Monday 30 December 2002

and we're back

Back safe and sound in the soggy UK (but at least it's not cold). We landed on Saturday morning, made our way through the day like zombies at Paul's parents' house, had a lovely post-Christmas dinner last night, and wombled back to Cambridge today. My house is still standing, my plants are still alive and my car's still got all its bits (thanks, Gary!), and we've come back with a lot more bags and suitcases. A rockin' good holiday all round, I'd say.

Piccies and more blogging to come another day when we don't have suitcases to unpack and jet lag plaguing us. Plus we've got to digest all this Christmas food. Blergh.

Thursday 26 December 2002


What could be more Canadian than plowing snow off the driveway on Christmas day? Paul got to use a snowblower for the first time, and as an added bonus, won his way into my Dad's heart by doing the driveway for him.

Not being a material girl, I didn't really have anything specific in mind that I wanted for Christmas. I ended up getting absolutely gorgeous presents from Paul, who had already won his way into my heart long before today. So here's where I get to brag again - not only does he cook, smell good, and like my accent, he's really good at picking out gifts for me. Did I mention that he doesn't think my family is insane and is actually enjoying himself here? *swoon*

Sunday 22 December 2002

...and to all, a good night

Since I cannot bear the thought of sending a Christmas card around with our picture on it without giggling, here's the next best thing - a picture of us on this site (and looking respectable) with a heartfelt holiday message. To all our friends, here and afar, and those we have yet to meet in person: have the happiest of holidays and a corkin' new year! Now get outta here and go buy me lots of nice pressies.

Friday 20 December 2002

postcard from toronto

It's always a laugh riot bringing someone home for the first time, especially when home is on another continent and going there involves meeting a kajillion new people in the span of around three days. Not only am I inflicting strange people on my boyfriend, I am introducing him to my homeland. We were welcomed by wet, grotty English weather when we landed in Toronto, and were slapped around by bitterly cold winds in Montreal. The day after we flew in to Toronto, we attended a family function with 50 people who are vaguely related to me. Even I didn't know who most of them were. Two days later, we got on an incredibly overheated train to Montreal. I promised Paul that everyone in Montreal can indeed speak English, so there was no need to worry about not being able to speak French. So what happens? Every person we encountered in restaurants and shops couldn't speak a word of English. He got to meet all of my Montreal friends in one go at an intimate dinner for 18 (next time, we will definitely meet in smaller groups because I didn't really feel like I got to speak to anyone for more than a few minutes). He's been taken to malls, fast food restaurants, more malls, outlet malls, and up a mountain in the freezing cold. It's rained, sleeted, snowed, and misted on us since we arrived. So there I was, thinking that this must be such a cack way for Paul to spend his Christmas holidays.

But he's enjoyed the shopping and the relative/friends get togethers. He doesn't think my family is insane. He liked Swiss Chalet. Both my parents, on separate ocassions, have told me that they like Paul a lot. So really, it's been a good holiday. A great holiday, in fact - it's nice to be home and to have Paul with me.

Regarding my mutating accent, it's been brought to my attention by...well...everyone that I now apparently have somewhat of an English accent. This is only apparent to non-Brits, though (although Mark, an ex-pat friend living in Montreal, also says he can hear it). We were shopping in Roots in Montreal, and a salesgirl said to Paul that she loved his accent. A few minutes later, I said something to her and she said "Ooooh! I love your accent, too!" Ah, thanks. I swear to you all, I am not trying to acquire an English accent. There is nothing that annoys me more than people with fake British accents (Madonna, can you hear me?), and there's nothing more pretentious than a North American putting effort into saying "to-mah-to" and incorporating random phrases like "jolly good" into conversations for no good reason. So really, I'm not trying to sound English. It just sort of happens sometimes.

Spotted in Toronto: Terry's chocolate orange with raspberry. Ewwwwwwwwwww. Orange Coffee Crisp - I'm intrigued, but I bet it's disgusting.

Saturday 14 December 2002

blogging from abroad

Alive and well in Toronto. Very good flight (little turbulence, plus we got upgraded). Still on UK time as we both woke up at 6am. Can't stop drinking water. Very dehydrated. There are about ten billion new malls here now that weren't here last Xmas. Need to shop. Lots. Parents like Paul (no surprise there). Jet lagged, me. Breakfast time now. Blog later. :)

Wednesday 11 December 2002

all around my...ARSE

Whoever got here by searching for "Lisa's arse", kudos to you. Another Google string to make me giggle.

Went out for a lovely curry tonight with Chris, Melanie, and a couple of other people. Apparently Chris feels cheated because he thought I was off to Toronto shortly after our dinner our last week - he claims that was my "bon voyage" meal, so what the hell was I still doing in town going out for dinner? As Jack would say, toughen up. You get not one, but two doses of pre-Christmas Lisa. What's to complain about?

I can't believe that I'll be on a plane heading home in two days. I'll let you in on a little secret: I don't like flying. Not one bit. I like being on the ground, I do. To be honest, I don't really mind flying when the plane's behaving; it's the turbulence that makes me nervous. I don't mean that "feels like we're driving along a country road" kind of turbulence, I mean that "things are falling and breaking and the plane is dropping like a rollercoaster" kind of turbulence. I seem to have that every third flight I take, so the odds aren't great for this holiday. I hate turbulence. It serves no purpose in my life, and I don't see the need for it to exist. What has turbulence ever done for us? Bugger all. Ban turbulence, I say - write a letter to your MP and tell them how you feel.

I think it'll be a lot better this time because I'll be with Paul. He's done plenty of flying (has even flown planes himself), and I think I'll feel much safer being with him. Also, it's much nicer to have someone I love to dig my nails into when the turbulence starts, because strangers sitting next to you really don't like that for some reason. Honestly.
where to go, what to do

You know, you're never a tourist in your own town. Very rarely have I done touristy things in whatever city I'm living in, or if I have, I haven't done them in years. I did a bus tour of Cambridge, went around the university, and have visited the town centre many times (and its pubs and restaurants), so I've not done too badly here so far. Montreal and Toronto are another story - I barely did anything other than work, eat, drink, shop, and see films.

