Back - But Not in Black, More of a Peregrine Sort of Color

Within 48 hours of returning from Montreal last week, my life blew up in my face.

First, the Object and I found out that our property company has decided to enforce a rule that has always been in the lease saying that there can be no more occupancy changes (despite two prior ones) for our beautiful 1200 square foot slice of heaven, ¹ so we either have to sign a new lease and pay several hundred dollars more to pad the already overstuffed pockets of or property company or move. Again. And oh by the way, the Object's old roommate was breaching his lease contract by moving out and we're going to be evicted and responsible for an extra month's worth of rent as a penalty (it was a few very tense hours before we realized that was completely untrue). We're fighting it, of course, but I'm not sure we actually have any legal rights here, so if any lawyers out there want to step in and correct me, feel free. Poofygoo@gmail.com. But as of right now, we're in apartment limbo, which is really messing with our plans for a housewarming party.

Then the Object did something really, really bizarre and weird, which we will never speak of again. Think noodle incident. Weird, weird, weird. Feel free to smack him upside the head if you see him or ever meet him, but don't ask him about it, because I'm serious, we will never speak of this again.

Then at work, my boss fought valiantly all week to get my job classified by HR above the grade of a slightly retarded platypus, which apparently is what our HR consultant (not actually a person, but a box of rocks with an email address) thinks I am. I'd let her do my job for a week so that she could get a better feel for it, but I'd be afraid she'd piss off someone in customs in a place like Namibia or Peru and some horrible international incident would occur. The good news is that my boss is actually She-Ra, and after a huge fight, I'm back on track, and hoping to hear some positive news in my annual review on the 31st. Knock wood. And pinch your belly, just to be safe.

Then I had to spend some time listening obsessively to the new Spoon album. And all the sweet musicks from Montreal.

And then I had to show up plastered out of my mind (as in, coming from a happy hour(s) having had the equivalent of a bottle of wine and more shots than one can count on a single hand) for dinner with the Object's dad. Fortunately, he's a supremely awesome guy and can handle a completely wasted girl asking for still more drinks ("and bring an one a thozhe li'l umbrella thingzh thish time, mmmkay?"). Keep in mind that the first time we met more than a year ago, the Object's dad himself showed up for dinner after a happy hour with a few watermelon martinis under his belt. Granted, not so many that he couldn't have counted them with two or possibly three fingers, but still, I maintain that a precedent was set.

Somewhere towards the end of the week I found out that two of my friends who met each other through me, but whom I would have never put together on my own are dating. Obviously, I had to stop and jump for joy for a little while. While I want to give them the space to develop their relationship, blah blah, blah, I think our bridesmaid dresses should be blue, but yellow could work, too depending on the time of year, and they should definitely name their first child Princess Snowbird.

Then my former co-worker, who used to be my friend until his girlfriend said he wasn't allowed to be friends with me anymore² stopped by the office to pick up some old issues of Blood and moseyed by my desk to say hello. Awwwwwwwwwwkward. When I asked how his psychotic succubus of a girlfriend³ was doing, he informed me that she got a kitten, which she is now going to give to a shelter, since, despite its being in perfectly good health and reasonably well-behaved, it acts too rambunctious. Like it's a fucking kitten or something. I think I recall him saying that she was going to replace it with a puppy, so she'd have something to kick when he's not around.

Then something with David Beckham happened. I'm not sure what; I couldn't find any press coverage. They really kept it under the radar.

Then the Harry Potter book came out, and I think we all know how that ended.

In any case, my bloggy perfidy is now officially over. I still have some Montreal stories to tell you, including the suspiciously nice people and the Goo Guide to indie shopping in Montreal. Welcome back, and let the Gooey Goodness recommence!



1. Why jut last Saturday, a crack whore sat beneath our window and serenaded us until four in the morning. How romantic!

2. Yes, I realize that is an episode of Friends, but I'm serious, sh eactually did that. He emailed me- no, not even a phone call, much less the courtesy of telling me in person- to tell me that his girlfriend found me untrustworthy and thought I was seeeeeecretly after her man, so rather than dealing with her painful and unfounded insecurity in a healthy and/or constructive manner, he allowed her to make a laundry list of whom he can and cannot be friends with. I guess I can see where she's coming from, since our conversations tended to get pretty hot and heavy, what with our scintillating conversations about German v2 movement, the great vowel shift, and the new coffee pod flavors. Nothing fires a person up like Kona Bean Roast.

3. To my credit, I mustered up enough tact not to refer to her as the devil's spawn or pathologically unbalanced out loud. That's why I have a blog.