Some Compliments are like Tennis: Backhanded

Someone at work today gave me the once-over and exclaimed "you're looking rather healthy these days".

I'm not really sure what to take by this comment but I'm pretty sure my options are:

1) It's a polite way (?) of saying I'm looking rather chubby
2) I was apparently on death's door
or...
3) The coldFX I started taking in preparation of my trip is really working!

And, to think, the other day a coworker had, upon returning to work after being away for 4 months, came into my cubical and stated, point-blank, "your hair is short". To which I replied, after a rather awkward silence, "that's very observant of you". And then he left.

What the hell?!?

What.

The.

Hell.

TGI(V)F - A Case of the Giggles

When I saw the original video I thought it was a tad too punny (gotta hand it to him, though, the puns just go on and on... there were 26 potty puns, in fact. And, no, I didn't count them... Anderson did) but when AC breaks into a child-like fit of giggles... well, it's classic. And it makes me smile. Perfect for this week's Thank God It's (Video) Friday.

Making Room

It has come to my attention that I am past the age where it is appropriate to wear graphic tees. Mind you, that's not to say I don't have any. I just know better than to wear them.

Shocking as this may be, I have a hard time letting go of things I'm emotionally attached to. So you can imagine how well I'm doing, right now, cleaning out my closets. My cousin is going to be staying with me for a few months (eight, to be exact) and even though she lived with me less than 2 years ago (and I don't recall having this much of a problem last time) I have somehow managed to take over every square inch of what will be her room.

The one with 2 closets.

I've gone over the same clothes, again and again. Moving them from one house to another, from upstairs to down, from the guest room to my room... and back again. I ponder each one, sometimes able to let them go but, more often then not, hanging on to the ones I just can't say goodbye to. They remind me of moments. Memories. Times and events I had long forgotten, until I feel the fabric, see the pattern and recall the past.

I've always had a poor memory. It's the one thing (aside from my wide-ass feet) I would change about me, if I could. I've forgotten the name of people I've dated (which is pretty bad since there's only been like 5 of them), things I've learned (my love for Physics in University can be described by two words: formula sheets) and places I've been to. There are days, months and years I can no longer recall, while my brain overflows with things I try to forget but can't. So when I stumble across the t-shirts I thought were clever and empowering that I would never end up wearing after discovering that, perhaps just maybe, they represented something bad, instead of something good; the outfit from my one and only first anniversary where new clothes were just one part of a city-wide scavenger hunt that ended with finding Him setting out a picnic in the park, even though it was raining; or the bunny hug from a shopping trip to Washington during spring break, having driven 2 days with a classmate I barely knew but would become fast and forever friends with, playing Sarah McLachlan's Mirrorball on repeat and running across the mall at the first glimpse of the Abercrombie and Fitch store us Canadian girls had only ever dreamed about... whenever I remember any of these things I am grateful. For what they represent and what they remind me of. It's hard for me to let go of the very things that trigger those memories.

Very hard indeed.

And so I move my clothes from closet to closet. Getting creative as the years go by and the collection increases, forever marveling at the size of many of the items (was I ever really that tiny?!?), taking in the familiarity of the very things I had forgotten. A sweater here, a memory there. I tuck them away in the corners of my closet... and my mind.

And hope moths get neither one.

Almost There

I spent part of the morning at a table in Starbucks, reading my Lonely Planet guide to Italy as I waited for the plumber to install my clawfoot tub; a task I decided it best I not be home to witness, which is probably a good idea given the carnage I came home to (they scratched my brand new tile moving it into place... one incident of many from this reno that has absolutely broken my spirit and left me to feel, as I often do, that no matter how hard I try it doesn't matter: things will always turn out shitty). My trip is only two and a half weeks away; my mind races with how unprepared I am and how much is left to do but this morning I sat and read and the realization hit that it will come, regardless of how ready I am. Regardless of what bag I decide to take or how (un)fashionable my clothes may be. And, really? None of it matters because, in the end, what I'll have are memories of the places and people... not of what shoes I should have taken or what sweater would've looked best.

Everything's falling into place. I received all my confirmations, arranged for a transfer from the airport to my hotel and, since I'm doing tours, have nothing else to plan, other than a couple of extra days in between and after my tours. Which I should probably hurry up and do...

And in all the stress of things left to do and details to sort out this video reminds me of how quickly it will all go and how amazing it will (hopefully) be. I love this. It's similar to what my memories are like- my mind walks slowly through them as they pass quickly by, moving from one to the next, without limitations of time and space.

Two and half more weeks... so much to do that I wish it were further away.

So desperately needing to get away that it can't come quick enough.

MOVE from Rick Mereki on Vimeo.

I Thweare It Wath An Accidenth

I'm going to blame the bathroom reno for the fact I have the Worst. Canker Sore. Ever. Conveniently located on the end of my tongue, it hurts to talk, eat, drink and even sleep. I thought I had managed to hide it fairly well until Melanie Griffith came up in conversation one day at work (what... she doesn't come up in your day-to-day conversations?!?). I had mentioned her name a couple of times before a coworker finally ask if my lisp was supposed to be some sort of joke. Oops.