So where does one go and what does one see in Toronto and Montreal? Apart from the obvious, I mean. There are only so many times I can look at Brother Andre's heart and go skating in Old Montreal, and buy something horrible from Honest Ed's and wander around the Eaton's Centre in Toronto.
oh dear

Just got this from a Montreal friend of mine, regarding what he may say when he meets Paul:

I will lift his shirt in front of everyone - and say "look he's not so pasty" or I could goose him and when he turns around all I would say is "hello vicar", or I can act like England is a very small place and ask him if he knows "timmy, john, bill, susan, Robbie Williams, Posh Spice" and when he says "Sorry, fraid not" - I can turn to you and say "he is not very social is he".

And this is only one out of nineteen of my friends he'll be meeting that night. Oh dear.

Monday 9 December 2002

'tis the season...

...for office Christmas parties, fa la la la la la la la la. Here's a blurry pic of Paul and I, taken by Matt. There's glitter all over my house now.

For some bizarre reason, no one was out Christmas shopping on Saturday. We went to Toys R Us and Ikea, expected huge angry mobs, and found both shops to be relatively quiet. Weird. A big pfffttt to Marks and Spencer this season for having absolutely no amusingly named sweets for me to purchase. Last year, I was able to buy chocolate pants and Weenie Whips. This year, there's bugga all. Either someone in marketing decided to ban silly names, or I was the only one who purchased these things last year. Severe lack of Harry Potter sweets as well. Feh.

The longer I live here, the harder it is to find uniquely "English" gifts to bring back for people. I've pretty much exhausted the list of typical stuff, and most of the things here are available back home as well. Similarly, it's getting very difficult to find "Canadian things" for people. I've already bought Roots clothing, ice wine, various beaver related items (leave it!), beer, Laura Secord sweets, Fruits and Passion things, books, and rude Quebecois t-shirts for friends here. Any other suggestions for gifts to bring back to the UK that are specifically Canadian?

Friday 6 December 2002


Genevieve Bergeron, 21, was a 2nd year scholarship student in civil engineering.

Helene Colgan, 23, was in her final year of mechanical engineering and planned to take her master's degree.

Nathalie Croteau, 23, was in her final year of mechanical engineering.

Barbara Daigneault, 22, was in her final year of mechanical engineering and held a teaching assistantship.

Anne-Marie Edward, 21, was a first year student in chemical engineering.

Maud Haviernick, 29, was a 2nd year student in engineering materials, a branch of metallurgy, and a graduate in environmental design.

Barbara Maria Klucznik, 31, was a 2nd year engineering student specializing in engineering materials.

Maryse Laganiere, 25, worked in the budget department of the Polytechnique.

Maryse Leclair, 23, was a 4th year student in engineering materials.

Anne-Marie Lemay, 27, was a 4th year student in mechanical engineering.

Sonia Pelletier, 28, was to graduate the next day in mechanical engineering. She was awarded a degree posthumously.

Michele Richard, 21, was a 2nd year student in engineering materials.

Annie St-Arneault, 23, was a mechanical engineering student.

Annie Turcotte, 21, was a first year student in engineering materials.


For what it's worth, I am wearing a white ribbon today.

To learn more, read this article from the CBC.

Thursday 5 December 2002

convergys sucks

It really does (and I am so proud that "convergys sucks" is still the number one search string that leads to this site). Convergys announced today that it will make 950 employees redundant worldwide. 19 of those employees will be people from my old office in Cambridge, and I'm guessing around the same amount from the office next door to Citrix in Cambourne. I don't want anyone to lose their job (not even my pointy-haired ex-boss), but I especially do not want to see any of my mates join the unemployment line. According to their web site, Convergys are "finalizing a restructuring plan that will streamline its operations and cost structure while strengthening its prospects for long term growth". Now how utterly wanky is that?

A few of us went out for drinks and noodles last night for a pre-Xmas get together before we fly to Toronto. A good time was had by all, especially those who were drinking several assorted cocktails (the sight of a bunch of guys drinking creamy/coconutty/chocolatey beverages is really amusing). A big huge congratulations to Micky and Susan, who are expecting their first sprog in June. Way to impregnate your wife, Micky! For some reason, Chris was very insistant that Jack should get Heather pregnant and Paul and I should get married. That probably had a lot to do with the cocktails and some sort of vicarious living through others syndrome. Bless.

It's our office Christmas dinner shindig tomorrow night, and although I couldn't find a suitable frock that didn't make me look like a circus tent, I did manage to find half an outfit I could match with a skirt I bought for New Year's last year (and didn't wear 'cos I didn't go out). No one in Test is going (except for Paul, I think), which kind of sucks. I like the test guys the bestest. :( Piccies to follow if a) I remember to bring my camera and b) I get around to downloading them off my camera.
the theory of gifts

I have two philosophies about gift-related occasions: never buy stuff for yourself close to any gift-receiving dates, and never buy your partner kitchen or laundry related paraphernalia until you've been together for at least a year (or unless your partner specifically requests any such items). Don't buy your partner a laundry basket. Ever.

Stay tuned for more of my handy holiday tips. Coming up next, ways to politely turn down offers of fruitcake such as "Thanks, but I've just had my lower intestines removed and cannot digest gluten".

Tuesday 3 December 2002

tick tock, christmas countdown clock

I have 9 more days to get my pressie shopping done here before we get on a plane bound for Toronto. Everyone's going to end up with a lovely gift from Heathrow if I don't get my arse in gear. "Wow - a magazine, a carton of cigarettes, and a bottle of vodka. How lovely." Actually, there are some really nice shops in Heathrow terminal 4 like Harrods and Hamleys, and the usual stuff like WH Smith and the Body Shop. Oh yes, and the Tie Rack. There's one in every airport worldwide.

I really cannot wait to go home. It's been almost a year and I miss everyone big time.

If my left menu looks wonky, I think there's something amiss with Blogger. It was down earlier today and now it looks like it's not formatting my page properly. Ah well, you get what you pay for.

And now for some totally random thoughts:

  • I am so thrilled that a search for the term "dogpoo sandwiches" leads to this site. Truly.

  • Regardless of the fact that I've been living here long enough to know better, I still find myself: saying monetary amounts in dollars, walking towards the wrong side of the car sometimes (i.e. to the left if I'm driving and right if I'm a passenger), forgetting that you need to flip the switch down to turn the light on, forgetting that you've got to turn the flipping socket on if some twonk has shut it off in the office kitchen, if I'm not sure what something's called here I immediately think of the word in French (like that's gonna help someone here understand me better), and I still need to resist the urge to say "merci" whenever I leave a shop, pub, restaurant, bus, or any other place in public.

