A Place-Holder Post:

I'm really jonesing to share my adventures with a new haircut ... but I haven't unpacked my whole apartment and for the life of me can not find the cord that allows me to upload pictures from my digital camera to my computer. The story is really only compelling if you can follow along with visual cues. Blast my random packing in the last moments of my ill-planned move!

Until I tear apart my boxes, I'll have to settle for telling you that I am on the verge of financial impropriety.

I've already spent more money than I should admit on the aforementioned move (I threw money at the problem of not having friends to help me move and not wanting to move the heavy stuff myself ... and I fear fistfuls escaped my grasp) and now my vehicle requires some serious repairs (didn't help that putting together non-individually-heavy items in bulk quantities into my RAV4 created a heavy load for the already ailing struts ... throw in the random slush and piled ice encountered on Edmonton's side streets, and I could practically hear my poor KITT -- yes, its name is KITT -- crying for me to just let it die).

Obviously that isn't enough for me, though. Coming home from work I found the most fabulous pair of eyeglass frames. I've been in the market for months and haven't found a single frame worth writing down the particulars. And in this one store on Whyte Ave I found two pairs that would raise me up from the geek I am into a rather chic chick. (I know! The frames are THAT good!) I can't possibly hand over my Visa right now. I just can't. Can I?

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A Picture Puzzler

A friend sent me another picture from the wrap party. As I looked at it, and recalled the good times, I was struck by something really unusual. See if you can spot it: I'll give you all some time to guess...

Batten down the hatches -- we're in it for the long haul!

Given that the weather reports for Edmonton this weekend are grim grim grim (lows of minus 33, highs of minus 25 -- with wind chills of around minus 35 to 40), I woke up early this morning to get all errands for the weekend out of the way in one fell swoop. I barely needed a coat this morning as I headed out to my car to embark on my mission. With each passing hour, the thermometer dipped a degree or twelve. By time I was done driving around (and paused to catch a movie at the neighbourhood googolplex), it was chill-lay outside. I am now snuggly boarded up in my apartment, with no plans to so much as peek my nose out my window until Tuesday (when the temps shall return to a balmy minus 15). Groceries? Check. Toiletries? Check. Magazines to curl up with? Check. Christmas Presents? Check. Lessee, I got my father what he's been asking for since I was old enough for him to give me his Christmas wish list: And I think my mother will enjoy her bungalow by the stream: For my sister and he...

And they called me mad when I bought the bunker in the woods!

I had heard that one way of thwarting telemarketers was to make them think the number they have dialed is in fact a fax machine. I've tried different tones on my cordless phone, all to no avail. Then I had an epiphany: When I turned sixteen, my sister bought me a new-fangled telephone. It had push buttons, but it was still just a rotary phone - when you pressed each button to dial, you still heard the rotary "tat-a-tat-tat-tat" with every number. I had held onto this phone ever since. It's cute. It works. There was no reason to get rid of it. I was willing to bet that, in this day and age of advanced technology rendering yesterday's device obsolete on a daily basis, a telemarketer - who is likely going to be decades younger than my phone - would be unable to even identify a rotary phone by sight much less by sound. And voila! Answering the phone with my rotary phone, and constantly pressing the buttons, the telemarketer kept repea...

A Skewed View

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