I was right about the internet being the downfall to our productivity – both internet and TV were hooked up last night, and we got nothing done afterward. It took a Herculean effort and also a crowbar, but eventually I managed to pry both of us away from the blinking electronic things and set out to do groceries. We pretty much bought out the entire Safeway, overfilling a cart and running out of reusable grocery bags – $330 later, we finally have food in our house that isn’t relish. The sad thing is that I’m not DONE – I still need to go to Costco and Bosa Foods for other deliciousness, and I forgot to buy kidney beans. IT NEVER ENDS!

I did buy discount ham, though, so all is good.

Tonight: IKEA. I refuse to unpack the 17 boxes of media until I have somewhere to store it, and that will come in the form of an additional EXPEDIT to match the one I was using as bedroom storage. I’ll miss having a shelf dedicated to my miscellaneous crap, but it’s for the greater good: I can’t play video games until everything is set up, and I really miss video games.

I am running out of TIME. Christmas Breakfast is at our place, and we need to make it livable before we dare host a fancy meal. I figure if I run myself ragged between now and Thursday afternoon, we should be good – not all the pictures might be up, and I still haven’t found a suitable place to hide the dildos, but at least our guests won’t have to trip over boxes and a stunning collection of Optimus Prime memorabilia on their way to the bacon.

I am looking forward to meatballs.

It’s a very somber mail day around these parts.

When I arrived at work this morning, there was a scary and official envelope waiting for me. It didn’t have postage, and was marked as being from the Sergeant-at-Arms from the House of Commons. What on earth could I have done this time that the House of Commons was after me?

Turns out it was a page from the Book of Remembrance (+1) that I had requested because it’s the page my grandfather appears on. It came extremely quickly, considering the website said “6-8 weeks for delivery”. Now I have a lovely page with his name, a letter from some official guy, and the cover of the Book of Remembrance (an awesome name, which is why I keep saying it). Neat! Ed suggested I look into getting his military records, which I may try to do if I can figure out how. I am new to all this, you see. Are families normally this complicated?

If that wasn’t all depressing enough, Ed emailed me to say that he had mail for me as well – the locket I ordered had arrived. The vet gave me some of Sasha’s hair, and I had a brilliant idea of keeping some of it in a locket. I picked one out and had it engraved, and it showed up today. It’s gorgeous, but also very sad. Between dead relatives and my beloved cat, I’m awash in a sea of memories over here. I need some good times (and 12 hours of sleep).

Luckily, I also have a large bag of chocolate.

I’m delighted to be back at work, but once I’ve had my fill of internet and Diet Coke, I’ll wish I was at home again.

As annoying as it was, not having internet over the weekend was probably a good thing. There was nothing for us to DO except unpack and arrange the new house, so we got a lot done – I’d say there are less than 10 boxes left to deal with, and most of those are waiting for new furniture. We are exhausted but highly productive. Internet should be installed tonight, and before long we will be back to our regular routine of living our lives online.

I AM SO TIRED!

But! The new place is AWESOME. I love it, and I can’t wait until it’s fully set up. Our new couch and loveseat were delivered yesterday afternoon, and it’s starting to look like a house. The cats are adjusting admirably – Friday night was traumatic, but they all made the trip over relatively unscathed. Two of the three scooters were moved over on Saturday before the rain hit, and almost everything is out of the old place – another carload ought to cover it, and we’re done. DONE! Except for the cleaning, that is. I should probably book some cleaners. I want our full damage deposit back; I have grand plans for that money.

So much tired. I wish I had taken today off – we need groceries in a terrible, terrible way. If I wait any longer, we’re going to be eating Relish Soup for Christmas breakfast.

NEW HOME WHEE! I had a bath last night in my very own bathroom for the first time ever, and if I hadn’t started to get all wrinkly and gross I might have never gotten out. The tub in both the bathrooms is HUGE – I can stretch out all the way and not have to squish. They’re deep, too. It kind of takes forever to fill out – our faucets were purchased from the wussy side of the store – but once you’re in, it’s glorious. I love me a good hot bath, so I am ultra excited that the tub is so amazing.

Who wants to go to Ikea with me?!

