The Common-Law 15

Ahhhhh....unlawfully unwedded bliss.

If there's one thing that Paul knows, it's my faults. [Not that there's a lot of them or anything]. He accepts the fact that I. Don't. Cook. At least not well enough to be called food, or resemble anything edible, not to mention the probability of dysentery.

Needless to say Paul's been doing all the cooking since we moved in together. And I'm rather enjoying it. It's much like being waited on in a restaurant (without the pricey bill and I get to pinch the chef's butt without being thrown out). Pastas, curry dishes, stuffed chicken...yummy yum!

In fact, Paul's cooking is sooooo good, I've gained 15 pounds. Much like the freshman who goes off to college and is introduced to campus caf food. But without all the beer bonging.

Yes, part of me misses cooking my piece de la resistence...grilled cheese sandwiches. And yet another bigger part of me [literally] misses being able to fit into my clothes.

Ahhhhh...the price of love.

Er, Um, Aaaaaa

Remember me? Tee hee.

What? Seriously. Seriously? I haven't been gone THAT long.

What? I have not! You're still rocking your Rehead-Next-Door tattoo, right? Oh good. For a minute there, I was worried.

That vacay did me good. If you can call it a vacation. After lots and lots of packing, I moved in with Paul. Then we sold his condo,again, lots and lots of packing. Then we moved again, hello - packing! but this time into our very own brand spanking new house. And you know what that means? Well yes, it means lots of gyproc dusk, but it also means breaking in the rooms of our new house. Perhaps once we can afford to buy curtains.

Sure, I'll miss Chip and Danny but I've got new neighbors to discover. Like the Hillbillies that live across the road. Who needs to watch an episode of Cops when you can just look out your window? Then there's Mr and Mrs Newfie (cool hillbillies for you non-Canadians) and the Fat Pack. Wisteria Lane it's not. Hysteria Lane, maybe.

And the best part, they have no idea about the Redhead-Next-Door [insert menacing laugh here].

Posts For A Rainy Day

Dear Blog,

Oh how I miss you [gives "air hugs and kisses"].

But I will be back soon. *Promise* And filled with lots of juicy blog posts about (and in no particular order): living in sin with Paul, mucking through the daily grind in the job from hell, buying my our first house, communicating only by hand signals for two days, not expecting to be expecting, rotten bananas and Paul's abnormally small...tools.

Hope all is well. And by "well" I mean you're a sobbing mess without me.

See you soon.

RND

Le Freak

I was looking in the mirror post-lunch post-tooth brushing trying to figure out why I look so different today. More pale than usual. Almost sickly. With a touch of je ne sais pas ce qui.

And then it hits me...

I don't have any eye brows.

I forgot to pencil them in/on.

My eye brow hair is strawberry/blondish/invisible. So I have to fill them in with a brow pencil. Every...single...day. Usually I get my brows/lashes/anything else I can tinted (in case I forget, I'm covered) but my spa appointment isn't until next week. So for the rest of the afternoon, I'll hide out in my office, hoping no one notices the chicka without eye brows.

Note to self: maybe I could say I was involved in a freak BBQ lighting incident.

TGIF.

Cul De Sacked

Besides starting a new job this week I've also been blessed with the added stress of househunting. We still don't have a buyer for Paul's place so we're shacked up in his ultra cosy 2-bedroom condo (all 1197 square feet of it).

We looked at 3 houses. We learned a lot. Observe.

Top 10 Ways to Tell You Shouldn't Buy A House If...
1. The walls are painted green apple green (except the master bathroom which is a bright sailor blue)
2. Backyard fence is held up by 2 x 4 planks nailed to the house for support
3. Smells like dog and/or cat piss
4. Five-year old neighborhood children are flashing gang signs at you as you roll up curb side
5. Smells like cigarette and/or pot smoke
6. Only landscaping done on the property by previous owners was cultivating their grow-op
7. Your screaming, arguing, kids are the quiet ones on the street
8. There's multicolored built-in shelves made out of unfinished wood...in every room in the house
9. Closet in the master bedroom has a padlock on the outside of the door...and yup, built in shelves. Could have been home to Harry Potter.
10. The real estate agent says "I'll just wait for you outside while you look around"

Moving On Up

Packing and purging. Purging and packing. Two of my favorite past times. While I consider myself a veteran packer (I've had lots of practice living in more than 13 different rentals). But this time it's different. I'm moving to something (and someone) and not away from something (or someone).

