what's worse?

Yesterday I saw two different trucks with two different phrases pasted across their back window. I couldn't decide which I thought was dumber so I'm taking a poll.

1. Give War a Chance

or

2. Silly boys, trucks are for girls.

Polls are now open, voters may only vote once.

one step closer

I've been consumed by houses. It's most of what I think about and so blogging has not featured prominently in my brain. As for a quick update, I will likely know by Friday if my offer is accepted. There are two other offers on the table. If I don't win, I'm leaning toward another place. Yup, little Aisy is becoming a grown up. The other good news is that I'm starting to sleep again. I'm hoping that's a good sign. 

And to clarify my last post, I meant that buying a house was more expensive than a wedding NOT marriage. I'm hoping to milk as much money as I can from my future husband... ha ha. JUST KIDDING.

parallels

House hunting is a lot like dating. It takes awhile to fall in love with one, then you worry if you're making the right choice, never fully comprehending the risk you are taking until you commit. You might even find the PERFECT match but then you get rejected... or you find out it isn't so perfect after all so you walk away.

But then you analyze it over and over and over again in your head. You weigh out all the pros and cons, you try to justify why it might work. Your friends are expressing their concerns, not sure if it/he is the right one for you. You listen, but secretly you don't want to give up the dream. You want to believe it's the right thing.

You lie awake at night thinking about it, stressing about it, wanting it to be the perfect match. But it's never perfect, only "pretty darn close."

The only difference I've seen through this whole process is that a house is going to cost a helluva lot more than getting married. And while it can't break up with me, it could lose a lot of equity. Ah relationships.

best moment of the day

The most amusing thing happened to me today and I was at a loss for words. Yes, me! SILENCED.

As a good tenant/manager, I braved the snowy roads after work to deposit the rent cheques for my landlord. I quickly scrawled out my cheque in the car, headed in to the bank and handed the bank teller the deposits. She laughed out loud and said to me "Some people should take handwriting lessons." I looked at the three cheques in her hands, noticing how neat my roommates were and then it dawned on me that she was talking about mine. She then said "I mean, do these even look like fours to you?"  I looked at her, looked at the cheque and looked back at her. I said nothing. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. I didn't laugh and act like it wasn't mine. I didn't say "Well, I wrote it so yes, I think they look like fours." I didn't even defend myself and say "I wrote it in the car, in a rush." 

My silence was not enough to clue her in to her social faux pas, but I wasn't sure that shaming her in to it was the best option either. I was just plain flabbergasted.

Echoing in my brain was my mother's famous quote "Well your scrapbook would look nicer if you worked on your penmanship." (Only a true Brit can say that. I think it must be required to have neat, legible handwriting over there because even my boy cousins write like girls). Damn you elementary school teachers for not forcing me to be neat and tidy with my printing.  And damn me for being so taken aback that I missed a perfect opportunity to humiliate her back.