Thank you everybody for your thoughts and words. As anonymous as a lot of us are to eachother on here (in the sense that weve never actually met face to face) it still means a lot, and I swear the friendships Ive discovered here surpass some of the friendships Ive had in real and local life in the past when you see the person face to face on a daily basis.
Strange entity this blog thing, and probably an interesting thesis for a sociology student.
None-the-less, Ive passed it all on to the Morgster, and he wags and drools some in gratitude.
However, things here seem to be winding around the bend into a new yet comfortable resemblance of life again. A slightly different flavour, but its still chuggin on.
This Morgan thing is obviously a sad state, but on the bright side hes a dog and doesnt understand English all that well so even if he has been eavesdropping on the conversations his little c-word thing has prompted, he doesnt seem to be unhappy about anything.
Hes not in pain, he still seems quite happy in the head, picking up his stuffed animal dujour and prancing around the living room when I come home.. making that little snuffle sound he makes when his floppy jowls are full of teddy bear, and Im taking that for all its worth. Taking each day with him as it comes.
He spent last night as a sleepover at his she-who-is-still-referred-to-as-his-mommies house, and Im sure that now that she knows the prognosis as well that he was smothered in love, so hes got it pretty good these days.
Me? Sorting, packing, delving into devilish corners Ive long forgotten about or havent dared approached.
Man, Im not going to be taking hardly ANY of this crap with me on this move, which will make for an easy trip in a truck to the new place.
This couch stays. Bookshelves, they stay. Most of the dishes, cutlery, old beat up aluminum cookware stays. And by stay I mean Im moving them from this apartment, down the stairs and right into the Smithrite, or the BFI bin or whatever the locals happen to call a dumpster in your neck of the woods.
The books are comin though
Im surprised how many boxes of books I have though, Why cant I get rid of the books?
That, and generally trying to get some sort of Christmassy spirit to invade this place. Me beloved and myself are going to get out there today and tackle that most traditional of our pagan meets Christ things and try to find a tree. Logically, it doesnt make a whole lot of sense for me to be going through this place and trying to slowly empty it out and clean it up and at the same time go out and find some big chunk of dead forest to ceremoniously plop in the front window, but fuckit. I want a tree this year.
We already watched a Christmas Story with messy marvin AKA Peter Billingsley,
Ive been listening to the Traditional Christmas radio station all week long on MusicMatch (ok, give or take a few moments of indulgence with an Artist Match for Peaches)
And for anybody that was curious, Messy Marvin looks like this now.
I have finally been able to feel confidant that Ive sealed the deal with the new apartment. The damage deposit is payed, and Im simply waiting now in the hopes that the current tenants can get occupancy of their new home before the end of the month.
Theres a funny / odd story that goes along with the new place, probably the different story I mentioned I had to tell.
It was last Friday, a full 36 hours into the what was becoming a very stressful search for an apartment, and Id been at it the entire day prior, and then that morning for 3 hours already. I had been zig zagging across the west end here in---
hmmm, what name should I use for her Im never comfortable using peoples real names uh she will be called Anita. Yeah, Anita, thats the ticket.
So Anita has lent me her car, and Im zigging and zagging across the west end here pulling over every half block or so when I see yet another vacancy sign, calling the number posted, sometimes getting voicemail, sometimes getting a real person, yet always getting the same response to the
Do you take pets? question.
--Absolutely not. Was invariably the answer.
I was losin it.
Anita was havin a fairly challenging week of it at the office, and I figured it would be a nice thing to pick her up from that and take her out for lunch.
Maybe it went like this:
Perhaps, after the 14th shutdown to the do you take pets? question, I would pull over into a no parking zone, unclip my Cellphone from my belt and then call her at the office, offer to pick her up in her own car, to take her out of that. Take her away from that and go out for lunch.
Itd be snowing rare in this city. Itd be cold, and more cabs would be on the road than is normal.
The restaurant I had my heart set on would be full up with a line up of shivering and disgruntled office employees from the new towers that have erected themselves around the library.
Wed have to travel further away to find a place thats empty, or at least has some room, and wed find ourselves outside of the business district just the two of us. Me driving her car, and us listening to my Hawksley Workman CD.
