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Mary, Mary, quite contrary…

So, I planted my ‘garden’ this weekend. Quotation marks because it’s not really a garden, rather a series of planters with a few goodies in each.

In two banister-type planters, (you know, the ones that sit on the top of a railing) I’ve got a melange of herbs. Basil, parsley, (flat and curly) chives, rosemary, thyme, and stevia (of all things. Cool).

I bought two almost full-grown tomato plants. I figure the bigger they are, the harder they will be for me to kill. An excellent selling point for someone who couldn’t keep her aloe vera plant from turning into topsoil.

I also planted another railing planter with a mesclun (sp?) mix. All these different types of lettuce. Yum-my.

Yellow and Green pepper plants were my other choices.

I planned on buying some bush bean seeds, but I accidently got fava (broad) beans by mistake. A favourite of Hannibal’s, but not mine.

I picked up Organic soil and manure, of course, and I mixed it with the coffee grounds I got from Starbucks.

I don’t ever buy anything there, but if they’re going to give me free stuff, I’ll take it.

All my supplies came to around $135. Not bad.

What’s better? I got home and noticed the cashier guy didn’t charge me for half the items in my basket. He didn’t charge me for the tomato plants, or the pepper plants, or the fertilizer, or any of the hardware I bought for the curtains I picked up at a yardsale this Saturday, (more on this later).

Good for me, but not so good for Home Depot.

Had I noticed at the store, I would, of course, have corrected the mistake. I am not, however, going to go all the way back into town, just so I can fix their screw up. Anyhow, the moral of this story, is go shopping on the long weekend when it’s insanely busy, and get into a line where the underpaid cashier doesn’t give a shit about anything save getting you out of the store as fast as possible.

I just dropped my mother off at the airport – ug.  As Guy is out of the country again, the task fell to me. While I’ve driven on the highway before, I’ve never had to go into the airport terminal, (did I mention this is Pearson Airport, I’m talking about. The largest airport in Canada?) and I was a mite nervous. Did I mention I put off getting my driver’s license until last August? I was 24.

Anyhow, Husband left me a lovely map and directions. I did very well, if I do say so myself. Yay me! On the downside, my company is gone, and I’m all by my lonesome until Guy gets back on Saturday morning.

Speaking of Saturday morning. Mom and I got a bunch of goodies. (I’m still trying to score a digital camera, so I can share) Books and movies, as usual. A rake and broom. A heavy duty dolly-mover-type-thing. Weighs a tonne. A cute little matted picture of a farmhouse.

Mom and I spent yesterday redecorating my living room and dining room. I made the mistake of telling her I disliked the way my dining room was set up, and we spent the next seven hours rectifying the problem. It looks great tho’. I got more of my picture up on the wall, and moved things around so it’s not so cramped. Very pleased. I also dragged the jam cupboard up from the dungeon, with plans to fix it up to hold more tchotchke.

It’s quite a mess, but I’m hoping that with a little work it’ll look cool. Shabby chique and all that jazz.

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About Angela

My name is Angela. I am a 28 year old psych and criminology graduate, but I'd rather not diagnose you. I am a cuddle-slut. I can recite the entire script of The Princess Bride, (including accents) and believe that the meaning of life is contained within. Polyanna, Snap.com commercials, and Oprah 'reunion shows' make me cry. I can whistle and hum at the same time, but I cannot touch my toes. I am an expert in both listening and talking. I look good in orange. I am a writer. I kick ass in Gin, Hearts, and Cribbage but I don't understand Canasta or Bridge. I can be heard singing Broadway numbers from my shower, and have dressed up as a viking princess, (complete with aluminum foil breast plate) The Phantom of the Opera, and a Ghostbuster for Hallowe'en. I have a bird named Bean. I have a brother named Adam. They are not related. I like vanilla body lotion, peanut butter, saunas, Jim Carrey, broccoli, pets, TheOnion.com, Muppets, Kevin Smith, Corelle dishes, dry erase white-boards, Barenaked Ladies, Philosophy, the letter J, Harry Potter, picture frames, swimming, quilting, Michael Moore, genealogy, Raggedy Anne, tacky 50's tchotchke, 'Idiot's Complete Guide To' books, tweezers, feather pillows, polar dips, aquariums, Martin Luther King Jr., and Dr. Pepper. I don't like meat, gossips, cooked carrots, American Idol, mosquitoes, sweating, politics, public washrooms, tardiness, tuition, hunting, pat answers, pick up lines, brown bananas, cliches, pine scented air freshener, Kevin Costner, bacon, candied apples, pro-wrestling, humidity, and hypocrisy. Books I've read recently The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Dark Tower, When Nietzsche Wept, What's So Amazing About Grace?, Catcher in the Rye, Not Wanted On the Voyage, The Red Tent, The Little Prince, The Way the Crow Flies, Slaughterhouse-Five, The Poisonwood Bible, The Fall, The Knot of Vipers, Calculating God, The Chrysalids, Sick Puppy, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Franny and Zooey, The Brothers Karamazov, and jPod. I am slightly neurotic. No I'm not. Yes I am.

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