  • Paul's Dad says things like "cookie" and "tom-ay-to" to me. It's because he has a lot of family in America and he switches to "North American" mode when I'm around. I think it's fabulous and it makes me smile.

  • Terry's chocolate orange crunchball. It's the regular Terry's chocolate orange but it has bits of honeycomb (like the centre of a Crunchy bar) in it. I want one.

Friday 29 November 2002

break time

I've just realised that whenever I do non-work related stuff on my PC, I like to settle down with a cup of tea before I start. It's the same kind of subconcious ritual I used to have when I smoked; I'd always light a cig beforehand. Bizarre. Incidentally, of all the things I've changed or done something about in my life, quitting smoking was the toughest and is the one thing I am most proud about. Losing weight was no small feat either, but I never really got rid of all my bad habits. I don't really watch what I eat, I don't go to the gym anymore, and I truly can't be arsed to put all the effort into it. For some reason, I never had this problem with quitting smoking. I had my last cig on March 31/00 (my 31st. birthday), and that was it. I've never had another cig or even a drag off a cig since. Not that I haven't wanted one - there are some days when I would sell my own mother for a cig - I just never caved in. For someone who had around 12-15 cigs a day for 16 years (never tried to quit before either), that's pretty darn good, if you ask me. Mostly I'm just pleased that every cold doesn't turn into bronchitis now and that I can take a transatlanic flight without feeling the need to slap everyone on the plane because of nicotine withdrawal after 8 hours.

Changing the subject before I turn into one of those boring ex-smokers, this weekend we will be entertaining Paul's parents. They'll get to see all the fabulous DIY we've done and new stuff that Paul's done/had done since their last visit over a year ago. Apparently his Mum always cleans when she visits, so I bet that lunch meat is gonna end up in cling film and the fridge will get a good wipe down.

Holy guacamole, I just looked out the window. The zombies are back! Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!

Thursday 28 November 2002

the psychology of fridges

Ed has inspired me yet again (maybe I just pay more attention to his writing 'cos he's always talking about food) and got me thinking about the contents of my fridge (see? Food.). First of all, let me just say that fridges in this country are really annoying. Actually, let me rephrase: all the fridges I've had have been annoying. What is it with these little tiny fridges you always get here when you rent a house/flat? They are what we call "bar fridges" in North America; refrigerators that are about 3 feet high that will fit two bottles of water and a few items of very flat food like bacon or torillas. You're screwed if you want to store things like bottles of wine (upright) and big bags of salad. Even the bigger houses I've been in had these little tiny fridges. Do you know what they call (what I think of as) regular fridges here? "American fridges". Bizarre.

Anyway, so I was thinking about what's usually in my fridge and how I store food. If I'm going to be here a fair amount, then it's pretty well stocked. I always have my staples: milk, butter, condiments (mayo, mustard, chutney, Branston pickle, salad dressing), usually some sort of cheese, and a few veggies hanging about from previous meals. Then I've got my freezer, chock full of pre-portioned sauces, curries, and other meals, breads, oven chips, and various other bits and bobs. Stuff in my fridge is always contained somehow, either in cling film/Saran wrap or plastic containers and jars. I check sell by dates fairly often, and chuck out stuff that's starting to look dodgy. On rare occasions, I'll wipe the inside of my fridge clean. Then I go to Paul's house and I have to resist the urge to a) wrap everything up in cling film (sandwich meat! In its original wrapping but half open! Aaaieee!) b) throw things away and c) move everything to the bottom shelf so I can reach it. I know what I said about small fridges here, but his is on top of a good-sized freezer.

So yes, not a lot of psychological analysis needed there. I'm tidy. He's not. But at least I'm not cleaning out his fridge because frankly, I think that would be a baaad sign.
white ribbons

The other day, I was reminded of the fact that I used to wear a white ribbon this time of year every year since the Montreal Ecole Polytechnique massacre. This event had a signifant impact on me, not only because it was horrific, but because a week after the massacre, a man came into the video shop where I worked on a Saturday afternoon, pointed a gun at me, and told me to give him the money out of the til. I had only just moved to Montreal in May of that year, I was 20 years old, living alone, and had never seen a gun in real life. I didn't feel safe again for a long time after that.

Last week I thought I'd buy a piece of ribbon in a shop somewhere or find one of my Montreal ribbons (I think I still have one in a box somewhere) because even though I'm 3,000 miles away, I still want to remember the women who died. I went to the Body Shop in Cambridge a couple of days ago, and when I went up to the til, I noticed a box of white ribbons in front of me. I never realised that the white ribbon campaign was international, and I was so happy to put my pound coin in the box and take out a ribbon for myself.

Incidentally, I do not condone violence against anyone. I've heard the arguments that this campaign is discriminatory because it's against violence towards women only (no really, I have - more than once), but it's important to acknowledge why and how the white ribbon campaign began. This was started by a group of men to remember the women who were shot dead in what was supposed to be a safe place (their university) by a man who specifically stated that women ("feminists", actually) were the cause of his miserable life. So yes, it's about women this time. You can put the remaining 364 days of the year to good use, too.

Monday 25 November 2002

love is...

...when my boyfriend, knowing full well that I have a fireman fetish, honks at the local fire brigade as we drive by (who are picketing at the moment) and says "That was for your benefit!" Ah, the gift of a dozen firemen waving at me. I couldn't ask for more, really.

We had another weekend of DIY and another weekend of vowing never to do any DIY ever again. Paul and I painted his kitchen (it's really gorgeous now), and then Paul tackled the bathroom lighting and drilled things into the walls. After searching through dozens of vinyl flooring samples (and good god, there are a lot of ugly ones out there - what are you people doing to your poor defenseless floors, for goodness sake?), Paul found one that was quite nice. Now all that's left is the flooring on the ground level, Paul's bedroom, and various carpeting issues. Did we say no DIY ever again? We'll say it again when we embark upon it after we've forgotten how much of a hassle this round was.

They make it look so bloody easy on the UK Style channel. I can't believe that television has led me astray.

This is the view from my office today. I keep expecting zombies to burst through the mist and start pounding on my window - which would be a good trick because I work on the first floor (second floor to you North American types), but anyway...

Thursday 21 November 2002


I've ordered this book for myself. My personal faves from the editorial review: If you can't remember if you've ever curled or not, because of how drunk you were, you get 50 points, Twelve Ways to Say "I'm Sorry.", and How to Find Canada on a Map. And 'cos I just can't resist a good deal, I've ordered it with this book. They should be waiting for me when I go back to Toronto in three weeks.

