Monday, August 27, 2007

Wait! I'm Here! Keep Reading!

Oh, lovies, it’s been too long. I’ve missed you terribly. So many things to talk about that I’ll have to do it in a series so that I can catch up:
  • Working And Trevor Buy A Car (or, How Not To Negotiate)
  • How To Party In Saskatoon (or, How I Avoided A Fist Fight At Lydia’s)
  • The Cutest Kids In The World (or, What I’ve Learned About Birth Control).

But let’s get started with the basics – the setting. I’m successfully back on the prairies, working at the Corp. and ensconced in my parents’ basement. Down the hall lives my stepbrother, who is a full time student and rarely ever there. He’s a nice kid and his new girlfriend is a darling. He often lets the dog out to pee when I call at lunch to say I’m too lazy to come home.

Upstairs live my parents, my stepsister and her daughter, the granddaughter. The granddaughter, my niece, is seven and she enjoys My Little Pony and Barbie, hates ice cream and has a busier social life than I do.

But that’s really it, which is unusual to me. The big house really is more quiet than ever. My parents have eight kids between them and the place has always had a revolving door of kids, boyfriends, girlfriends and friends. You often only knew who was dating who just by seeing who showed up to Sunday brunch. Not so much anymore.

It’s extraordinarily comfortable, though. The downstairs fridge is always well stocked with beer and pop. The upstairs fridge is full of leftovers made up into plates. In the freezer, there are fudgesickles and frozen blueberry pancakes. In the cupboards, chips and cookies and soups. A veritable abundance of everything, bought in bulk. I came here to lose some weight and I’ve gained five lbs..

Sassy, their semi-feral cat, refuses to come into the house since my Charlie moved in. She’s staging a protest by living under the deck. It’s getting colder out. She better give it up sooner or later. Charlie is fascinated by her, which doesn’t help. She has had a reputation for years of being a fierce biter and slightly crazy. I miss my Kiwi.

My parents’ dog, Annie, is part husky and a real talker. Every morning I throw on my running gear (in which I have yet to actually run) and boot the two whining dogs out the back door to wait for me while I assemble leashes, baggies, balls and chuck-it’s. A five-minute walk away is a great dog park, the only one in the city. It’s basically a prairie field enclosed by a chain link fence on one side, a winding creek on the other. Not many people use it early in the morning. Annie is finally not huffing and puffing as much as she did when I first started taking her out. She is also starting to look more like a side table than a coffee table.

Living at my parents' is pretty posh. Tonight I actually have to go home, eat the supper that's been made and clean my room. I feel like a total teenager. At the same time, I also feel like a visitor. I still am, really. This wasn’t ever really My House. I was in my twenties when my dad married my stepmom and I’ve lived away for a lot of that time.

It will take me awhile to relax and find my groove. But I promise I’ll blog more.

posted by Working From Home Today
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Anonymous Big ol' Jimmy ~ 8:39 AM

Fudgecycles in the fridge? It's all I can do not to put on a prowler costume and think about breaking in. But then, it's your parents' house, I should be able to just walk in and blend into the crowd. Hmmm...

On another point, it just occurred to me that I drive by your house on a regular basis but I haven't been thinking to myself, "Working lives there now." I keep forgetting you're here (and Dean E. as well, sometimes.)

It's strange when you stay in touch with someone over the internet, it doesn't really matter where they are. You're literally within spitting distance of my home right now but you don't feel any closer than when you were in Toronto.  

Blogger notquiteawake ~ 2:28 PM

When can we go out again!!??  

Anonymous Anonymous ~ 4:48 PM

Big Ol' Jimmy, abort break and enter. I ate the last fudgesickle.

Not Quite Awake, hows about we make a date for next week? I'm coming to yours on Labour Day, too, non?

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