Okay, so… in the last few weeks, I have rented and moved into an apartment in downtown Toronto. Whether this will turn out to be a good decision or not remains to be seen. Of course, I opted to keep my car (even though there wasn’t REALLY a good reason for keeping it), which means that now I feel the need to drive everywhere, just to make use of the damn thing.
Stupidly, I decided to go to Walmart after work yesterday. Now, I wasn’t WHOLLY unprepared for this experience – I’ve been to this particular Walmart before, and was ready to face the throngs of rude-ass people and their loud and stinky children. What I had totally forgotten about was the fact that I think there might be exactly TWO intersections in this whole GodS-forsaken city that allow you to make a frickin left-hand turn! So, picture me, trying to get south-west from my apartment, WITHOUT having to make a left-hand turn. Good luck. Now I understand those freaks that go their entire adult lives, making ONLY right-hand turns. CHRIST. They haven’t invented a meter to measure the amount of frustration I was channelling that day. And to make matters worse, it was raining. And about 32 C. So, hot, muggy and DAMP. And me, trapped in a car without air conditioning. Sexy.
Speaking of life without the almighty A/C, allow me to whine a bit (well, more so than usual). I had NO idea that I relied so very much on the A/C at work and at my parents’ house, but let me tell you; I know now! Holy FRICK is it hot in my apartment. I mean, I sleep with the windows open (practically an invitation to the criminals in my neighbourhood, which I foolishly looked up at work), no covers, minimal clothing and THREE fans pointed at my body. And yet I still sweat. While SLEEPING. Someone please explain to me the reason for sweating while SLEEPING? I understand sweating “in bed” (wink, wink), but I don’t get how I can be all hot and sweaty (not in the good way) just LYING THERE. Ugh. It’s just wrong. Remind me, WHY did I move this far south again?
Went to the Doctor today. Oooh, what a treat. I was poked and prodded in a less-than-public area of my body by a complete stranger, and he didn’t even buy me a drink first! Sheesh. Now I have to have a bunch of tests done by yet MORE strangers, getting intimately physical with me, ALSO without the courtesy of a drink or an introduction. Damn it all to hell. I hate being a CHICK. Note to self: stop going to the damn doctor. It’s like taking your car to a mechanic – they will ALWAYS find something else wrong, and usually, it will cost more than you’re willing to pay. Only, in THIS instance, the payment is in actual BLOOD. Tell me there’s nothing sick about that.
So, everyone I know in this city took off to the same place for the long weekend – I wasn’t invited. Nice, eh? Instead, I moved into my new apartment (well, I brought the last few things down and stocked the liquor cabinet), and my cousin Jodie came to stay with me for my first night. Apparently, it’s a tradition among her friends to stay with each other on their first nights in a new place. It was actually really nice of her – we haven’t hung out in a LONG, LONG time, so it was kind of like catching up with each other. I’m not going to lie – there was a fair amount of giggling, drinking and bitching… not to mention the singing of songs we learned in grade two choir (and laughing so hard that we couldn’t get through it).
In true witchy fashion, I blessed and cleansed the crap out of my new apartment (much to the respectful amusement of my cousin), but I didn’t technically “clean” it – that was done by my Aunt & Mom. 
They ROCK! They both insisted in coming down and cleaning for me, so now my apartment’s Mom-Clean. Meaning damn near STERILE. I LOVE it, because I HATE cleaning. Either way, though, I’ve been here roughly a week – I’m getting used to the sounds and the constant sweating, and I’m slowing unpacking. All I really have to do is paint and get proper window coverings and I’m HOME. YAY! There WILL be a house-warming party, to which everyone is invited… If you’re interested in joining, e-mail me & I’ll send the details. 
So, my singleness is apparently a source of concern for the women that I work with. Last week, two young guys called at my office to pick up a letter, and the woman that writes the letters brought them right into the office and up to my desk, and directed them to ask all their questions of me. So, as I proceeded to do HER job, she skipped around my office, pulling people from their cubicles to point at me, talking to the MEN. It was REALLY, REALLY hard for me to keep a straight face as I talked to the two young cops, while my co-worker was skipping around behind them! I’m sure my face went a really helpful and oh-so-subtle shade of red. Excellent. Smooth move, Megs. Urg!
Then, the next day, one of the younger (like, still in her 30s, whereas the rest are in their 50s) women I work with came up to my desk and announced, “We have to find you a man.”. Um, duh? I’ve only been saying that since I started working there! Yeesh! Anyway, she was telling me that she’d asked her husband if he knew anyone they could set me up with (never been really set up before, and I always thought I would resent it, but now that someone’s actually willing to do it, I find it a lot less repugnant. God. Desperation is the world’s worst cologne.) but her husband’s response was “No”. In fact, he’s a nurse, so apparently he gets the “do you have any single male friends” question quite a bit (and the fact that he works with mainly women tends to cut down on his ’single-male-friend’ quotient). Ouch. However, apparently when she brought up the idea of inviting me to their cottage, that went over well with him – I talk to her husband almost every day on the phone (he calls for her a lot), so I guess he decided that it would be okay to spend a weekend dealing with me. Even if I never go to their cottage, it’s nice to know that SOME people think I’m cool. Besides my Mom, that is.