THREE WEEKS?! Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I'm not ready for Christmas yet!!!

Wednesday 20 November 2002


Is it wrong to be really excited that celebrity Big Brother starts tonight? Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

Tuesday 19 November 2002

it's about time

Gah, the days are blasting past me and time is going full speed ahead. I've been busy at work (deadlines abound), busy outside of work, and generally keeping myself off the streets and out of trouble.

We had a super fantastic smashing time in London last weekend. We drove in on Saturday, checked into our hotel, went up the London Eye (click here for piccies!), met Gary and Ruth for dinner (for very yummy food at Bar 38 where the boys and girls share a hand washing fountain outside the loos), saw the Fast Show (brilliaaaaaaaaaaant!!!), and wandered back to our hotel for a nightcap. Sunday morning we checked out, trapsed around London in the pouring rain (go figure), wandered around in search of a place that does brunch (apparently people in London don't eat brunch on Sundays 'cos everything was shut), and finally found a place near Leicester Square. We'd booked tickets to see Harry Potter at the Odeon and had a couple of hours to kill, so we walked along to the Regent Street area to do some shopping.

We went to Hamley's, which I suppose would be the London equivalent to FAO Schwartz - it's a massive toy shop with all sorts of cool stuff in it. My Mom loves teddy bears, and Hamley's has the most fabulous "bear factory" I've ever seen. You pick out your bear (or moose, or monkey, or one of the other creatures), take him to be stuffed (which looks kinda painful and yet rather humorous at the same time), and he's hand sewn at a counter where you take a little red satin heart, kiss it, make a wish, and it's tucked inside the bear. You then pick your bear's name and give some other info, and they make up a birth certificate for you. They have an entire room full of outfits, so I picked out a full Scottish kilt getup for my bear and called him...please, don't pelt me with rotting veg...Billy MacBear. So my Dad's name is Bill and I thought my Mom would get a kick out of it. Shush. I know it's all just too cute for words, but it really is quite something and I think my Mom will really love the fact that this bear was custom made for her. You can even record a message that'll play when you squeeze your bear, but even I thought that was too naff. It's cute when you're 6, but at 33, your parents aren't exactly going to go "awwwww" at the idea of hearing your voice coming out of a stuffed toy.

We headed to the cinema to see Harry Potter, and what a grand cinema it was - it must seat around 2,000 people (I think I heard an usher say that it was quite a lot of work cleaning up after 2,000 kids) and the screen is massive. Our seats were pretty good and the film was enjoyable. I think Jack sums it up best by saying it's sort of a "greatest hits" of the book, so it comes across rather disjointed in spots. Still, it's good fun and darn nice to look at. We headed back to Cambridge later in the afternoon, a bit tired but happy after a fun trip to the Big Smoke. Oh yes, and I think they call it that 'cos every single person in London chain smokes. Bleah.

So, it's back to life, back to reality. Too much to do at work, getting a bit stressed, starting to panic about the holidays (holy crap, we're flying out in less than a month and I've not done any shopping apart from that feckin bear), and realising that we have wait, two free weekends before we go. *eep!* Time for a cup of tea and a bubble bath.

Tuesday 12 November 2002

i majored in art at university...

...and I still can't paint along a straight line to save my life. This weekend, we were mostly doing home reno things around Paul's house. Yes, I realise that I don't live here. No, I wasn't forced to paint by my big meanie boyfriend; I actually wanted to do it. You see, I have never been a homeowner and I find the idea of doing DIY around a house quite the exciting novelty. That is, until I actually start doing the work and then realise how it's mostly just annoying. Still, despite the mishaps (paint splodges on tiles and the ceiling, a slip when I decided the edge of the tub was a better place to stand than the stepladder, picking bristles off of my newly painted walls, oh I could go on and on), it's actually pretty cool to stand back and look at it all when it's done. I've painted over the godawful green leafy stencilling and peach coloured walls that have plagued me every time I've soaked in the tub and stared at them. It's all a lovely sky blue; calm and so very clean. It needs some accessories and new flooring of some sort, but for now, it's a big improvement.

Paul put in new lighting in the kitchen, and it's absolutely brilliant. No, really - kitchen lighting can be something to get excited about. He put two recessed halogen lights above the sink area, a nice chrome and frosted glass halogen light fixture in the middle of the kitchen (with 3 adjustable spotlights), and flourescent lights under the cabinets. It looks fantastic. We also found a paint colour that went really well with the counter and cupboards, but then ran into a rather interesting dilemma: the shops ran out of one of the tints used to make it. It's one of those mix your own colour deals, but that's a little hard to do when they run out of a colour you need. How you can run out of a tint is beyond me. To elaborate, how all the shops in Northampton could be out of this particular tint is beyond me. I think it's either a really popular colour or local kids have discovered a way to make narcotics out of it and cleaned out the local shops.

I've watched too many programmes on the UK Style channel and figured hey, if they can decorate an entire house in 1/2 an hour, surely a small bathroom can be done in seconds. Three days it took us. Apparently, paint needs to dry quite a long time in between coats (16 hours is just greedy and excessive, you fussy jasmine white gloss) and if you have no idea about what you're doing, it takes hours to paint trim without dribbling paint everywhere. Plus there was this "preparation" ritual (filling holes with Polyfilla which also, very greedily, demands that you wait 24 hours before you can touch it with sandpaper or paint) and the clean up afterwards.

And yet the novelty hasn't worn off and I'm actually interested in looking at flooring samples. Is this what happens to you when you reach your mid-30s?

Sunday 10 November 2002

it's a canadian thing

Something only Canadians will find amusing, so apologies in advance for the inside joke. I was just poking around some (totally legal, I'm sure) mp3s and someone has "Bob Cajun" by the Tragically Hip available for download. That's right - you thought Bobcaygeon was just a boring town in Northern Ontario but no! It's also a guy called Bob from Louisiana.

Friday 8 November 2002

tgif ffs

A very welcome end to a very long week. At least being busy at work keeps me off the streets and out of trouble. Tip du jour: Underworld's latest CD "Hundred Days Off" is the best thing to blast in your headphones when you're writing under deadline. Bring in da funk.