At the same time. I'm rusty as hell. I haven't lived with a man since my first husband. Ten years and a whole lot of personal development later (read: therapy) I feel ready to try this whole living with a man thingy. But not just any man. Paul.

My stuff is being sorted into "keep", "sell" and "throw" piles (the sell pile is very very large). Unlike when I left my husband, I opted to take it all and leave him with only a wok and a spice rack (which is unfortunate since the wok was a wedding present from my aunt and she's never let me forget that my ex was enjoying sweet and sour chicken balls because of her. And because I really liked that spice rack!). I was hoping my ex-husband would realize over thyme and basil what a cheating, money-wasting jerk he was while he slept on the floor.

This time I am opting to resurrect the local economy with a huge yard sale featuring most of my belongings. It's just stuff after all. Whoa. Who said that? Was that me? Interesting.

It's scary and fun. Scary fun. In a good way. Not like when you're watching a horror movie and the blonde chick decides to check out the noise downstairs [Why DO they do that?]. It's more like taking a chance on something that is so worth it.

I have no doubt there will be moving pains. I don't live in a fairy tale. Although I do have a fondness for glass slippers and frogs. But think of all the delicious stories I'll have for blog posts. Bruhahahaha.

Tomorrow's Forecast: Hell Will Freeze Over

I got the job. I can't even write right now.

I got the job. Perhaps if I keep repeating it, it will eventually sink in.

I got the job. I start in two weeks (before they change their mind and realize what they've done :)

In other news...this is my 200th post!

Top 10 Ways to Make An Impression: The Job Interview Edition

Recently I went for a job interview for a position in Paul's city. The following are some simple and straight-forward tips I learned, that I thought I'd pass along to my fellow job hunters.

Top 10 Ways to Make An Impression: The Job Interview Edition
1. Completely rip the ass of your pantyhose getting out of your car. Have pantyhose hanging precariously by the front bits. Wonder whether you have enough time to dash into pharmacy to pick up new pair [answer is NO]. Thank your lucky stars: a) your skirt covers your bum, b) you decided to go with bikini briefs, and c) it's only semi-mildly windy.
2. Close the car door and turn to put money in the parking meter at the exact moment a truck drives through the only puddle on the street (which just so happens to be right beside you) and showers your new interview suit with a wave of cold muddy puddle water. Thank your lucky stars: a) your interview suit is brown so muddy puddle water blends in, and b) it's made of linen which soaks up liquid pronto.
3. Your interview suit is made of linen making it look like you slept in your suit. Convince office receptionist you are not homeless person but actual interviewee.
4. Continue laughing as you enter the interview room because of pantyhose and puddle incidents. Realize interview panel thinks you're either: a) crazy, or b) not taking the interview seriously. Picture Roseanne Barr naked to stop fits of laughter (works every time!).
5. Lead interviewer has a cold and advises she won't shake your hand in case she's contagious. Quip back "That's ok, I'll get you next time!" As if a) you're so confident you'll get the job and will shake her hand on your first day of work, or b) your going to keep interviewing until they give in and hire you, or c) you'll be stalking her until you get to shake her hand.
6. After every question, ask "Can you repeat the question?"
7. For questions you don't know the answer to say "That's a good question..." to buy yourself some time to think of something coherent and get rid of the deer-in-headlights look in your eyes.
8. To the question, "What types of decisions do you find hard to make and which do you find easy to make?" Answer: "I'm decisive, it's easy for me to make most decisions. The ones I find hardest are what to wear, like this outfit today."
9. Get so caught up in your fabulous answer that you forget the question (even though you've been talking for 7 minutes straight hoping something you said answers whatever they asked). Follow it up with "Can you repeat the question?"
10. At the end of the interview when they ask if you have any questions, ask "How did this position become available?" Watch them tear up as they answer, "He died."
Bonus Tip: Hand in your references, saying "They're expecting your call."

Wise Guy

Location: Walking Trail
Time: 7 pm

Me: [Trying not to laugh] "Paul darling, that's quite the walking outfit you have on there. Suede jacket, black t-shirt, jeans, white sneakers and sun glasses. You look like a member of the mob."
Paul: "Then what does that make you?"
Me: "Embarrassed."
And then we both collapse into fits of laughter.

