Adventures in Sitting on the Chesterfield, Minding Your Own Business.

So. [THis is my new favourite introduction to writings].

Mr. B's on the sofa, playing some Fable 2, winning Lucien Dollas at the Westcliff Shooting Range. I'm on the loveseat, feet up on the coffee table with Alika keeping my lat warm, watching and keeping count of points for him.

It's a few minutes shy of midnight and the front door opens — not violently, but very abruptly and unexpectedly — and in walks a stranger with a couple of large backpacks over his shoulders and a very excellent toque upon his head.

Mr. B. and I look to the intruder, and he looks at us. After a strange silence he says to us, "uh... I guess my Grandma doesn't live here anymore...."

Before us we have the youngest grandchild of our landlady. He happens to have the same name is Mr. B., who offered him a beer and a seat. Now they are sitting on the couch chatting about their respective world travels.

Well, Mr. B. is talking about his time in Mexico; Intruder B is discussing his recent excursion to eastern Europe.

Who says you need to leave your home to make friends?

Adventures in Putting Things Into Boxes and Then Taking Them Out Again

Moving sucks. Sure, you start out by looking for a place together, and its all exciting because its something you do together.

You find aplace that seems perfect for you, and you say that you'll take it.

And then you have to work up the will power and energy and time to take everything you own, put it all in boxes, so that you can move it across town and then take it back out of the boxes and place everything in a new configuration.

If you're especially lucky, when you eventually move all those boxes [and furniture, you can't leave all the furniture behind], you'll discover all sorts of exciting things in the new place that just weren't evident from the beginning. Such as exposed water pipes in your spare room. Or a dryer vent that's less a vent and more a big hole in the wall.

All told though, the new place is nice. We're through about two thirds of the boxes now [the majority of the remainder have to do with kitchenware]. It sucked that Mr. B's van refused to start the day after the move, but not as much as it would have sucked if the van had refused to start the day of the move.

I'm still not really feeling at home here yet, there is still the sensation that I'm trespassing, or just visiting for a short while, and then I'll be back in the old familiar townhouse.

To offset that, tomorrow I am hoping to make some banana bread. Maybe some home baked goods will get me feeling more like this home.

I'll make an attempt to post in regards to said baking tomorrow.