Once Upon Stilettos

Ready? You’re sure? This is big! BIG! BIG HUGE FREAKING FANTASTIC PERFECT NEWS!!!

Crate and Barrel ships to Canada! Furniture! They ship furniture! To Canada! They can ship me the dining table I so desperately love!

Crate and Barrel ships to Canada! Woohoo!

How’s it going? It’s been some time since we’ve seen each other…oh my, you’ve grown so much taller since we’ve been apart…glad you’ve been keeping well.

So lots of things have been happening recently…Chai’s home, work is super busy and I’m getting lots of really interesting projects, I move into my new house (MINE! ALL MINE! MINE!!!! MINE MINE MINE!!!) in nine days and haven’t packed a gosh darn thing.

And last night I sat on a booster seat.

A booster seat. At a restaurant. I am a 26 year old woman and I needed a booster seat.

The booth was designed for giants apparently because my 5′4 ¾ self was too short to sit on the seat and have anything more than my eyebrows above the table. So I sat in a booster seat.

The sea bass was fabulous though!

That is all.  

I’m a little slow to get on the bandwagon sometimes but I’ve made it on finally. There’s been some great posts about fabulousness that is dearly loved by the super fun citizens of blogland and I just had to follow suit. 

I love the first real day of spring when the sun is out, there’s a breeze and it’s warm enough to be outdoors without anything more than a spring dress. I love waking up without an alarm to sunshine streaming through the windows. I love the intense color of Gerbera daisies and the calm, aloof beauty of calla lilies.

I love real, handwritten letters and cards. I love those instances where you know exactly what the other person is thinking at that moment. Having friends who you have known so long and so well that you can communicate perfectly in silence. I love black and white photos. Football. I love football with all my heart and soul, almost as much as I love shoes…but not quite because shoes were my first love. I love watching sporting events live, at the game.

I love frosty winter days when the snow outside can be ignored in favor of hot chocolate, a blanket, a good book and the couch. Pashmina shawls. I love lazy afternoons with friends. Turtleneck sweaters that envelope you in warmth. I love climbing into bed after its been made with freshly washed sheets.

I love reading the newspaper on Sunday morning with a perfect cup of coffee. When a song you love comes on the radio while driving. I love the smell of baking, especially when it overtakes the entire house and I love baking for others. I love the softness of Gap socks. I love stepping into a hot shower after a long day. I love the way roses unfurl and tulips unfold themselves.

I love chocolate cupcakes and a glass of milk. I love the Little Debbie cupcakes. Love them. The thickness of chocolate milkshakes. I love Nutella straight from the jar. Dense, gooey chocolaty brownies. I love the colorfulness of M&Ms candy in a bowl and the absolute divine perfection of chocolate fondue. Actually…I love all things chocolate.

I love being the first person my younger brother always comes to for help (even though its always because he’s done something ridiculously stupid and the solution is a huge pain in the ass).  I love that my dad, when he used to drive me places, always insisted that he drop me off at the door. I love squeezing a new tube of toothpaste from the middle.

I love the feeling of having accomplished something, of having learned something new and of having mastered a new skill. I love the moment when you know you have completed something. I love celebrating the milestones of everyone’s lives.

I love that a jean skirt and cute flip flops are enough to look stylish and pulled together in t he summer and knowing that an ice cream cone would be the perfect accessory. I love long strands of pearls and red nail polish. I love sharing that last cookie with someone else. Making s’mores and being covered in marshmallow goo. I love birthdays for the chance to tell people how much they rock…and then getting them drunk. I love sleepovers.

I love long lazy afternoons on a patio with friends and nights spent dancing at our favorite bars. I love that through all the changes in our lives, the different paths we have taken, and with the distance between us I am still friends with the same girls I met the first week of high school. Sipping lattes and reading magazines with my best friend. I love casual get togethers and hanging out on the couch.  I love getting dolled up in flouncy dresses and going out for a night on the town.

It all started with Grey’s Anatomy towards the end of the third season. Before that the only reasons I turned on the TV were football and hockey. Then I saw an episode of Grey’s Anatomy, season two, at the insistence of a friend…although…I’ll be honest…it was the red shoes in the opening credits that really got my attention. Anyone know where I can find them? I had dreams about those shoes…

So yes, it all started with Grey’s Anatomy. Then the occaisional episode of How I Met Your Mother while I did my nails. Then Kate Walsh got her own show and so I watched a couple episodes of that. Of course Friends reruns are on all the time so those were good to have on in the background while I was cleaning or cooking or doing other stuff.