We're both off on Monday, making for a lovely long weekend in exotic Northampton. We were supposed to go to Dublin, but things fell through (we were supposed to go for Paul's friend Russell's birthday, but he had to cancel because he's moving house). No, I'm not bitter. Heartbroken...saddened...wanting to give Russ a wedgie...maybe just a little. I have been promised a future visit to Dublin (home of Molly Bloom, doncha know), so all is not lost. In the meantime, I'm sitting here sipping a nice glass of wine after having indulged in a thoroughly greasy and absolutely heavenly fish and chip dinner. You know it's good when the paper it's wrapped in turns translucent.

Wherever you are, whatever you're doing, hope you have a fantabulous weekend. Unless you live in Halifax in which case, you're buried under snow, can't leave the house, and have bugger all to do until the next thaw.

Wednesday 6 November 2002

poppin' good fun

Guy Fawkes night was excellent! Lotsa loud, colourful fireworks, plenty of drinks before and after, and fabulous Chinese food to end the evening. Click here to see pictures and a couple of mpegs. Fun, fun, fun!

Tuesday 5 November 2002

Potter news

A friend of mine just sent me a blurb about the latest Harry Potter book, containing revelations from JK Rowling herself. In response, I sent him this message.

Other revelations in Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix:

  • Hermione's tangled hairdo? A home perm gone really wrong. Uses the "I'm a witch and shouldn't have neat hair" excuse to not do anything about it.

  • That is a wand in Harry's pocket AND he is glad to see you.

  • Chocolate Frogs make excellent laxatives.

  • Not only does the sorting hat yell out which house you should belong to, it now also tells everyone your sexual preference.

  • Neville's clumsiness is a result of several years of crack abuse.

  • Hagrid is just "big boned".

  • Post owls are really budgies in big fluffy bird suits. Real owls kept clawing the children's eyes out.

  • There is no spell in the world that will rid us of Celine Dion. None. We're all doomed.

Anyone heard any other rumours about this book?
penny for the guy

Hooray hooray, it's fireworks day! It's rainy and muddy, but after a trip to the pub, we won't mind too much. Stay tuned for firework piccies tomorrowish.

Paul has earned another slew of brownie points today by leaving me a surprise pressie on my desk this morning - a very colourful mug inscribed with the following:

Lisa is so smashing

the bestest girl by far

She's a little ray of fabness

a cool and groovy star!

In work-related news, I've just looked at Pete's armpit. My job just doesn't get weirder than that.

Monday 4 November 2002

number one in the under 7 demographic

I had a fantastic weekend in Kent, meeting the rest of the boyfriend's clan (must go to California to meet the American side - damn, what a shame) and enjoyed ourselves despite the weather. "How English", everyone said as we stood under umbrellas with our sparklers and set off fireworks in the pouring rain. We dried ourselves off and had a lovely dinner, and Paul's nieces ran around with my digital camera and took a billion pictures (here's one of me taken by 4 year old Polly, which explains why it's a shot from the ground up). I loved these girls, and for some bizarre reason, I was a big hit with them as well. Honestly, kids usually don't really seem too bothered with me, but this time I had two nieces fighting over my lap space and acting as my bookends the entire weekend. Here is a picture of Polly, her sister (and Paul's goddaughter) Grace, and Harry the dog (belonging to Paul's oldest brother Andrew and his wife Gabi) in a quiet moment after dinner. The next day, we went out for a lovely Sunday lunch to a fantastic pub a few miles away. This was the big "meet the family" event, as I got acquainted with another dozen or so of Paul's relatives - all of them extremely nice and fun. Here's Andrew, Polly, and me at lunch - what a little impish smile (and I don't mean Andrew)! A tiring but very enjoyable weekend, probably a little more tiring for Paul who had to fend off two sisters-in-law demanding to know if they need to buy new hats yet.

Friday 1 November 2002

rain rain go away

It's November in England which means the sun fecks off at 4.30pm and it rains on us 24 hrs. a day. Check out the Cambourne Business Park web cam to see the mucky view I have from my office today. Bleah indeed.

It's supposed to pour rain tomorrow as well, which is going to be annoying. We're supposed to be setting off fireworks in Paul's parents' garden tomorrow night, and it'll be a bit crap if we're huddled under umbrellas holding sparklers. It's Guy Fawkes night here on Nov. 5, so we're having fireworks this weekend (also to celebrate Paul's Mum's birthday). I'm thinking we'll likely end up sitting inside with sparklers and drinking a lot of wine, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. I love fireworks (and really miss the big fireworks competition in Montreal) and I always end up missing bonfire night festivities for various reasons. Since my first holiday in England, I've been here for Guy Fawkes night 4 times. I've missed every single bonfire night and have only seen fleeting glimpses of fireworks from motorways or living room windows. This year, I'll be going out with the usual suspects for an evening of drinks, fireworks, and Chinese food. Finally! Fireworks!

Wednesday 30 October 2002

welcome to 1999

That's right, I've finally shelled out for broadband. I had ADSL in Montreal (no really, I did) but had to give it up when I moved to the UK. Since then, I've been one of those out of date weirdos using a dial up connection at a pathetic 56k (which is actually an improvement over the 33.6k connection I had with my laptop the first year I lived here). I'm all agog. I can download lots of porn really quickly get files from work much faster and won't have to wait hours to receive my Dad's emails (he still hasn't quite got used to the notion of resizing photos so that they're less than 1MB each). Whee!

Tuesday 29 October 2002

sleep, interrupted

I fell asleep quickly last night, curled up under the duvet after a nice long bubble bath. This went fairly well for a while, until I started having a bad dream. Not a maniac weilding a chainsaw kind of bad dream, but more of a realistic things going bad and it's really unpleasant kind of bad dream. I woke up at 1am, my jaw sore (I clench my teeth when I'm tense) and still feeling upset even though I knew I was back to my trouble-free (at this moment, anyway) life. Back to sleep I went, only to pick up where the dream left off and continued with the storyline. At 4am, my television came on - the power must have cut off at some point and when it came back on, switched the TV on as well. I plodded downstairs in a stupor, turned the TV off, and crawled back into bed. I was still thinking about my dream and reviewing the plot so far, which is a bad thing to do if you want to get back to a peaceful slumber. Minutes later, the drama continued and things got more depressing. Even when my clock radio went off four hours later, I was still having this same horrible dream.

Yet for some bizarre reason, I feel really well rested and happy today. Go figure.

Poo, it looks like it's too late to enter Pete's sculpture in the Turner Prize competition.

