Had a move at work. The moving team lost all of my personal effects, including my beloved Spiderman drawing I’d point to whenever anyone asked me about my spouse.

I made that joke in twitter, but unfortunately my tweets aren’t sent here.

It’s moving day all over really. I’m hunting for an apartment to live in and really regretting not being more fiscally responsible throughout my twenties. I’ve seen half a dozen places and I have only one place that I’m actually excited about. Of course, I’m waiting to hear back on that one. I have my pick of a number of basement apartment units that range from dump, to hovel, to penitentiary chic.

The one place I do like, is shared, but large with lots of natural light, walk in closets and an in room balcony. Problems? I’d have to live with a 22 year old girl. Which is an isn’t a problem. I have no problems living with a female, even a younger one. I unfortunately have a self restraint problem.

Hung out with a girl I’m sorta seeing and Saturday night. I’m not giving them names anymore unless they break the 6 month mark. I had some plans wrap up early and I figured what would be the harm. Spent the evening in an over pack club waiting for her. Waiting for her to get back from the washroom, waiting for her to try to go the bar, waiting for her to find her jacket, waiting. This plus a $50 cab ride home. I’m extending her no name policy an extra three weeks.

I’m livid. I work with another web coordinator who manages a different but smaller portfolio of clients. He’s younger, more immature and less politically savvy than I mostly due to less years working in the organization. We were recently tasked with building a joint portal with a neighbouring government agency and both of us are excited by what this might do for our careers.

 Prior to lunch, neither of us knew when and where these meeting were occurring. I stepped out to dine with a co-worker, only to receive a txt message from him indicating that he was going to the meeting for both of us.

 I spend alot of time advocating for us as a team. If the situation was reversed I know I would have strongly pushed for both of our joint involvement and had that failed, I would at the very least call him to discuss who should be going. Beyond the missed opportunity, it's the lack of respect. The fact that I know I would have done more and realizing that he doesn't work in the same manner. I've written him a fairly stern email and plan to speak to him about this tomorrow, but right now I'm seething.

The weekend found me in Guelph, celebrating the birth of a long time friend of mine. His birth week had been a mixed affair. On the positive side, he'd pick up his first new car, ever, usually relying on lemons (of the car variety) and willpower to get where he was going. However, some messiness in his social circle was sapping the considerable joy that new cars can bring. I'm not sure that my presence cheered him much, but a show of support is sometimes a salve if not a remedy.

So were in a pub, commiserating as you do. In stumble two obviously inebriated older men, one with curly, straggly, thin blond hair that fell to his shoulders and laid about his head like something dying in the sun.  The other was a dark haired rough looking individual, thick and sun bleached, hands that looked like they'd were more granite than flesh. They take a table beside ours and begin to reminisce, as you do.  They share tales of their days in lockup and the motivations behind their various crimes, the volume steadily rising as time passes and liquor is consumed. I learn a few things:

• Don't call a man a goof unless you're prepared to die over it.
• Curly haired men are crazy
• Don't taunt anyone who can rip off a screen door and use it effectively as a weapon
• Violent offenders, even the repeating kind, really don' see that much time in prison

At this point the dark haired dude was trying to engage us in conversation. Charmingly I believe his opener had something to do with Lucy hitting Charlie Brown in the face. I have never finished a pitcher so quickly.

I dated a girl briefly last Summer. She had the words "patience, time" inscribed on her wrists. Something about the way it was written matched with her delicate flow and pale colour of her wrist, it immediately became and still is my favourite tattoo. She told me she'd tell me what it meant someday. Over the course of a few weeks we moved in opposite directions. She grew out of infatuation with me, while I grew very fond of her. When you're holding something fragile and you fear it slipping, I made the rookie mistake of crushing it to my chest, basically ensuring it was broken.  I don't know if she was the one for me, but I do know that I miss her more often than I'd like.

I never found out what her tattoo really meant either.

I’m unsure how long this window will remain open but for the moment I can post at work again. The inability to do so previously has left be bereft of blogging, twitter in a vacuum, verbose with nowhere to verbalize, or generally unhappy.  

 I’m actually rolling up my sleeves as if about to craft a masterwork, as oppose to merely killing 45 minutes of my workday. I’ve been waay to stop/start with this journal to do another long and drawn out catching up post. Perhaps something small, something unambitious so I don’t feel like I have to bare my soul the next time I feel the need to spew my brain farts.

That was a gross analogue. I don’t imagine anyone is reading this, but if you are and you got the same visual I did, I’m sorry.

 I’m shopping around for a new place to live. I’ve started early and I’ve got a month and a half to find a new spot, but I’m a little stressed about it. I moved too quickly the last time around, fleeing a bad roommate situation and ended up living with a quiet talkative nerdy male (A-OK!) who showered twice a month (Boo!). If I had the cash I would dry clean everything I own as it will take months for the smell of nerdy stench to leave my wool sweaters.  I shall be more selective this time round.

Well, that wasn’t too difficult. Steady as she goes.

I make a mean butternut squash soup. Fathers hide your daughters!

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I did my impersonation of dave chappelle's 'Samuel Jackson beer' commercial. An impersonation of an impersonation really didn't have much of a chance for success.

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My married friends offer a frightening vision of the future. I can barely relate. Marriage seems to mean you spend slot of time obsessing over patio furniture. They do throw damn good BBQs though. Single people lack the patience.