broken telephone

My boyfriend is spending the weekend at Soggy Marsh Trailer Park. Or something like that. It's up north. Hanover.

He called me last night but I didn't pick up because I don't pick up for phone numbers I don't recognize (a few of you are having "aha..." moments right now). The phone number started with "519".

"Funny," I thought, as I continued doing the dishes. "519 is a northern area code. I don't know anyone up north... ... ... ...EXCEPT FOR ANDREW..."

But by then it had gone through to voicemail. He called again today and we spoke, in broken sentences, for about a half an hour. He was sitting on a hill of grass up at Soggy Pond, I was sitting on the cold marble lobby of the College Park building.

He: "I have good reception right here. Can you hear me?"
Me: "Yes. OK, don't move. Can you hear me?"
He: "What? Are you there?"
Me: "I'm here. Can you hear me?"
He: "Can you hear me?"

Then we were disconnected. He called back. Disconnected again. He called back. Disconnected. I called back. Disconnected. He called back.

The last thing I remember hearing was a screamed "I...OVE YOU...U...!!" to which I screamed that I loved him too, before we were disconnected again. The people in the lobby were a little concerned. It could have been the screaming. Or that I sat on the marble tile for about ten minutes afterwards, laughing.

Ah, modern technology.

brain mush

Is it just me that cries during every episode of What Not to Wear? I think it's when the friends and family shriek and cry and applaud when their sister/girlfriend/co-worker comes out, transformed.

Or maybe I'm just feeling overly emotional after having watched Pearl Harbour for the first time. I never thought that a movie starring Ben Affleck could move me but...I was moved. I bawled. I hate war.

Now I'm on to watching Take Home Chef, where "hunky Australian master chef" (the website's quote, not my own...I prefer brunettes) has approached a mother of five to cook dinner at her house. He's making homemade pizza from scratch with mozzarella, fresh basil, and prosciutto. If only I could take home a hunky chef to make me homemade pizza from scratch with mozzarella, fresh basil, and prosciutto...but brunette instead of blond...and Italian instead of Australian.

OH WAIT. THAT HAPPENS.

I've watched about six hours of television today. I think that's my quota of intelligence-sucking behaviour for the month filled. It had better not be three weeks of this. I'd like to get my master's some day.

more frigging weddings

I never thought my blog would be the go-to site for news regarding upcoming nuptuals around the globe...

My friends, Dan and Yoon-Ji (she is now going by the English name "Rebecca" which is taking some getting used to...when I first read the news, I thought Dan had broken up with Yoon-Ji and was marrying another girl...), are engaged and will be married in Korea.

In 71 days.

It's true.

Their wedding website has a countdown on it.

Three cheers for autumn weddings.

house arrest

house arrest:
"House arrest is the situation where a person is confined by the authorities to his or her residence...travel is usually restricted, if allowed at all...the term is often applied to the use of house confinement as a measure of repression of authoritarian governments against political dissidents."

It's only for three weeks and, my goodness, it's in a house in Rosedale so I really shouldn't complain. But try to figure out how relaxed I am housesitting a place where a) pieces of furniture are $30,000, b) the framed art is worth much more, c) the cats, Lucy and Riki, are the most pretentious felines since Egyptians worshipped them as gods, and d) my boss calls me 2-3 times a day, from his "cottage" in Italy, to make sure the furniture, the art, and the cats, and not to mention the alarm system, the garbage/recycling, the back door, the front door, the basement door, all windows, all vents, the computers, the plumbing, the marble counter, the voicemail, the studio voicemail, and the partridge in a pear tree are all in order.

It's the prettiest, most inefficient, least comfortable house I've ever been in. And it's my house for the next three weeks.

Tales of a House Arrest will continue...

more of the same

More pictures of Nik and Thea's wedding, courtesy of Lina Balsamic-Vinaigrette.

By the by: this is my 100th POST on blogspot.
Thank you, thank you.

honeymooning

What? Four blog posts in one day? Yes, get over it. This one is particularly important, considering Nik and Thea have just returned from their honeymoon and have posted some tasteful pictures here and Nik's commentary has left me gasping for breath. It's not fair that one family was given so much more wit and timing than all the others.

My favourite quote for the day is: "It was lovely to finally live with Althea, not have to say goodnight and part ways, and to wake up together in the morning. I highly recommend it."

Nik's recommendations have never been disappointing.

They leave for South Korea in less than a week.
*choke*

proud personal assistant

My boss and psuedo-uncle, Ron Baxter Smith, was just informed that the prestigious "international journal of visual communication", Graphis, wants to publish not one, not two, but three of Ron's photos in the upcoming Graphis Photography Annual 2007.

The shots were taken on a dull afternoon spent in Italy. Ron was bored, so he took his camera out to shoot some roots. Click, click, click: award-winning. The man's a genius. Also a little crazy.

Just one more to add alongside the 400+ other awards he's won over the years. Pardon my gushing. I'm quite pleased.

I'm also almost positive that it's some sort of copywrite infringement to post the pictures here, on my blog, so do be kind and look only. I'd rather not get sued.