Monday 28 October 2002

the blustery day

It was a bit windy here this weekend. East Anglia (which is where Cambridgeshire and my home reside) is extremely flat, so it must have been a real treat here this weekend. In Northampton, the wind howled and rain poured down on us. I sat in the living room next to the big patio doors, watching Paul's fence buckle and heave with the wind. Paul was sitting at his desk facing away from the window, so his main indication of how bad things were getting outside were the sounds coming out of me. The afternoon went something like this:


"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, the fence is just moving around a lot."



"What? What?"

"That conifer bent right down to the ground."

"But nothing's tearing apart in my garden?"

"Nope. OOOOOH!!"


"That fence is really bendy!"...etc.

Despite my false alarms, part of the fence did manage to come loose and had to be nailed back up again when the storm passed. Very luckily, all of Paul's conifers and roof tiles remained intact. I'm now convinced that someone is trying to remove England from the face of the earth - first earthquakes, and now hurricanes. Okay, so the earthquakes were a pathetic 2 or so on the Richter scale and that wasn't exactly a hurricane, but I'm still on the lookout for plagues of locusts and frogs showering down on us. England must have done something bad lately, and I can only assume that it has something to do with Atomic Kitten (who are indescribably evil).

I leave you with this masterpiece: Pete's sculpture. Don't say I never bring you any culture, bacterial or otherwise.

Friday 25 October 2002

when dining gets ugly

"An angry customer tried to break into a pub just to prove the chef had used HP Sauce instead of a home-made chilli dressing, a court heard." [source]

Thursday 24 October 2002

take a chair

Or specifically, take my chair back to the shop 'cos someone (let's call him "Paul"), broke mine this morning. As for my chair at work, I had to fill out some forms to attest to the fact that my chair is shite. Now it goes to the head of facilities, then to my manager for approval, then they'll give me a chair to try out before ordering one in for me. Apparently it won't be one of those kneeling chairs like I had imagined; it'll be some sort of regular office chair with funky ergonomic bits on it. I predict I'll get this chair some time in 2004.

Pete has created some sort of Turner Prize award winning sculpture in our publications/localisation room. I'll try to remember to bring in my digital camera to take a picture of it. It really does defy description - needless to say, it involves office furniture in a creative arrangement. It's sort of like that scene in "Poltergeist" when the mother turns her back for a second, turns back round, and her kitchen table and chairs have been stacked in a bizarre formation...except Pete took a few minutes to do this and we were all watching him. "Polterpete"? "Petergeist"?

I hate to mention Avril Lavigne again (I truly do not want Google hits about that woman leading to this site, thankyouverymuch), but I have to say one thing: how very clever of you to have rhymed "for" with "before" in your hit single. You must have rummaged through the dictionary for days to come up with that one. Kudos to you!

Tuesday 22 October 2002

wish i was there

Ed has done a fantastic photo "documentary" whilst he was on a 15 minute walkabout from work the other day. Hmm why do I keep plugging Ed's site lately? Must remember to ask him for some sort of commission in December. Anyhoo, I love seeing images from home and this is why I enjoy keeping up with blogs from Montreal - it gives me glimpses of the city that I'm missing a lot right now.

In a "proud to be a Montrealer, even if I wasn't born there" kind of way, I'd like to say a big wooohooo to Yann Martel for winning the Booker Prize. Yes, I will get around to reading the book (got it last year for Xmas) but in the meantime, I am thrilled that another Canadian author has nabbed this prize. I would have been equally thrilled if Carol Sheilds had won as she's one of my favourite authors (right up there with Margaret Atwood and Alice Munro), but it's certainly nice to see this won by a Montrealer. To make up for the horrifying crap we usually export to you poor souls outside of Canada (I cannot apologise enough for Celine Dion and now Avril Lavigne), please get familiar with one of our excellent authors. I promise you, it'll make up for William Shatner and Loverboy. Well, maybe not Loverboy...there aren't enough ways to say "I'm sorry" to compensate for that one, really.
i'll look like a dork, but my back will love me

Before I blather on about today's topic, I'd just like to say that Paul used the word "sexy" to describe both his new mobile and computer to his friend yesterday. If he does this one more time, I'm chucking those hussies out of the house.

I'm looking into getting an ergonomic chair for work. My poor aching back needs a good chair, because the one I have right now is awful. In fact, at this very moment, I'm sitting on the edge of my seat (literally) because if I sit back I'm too far away from my keyboard. My chair has two adjustments (up and down), which isn't very useful. Has anyone used one of these chairs before? If so, did you find that it helped?

Hopefully, I won't end up looking like this guy. I'm dorky enough as it is, thanks.

Friday 18 October 2002


First Chris W. got one. Now Paul bought one. This is the phone that I wanted a month ago when I was looking to upgrade, but it was too expensive. Now it's �80 cheaper. I am NOT amused!

*mutter grumble*

Thursday 17 October 2002

tip du jour

Here's some advice: don't pack a suitcase after you've been out all night at a pub with your mates. I had to pack my stuff tonight as I'm heading to Northampton straight from work tomorrow, and I'm a little worried about what I've actually put in my suitcase. I'm pretty sure that I've packed clothes and necessities for the next three days, but I'm a tad concerned that I'll get to Paul's house, open my suitcase, and find it packed with nothing but baked beans and coathangers. Really must get to bed and wake up early tomorrow to check this out. On the plus side, I had good fun tonight and had some fantastic Thai food. Tomorrow I'll feel like poo, but there you go.
big bags of fun

Totally ripped off from my fabulous friend Ed's recent blog entry, let's play What's In My Handbag (or whatever it is you lads carry around with you):

  • mobile phone

  • iPAQ pocket PC

  • nail file

  • wallet (let's not even discuss what's in there)

  • keys

  • Polo mints

  • a Badtz Maru notepad

  • security pass for work

  • glasses

  • sunglasses

  • feminine protection (wish I could remember who once said, "What is that, exactly? A pink uzi?")

  • Kleenex

  • lip balm

  • Tylenol

  • allergy tablets

  • Pooh BandAids

  • passport

  • chequebook

  • sewing kit

  • hair clip

  • contact lens case

  • eye drops for contact lens wearers

  • and sometimes, my small digital camera

When I used to ride my bicycle to work, I'd carry around all this plus a lock, my funky bike tool, waterproofs, and a reflective belt. Oh and then there's my gym stuff. Plus all the things in my car.

What you got, then?