You can tell by the wind,
By fresh cut wood all stacked to dry,
That autumns here,
It makes you sad about the crumby summer we had,
With pine trees creaking,
The ravens screeching,
Just like the story my grandma tells,
About when a bird hits your window,
And someone you know is about to die,
That autumns here, autumns here, its ok if you want to cry,
Cause autumns here, autumns here, autumns here
Then, wed be cold, sitting with our coats still on and hunkered down over a coppertopped bar surrounded by candles, quietly reading menus, making little small talk like ooo that sounds good, pointing with chilled white fingers at the Ahi Tuna, organic burger or seared scallops.
Maybe Id mention that this place was an almost location for the SG Christmas party, but it was exorbitantly expensive .
She might comment on the shit thats goin down at the office, and I might say something about how itll all work out in the end, that sometimes things can just go like this but its not a bad thing. Just a challenge and it fucking rocks because shes gonna nail it. Maybe Id push aside my own worries for a second there, and look realistically at others.
And then Id be working hard to keep my mind on the menu, to not think about the fact that this city appears to have the highest vacancy rate Ive ever witnessed and yet there wasnt a single fuckin soul that wanted to give my dog some lovin inside some new and freshly painted walls.
I mean seriously, there was at least 2 FOR RENT signs on every single block I drove past.
Some buildings looked like crap you may know the ones 1973 construction, 20 stories, tiny little concrete balconies, industrial carpet, brown kitchen appliances and baseboard heating. Blech.
Some buildings looked great, obviously hardwood, 1930s or 1940s perhaps, some with fireplaces and hardwood but no. absolutely no pets.
But wed finally order, and Id express my concerns and shed say it was going to work out alright in the end, dont you worry, youll see and our lunch would be presented and wed quietly eat, thinking mostly about our own shit, but also contemplating the others.
Time being short, wed be back on the street and walking into the bizarre flakes towards where I parked her car. And maybe Id take Hastings street to get back down into the business core to drop her off at the office in the midst of the Friday afternoon bustle.
This would take us past the music shop. The old one, and shed comment on how this was her hood
Shed lived here in the past around here and that music store there, shed go into it all the time. Its a classical music place, where they sell sheet music for every type of orchestral instrument you can think of, and the staff there were totally knowledgeable about just about every classical piece ever released. Shed tell me about walking in time after time to hum a song saying whats this?
And theyd know.
That may have gotten me thinking about my own classical past. The 9 years of violin, and how a couple of years ago, when I began to picture my new life without she-who-used-to-be- I had the hugest dream of taking all those years of that training, and learning how to play what I still consider to be the most beautiful sounding instrument ever. The cello.
Shouldnt be too hard, Id say. Really. I started playing violin at the age of 4, and only stopped at the age of 13 due to the invariable beatings that started to rain down on my ass due to my instrument of choice when I approached grade 9 at school. Fuckin lowbrow bullies. And I might mention my regret at allowing that to stop me, but then again the neural pathways that Id honed in all those years with a fretless instrument should still be there somehow. It shouldnt be too hard to quickly get up to speed on the cello.
A bow is a bow is a bow, really, and my fingers when they pick a bow up are at home so fast.
Slowing to a stop at the red light. Looking over at the window of the shop, Id say
what happened there? That was a huge dream. I was so geared towards it, I even went out and priced out cello rentals, electric cellos, cello lessons what the fuck happened to that?
She might be silent, perhaps waiting as if I was simply asking a rhetorical question that I was about to answer.
There wouldnt be one though. Just me lookin over there through the windows, back of my head to her, my right ear looking up at the newly green light.
Left ear in line for the honking.
Anyways, Id drop her off, and go straight, then after a while and a few different lights and intersections, Id hang a right back into the residential crawl of the west end.
Well, long story short (youre welcome), One of the places I called I only called out of a why the fuck not sorta attitude,
I dont mean that attidude attitude. I mean this place Id pulled over beside was way too fucking beautiful, way too well kept for me to even contemplate calling that number.
Like, what, itd be like 1800.00 and absolutely no pets.
