August 26, 2004

Oh, hey, it wasn't all doom and gloom yesterday- something good happened. At the girly-gabfest the night before, my writer friend suggested I get in touch with the artist whose work I loved. "So you can't afford to buy the painting outright- we're all artists, he'll understand. I bet he'd be happy to work something out with you."

So I left him a voicemail, he called me back, and lo!- it was so. His buddy who'd been minding the exhibit gave him my card, and I guess told him how I sat and really looked at the work. So that's good. Hey, he's even interested in seeing my work. We've made a coffee date for this Sunday- I'll bring my portfolio. We did the blind date thing- "well, I'm (this tall) and have (x)-colour hair..."

It's exciting. It's hard to explain how much I love that image, even though it will, as I've said, not be the easiest to live with. I will give him a downpayment to hold it, he gets to keep it and exhibit it again if he likes, and eventually- Christmas giggage, maybe?- I'll pay him the rest and own it at last!

It's not even a lot of money- his price is very reasonable. It's no more than I can make in a single afternoon gig, in fact. But like I said... housepoor, saving, no luxuries for now.

I don't mind this pared-down life, though. As an artist, I spent years living a fairly spartan existence. The difference is... this time there's an end in sight. And a huge, wonderful goal. It's not far away.

Remember how I said I couldn't wait to get out of here? Funny thing: the phone rings today and it's one of the agents in our realtor's office. Seems the seller's agent called him, and had the gushiest "I've got the most wonderful news!" thing going on. Get this- the seller now says the closing date can be changed to September 1. Our guy, who isn't the one who closed the deal with us, checks the paperwork, thinking maybe the original date was September 15th or thereabouts, and so maybe it would be good news.

Well, the closing date's November 1. And September is next week! ("C'mon honey, grab the lawn chairs and your knapsack, we're movin' to Guelph!") Not so much.

I explained that we had to give 60 days' notice (insert hollow chuckle) which takes us right to... November. I don't know why she's in such a hurry to move the date up two whole months, but we can't do it. He sounded bemused that she'd even suggested it.

Rob and I had a good laugh about it, and then he went to check the mouse and rat traps. Have I mentioned, I can't wait to get the feck out of here?

Meanwhile, Lise and I have been chatting at great length on IM, about newish houses and older houses, the buying and selling and decorating of them. HousePorn!

Lise was telling me about the Farrow & Ball paints she's coveting for a house, and returning the favour, I filled her in on a completely addictive site... if you have a thing for the designs of William Morris, don't say I didn't warn you. Oooh, the art nouveau fireplace tiles! The wallpapers and fabrics organised by decade! The Charles Rennie Mackintosh fabrics... *swoon*

On the same topic, my current must-see TV (at least when I remember to watch it) is House Doctor. It's fascinating, and only a little train-wrecky, to see this American designer sweep through these cluttered, idiosyncratic English homes. and almost magically make them look calm, modern, and appealing. The Brits are trying their best to be all stiff-upper-lip and "mustn't whinge" about both her bluntness, and that of the videotaped potential buyers. It's a culture clash which I think is edited to look worse than it actually is, for pure entertainment value. But her ideas are good, and they work- it's almost mesmerising. And of course, there is her perfectly dreamy co-host, one Alistair Appleton. I went to his site and found that aside from his obvious charms, he's also a very good writer indeed. But don't just take my word for it- in his Journalism section, under General Writing, check out his articles on coming out and Buddhism. Beautiful.

Emma is coming to the city on business on Friday, and got herself booked on a flight home the next afternoon. So she'll be staying with us for a visit in between. Ever the thoughtful hostess (ahem), I went ahead and suggested a night out at a goth bar. Dressing up, dancing, admiring the pretty black-clad eye candy! What could be better?

Marina will come along, too, and a friend of Emma's has invited us round for drinks before clubbing. I feel a bout of decadence coming on! (Parking will be free, the cover charge is only five bucks, and I don't drink alcohol, so economy is preserved, oh yes...)