Wednesday 16 October 2002

ay carumba

Homones made me eat Mexican food tonight. No, that's not true. Chris and Micky made me eat Mexican food. Yes, that's right. They forced me to have dinner with them at the White Horse pub in Oakington tonight, and pressured me into sharing a big deep fried starter. They're evil, I tell you! My colleagues continue their reign of terror tomorrow night when they make me go out for Thai food at the Hopbine pub. What's worse, I can drink tomorrow night as I won't be driving. Eeeeeeeeevil.

A very sad day in scooterness. I finally picked up my things from the bike shop; I had a few belongings under the seat and needed to pick up the money for my dearly departed scoot. All I've got is a D lock, a litre of 2 stroke engine oil, waterproofs, a reflective belt, and �100 to show for my three months as a scooter driver. The guy at the shop is brilliant and really went out of his way to make sure I got a little something after all my woes. He said that I must be happy to be on four wheels now that the weather is turning miserable, but to be honest, I always feel a little twinge of sadness when I see someone whizz by me on a scoot. I really loved winding through country roads in the sunshine on my way to and from work each day. I love my car to bits, but there are days that I wish I was still a scooterbabe. Focusbabe simply doesn't have the same ring to it.

Monday 14 October 2002

it's beyond my control

My Mom sent me this brownie mix (that she found god knows where because there's not one word of French on the box - and it's illegal in Canada to not have bilingual packaging, as far as I know), and I've finally got around to baking them tonight. Oh my. Fat free chocolate brownies, and they don't taste like shite. Mind you, it really irks me how companies convince you that "low fat" means "good for you" when the product is loaded with sugar. Sugar is fat free; low calorie it is not. These brownies are a lovely little treat, but if you look at the ingredients, guess what's first on the list? Sugar. Since my hormones don't give a rat's arse about watching my sugar intake this week, I'll just enjoy the brownies with my nice cup of tea.

I also blame hormones for that big curry I ate on Thursday night, the Domino's pizza I had on Friday night, and the Doritos and guacamole washed down with margaritas I had on Saturday night. Yes, that's right. Hormones. Did too. You want a piece of me, punk?!?

A bit homesick today as a few of my Canadian friends emailed to remind me that it's Canadian Thanksgiving. Thanks for rubbing in the fact that I don't get a turkey dinner and didn't have the day off work, you bastards. Pfffft. I think Canadians are smart having Thanksgiving in October. You Americans have to go through all the turkey basting and family gathering fiascos in November, mere weeks before you have to do it all again for Christmas. At least we have over two months to forget the fact that most of our relatives are completely insane and that we vowed never to have them in our homes ever again. Paul claims that the turkey bacon he made for me for breakfast yesterday morning should count towards my Thanksgiving festivities. The breakfast he made was so fantastic that it actually does almost make up for the lack of a full turkey dinner tonight. Almost. Hmm getting to that time of year when homesickness is becoming a lot more apparent. Must eat another brownie.

Ah yes, the film we saw on Sunday - Red Dragon. Since I'm too tired and lazy to write up a decent (and I use the term loosely) commentary about it, I'll just say that I liked it and maybe spit out a sentence or two. Ralph Fiennes (side note: every time I see his name now, I always think of "Coffee Talk" with Mike Meyers on Saturday Night Live. One of the lines when Linda gets all "verklempt" was, "Ralph Fiennes is neither spelled 'Rafe' nor 'Fines' - discuss!") is immensely creepy yet somehow pathetic. Seems to be a theme in this season's films - murderous lunatics who can gain our pity. Ed Norton teeters on the border of intense brilliance and slack-jawed simplicity. There are points when his expertise and intuition are supposed to astound us, then there are moments when he almost seems to drool a little as he tries to get his mind around the painfully obvious. Still, the dynamic between Norton and Anthony Hopkins works and the manhunt is captivating. No, it's not better than Silence of the Lambs, but it's a massive improvement from Hannibal. Maybe I'll change my mind if I watch Manhunter (the first film adaptation) or read the book again, but for the time being, I can say that I enjoyed it.

And may I just say, it's a tad depressing to be sitting here in a sweater and jeans with the heating on. :(

Sunday 13 October 2002

fin de la fin de la semaine

Weekend's not quite over yet, but almost. I always hated Sundays for that reason - I usually spend it thinking how crap it is that it's back to work the next day and how fast the weekend's gone by.

Blogging live from Northampton today. Oooh aaaah never done that before! A little hung over, still full of Mexican food (damn we're good at this whole salsa/guacamole/fajita thing), and off to see Red Dragon with Paul's brother and sister in law in a couple of hours. Insightful (*cough*) film review to come later.

Rightyo, off to enjoy what's left of the weekend. Wah.

Friday 11 October 2002


I have just realised how fantastic it is to type along whilst listening to Gould's fingers floating across the keyboard. In a moment of insanity, I have decided to do some more work as I wait for Paul. As I was typing a lengthy bit of text, I noticed that my fingers were moving in time to the music. Very cool.
lemme ouuuuut

Got to keep myself occupied while my boyfriend does work type stuff as he's my lift home this evening. I could do work myself, but that would be wrong in so many ways. Plus, it's been one of those panicky deadline everyone is annoying me type weeks and I've hit the wall. I cannae work no more.

We are entertaining Paul's brother and sister in law this weekend, with Mexican food and margaritas. Mmmmmmmmm yes.

I am listening to Glenn Gould courtesy of one Mr. Leftbanker, who very graciously mailed one of his CDs to me this week. Absolutely fantastic stuff. If you get the chance, rent 32 Short Films About Glenn Gould not just because it's a fine Canadian production, but because it's a brilliant film. Thank you so very much, Mr. Leftbanker - my spirits have lifted significantly since putting my headphones on.