• Trips made: 2
• Boxes moved: 70
• Keys received: 11
• Casualties: 3 (one shot glass, one brandy snifter, and Herb)
• Things left to move: the contents of our storage locker; 3 terrified cats; scooters
• Number of cats the strata president thinks we have: 1
• Amount of rocking that Reilly and Darren have done today: too much to count
• Amount of pain my feet are in: 75
• Trays of ice currently freezing in the freezer: 7
• Days until we have internet: 4
• How much I love our friends: several million

I’m practically vibrating with nerves and stress. Our final walkthrough is tomorrow morning at 10:30, then we get our keys and we start moving in. AHHHHHH! I’M NOT READY TO BE A GROWN UP!

We’re picking up a rental truck tonight, and relying on friends to help load it up. I figure we can do the majority of the move in two loads, so hopefully by tomorrow evening we’ll have 99% of our crap in the new place (which I am still calling Sparta despite Ed’s protests) and we can begin the settling. New living room furniture will be delivered on Sunday, I need a thousand things from Ikea, and I don’t know where the shower curtains are. AHHHH!

I am excited but nervous. Also, no pressure or anything, but I’m hosting a dozen people in our new digs for Christmas breakfast.

AHHHH!

Anyone wanna help us move? There’s chicken in it for you!

I both applaud and give the finger to Lululemon.

They’re in exactly the kind of trouble I adore – poking fun at someone while making a statement and being scolded for it even though everyone else gives a high five. They launched a new line of clothes, and people without a sense of humour are grumpy:

Organizers of the 2010 Olympics have publicly scolded Vancouver retailer Lululemon Athletica for selling a special edition of clothing that celebrates a “cool sporting event” taking place in British Columbia.

Lululemon, which is not a Games sponsor, unveiled its “Cool Sporting Event That Takes Place in British Columbia Between 2009 & 2011 Edition” clothing at stores across Canada on Monday.

HAH!

The article goes on to say that the Canadian clothes have gold zippers, while the US ones have silver – another HAH! Seriously, this whole thing is deeply hilarious and I love that they had enough of a sense of humour about the whole thing to go forward with it; VANOC be damned. I would seriously love to buy a Lululemon non-Olympic hoodie, and I would wear it with pride even though I normally eschew the whole pretend yoga esthetic.

But .. I can’t.

Lululemon only sells clothing up to a size 12.

I know tiny people who wear a Lululemon XL because that’s all that’ll fit them. Their CEO is publically known to be anti-fat:

Carrying plus-size athletic wear boils down to a question of economics and demand, say retailers such as the wildly popular Lululemon Athletica and the locally owned Helia Sports activewear store for women.

Lululemon founder and CEO Chip Wilson says it takes 30 per cent more fabric to put together larger sizes. That stretchy fabric doesn’t come cheap, and he believes women looking for those larger sizes aren’t willing to shell out the extra money.

“It’s a money loser, for sure,” he says. “I understand their plight, but it’s tough.”

If Wilson charged more for plus-size clothes to recoup costs, he’s sure he would be taken to the human rights commission. Plus-size people, he says, are very sensitive.

Fat people: cheap AND ugly!

I’d dearly love to look like everyone else and pay over $100 for the same hoodie I can get at MEC for $30, but I can’t. I’m fat, you see, so they’d need more material to over my enormous ass. And even if they DID offer plus sizes, fat women are way too cheap to ever spend the money required to look like everyone else. It doesn’t matter that women of all shapes and sizes deserve to look and feel good, or that we fatties spend just as much if not MORE than our slender sisters – no, we just aren’t worth the effort. Clearly, it is good business sense to shun over 50% of potential shoppers. Fatties! The next thing you know, they’ll want to be able to MARRY each other!

You know, on second thought, I think I’d rather look like myself than everyone else.

no fat chicks

It just wouldn’t be a Tuesday if I couldn’t turn a relatively trivial matter into a major personal dilemma wrought with social and moral implications!

Our office Secret Santa is tomorrow afternoon. When signing up to participate, people had to include several gift ideas that they would like. Fair enough, and saves people from having to deal with yet another Starbucks holiday mug. Our gift exchange only has a $15 limit – we are all poor – and names were drawn out of hat, so away we go. Should be simple. Buy a gift based on the person’s suggestions and is within the dollar limit, and the festivities will practically create themselves.

Naturally, I have to turn this entire thing into a massive drama bomb: the person I picked has requested $15 worth of lottery tickets.

