A Girl...

I'm Huge in Canada

I watch a lot of t.v. Depending on how you feel about network media, this is either a tragic and undeserved fate or a vast improvement on my former life, when I used to watch A LOT of t.v. Reality shows, game shows, Bollywood music videos every Saturday and Sunday morning. Sitcoms, family dramas, crimesolver dramas, talk shows. Cooking, home improvement, Sewing with Nancy. Infomercials? Infomercials. The same ones over and over and over.

How is it then that whenever I have the evening to myself there's nothing I find even remotely interesting on the air? No matter what day of the week my forced "me time" falls on (Simon is at an emergency band practice right now, and I have to wait until he gets home to watch the new episode of you know what), it is apparently always time for Dancing with the Stars, or whatever that show is that gives top billing to Joey Lawrence's sweaty forehead vein. I don't want to see that greasy knob after a hard day at work. Gross.

Other things I don't want to see after a hard day at work--or any other day at work, even the ones where I eat donuts all morning, receive awesome pink and green Pumas in the mail, have a massage during lunch, and read blogs all afternoon (one for four today; my new shoes are awesome)--include:

1. Two-bit thugs rapping on the BART train.
2. A wireless connection that fritzes out unless I'm using the laptop in the bathroom.
3. Piles and piles and piles of dirty laundry.
4. Howie Mandel's shaved head.

Other than that, I have nothing to complain about. In addition to soaking up some sweet Canadian luv, eh, from my Northern Posse, I walked over fallen red leaves all the way home from work today, I wore my new purple pants to the gym, and there's a black cat curled like a comma at my side. Autumn so far is feeling good, and tomorrow I'll break out my stripey scarf to formally usher in the season.

There's a lot to look forward to: hosting Thanksgiving dinner for both families (despite the small complication that we have a kitchen couch but no kitchen chairs), the aforementioned wretched trip to PV for the wedding (woe!), and a ski date with old friends when we visit Salt Lake in December. And it's the little things too. My homegirl Kann, kickin' it in the 801, wrote up a great list of Fall Intentions a couple of weeks ago, and ever since, I've been dreaming of her roasted "squash, papas, and other rootsy vegetables." This fall we will roast vegetables too, and pair them with a slow-cooked roast or some other crockpot miracle. And speaking of miracles, this fall we will also be living under one roof, and there shall be spaceheaters under said roof, and behold the heavens shall open up and the angels will sing and I will not whine or cry or freeze to death or have to sleep in a ski hat and mittens and fur pants. Come visit, won't you? The kitchen couch folds out into a bed.