Thorry, Mel... it wath the canker thore, promith!

It's (not) Just Tile

Wednesday was tile day! The beginning of the end of the bathroom reno. The first day in forever where I've not been run off my feet patching and painting walls, ripping out flooring and converting a dresser into a vanity. I stayed up late laying out exactly what I wanted for the tile mosaic, a splurge I found myself second guessing repeatedly the past few weeks, always coming back to it as being something I wanted. This morning the tile guy arrived and we discussed exactly how it was going to be. It was decided. I would have a 'bath mat' mosaic in front of the tub/vanity (the tub is to the left of the door, the vanity to the right) in a pattern like this:


And all day, I had a feeling. That it was too good to be true. That the feeling that everything was coming together was nothing more than a rouse. I left work anxious and arrived at home with a knot in my stomach. I texted one last time to a friend, in anticipation, and said:


Then I rounded the corner (no pun intended) and found this:


Let's review, shall we? Because, colour me purple but, the corners on these are NOT the same.


Not gonna lie... I had a minor (or major) freak out. I went away and came back, again and again, somehow thinking what I saw would have changed. I paced and pondered my options and then phoned Home Depot (who my contracted tile guy was booked through and, no, I don't need any "you shouldn't have gone through them" or "everyone I know has had trouble" comments because now is not the time and, really, they've done the job when others haven't wanted to and, if anything, I feel more protected having them as the middle man than if I had to deal with the tile guy alone, given the recent turn of events. A store can write off material as a loss. An independent installer? May not be as willing to do so) and explained the situation, only to be told I'd have to phone the install manager back at 9am. When explaining that the tile guy would return to finish the job at 7:30am and I just wanted to know what my options were I asked for a manager. And, when told they were busy, promptly broke into tears. Granted, I may be far too old to cry but it has gotten me out of many a situation where logic, reasoning and even anger and frustration have not. People hate to see a grown woman cry! Lo and behold, the manager to phone me back almost immediately. Speaking with him calmed me. He let me know that I would have options and that I should let the tile guy do his thing and we'd figure it out.

Now that the grout is in I can see it's not horrible. And after discussing it with the tile guy I understand why he did it (if you look closely at the photo it makes the mosaic fit perfectly between the tiles to the right and left of it, without having to have a thin strip of tile on either side and makes it so none of the black triangle tiles or long white edge tiles had to be cut) but the thing that bothers me? It's not what I had asked for. Is it livable? Sure. Would I have paid all the extra money to have done it if I had known the end result? Maybe not. And am I most upset by the fact the tile guy never even called to say he was changing things up? Absofuckinglutely!

And so, after reviewing all my options the tile will stay as-is (my second choice was to get rid of the mosaic completely and redo the whole thing with only basketweave) and I'll be refunded the cost of the mosaic.

Before the tile escapade I went on an errand with my "work mom" (don't we all have one of those? We should!). We were talking about nothing in particular when she asked what was keeping me here, in this town, in a city that seems to have nothing to offer me other than the most amazing friends a girl could ask for (although I must admit I seem to have amassed such wonderful people all over the world, for which I'm grateful- I'm looking at you right now!). I expressed how overwhelming it was that I could go anywhere, do anything.. to be in charge of picking out a place, a future. A path. She told me that our paths are already laid out, from the moment we are born and that I should just take a leap because wherever I may land (or, more likely, fall) is where I'm meant to be. I know she meant it to be comforting and freeing and maybe some day I'll see it as such but all I could think was that, if true, it isn't fair that no matter how hard I try to change my path it will be futile.

I will never have the tile I wanted.

I know it's just tile but I think part of the problem is it feels like it's more than that. This is the first time I've hired someone instead of doing it myself. This is the first time I've treated myself to "have it done right" and this is the first time I've tried to ask (and pay) for as much help from others as I could instead of going it alone. And this is the first time I was sure things would be different. Instead, I'm left trying to convince myself that it won't always be like this - that I won't always be left feeling that no matter how hard I try things won't work out. That it doesn't matter and I shouldn't bother.

This is the first project in a very, very long time where I have bothered, where I've tried not to focus on the things that seemed to go wrong and not read too much into the plaster wall that wouldn't cooperate, the plumbing that broke off in the wall, the hardwood floor that got scratched when removing the old tub or the piece of ceiling in the basement that fell down because of the way the tub was removed (overflow drain still attached, oops!). I'm staying the course and doing my best to be logical and not take things personally when they don't work out as planned.

But, man alive, it's tough!

This whole renovation project has been both exhilarating and deflating. I've found myself proud of all the things I've done (I cut a pipe using a jigsaw I didn't even know I owned!) and heartbroken at all the things I've had to do (and decide on) alone. I've been overwhelmed by the help I've gotten from friends (and the husbands and fathers of friends!) and underwhelmed by having no one to fully share this experience (and, yes, stress) with. And, time and time again, when it seems to be one thing after another (after another) and progress is slow and stress is high there's one thing I keep coming back to...

Sometimes all I really, really want is a hug.