Rhapsody in Blue

When we first discussed H's decorating needs and living space, she was adamant about one thing: no blue. In apartments past, she was anchored to shades of blue: furniture, linens, art, her dishes... It's her signature colour. And it made gift giving quite easy. Today she feels, perhaps with some encouragement from me, that a change is needed.

Now how to comfortably separate the blue from her? If you believe this sort of thing, you're drawn to certain colours based on your personality, and those colours will bring out the best in you. After working in a series of multiple choice questions into our chats, one quiz provided the following analysis, emoticons included:
You're blue! You care a lot about people :) that's a good thing. :P

OK. But let's delve a little deeper, shall we? Another reputable study also revealed that H, as one of the blues:
Need to achieve a stable and peaceful condition, enabling them to free themselves of the worry that they may be prevented from achieving all the things they want. They want to make a favorable impression and be regarded as a special personality, using tactics cleverly in order to obtain influence and special recognition.

Well, perhaps that last line wasn't necessary.

H, now is the time to think of any colours you don't want. And what's my budget? And what do others think?

After a careful sniff of each card, my rabbit selected a warm green hue called Garnish. In keeping with the spirit of the name, she's eaten the corner as a mark of her favour.

Predictably, Lola refused to play along. I don't think she's forgiven H for the incidents last year.

The Livingroom

Hey, All.

Since my last post, I've been getting a lot of questions, such as "How the hell can you live like THAT?" and "Why are you so pathetic?" One reader asked me what type of medication I am taking, and gently suggested I increase the dosage.

Honestly, I'm rather getting used to my space and all its minimalist glory. As you can see below, I'm very, very busy.

This is my livingroom, which will be glazed in throw pillows and slip covers when M is through with it. I'm still thinking of crimping my hair in protest.

Sisters Are Doin' It For Themselves

Now that H has been reimbursed (am I not entitled to payment for services and expertise?), I'm looking forward to my upcoming visit. I clearly didn't spend enough time with her over the holidays.

I do like home projects. As H can tell you, I'm always doing something to (hopefully improve) my house, though if it takes too long, I tend to get distracted, stop, and hope that someone else will finish it off. That never happens.

But our weekend will be different. I can tell her what to do, without any of her impudence. She'll thoughtfully listen to my advice and let me spend her money. (Furniture! Paint! Throw pillows!) She won't mock my colour wheel or collection of fabric swatches, or call me Martha (to my face, anyway). If we get cranky, I know I can lighten the mood by using completely legitimate and relevant terms like butt gauge and stud finder.

We've got a packed agenda, but it won't all be work: she's also promised to take me to her favourite coffee house (!), tea house, and pub. Anything to distract her from crimping her hair.

Oh, Sister, Where Art Thou?

In certain Canadian provinces, February brings something called "Family Day." No, it's not as lame as it sounds. For suckers with jobs, it's a day off work, ostensibly to be with your family even though most spend it with their beloved PlayStations. For those who don't work, it's just another day.

This upcoming Family Day M is coming to visit me. She even got me to book her ticket in a brilliant tax-evasion scheme for which I have not yet been reimbursed.

You see, my new apartment is rather lacking in, well, everything, which includes furniture and multiple spoons. And although I'm now used to my lonely air mattress and no longer think that this place looks like a hovel where you'd go to screw for 10 bucks, M thinks it needs a more lived-in appeal. Maybe M-as-in-Martha-Stewart is right.

At first I said, "Hell, I've got Internet access, a few bowls, and a air mattress with a sophisticated built-in pump. What more could I need?"

M said, "Do you have a chair?"

H: "No."

M: "More than one fork?"

H: "No."

M: "Have you taken a vow? Joined a cult? Or otherwise gone bankrupt and you're just too ashamed to tell me?"

H: "Not yet."

M: "Then I think I can help you."

H: "Fine. But no accent walls."


How much would you pay to use this space by the hour? (Cat not included.)

Keep Me in Coffee

The previous title had me worried. We're not making it that kind of blog, despite what some naughty keyword searchers might wish. And this is H I'm dealing with, the girl who remembers - vividly - every bloody thing I've ever done to her or near her. She's a mini-ninja with a computer and camera, a pint-sized terror with a wicked way with words - who knows what else she's got on me, what she might be plotting? I fret.

With so many sordid possibilities, you can understand that I was relieved she only exposed my dependence on my dark master. Yes, I have a delicious addiction. Caffeine is the perfect natural stimulant for me. My lifestyle demands it. It's a joy to drink. Without it, I'd never go to work, or get out of bed. In fact, a perfect morning involves going back to bed with coffee. I'm irrationally annoyed when people say "EXpresso". I wish I'd thought of coffeegeek.com first. And I covet a home bean roaster.

M enjoying freshly ground coffee at a plantation!

Tease all you'd like, H, but I seem to remember how grateful you were over the holidays, when I'd thoughtfully bring freshly brewed coffee to your bed every morning to gently greet the day. And I really believe that moments like those are worth some extra bitchiness.

My Sister's Crack

M has never been much for drinking liquor or doing drugs. (Thankfully, because she's a mean drunk and is way too philosophical when high.) But she has one serious addiction: coffee. I don't think she had ever seen God until it appeared in a form she could truly worship, which is Starbucks.

Any time of the day, no matter what the activity, M can drink a coffee. I'm surprised she doesn't keep a go-cup next to her on the treadmill, but maybe she just hasn't thought of it yet. The mere mention of the hot beverage (or her "dark master" as she calls it) and her eyes light up. Once, I even caught her lovingly patting her coffee mug, and I swear she uttered the words "my precious."

M, you need to take the caffeine quiz:

1. Do you drink more than three ventis or the equivalent per day?

2. Are you irritable and otherwise bitchy when your sweet sister suggests you've had enough?

3. Have you often said, "I can stop any time I want." but known it was all a lie?

Of course I already know the answers.


M is jonesing right now, I know it.

I Resolve to Kick Ass

Believe it or not, he makes a mean mojito.

And... We're Back.

We've recovered (somewhat) from the holiday cheer, merriment and forced socializing, ready to post regularly.

Each January, I usually like to reflect on the year that was (selectively weeding out the bad, emphasizing the good). It's something that's best done in stages, because the year is still new and it feels like there's more than enough time for everything. I've never been one for making actual resolutions, because I don't like thinking about all that I didn't do. But I did when I was younger, and as you can see, H did too:

I did renew my gym membership today, and thinking of that will allow me to coast through January relatively pleased with myself. Cheers to 2008!