The Mathematics of Job Hunting

# of months since becoming engaged to Paul = 5
# of months since beginning job search to move to Paul's city = 5
# of jobs applied for since beginning job search = 11
# of job interviews obtained since applying for jobs in Paul's city = 0
# of glasses of wine drank during this blog post = 1, 3
# of glasses of wine drank while writing cover letters for jobs applied for in Paul's city = 11

Ok, maybe those numbers are a bit off. I've drank way more than 11 glasses of wine.

[UPDATE: # of job interviews obtained since beginning this post = 1. Cue the Twilight Zone music please!].

Much Ado About Money

Revenue Canada* how I love thee.
Let me count the ways,
One thousand, two thousand, three thousand, four...

*Revenue Canada: the Canadian equivalent to the IRS. Same suits. Same jokes. With the bonus flair of a Canadian accent eh!

Happy Pretend Birthday To Me!

Since my official birthday was a tad rough, I decided to try celebrating it again today, by having my very own pretend birthday. And you know what? It was bloody fantastic. I had a great hair day. My outfit was fab. I got flowers. I got a card. My coworkers wished me a Happy Pretend Birthday. And since it was a pretend birthday, I pretended I was 30.

One of the best real birthday presents I got, was from Paul. Remember my blog bumper sticker idea? Oh, really? And you call yourself a fan! Oh, really? Well keep reading...you might want to reconsider.

Anyhoo. Paul designed some "Read the Blog" Redhead-Next-Door bumper stickers himself. And by "some" I mean one. And got three of them made (It's the thought that counts. He is so thoughtful). And I am going to have three very happy blog fans.

Happy Birthday To Me!

My son (age 11) just woke me up out of bed with a high pitched, fast talking yell from his room. It sounded much like "Mum...warble warble warble". To which he promptly opened fire with a power puke all over the carpet in the hallway, the hall walls and his bathroom sink. [I mean walls...who even does that unless they're in Poltergeist?] I didn't even have time to react (unless you count finally directing the spray to the toilet but by that time the regurgitation massacre was over).

So now I'm left with a rather large, rather suspect, stain on my hallway floor. A stain which looks like someone may have been murdered there, except it smells like beef stew. And is more orange-y with bits of green than bloody (thanks to all those leafy greens in the salad at supper).

Ironically, this whole episode started precisely at midnight. I am officially 32. And so far, my birthday sucks donkey dick.

Oh karma, how you mock me.

The Great Dick-bate

Me: "Let's rent 27 Dresses this weekend (the movie, and not actually renting 27 dresses)!"
Paul: "Sounds like a chick flick. Iron Man is at the theatre. I was thinking of taking Aidan for some male bonding. You could come too."
Me: "Hmmm...sounds like a dick flick. I think I'll opt for the inevitable taffeta filled music montage."

And somewhere, Thelma and Louise give a high five.

Q and A with Paul, The Gettin' Hitched Edition

Via the phone...

Me: Let's get right to the juicy stuff. What do you think about your ex-wife offering to help plan our wedding?
Paul: [laughs] Typical. I have no interest in taking her up on that offer.
Me: Glad you cleared THAT up.

Me: How many hours do you estimate you spent looking for the perfect ring for me?
Paul: [adding out loud] 25 total.
Me: How does this compare to the number of hours you masturbate?
Paul: [laughs] That's less than 25 hours total a week.

Me: When did you know I was THE ONE?
Paul: Waking up with you and realizing I wanted to do that forever. And that purr that you do.

Me: Moving on. Describe in one word what marriage means to you.
Paul: A commitment.
Me: That's two words.
Paul: This is hard! I thought you loved me [pouts]. I would say commitment but that's not what marriage means to me.
Me: What the?
Paul: [continuing] A partnership with someone you want to share the rest of your life with. I guess I'd have to use "share" if I had to put it in one word. And I don't mean the singer [Cher].
Me: Where's a drum roll when you need one.

Me: Do you think I should change my name when we get married?
Paul: I'm of two opinions: I love the idea of you having my last name - it means you're mine.
Me: [Picturing Paul in a loin cloth carrying me over his shoulder back to the cave].
Paul: But your maiden name - it's who you are. If I was more nouveau, we'd make up our own last name.

Me: What's the first thing you want to do after we get hitched?
Paul: [laughs] Right after? Walk hand in hand [censored]. Kiss you senseless [censored] and hold on to you saying, "mine forever."

