It's stupid cold outside. The wind chill factor gives us -39°C.
Stupid black beret I lost at the grocery store this weekend. I lose one every year.
Stupid baby waking up at 5:30 am. It's inhuman.
In praise of expensive shampoo. I've been an Aveda girl for years, but I ran out of shampoo almost two months ago. It hasn't been convenient to replace it, so I've been using Helena's baby shampoo instead, which keeps my hair clean enough. Finally I got around to buying some of my usual, and I feel like I have million-dollar hair — lush, beautiful hair. I almost don't need to keep that salon appointment I scheduled for this week.
Stupid Ikea lamps and their nonstandard lightbulb requirements. Stupid me for not noticing and buying such lightbulbs while we were at Ikea a few weeks ago. Stupid lightbulb I finally tracked down, whose packaging clearly indicates it is a match to that indicated on the Ikea product, still doesn't fit.
In praise of the South American musicians at the metro station this morning and their soul-liftng panpipes.
Stupid SAQ being on strike. Now where are we supposed to find champagne and vodka with which to toast J-F's birthday this evening? Sure, we can get cheap red wine at the dépanneur, but then how will we know today's any more special than any other day?
In praise of fancy pastries conveniently located in the café over our metro station.
Stupid key chain with its shiny smoothness and jangle of attraction. Helena likes keys; rather, my keys. The keychain is a heavy and stylized silver cat, a talisman of sorts. Like one of the rocks you pick up at the beach, only you don't throw it into the sea, you just hang on to it cuz it's weathered smooth and you like the weight of it in your hand. Sometimes it's easier to let Helena play with the keys than it is to listen to her tantrum about not being allowed to play with the keys. After searching for more than 10 minutes, I found them in a plastic shopping bag tucked behind the catfood under the kitchen sink (one of the usual suspect locations, actually), along with a flashy-nosed reindeer, a small canister of playdoh, a no longer operational toy cellphone, and an odd creature with wheels for legs.
In praise of stupid music recitals. We pay a small supplement so Helena can enjoy the benefits of "music lessons" at daycare. This morning was the session-end recital. For 8 minutes a young woman played tape-recorded selections at excessively loud volumes and gesticulated wildly while 9 toddlers banged sticks together and shook their maracas, or not, and parents observed, mostly through the lens of their camcorders. Helena hung onto my leg, though she lives for this stuff ordinarily. She even turned down Xavier when he asked her to dance. J-F and I went for coffee afterwards so we could get all the pent-up mocking of small children and hippie instructors out of our system. Ah, music!