I would rate this building as one of the top 3 nicest apartment buildings in the west end, and there was no way I was getting in. meh, why not? Im callin the number.
Id pull Anitas car over, and dial the number from the door.
Somebody actually answers.
Shes really nice.
Damn I like this person.
This woman on the phone is probably in her 60s. shes lived in and managed this building for 42 years now. After I talk to her, and break it out, the situation with the dog, hes willing to make an exception to the absolutely no pets rule for Morgan, and would you be able to see it tomorrow at noon?
Id sorta slowly walk back to the car, get in and not start it for a moment but let the radio come on, and then Id pull out and stop looking for an apartment and go home, Id call Anita at her office, and wed agree to see the place together the next day; Saturday, at noon.
That next day, Wed leave from Anitas place, Id drive and wed get lost trying to find the new apartment in the labyrinth of one-ways and dead ends that consistently intersect the streets of the west end, then.finding a place to park.
Wed be walking up to the building, its a beautiful sunny day. My god its nice out.
Id be freaked out that the sign was still up on the door, realizing that the place was still being advertised, but damn thats a nice entrance:
But the strangest part of this story comes after I buzzed the landlords number.
Shed let us in, and ask us to wait in the main lobby.
But while we were standing there, admiring the vision of the staircase leading up on the other side of the glass wall,
We could suddenly hear somebody practicing the cello from inside the apartment at the end of the hall in front of us.
Definitely practicing. That wasnt a recording.
Ok, admittedly, I figured that was pretty odd, if not somewhat prophetic or somehow symbolic
But then it got weirder.
While we were waiting for the manager to come down to meet us and show us the suite, while we were listening to the person practice the cello, I suddenly realized a violin was being practiced behind us.
Overtop of the cello that was facing us, the rear surrounds (mostly on the left) were a violin, live and loud coming from suite #11
you hear that? Id probably say.
as it turns out, the little girl -- the daughter of the current resident -- is taking violin lessons.
So the violin was coming from inside my suite.
Anyways. THATS the place I got. The one that'll take Morgan, the one with the coffered ceilings, the violin echoes, hardwood floors, and this new year is going to be the best thing that has happened to me in a really really long time.
Strange entity this blog thing, and probably an interesting thesis for a sociology student.
None-the-less, Ive passed it all on to the Morgster, and he wags and drools some in gratitude.
However, things here seem to be winding around the bend into a new yet comfortable resemblance of life again. A slightly different flavour, but its still chuggin on.
This Morgan thing is obviously a sad state, but on the bright side hes a dog and doesnt understand English all that well so even if he has been eavesdropping on the conversations his little c-word thing has prompted, he doesnt seem to be unhappy about anything.
Hes not in pain, he still seems quite happy in the head, picking up his stuffed animal dujour and prancing around the living room when I come home.. making that little snuffle sound he makes when his floppy jowls are full of teddy bear, and Im taking that for all its worth. Taking each day with him as it comes.
He spent last night as a sleepover at his she-who-is-still-referred-to-as-his-mommies house, and Im sure that now that she knows the prognosis as well that he was smothered in love, so hes got it pretty good these days.
Me? Sorting, packing, delving into devilish corners Ive long forgotten about or havent dared approached.
Man, Im not going to be taking hardly ANY of this crap with me on this move, which will make for an easy trip in a truck to the new place.
This couch stays. Bookshelves, they stay. Most of the dishes, cutlery, old beat up aluminum cookware stays. And by stay I mean Im moving them from this apartment, down the stairs and right into the Smithrite, or the BFI bin or whatever the locals happen to call a dumpster in your neck of the woods.
The books are comin though
Im surprised how many boxes of books I have though, Why cant I get rid of the books?
That, and generally trying to get some sort of Christmassy spirit to invade this place. Me beloved and myself are going to get out there today and tackle that most traditional of our pagan meets Christ things and try to find a tree. Logically, it doesnt make a whole lot of sense for me to be going through this place and trying to slowly empty it out and clean it up and at the same time go out and find some big chunk of dead forest to ceremoniously plop in the front window, but fuckit. I want a tree this year.