Me: What's the one tradition you want to include in our wedding?
Paul: Pardon?
Me: What's the one tradition you want to include in our wedding?
Paul: I thought you said "position". Tradition...I see it as more of a simple affair.
Me: [Picturing hot dogs and beer].

Me: Do you think I will turn into a Bridezilla?
Paul: A what?
Me: [Long explanation as to what this is]. I'm sure it's a non-issue. Now get back to making those guest favors!!!

Me: What's the one household chore you will least like to do when we're married?
Paul: Cleaning the showers and putting away the laundry.
Me: So, pretty much the same as now. How will we decide who does what around the house?
Paul: I think it'll be easy. I'll be doing more cooking than cleaning.
Me: I see you've already put some thought into this.

Me: What's your biggest fear about getting married?
Paul: Comfort. I'm afraid I'll become comfortable and won't be trying as hard. I fear taking you for granted and not showing you how special you are.
Me: Don't worry, I won't let you forget.

Me: What's the best part about getting married?
Paul: [long pause] Someone to share everything with.
Me: I thought you would say "more sex".
Paul: Honey, it's hard to get more sex than I do now.
Me: [Thinking to myself perhaps it's time to attend a support meeting].

Me: Did you purpose on New Year's Eve so that you will never forget our engagement anniversary?
Paul: No [laughs].

Me: Have you ever lied to me?
Paul: White lies...that's it.
Me: Ahem! Like sorry I didn't call hon, my cell phone battery died. Like that?

Me: How would you describe my decorating style?
Paul: Unfortunately you don't have a lot of money. But if you did, it would be light and colorful. I'm more "dark."
Me: Uh huh. What will happen to my "hand me down furniture" once we move in together?
Paul: It's going to look great in our rec room.
Me: Ouch.

Another One Bites the Dust

Canada - I regret to announce the suddenly passing of Mavi Jeans on April 13, 2008 at 3:31 pm. The Jeans are survived by their owner and wearer, Erika. She will miss wearing them every week because she only had two pairs of jeans special enough to call "wearable". She will miss pouring herself into them for dates and making guys drool (especially Paul) about the special way they fit her curves. Like other pants owned by Erika, who shall remain nameless out of respect, Mavi Jeans passing was due to a large rip in the ass area. It was over quickly, she did not suffer. Few jeans were like you Mavi, R.I.P.

Set To Vibrate

In my home province, they made a little law that goes like this, as of April 1st YOU CAN'T DRIVE AND CHAT ON YOUR CELL PHONE AT THE SAME TIME. Unless it's a hands free phone and you're using a looks-like-you-work-at-McDonald's headset. Thank goodness they didn't say anything about not applying mascara and driving. My phone rings occasionally while I'm in my car, but my eyes are always calling for more lash batting power.

When your phone rings you now have two options: a) let it ring and go to voicemail or b) pull over on the road/highway and answer the phone. Gee, I don't see anything dangerous about THAT.

I guess the law was made for those bad driver's who need their focus all their energy (and faculties) on driving to avoid being in an accident. Thank goodness they didn't say anything about not eating Big Mac's and fries and driving. My phone rings occasionally while I'm in my car, but my tummy is always calling for more [whatever they put in that crap].

Random Compliment, #8

Supervisor: "I am really intimidated by your hair today."
What I Said: "And look. I can even do the Charlie's Angels hair swish."
[does sexy hair swishy flip thingy]
What I Should Have Said: "My hair just said to give me a 10% raise."

Random Compliment, #7

Supervisor: "You look amazing today Erika. You are way too sexy for this office."
What I Said: "Um, thanks. I think."
What I Should Have Said: "Ooo. You noticed too eh?"

Tales from Vacation: Preamble

For the first time [EVER] I took a vacation. Like, as in a VACATION vacation, i.e. an adult vacation. No, not THAT kind of adult vacation. But one with no kids. And you do more than stay home in your pj's and house clean, you actually go somewhere. More than 20 km's away!

I decided to venture to a part of the country I've never been to (which isn't as hard as it sounds since I've only been to three provinces). I know, I know. For such a worldly writer, I don't actually get out much.

Because of my embargo on air travel I opted for the classic ski road trip...a deux with Paul. To Quebec City...the city of love (second only to Paris and Moscow). We'd I'd forgotten that Quebec isn't a bilingual province (unless you count French and Asshole as official languages).

I've got enough post material for weeks...or this week (memory depending). Happy reading :)