not much to say

except we leave for Paris in 6 days....


:)

You know when you're happy?

And God is just pouring out blessing after blessing? And then after awhile you get the bad stuff too, but you don't really notice because you're just so grateful for the blessings that your throat constricts and your eyes well up and all you can do is look heavenward and praise God for His awesomeness and beg for more blessings?

It's been like that.

Don't get me wrong, there have been issues. The Christmas lights are still up, making us redneck neighbours I think (but it's only 9 more months until we can turn them on again!), the house is a disaster. No spring cleaning done here. I still have clothes to go through, a basement to clean out, a vanity that has yet to be installed even though we bought it two years ago, a garden to tend, a book to write, a garage door to install, a patio to install, the fence will have to wait another year as the tax man came a knockin'.

Hm..

It was a bright and sunny day
and though I was content
I knew the dreadful day was coming
in a thick white envelope was coming
the tax man was a coming
with a statement to shatter us all.

That was my little diddy ode a la Tennyson. I think it was Tennyson. I'm sure B will correct me if I'm wrong.

But how could I not be happy? Paris in 11 days. The book is going well. It's sunny and beautiful. I have a robin living in my backyard.

All is well.
For now.

at the garden center

upon leaving the cash, the gaffer and i noticed a picasso-ish statue of a naked woman, her arms missing and her breasts lopsided.

gaffer: did you see that statue?

me: i did

gaffer: she had ... (mimes breasts sticking out with hands)

me: a chest

gaffer: yah. but it was gross!

me: (trying not to laugh) no it wasn't

gaffer: yes it was gross.

me: it's a statue honey. a picasso themed statue. it's art. you don't have to like it, but some people do.

gaffer: (shaking head) not my cup of tea.

I have a confession...

Ok, first of all? I realize it's super beautiful out (whoever heard of 20C the first day of April?) but the ladies can put their clothes back on. Ick. Skin everywhere.

Anyway, my confession is I used to have a thing for 'mods'. Now back then that's what they were called. Mods, goth...etc. Now I think they're called Emo but they don't dress the same. It was the jeans (not supertight thank you) rolled up to make room for the 18 holed Docs, the white ripped t-shirt, tattoos (around the arm were my favourite)and skull stuff.

I had a friend once. Let's call him... hm..I need a good goth name because he himself had a good goth name. Ah...let's refer to him as 'K'.

I met K at a bar I was working at near the University. Now I had dropped out because I was seriously failing and I needed the income. So I bought myself a motorcycle (Yamaha Secca 650 1984 thank you very much) and worked nights at a bar. Well, K came in one night, Tuesday night I believe because Tuesday nights are cheap quarts nights (large bottle of beer for 2$ - yes I'm dating myself). He always ordered Canadian. Ick. I preferred 50 but that's besides the point. And he had very straight, very long blonde hair. It was gorgeous. He said he used Timotei. Remember that stuff? Anyway, I thought he was so hot.
Turned out he was a drug addict and couldn't be bothered to chase me so I never did anything. But he did dedicate a song to me. He didn't actually write it or sing it, Pearl Jam did, but it's something that when I hear it, it makes me think of him.
Anyway, I'm writing today and I just saw a mini-version of K. Except he had black hair with dyed red ends. I had to remind myself that's the old me.

I prefer my rockstar Hubby with the honkin' muscle-y arms and firm belly. Um...I have to go now.