We already watched a Christmas Story with messy marvin AKA Peter Billingsley,
Ive been listening to the Traditional Christmas radio station all week long on MusicMatch (ok, give or take a few moments of indulgence with an Artist Match for Peaches)
And for anybody that was curious, Messy Marvin looks like this now.
I have finally been able to feel confidant that Ive sealed the deal with the new apartment. The damage deposit is payed, and Im simply waiting now in the hopes that the current tenants can get occupancy of their new home before the end of the month.
Theres a funny / odd story that goes along with the new place, probably the different story I mentioned I had to tell.
It was last Friday, a full 36 hours into the what was becoming a very stressful search for an apartment, and Id been at it the entire day prior, and then that morning for 3 hours already. I had been zig zagging across the west end here in---
hmmm, what name should I use for her Im never comfortable using peoples real names uh she will be called Anita. Yeah, Anita, thats the ticket.
So Anita has lent me her car, and Im zigging and zagging across the west end here pulling over every half block or so when I see yet another vacancy sign, calling the number posted, sometimes getting voicemail, sometimes getting a real person, yet always getting the same response to the
Do you take pets? question.
--Absolutely not. Was invariably the answer.
I was losin it.
Anita was havin a fairly challenging week of it at the office, and I figured it would be a nice thing to pick her up from that and take her out for lunch.
Maybe it went like this:
Perhaps, after the 14th shutdown to the do you take pets? question, I would pull over into a no parking zone, unclip my Cellphone from my belt and then call her at the office, offer to pick her up in her own car, to take her out of that. Take her away from that and go out for lunch.
Itd be snowing rare in this city. Itd be cold, and more cabs would be on the road than is normal.
The restaurant I had my heart set on would be full up with a line up of shivering and disgruntled office employees from the new towers that have erected themselves around the library.
Wed have to travel further away to find a place thats empty, or at least has some room, and wed find ourselves outside of the business district just the two of us. Me driving her car, and us listening to my Hawksley Workman CD.
You can tell by the wind,
By fresh cut wood all stacked to dry,
That autumns here,
It makes you sad about the crumby summer we had,
With pine trees creaking,
The ravens screeching,
Just like the story my grandma tells,
About when a bird hits your window,
And someone you know is about to die,
That autumns here, autumns here, its ok if you want to cry,
Cause autumns here, autumns here, autumns here
Then, wed be cold, sitting with our coats still on and hunkered down over a coppertopped bar surrounded by candles, quietly reading menus, making little small talk like ooo that sounds good, pointing with chilled white fingers at the Ahi Tuna, organic burger or seared scallops.
Maybe Id mention that this place was an almost location for the SG Christmas party, but it was exorbitantly expensive .
She might comment on the shit thats goin down at the office, and I might say something about how itll all work out in the end, that sometimes things can just go like this but its not a bad thing. Just a challenge and it fucking rocks because shes gonna nail it. Maybe Id push aside my own worries for a second there, and look realistically at others.
And then Id be working hard to keep my mind on the menu, to not think about the fact that this city appears to have the highest vacancy rate Ive ever witnessed and yet there wasnt a single fuckin soul that wanted to give my dog some lovin inside some new and freshly painted walls.
I mean seriously, there was at least 2 FOR RENT signs on every single block I drove past.
Some buildings looked like crap you may know the ones 1973 construction, 20 stories, tiny little concrete balconies, industrial carpet, brown kitchen appliances and baseboard heating. Blech.
Some buildings looked great, obviously hardwood, 1930s or 1940s perhaps, some with fireplaces and hardwood but no. absolutely no pets.
But wed finally order, and Id express my concerns and shed say it was going to work out alright in the end, dont you worry, youll see and our lunch would be presented and wed quietly eat, thinking mostly about our own shit, but also contemplating the others.
Time being short, wed be back on the street and walking into the bizarre flakes towards where I parked her car. And maybe Id take Hastings street to get back down into the business core to drop her off at the office in the midst of the Friday afternoon bustle.
This would take us past the music shop. The old one, and shed comment on how this was her hood
Shed lived here in the past around here and that music store there, shed go into it all the time. Its a classical music place, where they sell sheet music for every type of orchestral instrument you can think of, and the staff there were totally knowledgeable about just about every classical piece ever released. Shed tell me about walking in time after time to hum a song saying whats this?
