I was in my new house less than two minutes before I started ripping up the carpet in the living room to expose the hardwood that I knew lay beneath. It only took me about ten minutes to get it all up, although it took me another twenty minutes to lug the carpet into the basement (carpet is surprisingly heavy for something that isn’t very thick).

Then I went a bit crazy and ripped up the carpet in the dining room/hall. That was not in the plans, but after I had lifted a corner to verify that there wasn’t hardwood underneath, I realized just how scuzzy the carpet was and the germophobe in me decided I would rather live with not entirely attractive linoleum than with the scum in the carpet.

I had to go to the bank today to get the certified cheque for the downpayment on my house and now I can’t seem to take my eyes off the cheque. I keep peeking into the envelope, partly to make sure that the cheque is still there, and partly just to look at all those numbers.

It’s so very pretty. Too bad it’s not for me.

Of course, my house is going to be awesome too. And that one is for me (and the cats I suppose, if you want to get technical).

One more day.

Ever since I started running a few months ago, I’ve been finding that my sugar addiction has slowly dwindled. At first it was nothing. If someone brought in treats I’d only have one instead of two (or three). But now the problem has spiraled out of control. The candy dish on my desk actually contains candy. The bag of whoppers that arrived at my house on saturday still remains intact in the fridge, missing only about five of the chocolatey lumps. Usually something like that would not have lasted much more than seven minutes, nevermind seven days. Earlier this week I drew shocked stares when I actually refused something sugary.

I just don’t know what to do with myself.

Do I have to give back the craving chocolate mug that my friend sent me? Is my sugarfiend t-shirt destined for some dark lonely back corner of my closet, usually reserved for presents from well-meaning relatives with no taste¹?

The only thing that has escaped this horror is my tea, which I still drink with three sugars. Although even in that respect I cannot compete with my friend who puts six sugars in his tea.

¹Thankfully, I actually have none of these. The ones with no taste, I mean, not the well-meaning ones. You know what I mean.

I first heard about this on Friday night, but the topic came up again last night so I just had to check it out: turducken: a chicken, inside of a duck, inside of a turkey.

Now, the stuffing for the chicken seems to usually be pork/sausage, but I personally think that this ruins the whole waterfowl idea that is carried through so gracefully by the three current meats, so we came up with our own little twist: turduckent: a pheasant, inside of a chicken, inside of a duck, inside of a turkey.

Who could aks for anything more.

Three times I have taken my phone out of my purse and put it on my desk.

Three times I have looked for my phone on my desk, only to find it mysteriously back in its pocket in my purse.

And to think that tonight I am going to Oktoberfest to kill even more brain cells!

Random thoughts so I can gloss over the fact that I have not posted in forty-one days:

• Buying a house means that instead of thinking of how I can change my living space with new wall colours or small decorative accents, I now thinking about how I can change it by tearing up carpets and tearing down walls. And the fun all commences in seventeen days.
• Running a five kilometre race seems like a good idea until you realize that it follows Oktoberfest drinking a little more closely than you originally thought and that it has dramatically dropped in temperature the last few days. Nothing says fun like putting on a tuque and gloves to go jogging.
• Why is it that restaurants will not serve you alcohol before 11am? Why is 11 more socially acceptable than 10?
• Seventeen days.
• Does anyone actually eat Tofurkey? ‘Cuz if it tastes as fun as it sounds, our Christmas/Easter/Thanksgiving fish may have some competition.
• Bathtub spouts are not designed very well: having something project out several inches from the wall limits you to using only one end of the bathtub when bathing (unless you like having something poke you in the back, which is not much fun) or limits you to only one person in the bathtub (which is, again, not much fun).