Then I just had to know what the whole Hills craze was and of course it was like a car accident, I couldn’t NOT watch. Besides Lauren and her friends have some great clothes. So Monday nights found me and a friend on the couch watching the Hills and wondering why Audrina was so infatuated with the grossness that is Justin Bobby.

Then I found myself plopping down in front of the TV randomly…to unwind for a moment…while I ate dinner…to flip channels mindlessly…to help me procrastinate from doing the dishes…

And now, no longer the girl who just didn’t ever watch TV has reached a new low. 

I have a confession blogland. Last night? Like the Sunday before, I purposely turned on the TV in order to watch…Keeping Up With the Kardashians.

(Thanks for all the good wishes and cyber chicken soup! *muah* You’re great!)

One pair of flats. Simple, black, ballet flats.

These flats are going to be the bane of my existence for the next month or so.

We could talk about how I’ve been home with the flu and a pinched sciatic nerve. How I didn’t make the Leafs game, the Raptors game, my friend’s birthday celebrations or …well…anywhere. We could talk about how much time I’ve spent flat on my back staring at the ceiling, bored out of my mind and being annoyed with whoever painted the apartment for doing such a crappy job on the ceiling. There are BUBBLES!!!

We could talk about how incredibly painful and debilitating sciatica is. We could talk about the personal pharmacy I have on my kitchen counter. We could talk about my new found pill addiction and my inability to drive or the days when I couldn’t walk more than about five steps or stand for more than a couple minutes at a time. But we won’t talk about that.

Because we could talk about my fabulous friends who have come over to visit with meds, food, DVDs and books to help keep me entertained. My friend who, having just come back from a trip in sunny California and having no sleep came straight to my house with meds and food because she knew I hadn’t done groceries in about two weeks. Another friend who, on her first day at her new job, drove me across the city in rush hour to the doctor and then to the pharmacy and then across the city again. My mom who did my groceries, visited me and cooked. My best friend who made pancakes, sent me entertaining emails and tried to convince me to go to emerg. My amazing boyfriend who brought me yet more meds, suffered through scores of girly movies and cleaned my kitchen. Who sold his tickets to the basketball game to bring me dinner and keep me company instead. I am so fortunate to have fantastic people in my life who take care of me when I need it.

And one pair of flat shoes. I’ve been forbidden by the doctor to wear heels, I am only allowed flats. In which I can’t walk. Somehow I apparently lack the ability to walk in flats; instead I stumble like a drunk and trip over my own ballet flat encased feet. But I’m walking! Not far or fast…but I’m walking again! At least I’m walking!

As per Kenneth’ssuggestion in my last post I am going to experimentally name the boy Toast. I’m hoping that might convince him to change his commenting restrictions because some of us, i.e. me, haven’t a google account and password and just read his blog without being able to leave anything for him.

So Toast and I have tickets to the Leafs game tonight, we both love hockey and somehow this is the first game of the season I’ll be seeing live. As the season is wrapping up right now every one of these last six games is crucial, we’re facing Boston back to back and we have to come out on top. And our seats? KICK ASS!

Toast and I have a great date planned, we’re going out for Thai and then to the game. Should be a good time.

Except I woke up this morning feeling like I’d caught death. I’m at work and people are scared to come near me. I think I need to go home.

Having come to my senses and realized that the issues I have with the boy are MY issues, MY crazy and my own absolute ridiculousness and stupidity I decided to enjoy spending time with this wonderful guy who treats me like a princess.

Introducing a guy to my friends is a big deal for me; it means I am planning on keeping him around for more than three months. I brought him to my friend’s birthday celebrations at one of my favorite bars. My high school friends, who have seen twelve years of boyfriends come and go, absolutely love him. One wants to start setting up double dates.

We left the bar early to go home, put on pajamas and order pizza. He took my shoes off for me because I was having too much trouble with them.

He thinks I’m cute when I wake up with bedhead and last night’s makeup all over my face….but that might have been because I made him cinnamon french toast for breakfast. We spent all of Sunday in (and out of) our pajamas lounging around my apartment doing nothing more productive than washing the dishes. He tried to convince me basketball is a sport and that it’s worth watching (it’s not), and realized how hopeless a cause it was when I fell asleep halfway through the game.

He needs a nickname for the purposes of this blog…suggestions?