I have this knack for putting things in “safe” places so they don’t get lost or broken, only to put them in a place too safe for even me to find it.

When I was younger, I would hide my money from my brother (don’t ask me why – to my knowledge he never stole a dime from me, but being a child and not being able to earn money myself outside of my weekly allowance, I was obviously very possessive of my money and didn’t want any of it leaving my hands). Anyway, I would hide it in obscure places, and then forget about it. So months later, while getting a book to read, I would find money hidden between two books, or while dusting, under a figurine I would find a little folded bill. It was kind of nice since it was almost like actually finding money that didn’t belong to me, so at the time I didn’t really mind it.

Now I mind a little more.

I seem to have “hidden” the lighting for my living room, presumably because someone was coming over and I didn’t want the jumble of wires and lights to detract from my beautiful apartment (because *of course* I hadn’t put it up yet), but unfortunately I can’t even remember *why* I put it away somewhere, nevermind where I put it.

And really, I live in a two bedroom apartment. It shouldn’t be this hard.

I think it may be physically impossible for me to bake without getting some of the ingredients on me, the counter, the floor and sometimes even the cats.

Physically. Impossible.

Cooking is slightly better (I usually manage to avoid me and the cats – the floor and counter are still fair game) but baking is the impossible mission.

When I was younger I had my own book of kid-friendly, microwavable treats, including the best microwave brownies I think I have ever tasted. Needless to say, I made these brownies quite often. You could even say they were my specialty.

Before I learned the recipe off by heart, the page quickly got covered with sugar, flour, butter and any and all of the other ingredients that went into the brownies. It’s sort of funny to look through the book now – since that was the only recipe I really ever made, all the other pages are crisp and new, without a spot on them, until you get to the brownie page, which is almost falling out of the book and is wrinkled with use. I’m sure if you closed the book and looked at it from the top, you could still point out the brownie page.

Of course there was also the problem of the mess I made on the counter. But I was fairly good about it – the brownies took around 10 minutes to cook and by the time the microwave dinged its approval, most of the dishes were done and the counter was cleaned. It did take me close to the ten minutes though (and I always seemed to skip cleaning the floor – isn’t that what cats are for?) so I think you can picture the mess that I had to clean up.

The sad thing is that almost twenty years later, I still haven’t learned to bake cleanly. Today’s venture into making gingerpeople cookies (really, that’s what it said) was no exception. I can still clean up in less than ten minutes though – the dishes are drying in the sink, the counter and stove top have been wiped up, and I’ve thrown my baking clothes into the laundry and switched into a new set. Even the floor is relatively clean.

Apparently that is what cats are for. 😉

The problem with having a messy desk and a secret santa who wants to hide Christmas chocolate treats is that you never know if you got all the treats because you can’t see the surface of the desk.

Although it did probably make it easier for my secret santa to hide the yummy things in the first place.

After probably close to ten months of anticipation, the day has finally arrived.

I got my Christmas tree today.

I have no idea what kind it is, all I know is that I picked it myself (with the help of Brad) and cut it myself (with the help of Brad) and will decorate it myself (with help from my kittens I’m sure – Christmas ornaments roll nicely) and even the fact that my stand sprung a leak and I had to go out and get a new one does not damper the excitment of having my very own tree.

I may not like Christmas itself that much, but I sure do love the decorations.

I just heard the tell-tale beep-beep of my cell phone informing me that I had a voice mail message. Which I thought was strange since I hadn’t heard my phone ring. But I picked it and and saw that I did indeed have a message. So, curious, I dialed in only to hear …

“Hello Fido customer, this is your local authorized Telus retailer …” The message continued with a listing of all the great things about Telus and reasons I should switch.

At first I was shocked, but then I just started laughing. Normally, you worry about retailers selling your address or phone number to just any old company, but to sell it to their competitors.. well, that’s just funny.

Either than, or Telus is smart enough to know what phone numbers belong to Fido customers. In which case, maybe I should switch to them …

… one wire dependancy at least.

If only I could rid myself of my pesky reliance on my power adaptor, all would be perfect.

So … I bought another painting last night at the art auction.

And this morning as I admired at my painting, I realized that my mother was coming over and I didn’t want her to know about the art auction or the painting because every time I do she says “I guess you should stop going to art auctions so you don’t buy any more paintings” and .. well, I don’t want to stop. So since I haven’t gotten around to putting any of my other paintings up yet (a.k.a I haven’t “unpacked” yet*) I thought I could hide the new painting among the older ones and my mother would be none-the-wiser, and I wouldn’t have to lie to her, which despite my penchant for fibbing, I don’t actually like doing to people I know.

So it all seemed good, my mother arrived, we chatted, she admired my red walls and I successfully avoided the real reason why I slept in until noon (We didn’t get back from the auction until 2:30). I left my mother alone for thirty seconds in my living room so I could brush my teeth and returned to find her leafing through the paintings. In a matter of seconds she found the new one and pulled it out. At which point I knew I was busted, so through a mouthful of toothpaste I told her about the auction and the painting and how my friends had put a request on it for me (yay friends!) and how it was now mine and how I loved it.

And her response was ..

“I guess you should stop going to art auctions so you don’t buy any more paintings.”

*It amuses me greatly that Brad, who moved into his new place only three weeks ago, actually is completely unpacked, with pictures up and everything, while I, who moved into my “new” place five months ago only got my shelves put up a week ago and have hung less than 1/3 of my pictures. At least he practices what he preaches.

I can’t say that this lines up with my view of men, but it did make me laugh:

“For all those men who believe that there’s no reason to buy the cow when you can get the milk free, nowadays 80% of women are against marriage, as they have wised up to the fact that for 8 oz. of sausage it’s not worth buying the entire pig.”

[Borrowed from halfwitted]