In other news.

I took a little inspiration from Tavi in my outfit this morning.

This is what I'm wearing today... except the Roxy top is white with blue birds, not the other way around.

Anyway,

Lost a small battle to the house the other day. For a building that's supposed to be "really well insulated" it gets awfully cold. I threw up some curtains into open doorways and when I'm in the living room I usually keep the curtains and all of the other doors shut.

I went into the bathroom to take a shower and decided to turn on the little heater in there. Lo and behold, when I went to move the boxes that are currently haphazardly shoved into that room, I discovered that the heater was already goddamn on! In a fit of environmental rage (and frugality) I turned off the heater and proceeded to shower without it.

Five minutes later, I throw open the shower curtain and reach for my hand when I notice that not only is it COLD in there, I can see my fucking breath. I'm surprised icicles didn't instantly form on my arm as soon as I moved it outside of the warm confines of the shower. I grab the closest towel, a dingy little hand towel that is oft forgotten, and shut the curtain again as quickly as possible, trying to preserve what warm air I had left from the shower. I tried as best I could to dry myself with a tiny 6-inch-square piece of fabric that spends most of its days hanging limply from a sad towel rack next to the toilet. Needless to say I only got a small portion of one limb dry before the towel gave up and fell dramatically to the ground with a wet "sploosh" sound.

But I was not defeated yet. I remembered my housecoat! The pink fluffy monstrosity that my mother had purchased me years before (along with a pair of pink fuzzy slipper boots)! It lay on the ground, within reach, and would protect me from the cold for the split second that I had to run from the shower to the door. I wrapped the fuzziness around myself as best I could, threw open the shower curtain, took that first step... and...

Tripped. I accidentally caught my foot on the tub and lost my balance, effectively slamming my face into the cold, hard, grimy bathroom tile. My poorly-secured fuzzy pink housecoat fluttered open and my chest received the full force of the impact. My arms shot out to try to secure any sort of leverage to no avail, and my legs flailed uselessly behind me, trying to defy gravity and gain footing on any surface within kicking distance.

I lay, defeated, face down on the bathroom floor until my body realizes that holy fuck this floor is cold, somehow managed to find that footing and leverage that was unavailable during my fall, and booted ass out of the door. I slammed the door shut, leaned against it and started imagining what life will be like without a bathroom. Before my mind could roam to the unpleasant decision of which corner shall now serve as my toilet, and what kind of dish soap would make a less horrible shampoo, I suddenly remembered the items left behind, including my awesome salon-quality hair dryer, and my absolutely favourite La Vie en Rose bra, and realized that by fighting das Haus, I had risked all and lost. I quickly got dressed and, tail in between my legs, walked to work, my damp hair freezing in the chilly outside temperatures.

The entire day I tried not to imagine what life would be like, and I skulked home only to find that The Dude had been the brave one and gone back into the bathroom to rescue my belongings and turn the heat back on.

That is how I was defeated by the house. And also, why I love The Dude.

In 20 minutes, give or take, it will be The Dude's 22nd birthday. As such, I'm drinking as much coffee as I can while his birthday cake is baking in the oven, so it may be ready for when he gets home from work at 3:30 AM.

(Reprayzentin' the CBC!)

Merry Weekend, Everybody!