Meet the Fiends Living in my Sock Drawer

 Poor Olivia. She's dressed to go somewhere fancy, but before she can actually leave there's an important phone-call that needs finishing, and wouldn't you know it, the person on the other end keeps putting her on hold. It's been going on like this since March of 2002. (That's like ten years of being forced to listen to crappy instrumental versions of popular radio tunes) If I was Olivia I'd simply hang up.

They Have Toilet Paper in Ontario, Don't They?

Well, it's go time.  After I publish this post I will be unplugging the computer and placing it in a box, and it will not be removed until we've reached Ottawa.

It's bizarre thinking this time next week I will be in Ontario.  I think for the first year I will continue living by Pacific Standard Time.  That will mean sleeping until 1 p.m everyday, but I think people will be understanding.  And if they aren't, well, they're Ontarians, and I can't really do anything about that.

Speaking of sleep, I was actually hoping to get some before the movers come in the morning, but that doesn't look like that's going to be happening.  So until the next time I see you: good night!

Meet the Fiends Living in my Sock Drawer

Duane Gro Bub is a relatively new inhabitant of my sock drawer, emigrating from one of the lower circles of Hell sometime in mid-October.  I didn't even know he was there until I found him napping in the corner using one of my good socks rolled up into ball as a pillow.  Never one to waste an opportunity, he gave me one of his business cards before shooing me away to go back to sleep.

Turns out Duane is a realtor, and with a move to Ontario on the horizon, I decided to give him a call.  He wasn't much help, though; all he was concerned with was ensuring our house sold as soon as possible, which meant listing it somewhere south of thirty dollars.  Not only that, his breath reeked of sulfur.  He tried to hide it by gargling from a bottle of Lysol, but that just made him smell like a public toilet.  Even worse, he refused to wear trousers.

In the end I decided not to go with old Duane. He was nice enough, but I just wasn't comfortable dealing with someone who, every time he reached over to write something on his notepad, I could see his balls.

9 Days and Counting

The 'For Sale' sign is up.  In nine days we are leaving Mission, BC for Ottawa, Ontario.

Just typing that gave me the dry heaves.  What are we doing moving across country like this?

I know my younger self would be very disappointed in me; at one point I disliked Canada's most populous province so much that if a fortune teller told me I would move there one day, I probably would have rented a time machine for the sole purpose of telling me not to do it.  (which would actually explain the whispers of 'you'll regret it' I hear every night while falling asleep.)

But we are doing it, and to be completely honest, I'm kind of excited.  We'll have a whole new city to explore, with lots of old buildings and gargoyles.  And I'll be able to eat poutine!  In Quebec!  Made by real Quebecers!

The only thing that worries me is the cold.  Here in Mission, it rarely falls below 0 degrees. (Celsius, for all those wondering)  Ottawa on the other hand, well, lets just say people are running around in t-shirts and shorts when the temperature hits -7...

Oh, it's probably not fair busting out the ellipsis like that.  There's nearly two million people living in the Greater Ottawa region, and they survive the winter just fine. (albeit with horribly chapped lips and staticky hair) And the cold there is a drier kind of cold, whatever that means. 

And however low the temperature drops, it has to be better than the weather in BC.  Did you know we haven't had a sunny day since September 28th, 2011?  And I don't expect there will be one until mid May.

No, it's a good thing we're getting out of here.  Being the sensitive artist type, the rain is slowly killing me.

I Gots a New Cover

Behold, the new cover to my debut novel by the preternaturally talented William Kenney.  Pretty spiffy, eh?  Gothic, but not too Gothic.  I especially love the one crow cawing in the background.  It's like he's saying: "Come look at what this kid is drawing!"  Either that or there's an unfinished sandwich on the ground and he's warning all his crow friends to keep their distance.

I adore crows.  They're beautiful in their simplicity.  No unneeded colors, just a deep shiny black, just like the garbage bags they're so fond of ripping apart on the side of the road.  I know I'm in the minority when it comes to my fondness for the little assholes; most people find them annoying, but they give the city some badly needed personality.  Without crows all we'd be left with are seagulls and pigeons, and my god, how depressing would that be?

Getting back to the cover, I can't thank  Mr. Kenney enough for putting it together.  The old one just wasn't doing a very good job drawing people in.  I feel much more positive about this one.  Now hopefully it will lead to a few more sales on Amazon.