A Better Class of Thief?

Yesterday our house was broken into by the most courteous thieves (thief?).

We got home around 10:30, tired.  We pet the cats and went right upstairs to bed.  While I was still mounting the stairs, S asked “what were you looking for?”.  I didn’t understand what she meant, but it ended up that she was referring to the stuff from my bedside table that was on the bed – my passport, pocket change, some jewellery boxes etc. 

“I didn’t do that”, I said, as we both realized that someone had broken in.  Initially, my adrenalin was going – I was angry.  S was angry.  But as we looked around, it doesn’t seem like much was stolen.

I went downstairs and saw that the front door had been kicked in (or shouldered -there’s no dent or footprint on the metal door) – but it was shut nicely behind them when they left .  Our cats were safely inside.  Even the mess on the bed wasn’t that bad.  They were quite tidy – pulling a few items out of my bedside table, but not dumping drawers or boxes onto the floor like they do on tv.  It looked like they didn’t get to S’s bedside table – not that they would have been well rewarded by the effort.

We have an alarm, but didn’t set it that day.  But it seems the best deterrent against theft is to simply not have anything worth stealing.  Although I guess that’s in the eye of the beholder.  They didn’t take any liquor, for example.  But when Romy was broken into, the little fuckers spent a lot of time in there — they took liquor, decorative items, costume jewelery, even meat.  So we really lucked out. From what I can tell, the only thing gone is a watch and a digital camera.  Not worth making a claim – even if you factor in whatever we’ll have to pay to have the door trim fixed (I put things back together enough that the door locks as securely as it did before – if not more so).

So, I feel very lucky, and very thankful that our thieves were fast and tidy.

 

Hey – wait a minute – I think they may have taken some rings… my old wedding and engagement rings, my grandfather’s cameo ring and my great grandmother’s very old very thin wedding ring.  I’ll check when I get home.

Pizza in the ‘hood

The neighbourhood is changing, bit by bit.  A new Shoppers Drugmart, a new TD Canada Trust (a bank!  there haven’t been banks in this neighbourhood in ages), and a new Subway all opened up at Queen and Parliament, with gentrification further evident with the recent addition of a Magic Oven.  I don’t think I’ll go to the Magic Oven, though.  The last time I ordered a pizza it was obscenely expensive.  it’s just not worth it.  I don’t imagine the experience at the sit-down joint will be any better.  Still, I wish them well.

We did try Peter’s Cajun Creole Pizza last night.  I have walked by this place plenty in the last three years, and was curious.  So I checked them out on Chowhound, and it seems that what was once a great little pizza joint had declined greatly.  Recent reviews were universally bad.  But last night we decided to take a chance, and I’m glad we did.

We started with 2 pints of Mill Street Stock Ale and ordered a Jazz Cajun pizza with grilled chicken added to the toppings.  Definitely tasty.  Unusual sauce – heavy on the black pepper (?).  Spicy but not too spicy.  My only disappointment was the sprinkled dry seasoning on top, which tasted fine but seemed somewhat amateurish.  I had my last slice for lunch today, cold, and it still tasted great.  The regulars were friendly, and we’ll definitely go back.

Hurray for local business.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try, try again

The last two tries, S has felt certain unusual uterine twinges and other things that had her thinking that maybe this time it was actually going to happen.  The she was actually pregnant. And each time she was proved wrong.   The last two times, we have used two vials, 24 hours apart.  The view was that in the worse case scenario of thawed sperm lasting only 12-15 hours and an unfertilized egg lasting only 12 hours, a second insemination the next day could be useful (although there was still a risk of a “dead zone”).  Our doctor’s view is that the sperm would last a few days, but I have my doubts.

We only have one vial left for our donor, and he is “retired”, so we can’t get any more.  But even if we could, we haven’t been having much luck — so it’s time to change donors anyway.

I looked through Outreach Health’s list of donors and noted around 5 donors that looked ok.  I went to Xytex’s website to find the basic profiles, and in some cases already had the enhanced profiles for the donors.  One guy kind of stood out.  S thinks he looks like me when I’ve been in drag.  So he might be what we go with this time around - my only concerns are that he’s 34 (not that this is old, but when you’re buying sperm I would assume that young-guy sperm could have higher counts / motility / whatever), and he already has 11 kids registered on the Donor Sibling Registry website (which might mean he actually has 50 or 100 kids out there.  Is that a problem?)

Anyway, wish us luck.  Apparently, we need it.

Ikea

S and I were walking along King St last night and noticed a storefront near Jarvis with the window saying “IKEA Opening July 31″.

Really?  An Ikea downtown??  Should be interesting!

 

Note: the Ikea was open for 4 days and 4 days only, to promote their new 2009 catalogue.

