The Friday Five

1. How many times have you truly been in love?
Three times, perhaps only two.

2. What was/is so great about the person you love(d) the most?
He makes me laugh. He compliments me every day without fail. He gave me kittens. He doesn't cringe when I sing along with the radio, even though I'm so, so bad.

3. What qualities should a significant other have?
If marrying into my family, patience.

4. Have you ever broken someone's heart?
Yes. I didn't know until later that I'd done that. I was very cavalier.

5. If there was one thing you could teach people about love or marriage, what would it be?
My sister-in-law once said something that has rung true for me as well: Sometimes, your marriage will go through rotten phases where you can't stand to be in the same room together. Remember that those phases are situational, and shouldn't represent what you have built together. Make a choice everyday to love, to be together, to honour each other, even from separate rooms. That's what will carry you through.

Gas Leaks, and the Lifesaving Power of Beer
Mr. Crabby's threatened to put me in a home. "But I live in a home already," I said. "This one." He explained that he meant the kind of home for people who leave burners on and almost blow up the house.

I thought I'd turned it off. I mean, who wouldn't turn the stove off? Me, that's who. The knob was nudged almost to off, but "on" just enough to leak gas throughout the house for six hours Tuesday night. Thank goodness Mr. Crabby had popped back a couple of beer while watching wrestling (I know, I know...) that evening, and woke up to use the facilities just after midnight. He roused me immediately, and we opened up all the windows. It was very scary, and what a stench. I got a well deserved lecture, and we went back to bed after everything cleared up. Take a guess at how many times I checked the stove last night, and how many times I will tonight.

In my experience, beer causes gas. This week, it saved us from it. I think Matt Groening needs to know about this.

The Good
The "lamp issue" has been resolved! I have to buy it myself then claim the expense, to the tune of $100 or less, but that's fine with me!

Mr. Crabby and I met up with our friends Mr. and Mrs. Gator last night after work. Mr. Gator, my former colleague, presented me with copies of a manual I wrote that his company has finally produced. It's one of the most significant things I've ever worked on, and I was thrilled to see the finished product. Even Mr. Crabby looked upon them with awe. Thanks, AG. You made my day.

On HBC statement: "Please note your new credit limit." Woo-hoo!

The Bad
The Black Sheep's funeral was yesterday. Nobody went.

My house and yard are a mess. I can't handle this 9-5ing. It's disruptive.

Received a voice-mail message this morning from some guy at Enbridge - or rather, some guy at my house who works for Enbridge. He gave me attitude, and was really cheesed that nobody was home. Apparently he had an imaginary appointment to clean our furnace. "I'm standing on your porch and you aren't here." Genius.

The Ugly
The stench at Simcoe and Dundas streets.
The southbound subway from St. George station.
The thought of carrying a floor lamp to work on the subway.

I remember remarking once that the longer I lived alone, the worse my table manners became. Right then and there, I made a decided effort to clean up my act. I noticed this weekend that the longer I live without children, the more intolerant of them I become. How do I go about improving this? Don't even think about it.

A good portion (the sunny portion) of this weekend was spent with four toddlers who communicate with each other through a series of screams, cries, shoves and shrieks - to which the parents respond with any number of hollered directives. I couldn't hear myself think! Mr. Crabby and I scurried away for a while and necked in the hallway; "Oh get a room" my father says, passing by in a huff. During dinner (such as it was), one of 'em cranked up a toy police car that has a very loud siren, and sent it careening across the dining room. "Can we take that away maybe?" I ask the mommy. "Do you want my child to cry?" was her unkind answer. Don't slap the pregnant lady, don't slap the pregnant lady, I kept thinking.

So yes, I'm intolerant. When I grow up, I want to be just like Shirley McLaine's character in Steel Magnolias.

One more dumb story - some friends of the family have just had their second baby, who was born with the exact same hand/tendon problem as their first daughter. "How awful," my sister-in-law told me. "They refuse to have any more children because of this deformity, even though they wanted at least four." I was horrified. What a terrible message to send to their daughters: after having you two gimps, we changed our minds. If someone wants to have a child, or children, who cares if they have gnarly hands, or if they're deaf, or have other difficulties? Good thing there's no return policy.