I hate lottery tickets. I don’t have issues with gambling or games of chance or this particular person, but I HATE lottery tickets. My mother abused them (and through the tickets, me) while I was growing up, and to this day the lottery and all things associated with it fill me with rage. Ed doesn’t bother telling me when he buys the occasional ticket, I sneer at people standing in line to get their bi-weekly fix, and the entire thing just makes me incredibly cranky all over. I want to punch Shirley Jackson. The music that the lotto machines play makes me sick to my stomach. I have a difficult time not strangling my mother when she tells me long involved stories about how close her numbers were. I resent the fuck out of being asked to “pray to daddy so we hit the big one” in every conversation I have with her. People who animatedly and repeatedly discuss what they would do if they won the lottery disgust me. I HATE LOTTERIES.

The whole thing is fucking ridiculous, and now I’m being forced to buy a whole crapload of tickets as a “gift”. This makes me angry and resentful. It does not fill me with holiday cheer; it reminds me that lottery numbers were more important to my mother than I was for many, many years and it brings back a flood of very bad memories. I regret taking part in the gift exchange if this is my only option, and it’s too late to do anything about it now.

Don’t wanna.

Fuck the lottery.

So. Tired.

Packed all weekend, with a short break on Saturday night to buy new living room furniture. It’ll be delivered next Sunday, meaning we move in FOUR MORE SLEEPS.

I woke up this morning and immediately thought “this is the last Monday I’ll wake up in the Ghetto of North Vancouver”. This’ll go on all week – tonight will be the last Monday night in the Ghetto of North Vancouver, the last 6 litres of Diet Coke consumed in the Ghetto of North Vancouver, the last blow job given in exchange for a clean toilet in the Ghetto of North Vancouver, and so on. When you’re easily amused, everything becomes a milestone.

We got a lot of work done this weekend by ignoring the outside world. I wanted to go to a few craft shows and get out of the house a little, but that didn’t happen. I suppose it’s all for the best – less for me to do between now and Thursday – but I miss the outside. I’m looking forward to Fun Things starting up again soon.

Finding my grandparents over the weekend made me all sentimental – I emailed my halflings and niece for the first time in 5 years to say hello and ask if they want copies of dad’s stories. I’m still amazed by the discovery that I have roots, though. What a random thing to stumble upon. I wonder if I could track down my grandmother’s family? This is not a good time to suddenly become interested in genealogy – I still have a lot of packing to do:

• The fridge/freezer (the rest of the kitchen is done; we’re down to one plate/cup each and random plastic forks)
• My side of the bedroom (everything is in small boxes that need to be packed in large boxes)
• My unmentionables
• Random shit in the spare room

T minus four days. I can do this!

I opened the toy chest containing my dad’s stories. He had a bad habit of making multiple copies, so I sorted them into two piles – originals, and copies that I will send to my brother and sister if they want them. I didn’t have time to read any of the stories – I’ll count them later, but I wouldn’t be surprised if there were over 100 – but I glanced at the titles while I was sorting. One caught my eye: My Life as I Remember It, by John L. Welsh.

My dad had written out his life story.

I read it, with my jaw dropping. He never finished it – it only went up to the marriage of his first wife – but it contained names and dates and anecdotes from my dad’s childhood.

You have no idea how huge this is. I was my mom’s only child, and I grew up in solitude – no cousins or siblings close by. Right now, I have zero contact with any of my half relatives. I never had aunts and uncles growing up, and knew nothing about my grandparents. It was just me.

I’ve always had a feeling of loss over this – large family gatherings are alien to me, and kind of freak me out. It’s always been just me; I’m not close to anyone outside of my friends and Ed. I’ve always felt that I had no real roots, and I accepted that.

Apparently, this isn’t true.

My dad had a sister named Muriel. She was one year older than he was, but died at the age of 3 from “a compilation of children’s diseases”. My grandmother came from England, and her name was Edith Jane Cornes. She had brothers and sisters – my dad had aunts and uncles who all immigrated to Canada and spread out across the country. They all had children, and I bet the lines are still around today. I have several-times-removed cousins out there, somewhere.

The biggest shock of all was learning about my grandfather.

My dad never knew his father. All he had was a picture and memories handed down from neighbours and relatives, but his name was John James Welsh. He served in World War One and died when shrapnel severed his spine. I actually found him online:

I have a family; a history. It’s not just me. It’s never been just me. 

I think I might actually be in a little bit of shock.