Hobo Lust

Okay folks, I have a crush to confess. His name is m0851 hobo knot and I love him. I was at a friend's place for dinner and Lost, and this mutual friend of ours was there with him...hobo. At first I didn't see him, all slouchy and demure in the corner next to the sofa. It would be a fateful cell phone ring that would make my eyes cast down to the supple black form near my foot. As I wrapped my hand around the butter-soft leather strap to hand her the bag, my heart skipped and for a moment I felt what it would be like to own him. I watched as she easily withdrew the ringing phone from one of the cleverly concealed compartments, and wondered what treasures and essentials I would stow in him if he were mine.

The evening wore on, and though my attention was captured for the most part by the antics of Jack, Hurley, Kate, Benjamin, Sayed, and the rest of the Lost gang, I found myself periodically glancing at the hobo in the corner. Then, as we were leaving, I couldn't contain my affection and exclaimed to my friend with great taste, "I love your bag!"

"Really? Thanks. Me too," she gushed. "Honestly I don't even use another purse. It just holds everything!" And with that, I smiled at him one last time and we parted. By then he was slung familiarly over her shoulder, casually advertising his virtue as that "must-have" piece.

All through the next day, I thought about the hobo. I felt like a high school girl who sat on the bus for three extra stops so that she could watch the cute boy a little longer before he got off. It is possible to become infatuated with a bag the way one does with their first crush. I google-stalked my little hobo and upon discovering his price tag ($485 CAD) I was momentarily stunned, but undeterred. Of course my love wasn't cheap! Of course he would make me work for it. Isn't that the way of true love? It takes work! I did a quick calculation, 4.75 months until my birthday. No holidays in between. Last night I actually dreamt of m0851 hobo knot bag. That's it. This is lust verging on obsession. I have to leave you dear readers now, so that I can ogle pictures while reliving my brief encounter. A l'amour.

My Very Own Olympics...of Moving

This has been a crazy week and Matt and I have moved in with my parents. Luckily we will only be spending one month here instead of four. Don't think that I am not grateful to my family for putting us up, I am! I do however miss those little things that I will probably appreciate more than I ever did before, like privacy, my own bathroom (that isn't carpeted), my own groceries (I had no idea how unsettling it would be to switch yogurt brands), and general being in chargeness. That last one is hardest for me I think. I also go on record saying this entry has taken me three days to get through writing. Interruptions are apparently how my family shows affection.

I spent the weekend in various stages of sleep, recovering from the moving marathon that was last week. Packing, watching hired guys pack, being pregnant without sitting down for 2 days, that was my version of the Olympics. I won a gold in creative perching, and at least a bronze in artistic melt-down (sort of like the emotional love-child of ice dancing and luge with more crying). I don't think I even watched the best parts of Canada's gold streak. I did see Canada beat the US at hockey though, and I cried through the Tim Horton's commercial about an immigrant family reuniting at the airport. Needless to say emotions were running high. Oh Canada, you really know how to pluck a heart string.

Now that I am here at the big house, my me time seems to have dwindled. My dad said it well when he told me over the weekend that "[he is] so glad we're here...for a finite time". Don't worry, I couldn't agree more! I am glad to be here for now though, even in spite of the changes I have to make (I am a cancer, I don't like change). After all, every meal is mommy food...or pizza, and every night feels like camp...if your parents never left.