I’ve lately been looking for a pair of pink shoes to complete my outfit for an upcoming wedding. As I was going from store to store yesterday, I remembered a day in the 80s when I decided pink was too mainstream for me, and threw out all the pink items in my wardrobe. That day, the garbage truck could have been labelled Au Coton.

I’d have puked in indignation if I’d known then that I’d someday be searching for pink heels to go with a pink-with-white-polka-dots Bardot scarf. Ah, to be a teenager in search of identity. Things were so black and white then. Pink out, gray in. I don’t even think the coolness factor of going to a wedding in Scotland would have compensated in my tragically prejudiced 16-year-old mind.

I’m not completely free of constraints, however. To complicate matters, the Scotsmontonian, who has surprisingly few opinions about clothing in general, has issued a strict fatwa against open-toed shoes, his ultimate turn-off, thereby prohibiting most of what’s in stores these days.

I have so much more fun now than when I was 16.

Alex rightly complains (en français mes chéris) that the towns of Hampstead and TMR are handing out free poop bags to dog owners… Whilst any purchase of anything is accompanied by a free plastic bag. Need we have more? Boneheads.

My borough is moving from the recycling bin to the recycling bag next week. At first I thought that the people who’d decided this had probably thought it through (yeah, sometimes I’m Zen like that, but it doesn’t last). However, the main reason seems to be that recyclables in bins tend to fly away (and all end up on my terrasse). Why then, can’t they give us a bin cover and pick up recycling more often, so the bins aren’t so full? (see what I mean about the Zen?) But my main gripe is that one has to pick up the recycling bags at the eco-quartier (open, like, 11-3 on alternate Wednesdays), and starting next year, pay for them. Bravo, way to make it much harder for people to recycle. You’re going the wrong way… BONEHEADS. 

On the upside, today I noticed that I’m actually down to two plastic bags (from this many) in my cupboard, all others having been reused. Happy Earth Day all. Write to your local boneheads, please.

In 8 days, the Scotsmontonian will move to Montreal, into my heretofore bachelorette pad with me and my heretofore life-mate, Comet.

Forced inside by the weather, we spent his last visit in an unquestionably domestic manner, measuring walls, planning Ikea purchases for the extra stuff he’d be bringing, and choosing colors to repaint some rooms. Despite the fact that he’ll have some time off, it was really important to me that we both be involved in assembling the not-even-purchased-yet furniture, and in putting the not-yet-chosen-paint on the walls.

A couple of days later, my ex had a few insights for me, having recently helped someone move in. He said he’d felt decidedly masculine and able, putting up shelves and using tools, “very different from how I was used to feeling around you”.

Makes you think, doesn’t it. Am I castrating my guy by usurping his traditional position of handiman-in-chief? I know I feel like a domestic goddess when I pull off a roasted leg of lamb, so why not allow him his satisfaction too? Why not allow him his Y-chromosome-given right to feeling like a rugged provider, having assembled the DIKTAD, the BONDE and the BILLY while I’m at work? Then the more I thought about it, the more I saw the advantages to me. Call me a control freak, but up until then it hadn’t occurred to me that coming home to things being done - and done not by me - was a good thing. A Scotsman wants to do my housework, and I’m fighting it. What am I, stupid?

It’s a process, you know. And I’m sure that starting in 8 days, there will a lot more processes in motion.

I have to admire this kind of dedication. Here’s a girl who’s such a big fan of Wonder Woman, and so wants to play her in the upcoming movie, that she made a trailer of it starring herself as the Amazon, as an audition tape.

I still say Jessica Biel.

I’m working towards first playable these days (basically the first major deliverable of a game, where the first level is usually delivered at near-final quality). This weekend I dreamt that my game’s hero had been replaced by the ball from Metroid in my first playable build.

I know it sounds silly, but it was really scary.

I’m terrified to go to sleep.

pis ça suce en maudit.

- So if you do an action TO someone, you add “le” before the verb. For example, I watch him is Je le regarde.

- Ok, so… “I tell him” is “Je le dis”.

- Uh, no, it’s “Je lui dis”

- Ok but I do the action of telling TO him.

- Hm. “Le” in “Je le dis” refers to what you say, not whom you say it to.

- …

- Hey! Let me show you that sneezing panda on YouTube!

 (Damn you wordpress!!!! How can I do carriage returns in this editor???)