Dust Bowl

Not often, but occasionally, I really hate my apartment and my thoughtless landlord. Like on the occasions when I come home after a long day of work and painkillers, only to discover that WITHOUT WARNING, the landlord has sent his feckless handyman, Allen, over to belt sand the entire hallway. There are clouds of dust in the hall, up the stairs, and on the landing. The two workers wearing full face masks look at me and say “hold your breath!” There is dust. EVERYWHERE. In my apartment. It’s come through the cracks in the walls and the doors, and has settled on the floor, the bookshelves, my clothes, my everything. And it’s not good, clean sawdust either. No. It’s the nasty accumulated dirt of decades of filthy shoes treading the stairs coming in off of Spadina. It’s old varnish and lacquer and stain. It’s fine like powder and breathing it in, I can feel it coating my nose, throat and lungs.

Yesterday, I was forced to leave my own home, because the air was completely and utterly unbreathable.

So I slept over in Weston again. But despite the horrible incentive to do it, the evening was really nice (as they always are, Chez Justin). JVL and I went to Shoppers and bought me a package of extra-strength Lactaid (a good gesture, alas, ineffectual), and then pigged out on dairy products. We ate some extremely smelly Camembert, and I introduced him to my beloved Smoked Applewood Cheddar, and then we had his cousin Ms. Emily over to the house for a cup of tea and a chat, and to share our cornucopia of tomatoes and apples and baguette and cheeses and tasty, tasty vegan chocolate mousse from Whole Foods. She squealed with delight when she saw that we’d bought her a box of Cheddar Bunnies; they are yummy vegetarian organic crackers with the Official Rabbit Seal of Approval. Or at least, that’s what the box claims.

I read book two of Jeff Smith’s Bone and did a little sketching while JVL cleaned the house in preparation for his vacation. I don’t think I’ve really grasped that he’s leaving for Thailand TOMORROW. It’s going to be a little weird, given that I’ve spent every night for the past week and a half with him. Looking on the bright side, I can catch up with my friends (sorry, !), work on my inking, and read read read to my little heart’s content.

Provided nobody else invades my home with power tools, rendering the air unbreathable and all surfaces filthy. Grrr! Where am I supposed to sleep tonight?!?!?

Highlights of the Game

I really must start getting to sleep slightly before midnight. Write that down.
Highlights of the weekend are too many and too good to get into detail about or I will be up until the wee hours. Who am I kidding? I’ll be up anyhow.

- Saturday night at the Bishop with Chrissy, Scott, Phillipa, Conor, Joe, Joyce, Dan and JVL and their lady peeps was excellent. Once again, a little bit of poison was had with the unfortunate Jager/Schlager/amaretto/sambuca/other combination (I always forget this is a bad idea at crunch time). On the bright side, at least Dan and I learned our lesson about Wombats (horrible rum-based shooters). I got to meet the infamous and awesome Glenda, Joe got in touch with his – and Justin’s – masculine side, photographic evidence suggests I may have smooched Joyce, and I think we prank called J.Wilson. Good old fashioned shenanigans. The only thing missing was Melly, who I hope feels well enough to come out and play soon.

- Sunday morning my Gadget Liver did a champion job of filtering my toxic bloodstream into a good semblance of normality. Ed cooked me a lovely greasy breakfast involving the key elements of tea, eggs and chicken bacon, and with the help of a lot of fluid I was on my feet and serving the comic book reading public. Spent the whole day upstairs at the Snail cleaning and restocking miniatures, and am appalled to discover that I now know far more than I ever wanted to about D&D Harbinger uncommons. Egad.

- Sunday afternoon I began working myself into a mild panic about my MRI, but was happily distracted by the unexpected appearance of *Christian Slater* casually browsing on the first floor. Apparently it’s not uncommon for him to drop by our store, but I was having some difficulty processing this information and will now be mocked until the end of days by Sarrah for being starstruck. Come on, people! Heathers? True Romance? Interview With the Vampire? Name of the Rose? Pump Up the Volume? Hell, even Bed of Roses? Did nobody but me see these movies at an impressionable age?

- Sunday evening began with me being hospitalized, deafened, paralyzed, piercingless and partially naked for about half an hour. Stupid broken brain. Stupid MRI. Nothing makes one feel less sexy than wearing a hospital gown, unless it’s wearing a hospital gown WITH a disposable blue hair net. Hospitals are just so nasty. I don’t mind loud noises, or remaining perfectly still, but both at the same time is no fun. Especially when all you can look at is a metal cage hovering inches away from your face, and the pitch and rhythm of the noises changes ever six minutes. First jackhammer, then car alarm, then broken furnace. Once it was over, I took the streetcar back along Queen and then met up with Julie and Sarrah at Spadina. By the time I got home I felt well enough to call my Mom and then debrief with Chrissy.

- Sunday night was spent at Chrissy’s apartment, where I stole and ate some pizza and chocolate transfat biscuits enveloped in transfatty chocolate coating. Mmm. We indulged in a little photoshopping magic, insulted Cleio, laughed a lot, goofed around and suddenly it was eleven o’clock. And here my weekend endeth.