if I were in a band, it would have "chaos" in the name

Shit. Fan.

My apologies to my two readers, who today (in my first ever non-work telecon no less) told me that my lack of blog updates is unacceptable. I realize I need to get internet at home. I also am a cheap bastard who just bought a bike she can't afford (oh yes, women can be bastards, we just have to be that much more bastardly).

Life is full tilt and stagnating at the same time these days.
Living alone is taking some adjusting. I've done it before, and I moved in with a roommate partially because I was tired of it. Add that to the list of things I'm pissed at old roomie about. Old roomie is turning into the 800lb gorilla... it's the problem I have to deal with (largely to get my mail and drop off the FOUR HUNDRED AND FIFTY FUCKING DOLLARS she says I owe her for electricity, which, because I have some shreds of decency, I am not going to stiff her on, but there is a big ass part of me which is fucking tempted... I get points for thinking about it but not doing it, right? Question being, would it be evil of me to only pay her for the $450 minus half the cost of my move? But I digress. Back to the gorilla) and don't have any desire to. It's become a sort of test for myself... I don't need her in my life and I don't particularly want her there, but if I can find it in myself to get over this and get back to some semblance of a friendship, I've won. I've triumphed. I've beaten myself and I didn't kick the dog in the process.

Bah. People. Be gone, all of ye.

I got a solid 8 days of riding in last week... even started getting into the swing of riding to work (yay environment and HA on you bastards charging $99 for a bus pas or $1.20/L for gas), but then the cold-as-a-witch's-left-titty-and-or-pissing-rain weekend from hell came, and we're right back to 5C and windswept. I went for a slog in the rain last night (felt mighty hardcore, I did), however, and saw some little green budlies, so hopefully in a week or two we'll be sliding headlong into summer and I can forget, for the time being, that November through March even exists.

*insert rant about the bank here*
(You don't need to read it, I'm sure you have your own bank-angst, but suffice it to say I am FUCKING LIVID at the bastards at Royal Bank of Canada, a bank you should never, ever, under any circumstances, sign up for an account with, even if they have your mother hostage. Or offer you a free T-shirt.)

Other things, other things... Not really. Need this cold raininess to go away and the bank to stop being a breeding ground of bitches so I can get my new bike out of hoc and go riding and forget about it all.

Don't let the bastards drag you down.

my peeps

Easter is hippity and hoppity and happy family time and stuff. I had a lovely dinner yesterday evening with friends and friends' family and whatnot. It was very civilized, with a charred sheep baby and all.

But you know what my absolute favourite part of Easter is?

Peeps.

You know Peeps. They're those little marshmallow chicks (or bunnies), coated with flourescent blue or pink or yellow sugar. They are absolutely vile to eat, but somehow they always end up in your easter basket. I assume this has something to do with the fact that they're roughly three cents for fifteen dozen. I should write a dissertation at some point on disgusting "traditional" holiday food that we choke back because, well shit man, it's tradition. Peeps would fall into that category. Along with fruitcake. But I digress.
The fun of Peeps is not, as you might think, in the eating. No, I will save the eating for the tiramisu and the cheesecake and the lemon merangue pie (all three of which I ate last night). The fun of Peeps is in the microwaving.

Go, find that pack of Peeps you know you have sitting somewhere. Take one, stick it on a plate, zap it for about 20 seconds.

Go ahead, I'll wait.

You're back? Wasn't that the BEST GODDAMN THING EVER? Oh, hells yes! If you're keeping kosher for Passover or don't eat marshmallows or something, you should really consider taking a five-minute moral holiday for Peep-microwavin'. I do every year.

If you don't have any Peeps, here is what happens. I may go on about how good it is, but man, this chick went one step further by documentin'. And there's a Peep Joust site online. But photos don't do it justice, just go zap your Peeps. Trust me, it's all good.

yay materialism

So, I am moved in.

My entire life is still in boxes, the Ikea furniture is still unbuilt, my clothes are decorating the floor, but I put my stuffed gecko on the shelf above my TV and arranged all my photography books in order of size and my cookbooks in order of food-type/frequency of use..... so everything else, really, is gravy.

And I have some news!

I BOUGHT A NEW BIKE! (as if you didn't see that coming)

So, goodbye D50, goodbye going out for dinner, goodbye buying coffee for friends, goodbye everything but paying off my bike. And riding it. These two things are all I am going to be able to do. But that's OK because, shit man, it is so purdy.

That's the news from here. Happy dance.

change

Change is good.

No, change is bad.

Well, either way, change is freakin' everywhere.

I have a disease. I guess it must be genetic, because I'm pretty convinced my mom has it too. I have a change disease. It accumulates everywhere. There was at least $10 on my desk, probably $8 on my dresser, $40 or $50 in a shoebox, another $30 or so in a pillowcase under a chair (from my last move), and another (at least) $25 scattered around my floor. I come home at the end of the day and empty my pockets, and I never refill them the next day. It was kind of my dirty little secret, until C came over to help me pack on Thursday.

"M."
"Yeah?"
"I didn't judge you until now."
That was when she found the aforementioned pillowcase (wieghing in at at least 10 pounds).
"You know what's going to happen tomorrow?"
"What?"
"I'm going to talk to N, and she's going to ask me, 'how was helping M move?' 'It was awesome. She's the richest woman I know. I'm going to go rob her bedroom floor.'"

See, back home in Ohiah, we have these nice big machines, and you take your change pail in and dump it in and it sorts it and pays you the money. This is an awesome invention. I don't understand why, here in Ke-bek, we don't have these things. Because now I am stuck with a shoebox, nay, a bootbox, full of change, that I'm sure as shit not going to sort and roll, and will probably just sit around until either the shelf breaks or I move again.

And when the guy on the corner asks me for some change I tell him I don't have any. I'm a baldfaced liar.

Posting might get a bit spartan in the next few weeks, as I haven't set up to have high speed installed yet, and I don't do land lines, so no modem....