Ice ice baby

Yesterday S and I went to the Loblaws at the foot of Jarvis street to get a little lunch and buy some groceries.  They have a marche type area selling sandwiches, salads, chicken, fries, soups, pastries… They had some lobster bisque I though I’d try.  I got the small container half full when I noticed it was pretty damned hot.  I finished doling the soup and started to put it down when it became too hot to hold. It started to spill on my hand and, at its obscenely superheated temp I let it go, dumping the rest onto the back of my hand and wrist.

It was one of those moments – everything is fine, then a split second later you have a big 2nd degree burn.  A second after that I was burrowing my hand into the crushed ice surrounding the salads. One of the staff members in the Loblaw’s food area got me a towel and some ice to pack around my hand (excruciating).  S got them to give her a tub of ice and a tub of water.  We sat and soaked my hand for a while in ice and water, then another staff member got us some more ice for the road home.

 I’ve been soaking my hand in ice water for around 24 hours now.  Unfortunately, one second of heat still isn’t undone by 24 hours of cold. Although cold water sucks the heat and the pain out of my hand and wrist, keeping my hand plunged in there seems to have caused it to swell.  It looks like Shrek’s hand if Shrek was white with freckles.  Luckily, today I’m able to take my hand out of the water for 15 minutes before it starts to hurt (30 minutes if I wrap it with cold, wet paper towel).  So, I keep it above my shoulder and flex my fingers until the hand gets hot again.  Now I can touch the tip of my thumb to the tip of my little finger.  Woo!  progress!

The blisters aren’t so bad.  I thought all the little ones would merge together, but they’ve stayed small.  The bigger ones are on my wrist – very plump – just below the non-burned area where my watch strap was.  I guess that area didn’t get as much ice in the seconds after the burn.

I’m looking forward to being able to sleep tonight without having to refresh the ice in my plunge-water every hour. 

If you’re looking for a bite to eat at the Loblaws’s at the foot of Jarvis, think twice about the soup. If, however, your castle is under attack, the soup would be perfect to dump onto the attacking hordes

Canada Day

L’il Sis is cat sitting for friends of ours who are on vacation.  Their condo has a good view of Ontario Place — so S and I decided to watch Canada Day fireworks from there.  While waiting for the 10:30 start time, we enjoyed the vista of the city from the high floor of their condo.  Everywhere we looked we could see fireworks.  Some big, some small.  Some near, some far.  Together with all the city lights, vehicle lights etc, it looked like we were in the middle of a lava field, with occasional burts. 

Ontario Place’s fireworks were slightly obstructed, but pretty good.  It’s no substitute for being there and feeling the BOOM (one of my favourite parts), but it sure was comfortable and convenient!  Last year, S and I couldn’t get anywhere near the fireworks (my mistake for trying to get to an old favourite spot by car). 

But the best Canada Day fireworks were the ones I saw in Ottawa a few years ago.  Canada Day in Ottawa is like Pride in Toronto, but for straight people wearing red and white instead of the rainbow.  Very festive.  I recommend it.

Pride

This year’s Pride week was over in a flash.  Maybe it was because of all the rain during the week, maybe it’s because I don’t live in the village anymore, or maybe it’s because I’m in that middle-aged-settled part of my life.  Who knows. 

We headed out to participate in the Dyke March with S’s sister and her girlfriend.  Part way there we start to run across an intersection and I get a massively unbelievable charliehorse (or some other painful calf-itis).  I was quite lamed by it.  So we sent S’s sister and her girlfriend on their way while S walked by me as I hobbled toward the gaybourhood.  We missed the March (which was unfortunate) but got into the 519 beer garden early (which was excellent).  This year it was extremely well run with the only downside being abosutely no shade in the womens (and trans) only area.  Plus, for some reason, they were selling cans of Smirnoff Ice as though it was pop — so $2 for a cooler.  Explaining the mistake made no difference. I only had one, however, because of the muscle relaxants I was taking (thanks rks!) to loosen my calf.  We went to Local 4 for dinner – fabulous service and good food. 

On the day of the actual Pride parade, the crowds are almost impenetrable and it’s rare to run into anyone I know.  This year for the parade, we joined up with friend who have a great spot -  in the shade, comfortably seated if you BYO chair, and there were no crowds. Not a bad set up.  However, you only get to see the floats – hardly any of the floatless people on foot.  Still, I saw enough.

Speaking of seeing enough, that’s the other thing about Pride Sunday — I see that men have plenty of cellulite and stretch marks too.  And their flaccid penises, large or small, look rather sad.  Why aren’t we bombarded with tv ads for firming creams for men, or for jockstraps that lift to give a “manlier shape”.  Why aren’t there just as many men hawking Jenny Craig or the hoodia patch or whatever?  How can we consider the male body to be powerful and virile when there’s an organ hanging outside of it?

This year, the Canadian Forces had a float. I suspect this is quite unusual for a Pride parade.  Most amusing was that they also had a recruitment booth.  Apparently the homophobic fears that gays recruit more gays weren’t unfounded after all.