I miss blogging.  I don’t miss obnoxious emails from irate readers (but who can blame them, I’m so controversial!).  I don’t miss the constant frustration of not being free to write everything I want to out of concern for loved ones and future employers.  But… still… I miss this place.

You know?

I’m not into status objects.  I don’t own an iPod or a flat screen TV and I don’t shop at label stores.  My major spending is on books and Subway sandwiches.  But I do own two status items: Coach bags.  The first was a gift from Husband and it is the nicest thing I own after my wedding rings.  The second I bought for myself because I decided I needed a nice black bag, professional looking but still fun, you know?  So I saved up and I bought it last year (which was not without controversy: it is the only thing I’ve bought since going vegan that has leather in it, just a small amount, but big enough to make me a hypocrite). It’s a satiny black with some silver metal bits and it looks very sharp if I do say so myself.

So the other day, I was heading out to meet Husband downtown for dinner.  When the elevator stopped at my floor, there were already two people in it: an older couple, very well dressed, looking quite posh in fact.  In I step, black Coach bag in hand, and proceed to do that thing you do in elevators: try to look nice but not nice enough to talk to.  Fortunately this couple was the reserved sort, and they didn’t say hello to me or anything.

The elevator doors slide shut and the woman says to her husband, in an accent I believe was South African:

“Did you know, I went to Coach on Monday and would you believe it?  They have black bags with silver trim!”

And the husband rolls his eyes and says, in the same accent and in a tone intended to convey maximum contempt:

“Oh GOD!”

In other news, I am in the middle of a baking disaster.  I made this awesome chocolate pumpkin pie for thanksgiving, and decided this morning to try making it with a can of cherry pie filling in stead of the pumpkin.  Because cherry and chocolate is wicked, yes?  Anyway, as we speak, it is bubbling over in my oven, forming what is sure to be an impenetrable layer of sugary burned sludge on the bottom.  I don’t know any baking science but clearly there is something about pumpkin pie filling that allows it to stay gelled which the cherry lacks.  Anyone know why this is?

With a message to fellow Canadians: vote day today!  Get out and vote!

I am an inconsistent blogger.  I have had three different blogs at different times (I hear my last one is now a porn site, which is a reference to my former last name, and if you don’t know me I’ll just leave you with that mystery, ha ha!).  This one has been my longest running and the one I put the most effort into - though rambling on about whatever maybe isn’t such an effortful endeavour after all.

Anyway, I’m having blog angst.  So far blog angst has resulted in 100% blog closure so our odds aren’t good.  Here are the problems:

1. The personal stuff I want to talk about is too personal to write about publicly.

2. I’m Growing Up and getting an Adult Job (well, not immediately, but at some point in the next less-than-a-year) and since this blog is only really semi-anonymous, it seems sort of fraught with danger to call people assholes and otherwise beak off when it could be quite problematic for my future career aspirations.

3. If I cut out all the dangerous material I’ll basically be left with what I had for breakfast, which doesn’t make for good reading (leftover pasta, in case you’re interested).

4. Does anyone even care?  I know this will sound pathetic and like I’m fishing for compliments but truly, I am not - I’m just being objective.  I don’t know how many people visit this site (I lost my password for that part of the system) but based on the number of comments I get, only actual friends of mine ever read it.  In which case I could just talk to them instead, which similarly serves Problem 2.  Why put it in writing if you don’t have to?  I’m sort of a slow writer and it takes a lot of time to put up posts.  I love you guys but is the time worth it for all four of you?

5. There is no five, but five is my lucky number, so there you go.

Ponder ponder.

But seriously.  I am procrastinating writing a up a case presentation for school because… here I make a confession… my work is currently so poor that watching the tapes of it actually causes my heart to stop beating.  (One cannot write up one’s session, including transcript, if one does not watch the fucking tape.  Obviously.)  It’s true.  I actually die from watching my work.  Die to death.

And can I also say this: it is unspeakably frustrating to know, let’s say, fifty units of knowledge about one’s field, but be only able to whip out and apply four when in front of an actual client.  I have this rather large gap between what I know and what I can do.  It makes me want to, I don’t know, fling myself off the balcony.  Or eat a steak.  Perhaps both?  “Oh my, this is delicious!” Splat!

So… instead of working on this write up, which will not write itself, ha ha, I am reading archives of a blog I like.  And contemplating a tub.  Husband has taken to tubbing with me, which is lovely, but does make it impossible to read.  Not only is it a little crowded in the tub now, but it is awfully distracting to have that cute bottom snuggled up right there (don’t judge, we’re married!).  So I have to have extra tubs, solo, to get in my quota of tub reading.

And to put off this work I should be doing.

I would have so much more to blog about if this thing was totally anonymous.

Just sayin’.

There are few rules about this blog but one of them is that I shall not speak ill of my husband.  This is an easy rule to observe because both generally and specifically, he is a wonderful person, the sort of person who always knows the right thing to say and never complains about what I make for dinner.  Also he has very handsome feet and the most charming little bottom!  You should see it, it’s so nice!

Having said that, I am now forced to confess that, despite it all, he has, alas, feet of clay.  It’s something of a shock to discover your Adonis is really a person but there you have it - I’m a person too so we’re a good match.  At any rate, here is how I discovered his human frailty (and he will kill me for telling you this, but I can’t help myself):

This morning we were lounging on the sofa together, talking about buying a flat screen TV, which is something we do sometimes.  We were arranged such that his face was resting against my calf, surely a romantic position, when suddenly he narrowed his focus, discovered I haven’t shaved my legs in about a month, and uttered a totally spontaneous and involuntary “Ewwwwww!”

There are few things in life as crushing as having your romantic partner recoil in revulsion from your physical person.  If this has never happened to you, you can take my word for it: it blows.  It took about a minute for the full shame and horror to sink in, at which point I fled sobbing from the room, locked myself in the bathroom, and engaged in the most joyless round of leg-shaving ever in recorded history.

Many apologies were forthcoming - and no hard feelings maintained.  The comment was clearly not premeditated nor calculated to offend.  And I must agree, hairy legs are sort of gross on women, and to be surprised by them at close proximity is doubtless horrible.

Still, I think I’ll be shaving more often from now on.

Tonight I watched a limo driver crawl around inside the trunk of his limo for over an hour.  I have no idea what was in there, but it was clearly pretty compelling.

That’s the place where I don’t know what I’m doing.