Wednesday 9 October 2002

miss canada

I went out with a couple of Convergys girls today (I am still getting quite a few hits each month for the search term "Convergys girls", which is more than just a little disturbing), and my mate Jan was talking about someone she said was "not very Canadian". She meant that this person wasn't what she thought a typical Canadian is like - friendly, polite, and outgoing. She explained that this "not very Canadian" Canadian person wasn't like me, as I'm the only other Canadian she knows. Then it struck me: for a lot of people, I'm the only person from my country they've met. There are tons of Americans here; the English are more than just vaguely familiar with people from the States. Me? I'm one of the few representatives of my lovely homeland - what a burden to carry. So now the English must think that Canadians are Father Ted and Simpsons obsessed, wine drinking, chunky Kit Kat loving weirdos. I'd just like to say, for the sake of my country's dignity, I may not be your typical Canadian. I don't know, really...what is a typical Canadian?

sometimes a sponge is just a sponge

"His sexuality has become the biggest talking point since US campaigners claimed handbag-carrying Teletubby Tinky Winky, an import from the UK, was a bad role-model." [source]

Tuesday 8 October 2002


Pictures from Jack's birthday 'do can be found on my brand spankin' new album page. If you've been reading this page for a while, you've probably seen all of these pictures before ('cept for Jack's party pics 'cos I just uploaded them tonight). Enjoy!

Oh yes and big up to my homey Jack, whose birthday is today. Big up da cake, you mofo!
a whole lotta nothing

I don't really have anything to say today, but that doesn't stop me from writing. Oh, no. That's because I care about you, the reader. Yes, I do.

I got an information pack about the MA programme I'm starting, including a form to get a student card. What's the first thought that crosses my mind? "Woooohoooooo student discounts!" That's right, it's cheap movie tickets for me. To be honest, I will probably never use the card to get a discount, mostly because I don't want to present it to some spotty kid who'll raise a sceptical eyebrow at the old broad who simply cannot be a student at her age. Although this being a university town, I do often get asked if I'm a student. Being foreign also helps, because why the hell else would you come to Cambridge from abroad? At least, this is what the locals ask me.

Work related news: Wowie, haven't done this for a while. No wonder my site's still banned from the office. We received bread yesterday morning that expires on September 28. It's like a penicillin experiment in a Hovis bag. I need someone to explain the banana mystery to me. At the beginning of the week, a new supply of fruit is brought in which usually includes several bunches of green bananas. First I wondered why these unripe bananas were always gone in a matter of hours, but now I think I've figured it out - people are taking them back to their desks to eat when they're ripe. Now I'm wondering about the bizarre phenomenon of the extremely ripe bananas that have been showing up later in the afternoon throughout the week. When I check the kitchen for a fruity snack mid-morning, we're always out of bananas. Lately, when I go in after lunch, there's been three or four ripe freckly bananas sitting on the counter. Where do they come from? They can't be the same green ones that arrived earlier, unless we've got some sort of accelerated ripening chamber hidden in the office. Why are they only being put out three at a time? I'm stumped.

Monday 7 October 2002

nigella wannabe

I love Nigella Lawson - I think she makes fantastic food and she's absolutely gorgeous. She's built like a real human woman (i.e. she's got boobies - hurrah!) and she gets extra marks in my book for slagging off low carb diets on her show recently. So in my quest to become a domestic goddess (I'd really like a jaunty little tiara), I have made the most luscious risotto this evening. Inspired by the longstanding tradition of making dinner out of whatever's available at my local supermarket, I decided to go with risotto for dinner tonight. I didn't want to bother with the gigantic grocery store a few miles away as it's usually a zoo on Monday nights, so I scampered across the road to my little local grocery store. Wanna know what I put in the risotto? Oh go on, you do. I sauteed onions and garlic in olive oil, then added the rice (arborio, of course) and fried it around for a couple of minutes. Then a hefty glug of white wine went in, and I stirred the rice until the wine was absorbed. I repeated this with ladlefuls of soup stock until the rice was plump and al dente. In the meantime, I grilled some chicken in pesto and cut up some peppers, mushrooms, and fresh dill. When the rice was almost done, I added the veggies, sliced chicken, dill, and freshly ground black pepper. Then, I added a mountain freshly grated parmesan cheese, stirred, and it was ready. Mmmmmmm.

You can't really make risotto for one, so I made what I thought would be enough for dinner tonight, maybe lunch tomorrow, then another dinner later this week. Since I'm utter crap at estimating food portions (and forgot that risotto is so rich that you only need a few spoonfuls per portion), I've ended up with a silly amount of risotto. Like enough to feed the village. So, if you're in the area, please stop by and have some risotto.
monday, monday

I only half jumped out of my skin this morning, and fell back into it to listen to the radio for a few minutes before reluctantly getting out of bed. Yes, the radio is definitely a far less traumatising way to wake up.

"One Hour Photo" was very well done; Robin Williams is surprisingly good (and I think much better in this role than the similar character he plays in "Insomnia"). Williams is Sy "the photo guy", a quiet middle-aged loner who works at a Walmart-esque photo counter. His life is an orderly routine: knowing the habits of his regular customers (such as the lady who only takes pictures of her cats and the plastic surgeon's nurse with her "before and after" shots), his meticulous attention to detail in the photos he develops, the diner where the waitress knows him by name, and his immaculate apartment. He is gentle, far more dedicated to his work than even his boss thinks is acceptable, and gains the sympathy of his customers who can sense his lonliness. He is also a delusional stalker. Sy is obsessed with the Yorkin family, plastering his wall with prints he's duplicated from their rolls of film and mentally inserting his image in these family shots - desperate to become "Uncle Sy". The cinematography in this film is incredibly effective - Sy's world is filled with brutally stark fluorescent light, while the Yorkins are bathed in warm, earthy tones.

What makes Williams' character so brilliant is his ability to make us sympathetic, regardless of his actions and delusions. He is dangerous and disturbing, yet has morals we can condone. He seems more outraged by a husband's infidelity than his wife, causing Sy to demand "What is wrong with these people?". There is an explanation for his behaviour that is revealed near the end of the film, which doesn't dismiss his actions but certainly makes us understand how he got there. Unlike characters like Travis Bickle in "Taxi Driver", Sy doesn't go on a bullet-riddled moral rampage. It's what he doesn't do in the final scenes that surprises us; and this is how he maintains our pity.

Can you tell I took film studies courses in university? Ah, to be young and pretentious again.

Sunday 6 October 2002


Ouch. My. Head. Pounding. Thirsty. Tired. Sore. Throat. Pain. Ouch.

Jack's party (pictures to come later) - a good time was had by all, especially by those who drank wine out of pint glasses. Now that's class. Off to see "One Hour Photo" with my lovely boyfriend, then I'm being taken out to dinner for a three month anniversary treat. Awwwwwwwww bless. :)

Saturday 5 October 2002

little miss naughty

So I bought the clock radio. And the digital phone. And the Gamecube game. Didn't get the Braun mixer, though. See, I was able to control myself. Oh shut up.