Since school started a month ago, I have been a very fragmented blog-person. {I don’t even use the term “blogger” to describe myself anymore. I’m not a true blogger. I’m just a person who blogs occasionally, and poorly at that. A blog-person.}
What is a fragmented blog-person, you ask? I will answer that question by describing what a fragmented blog-person isn’t. (Can you tell school has taken a toll on my critical thinking skillz? So sorry for that. Also too, I’m sorry I just typed “skills” with a z. I don’t even like the letter z. I don’t use it in words that are supposed to have a z, like realise and [brain lapse…], so why would I go out of my way to use it where it clearly does not belong? I do apologise. Oh! Apologise. That’s another one.)
Anyway, a fragmented blog-person is not a cool, collected, organised person. Bloggers like that—cool and collected—frequently plan out their scheduled posts weeks in advance, work on their photographs to correspond with said posts, and never publish posts with typos. I am not that way on a good morning, let alone after long days of wading through oceans of literary bullsh*t in an attempt to better myself and someday land a paying job with my shiny degree in English. So now, under the strains of a semester that seems much more intense than the last one, I am an even more fragmented blogger than normal.
This is all just a really long, roundabout way (fragmented, remember?) of getting to the point—the point being, I have a slew of pictures saved up on my camera from all sorts of occasions over the past month that I’ve been meaning to blog about, and none of them actually made their way into real posts, so now you get the joy—yes, joy—of seeing them all vomited up in one giant post, just so I can get them out of the recesses of my mind and move on with my life.
Lucky you.
1. I bought all my own birthday presents this year. (Poor Kyle couldn’t be bothered.) One of them included the SteamTek™ steam mop that is currently sitting on the selves at our local Costco.
Image from here.
I’m going to write an entire review of this product (UN-SPONSORED, thankyouverymuch [though if anyone does want to sponsor a review of any product, I am totally open to suggestions. You buy, I’ll fly.]), but for now, I’ll leave it at this preview:
This was my kitchen floor BEFORE using the SteamTek™ steam mop. I may or may not have saved up the filth for an entire month in anticipation of my birthday gift. And it may or may not have been the most blessed month of my life.
2. We almost sold our house last month. In preparation for this grand event which never happened, I first visited my doctor to beg for a prescription of Prozac, and when he denied me, I visited the local mercantile for my version of hard liquor (a 12-pack of DDP), which I took home drank in its entirety during the longest basement descent ever known to man. Seriously: I stopped at each step, sat down to drink a DDP, and then proceeded to the next step, where I sat down to nurse another DDP. And then another step, and another DDP. Step after step, thirteen in a row. It took me five hours. Why all the dramatics? Because. BECAUSE…I had to deal with this:
Our much-dreaded, completely unnavigable storage room, where all the homeless boxes ended up from my move to Canada TWO YEARS AGO. It has gradually acquired more and more worthless crap that we can’t seem to throw away, but for which we really have neither place nor use. There’s not even a door on it to sufficiently hide my shame. It was pretty much a nightmare, and nothing has compelled me to deal with it over the past two years—not house guests, not even parties—until the faced with the threat of a home inspector coming in and instantly docking $100,000.000 off the value of our house because of it. Again, this will be a post in itself, and trust me: you won’t want to miss it. If I had been a recovering heroine addict, this room would’ve sent me straight back to rehab.
3. In what is now officially the clumsiest moment of my life, I spilled three days’ worth of M*A*C foundation down my bathroom sink.
I used up as much of it as I could, but you know, there’s only so much foundation a respectable girl can slather on her face before she begins to resemble a whore. What I could not manage to put back in the bottle, I rinsed away in the sink with weepy tears streaming down my face (and thus defeating the purpose of foundation in the first place). That was, like, seventy-five cents worth of really good makeup I was literally POURING down the drain. Woe was me.
4. It snowed. Heavily. On October 11th. And 12th. The leaves on the trees had not even fully turned to beautiful colours like they normally do, and then BAM! They were all dead in heaping brown masses underneath the trees. All the trees. In the entire city. May I remind you that fall colouring is one of the two reasons I live in Canada (the other being Poor Kyle, and it’s a good thing he gives amazing back rubs, or I would SO be out of here)? I have never felt so gypped in all my life.
The ducks hadn’t even had time to fly south for the winter. They were flapping about in an enormous flurry, landing there on the one sliver of pond that hadn’t frozen over, completely flabbergasted with their unfortunate fate. I overheard one duck say to her husband, “But Edwin! In THIS weather? We haven’t fattened up the kids for the flight! We’ll catch our deaths of cold, and that will be the end of us! I just don’t understand how this could happen—THE LEAVES AREN’T EVEN YELLOW YET! QUAAACK!“ I totally knew what she was talking about. Quack back atcha, Mrs. Duck.
So, yeah. Remember that thing I said about being a fragmented blog-person?
The end.
