My stupid weekend, and then some

By which I mean more than a week of trivial things, both annoying and delighting me, including:

Gashing my palm on the lid of an open tin, which may as well have been a circular saw, such that I started to bleed again every time I tried to bend my thumb (it's fine now, thanks).

Ruining my favourite dress of the summer, after handwashing it and preparing to hang it to dry, by dropping it in the shower stall, which I'd failed to rinse properly of the bleach I'd used to clean the potty.

Have I mentioned how much the themesong to CSI: NY bothers me? Great song, but as a themesong? Inappropriate. "Who Are You?" (Vegas), opening a show about forensics — makes sense. "We Won't Get Fooled Again" (Miami) — a crime lab determined to get it right, sure, whatever, even if David Caruso sucks. But "I don't need to be forgiven" (of Teenage Wasteland) as the lingering verse (NY) makes absolutely no sense. I note this only because CSI: NY seemed to be the only thing on television last week, and this themesong business really, really bothers me.

Helena spent a few days trying to lick me. My face, my throat, my elbow. She thinks this is very funny. I think it's annoying, and gross, but it also tickles far more than when she's actually trying to tickle me.

Oh, and, at the risk of jinxing the order of things as they've held to be over the last couple weeks, I think it's safe to say Helena is completely toilet-trained.

I received a spectacular bouquet of flowers (because we celebrated an anniversary)! And my jasmine tree is in full bloom! The key to a happy garden, I've discovered, is watering it regularly between rainfalls.

We ordered in some Chinese food, as is our wont on special, romantic occasions. We picked a restaurant at random from those for which flyers have been deposited in our mailbox, and it was gawdawful.

Gangs of New York was on TV the other night, and we've always kinda wanted to see it but never got around to renting it, so watch it J-F and I did. Only I fell asleep. I asked J-F about the ending in the morning. He tells me Leonardo DiCaprio and Daniel Day Lewis met for what was to be a final showdown, but before the fatal blow was struck, a bright light appeared in the sky, bringing everyone to standtill. The spacehip landed and the territory was overtaken, leaving the audience with an ambiguous conclusion from which one might draw that since that time, "native" New Yorkers are in fact descended from those very aliens. I totally did not see that coming.

Avenue Mont-Royal was closed to traffic this weekend, so Helena and I walked down to peruse the sales, soak up the festive atmosphere. There was a stand where kids could get their face painted — Helena was enthralled by this and decided she wanted a ladybug on her cheek. After waiting about 20 minutes, it was our turn, at which point Helena decided she was too scared to have a stranger paint her face and would rather have a balloon animal, for which we waited another eternity but were rewarded with a fish.

And I treated myself to the purchase of the prettiest nightlight I've ever seen.

We made a special trip to the park in our old neighbourhood to feed the ducks, which we did, but the playground was closed and is seemingly under (re)construction, which is a good thing but also a painful reminder that summer is over. We spent many, many hours at our local playground instead. And we ate far too much ice cream.

We're off to J-F's mom's cottage sometime tomorrow for a couple days. We don't really want to go, but 3 years since our last visit, we've run out of excuses.

Around le bloguemonde:
Discussion of Paul Auster's New York Trilogy at Reading Matters.

Am eagerly awaiting hockey season, for no other reason than that the television will lure J-F away from the computer, to the benefit of us all.