, in case you missed the hype, does not actually contain a Bourne.
Nope, there's no Matt Damon in the latest Bourne movie.
There's also barely a plot.
Sweetie and I were discussing this on the way home from the theatre, bellies gurgling from too much double buttered popcorn and too much overpriced candy. (Really? Maltesers? Really? What was I thinking?)
I asked whether the first Bourne flick really had a plot to it, rather than merely plot devices, and we decided it certainly did have an actual plot: guy wakes up with no notion of his own identity and slowly discovers he's a killer being targetted by the people who trained him. I loved the scene where Bourne speaks to and then beats up a pair of Germans, discovering to his surprise that he speaks German! And can fight!
The subsequent two movies featured plots that were a bit ... convoluted, shall we say, however, there was definitely something going on. This one? Not so much.
Ostensibly, the Bourne Legacy is taking place concurrently with the Bourne Identity, and the main character is also an agent, but in a different program. Because of what's happened with Bourne, the entire program is cancelled. When the program is cancelled, the agent's lives are forfeit. One survives.
While Jeremy Renner and Rachel Weisz put in good performances, it just feels like someone at the movie studio said, "Plot? Character development? Bah! What we need are more killers with no conscience and more chase scenes through crowded city street! Oh, and jerky camera movements! Yeah! That's what people want!"
And that's what you get. Surely for all the money spent on blowing stuff up, which they do a LOT and very well, there could be a couple hundred bucks slipped to a writer to come up with a bit more of... something.
And while I'm being taken advantage of at the movie theatre, don't get me started on paying $43.18 for two tickets, popcorn and pop to share and two wee bags of candy -urp-
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Games Impressions
It it just me, or are the women the more fascinating athletes at the games in London?
Yeah, yeah, Phelps, Bolt, whatever. It's the girls that appear to be doing the most interesting stuff.
Jessica Zelinka, for example. Heptathlon. And no, I didn't remember from the last games there even was such a thing, but Zelinka is fascinating for her work ethic, and the sheer volume of effort it takes to perform in seven (SEVEN!)events. I thought Zelinka was amazing before the games began, and then I saw her within her cohort of competitors. Among them, she was one more normal, fantastically fit amazing fighter. What does it take to have every single muscle in one's body so perfectly chiseled? Most of us are afraid even to contemplate the work.
Now, things didn't go so well for Zelinka in her event, but she and her fellow Olympians. Just...wow.
As for triathlete Paula Finlay, who cried her way across the finish line, I admit to being less than sympathetic until I learned her story. She hadn't competed in a year because of an injury, and split up with her coach about eight weeks ago, but went on to compete and did finish the race, albeit dead last and apologizing as she limped along the way.
One my of my father's favourite sayings was, 'Don't crow if you win, and don't cry if you lose,' but I think this girl deserved to break that rule, finishing in spite of pain and embarrassment and upset. That's what I call a winner.
All that being said, I simply cannot wrap my head around some of the events; they're just too confusing. What's with the bicycle race that appears to be about who can go the slowest? Can someone please explain why the bicycle guys have to go up and around each other so much? Furthermore, can anyone tell my what it matters whether Gabrielle Douglas has a bun or a ponytail? Yes, while we're marvelling at some women's strength, others are still judged by their looks.
Yeah, yeah, Phelps, Bolt, whatever. It's the girls that appear to be doing the most interesting stuff.
Jessica Zelinka, for example. Heptathlon. And no, I didn't remember from the last games there even was such a thing, but Zelinka is fascinating for her work ethic, and the sheer volume of effort it takes to perform in seven (SEVEN!)events. I thought Zelinka was amazing before the games began, and then I saw her within her cohort of competitors. Among them, she was one more normal, fantastically fit amazing fighter. What does it take to have every single muscle in one's body so perfectly chiseled? Most of us are afraid even to contemplate the work.
Now, things didn't go so well for Zelinka in her event, but she and her fellow Olympians. Just...wow.
As for triathlete Paula Finlay, who cried her way across the finish line, I admit to being less than sympathetic until I learned her story. She hadn't competed in a year because of an injury, and split up with her coach about eight weeks ago, but went on to compete and did finish the race, albeit dead last and apologizing as she limped along the way.
One my of my father's favourite sayings was, 'Don't crow if you win, and don't cry if you lose,' but I think this girl deserved to break that rule, finishing in spite of pain and embarrassment and upset. That's what I call a winner.
All that being said, I simply cannot wrap my head around some of the events; they're just too confusing. What's with the bicycle race that appears to be about who can go the slowest? Can someone please explain why the bicycle guys have to go up and around each other so much? Furthermore, can anyone tell my what it matters whether Gabrielle Douglas has a bun or a ponytail? Yes, while we're marvelling at some women's strength, others are still judged by their looks.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
...and the planning is easy...
One of the smartest strategies I have come up with in my domestic life is weekly menu planning. Saturday or Sunday afternoon, I ask my sweetheart about his dreams and desires when it comes to his dinner plate, then contemplate my own wishes and rifle through recipe books to come up with a grocery list and menu for the week. Fridays are taken care of since we have pizza from Mountain Shores every single week.
This planning is not only about efficiency at the grocery store and in the refrigerator; it's about my sanity. My alarm goes off each morning at 4:03. No matter how well my day goes at work, by the time I get home, I'm pretty much incapable of cogent thought, much less any kind of decision-making when it comes to meals. The list I make on the weekend takes all that pesky 'thinking' out of my routine.
As of this week, and until about September 5th, menu planning gets even more streamlined since it's full-on summer harvest time.
This week's menu:
Monday: Sweet corn, field tomatoes
Tuesday: Sweet corn, field tomatoes
Wednesday: Sweet corn, field tomatoes
Thursday: Sweet corn, field tomatoes
Friday: Pizza!
Don't you just love it when a plan comes together?
This planning is not only about efficiency at the grocery store and in the refrigerator; it's about my sanity. My alarm goes off each morning at 4:03. No matter how well my day goes at work, by the time I get home, I'm pretty much incapable of cogent thought, much less any kind of decision-making when it comes to meals. The list I make on the weekend takes all that pesky 'thinking' out of my routine.
As of this week, and until about September 5th, menu planning gets even more streamlined since it's full-on summer harvest time.
This week's menu:
Monday: Sweet corn, field tomatoes
Tuesday: Sweet corn, field tomatoes
Wednesday: Sweet corn, field tomatoes
Thursday: Sweet corn, field tomatoes
Friday: Pizza!
Don't you just love it when a plan comes together?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)