I am beside myself with excitement, our Whistler trip being only two days away!

And with only one day left of work, we are basically on vacation as of 5:00 tomorrow night. The both of us. Together. In the same place. For, like, 8 days. In a row. Together. And no cat (sorry, Bert...)

I'm seriously not sure what to do with myself. It's like I'm 6 years old again and it's Christmas Eve and Santa's coming and I've totally been good this year so I'm due for a pile of gifts under the Fraser Fir. Except swap out the gifts for a pint in the sunshine on Dusty's patio at the base of Whistler Mountain. I'm seriously this stupid silly. Because, ya see, while Orange's work travel is the pits for many reasons, there are some benefits befitting both of us (aside from the obvious...) Such as his approximate 1 billion air miles and hotel points. Meaning we're riding in style door to door, to and from, and pulling a Leon's on the world ('not paying a cent'--or very few cents, that is...) for the luxury.

So'cited...

No Frills

On this week's morning off I attempted to do a quick grocery shop so the house would be full of yummies when Orange got home (read: English muffins and cheese...)

It would seem, however, that No Frills on a weekday morning is not a "quick" option as the average customer is seriously 17 times older than Gallen Weston's oldest aged cheddar. Let's just say that should things in the book hustling business not work out, I have a future as a Stock Boy.

I helped a woman make a difficult decision between a bag of baby spinach and spring mix. I read the indgrediants on a box of frozen pizza. I deciphered the green bananas from the yellow. I spent a lot of time trapped behind two terrible, terrible shopping cart drivers. I helped with bags into a car.

2 hours later...

I don't understand...

Breaded Cats.

Why? And who are these people?

p.s. Happy Valentine's Day!

Dodged Bullet

'Twis my weekly morning off, so up I go to Big C's house (as she refers to herself, nowadays...) to pick up the mail, empty the ice maker (don't ask) and do a general QA/QC on the place. All seemed well.

Heading back into the house after a quick sojourn to the mailbox, I'm stopped by two older ladies. Not unusual, being that the community is aimed at "adult living".

"Do you live here?" they ask me.

"No," I say. "But my mother does," as though I need to qualify my being there, afraid for some reason that this is the Adult Living Gestapo and they've identified me by my loud music and Ray Bans as an interloper.

"Oh, well, perhaps we could come in with you? [out come the Watchtower magazines] We'd love to talk with her about our nice new article on Armageddon."

At this time I do a quick side eye scan of the street and determine I am alone with no foreseeable out for this conversation, so I both physically and mentally restrain myself from asking what could possibly be "nice" about Armageddon.

"Nah," I say. "Mom's maxed out on Jebus. Thanks anyway."

"Another time then?"

"I don't think so. Besides what with the Armageddon and all..."

Dodged bullet, Big C. Dodged bullet.

Dear Running:

Have I caught you off guard? No? I hope this isn't a bad time...

Listen Running, I think it's time we talked. For awhile now I've been feeling as though we're growing apart; like there's a 'distance' between us (excuse the pun.) I just don't feel the same way about you anymore. And I know this is going to sound like a cliche, but it's really not you... It's me.

I'm sure you've noticed, Running, but I've really been trying lately. I keep thinking I can make things better: I buy cute new outfits and parade them around in front of you; I try to be spontaneous, going at you at different times of day; putting new music into our mix. But every time we're alone together my mind is elsewhere.

Because you see, Running, there's someone else. He's orange, and only home on weekends, and that's usually when you're calling wanting to hang out. I'm sorry you have to find out this way but I can't go on ignoring you.

And it has to be said... Sometimes you really suck. Sometimes I can't stand you. You're such a nag, what with your yammering in my ear to go farther, longer, faster. Can't a girl get a break? I mean, really Running, seriously... I work full time. You can't think I'm getting up early for you. It's bad enough you keep me up late...

I just wish we could go back to when we started. I mean, remember last night? Oh god, last night... We went for 6km and I was happy and singing along and really hittin' you hard. It felt good! There was no pressure! I mean, let's be honest. When we first started this thing we have I was only really looking for a tight @ss and a smaller pair of jeans. And then we got committed, we started planning for the future (races) and the next thing I knew being with you, Running, well... It just became work.

I want to go back to our relationship being fun and easy and something I looked forward to, Running. So I really hope we can work at it, find that sweet spot again... Get our "groove back", so to speak. I still love you, Running, and would be willing to try a (running) clinic if you thought it would help us get past this wall (excuse that last pun...)

Always and forever,
Library Lady