And theyd know.
That may have gotten me thinking about my own classical past. The 9 years of violin, and how a couple of years ago, when I began to picture my new life without she-who-used-to-be- I had the hugest dream of taking all those years of that training, and learning how to play what I still consider to be the most beautiful sounding instrument ever. The cello.
Shouldnt be too hard, Id say. Really. I started playing violin at the age of 4, and only stopped at the age of 13 due to the invariable beatings that started to rain down on my ass due to my instrument of choice when I approached grade 9 at school. Fuckin lowbrow bullies. And I might mention my regret at allowing that to stop me, but then again the neural pathways that Id honed in all those years with a fretless instrument should still be there somehow. It shouldnt be too hard to quickly get up to speed on the cello.
A bow is a bow is a bow, really, and my fingers when they pick a bow up are at home so fast.
Slowing to a stop at the red light. Looking over at the window of the shop, Id say
what happened there? That was a huge dream. I was so geared towards it, I even went out and priced out cello rentals, electric cellos, cello lessons what the fuck happened to that?
She might be silent, perhaps waiting as if I was simply asking a rhetorical question that I was about to answer.
There wouldnt be one though. Just me lookin over there through the windows, back of my head to her, my right ear looking up at the newly green light.
Left ear in line for the honking.
Anyways, Id drop her off, and go straight, then after a while and a few different lights and intersections, Id hang a right back into the residential crawl of the west end.
Well, long story short (youre welcome), One of the places I called I only called out of a why the fuck not sorta attitude,
I dont mean that attidude attitude. I mean this place Id pulled over beside was way too fucking beautiful, way too well kept for me to even contemplate calling that number.
Like, what, itd be like 1800.00 and absolutely no pets.
I would rate this building as one of the top 3 nicest apartment buildings in the west end, and there was no way I was getting in. meh, why not? Im callin the number.
Id pull Anitas car over, and dial the number from the door.
Somebody actually answers.
Shes really nice.
Damn I like this person.
This woman on the phone is probably in her 60s. shes lived in and managed this building for 42 years now. After I talk to her, and break it out, the situation with the dog, hes willing to make an exception to the absolutely no pets rule for Morgan, and would you be able to see it tomorrow at noon?
Id sorta slowly walk back to the car, get in and not start it for a moment but let the radio come on, and then Id pull out and stop looking for an apartment and go home, Id call Anita at her office, and wed agree to see the place together the next day; Saturday, at noon.
That next day, Wed leave from Anitas place, Id drive and wed get lost trying to find the new apartment in the labyrinth of one-ways and dead ends that consistently intersect the streets of the west end, then.finding a place to park.
Wed be walking up to the building, its a beautiful sunny day. My god its nice out.
Id be freaked out that the sign was still up on the door, realizing that the place was still being advertised, but damn thats a nice entrance:
But the strangest part of this story comes after I buzzed the landlords number.
Shed let us in, and ask us to wait in the main lobby.
But while we were standing there, admiring the vision of the staircase leading up on the other side of the glass wall,
We could suddenly hear somebody practicing the cello from inside the apartment at the end of the hall in front of us.
Definitely practicing. That wasnt a recording.
Ok, admittedly, I figured that was pretty odd, if not somewhat prophetic or somehow symbolic
But then it got weirder.
While we were waiting for the manager to come down to meet us and show us the suite, while we were listening to the person practice the cello, I suddenly realized a violin was being practiced behind us.
Overtop of the cello that was facing us, the rear surrounds (mostly on the left) were a violin, live and loud coming from suite #11
you hear that? Id probably say.
as it turns out, the little girl -- the daughter of the current resident -- is taking violin lessons.
So the violin was coming from inside my suite.
Anyways. THATS the place I got. The one that'll take Morgan, the one with the coffered ceilings, the violin echoes, hardwood floors, and this new year is going to be the best thing that has happened to me in a really really long time.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
so glad that you ended up having good luck.
morgan needs more kisses and a great big hug from me, the idea of him carrying around a little plushie du jour made me grin in this little internet cafe.
how absolutely adorable.