Category Archives: Party train

Keeping your cool

imagesAs my unofficial big brother Ian has already noted, we are in the midst of a heat wave here on the Left Coast of Canada. And we are SO not used to this! We prefer complaining about the rain in winter, not the heat in summer. This is quite the shift for us poor Westerners.

My house isn’t too hot, despite the fact that many of my windows face south. I try to remember to keep those shutters and blinds closed during the day, and when evening rolls around, I can get a pretty good crossbreeze going upstairs because I also have windows that face north, so I can open everything up and let ‘er rip. I have a large and shady north-facing balcony on which to sit and sip a cool beverage in the heat of the afternoon, and a lovely cool basement in which to hang out and watch TV – or nap – if I’m so inclined. Speaking of napping, I have a ceiling fan in my south-facing bedroom, so I’m generally able to sleep okay (other than the usual wee-hours-of-the-morning pee breaks or three-a.m.-menopausal insomnia).

Now, PG lives on the third floor of an apartment building that was constructed in the seventies. His single-paned windows face west. His place is HOT AS HELL (or thereabouts. I can only guess, having never actually experienced the temperatures in Hell. But maybe Egypt in July would be close. THAT I have experienced.)

PG has a ceiling fan in his bedroom, as well as blackout curtains, but up on the third floor of an older, west-facing apartment, that’s not really enough. So he bought himself an air conditioning unit and installed it in his bedroom window on Saturday. fg1tuchHa5hkgv-95KaZmWZl-mtO3Q7P7oiQ18UxPg7a31cSRWl6FUqCPcf_B4hwkcuvKQ=s151

On Saturday night, we had a social function to attend (wow, that sounds like a snooty black-tie charity cocktail party or something! Actually, it was a birthday bbq in a friend’s backyard. Much more to my taste.). The friend lives not too far from PG’s, so it made more sense for me to spend the weekend at his place rather than him to come to my place (my laundry facilities notwithstanding). And I thought this would be wonderful, with his new air con!

And it truly was! His bedroom was wonderfully cool, and he had a floor fan set up to waft some of that coolth (as opposed to “warmth”, get it?) into the living room. It was actually nice in his apartment, considering that it was just over 30 degrees outside.

So we went to the bbq, and got back to PG’s apartment around midnight. It was amazing in there! What a difference 150$ for the air con plus four hours of sweat and labour for the installation makes! I just KNEW I’d sleep well!

PG said he felt quite comfortable, temperature-wise, so he turned off the air con. I was dubious, but since the room was already fairly cool, I figured I’d fall asleep easily and then I wouldn’t notice whether it was on or off.

And that’s exactly what happened. Till I woke up, drenched in a pool of my own sweat, at three a.m. (Yep, the menopausal insomnia, right on time.) I got up, went to the bathroom, then realized that I could just switch the ceiling fan on and all would be well.

And it was. I drifted back to sleep, the gentle breeze of the ceiling fan drying the perspiration off my body.

Till I woke up again, two hours later, drenched in sweat again. Again, I got up and went to the bathroom. When I got back to the bedroom, I realized that the ceiling fan was now off. WTF?!? I turned it back on, and fell back asleep for a couple more hours.

This time the ceiling fan was still on, but I still glared at PG. “Seems to me,” I said slowly, “that if you bought yourself an air conditioner, that you would at least use it.”

He smiled and said something about not using it ALL the time because it’s a “little noisy to sleep with”.

I sat up and looked down at him. “Then,” I hissed, “you should use your ceiling fan. It’s quieter. If you use nothing, it gets VERY EFFING HOT in here. Also, if someone else – LIKE ME! – turns on the ceiling fan in the middle of the night because it’s VERY EFFING HOT in here, you should NOT turn it off!”

He actually laughed. He did. He LAUGHED.

Then I remembered. This turning-off-of-the-air-con has happened before, when we were in Philadelphia three summers ago. This is a pattern with him. This is what he DOES!

I should have taken him out then. I really should have.


Texting PG

The company that PG used to work for has a big Christmas party every year. I know I’ve mentioned it before: swanky hotel downtown, big dinner, lots of door prizes, dancing, full bar, cheap hotel rooms for the night … We have gone to this party for a number of years, but PG doesn’t work there any more, so I thought that was it.

However, we saw some of his buddies from his old job a couple of weekends ago, and they were all asking if we were going to this year’s party. They could get us tickets (they’re free, but you just have to request them, apparently) and we could still get the cheap room rate for the night, so we decided to go. It’s always been a fun night with fun people, so this year would likely be just as good.

The party is tonight. Keep in mind that we have known about this party for – oh, let’s say three weeks. PG said he would “take care of the details”, since this is his crowd and his former workplace.

As of last evening, I had heard nothing about the “details” of the party. We hadn’t even talked about it. So I texted him to find out what was going on (I’m the blue, he’s the white): photo 1

So it looks like there is, in fact, a Christmas party tonight, so I’d better go buy those tights I need. We have a room for the night, so no one has to be the designated driver.

What PG doesn’t seem to think I need to know is a little detail concerning the time we’re supposed to be there – and I don’t remember what it was last year. I don’t know if we’re checking into the hotel room early to have a drink and relax before going down to the party. I don’t even know if I’m picking him up at his place!

I think I might just loll around at home till I get a panicky phone call from PG. Can’t you just imagine it? “Where the hell ARE you?!? We’re supposed to be downtown already! What’s going ON?!”

And I will smile sweetly and vaguely say, “Oh, we’re supposed to be there now? I didn’t know …”

Either that or I’ll call him myself. It seems that this texting stuff just doesn’t work for PG.


I was at a friend’s home the other day. It was her turn to host our Unbook Club – where we don’t read or discuss books, we just eat and drink and gossip. (Saves time and energy, don’t you think? Why bother going through that intellectual charade when everyone knows that we all just want an excuse to have a couple of glasses of wine mid-week?)

My buddy Meshka and I usually take turns driving to these “meetings”, as we live fairly close together and are pretty close friends, too. It was her turn to drive, which meant that I didn’t have to think too hard about my alcohol consumption – other than to remember that I did have to go to work the next day! Neither of us really drink copious amounts, but we both are rather easily affected by alcohol. One glass of wine per evening is usually enough for us, but she who isn’t driving can have two if she wishes. (Yes, I’m living right on the ragged edge, aren’t I?)

One of the women at Unbook Club had had to be dropped off by her husband, as her own car was out of commission. At some point during the evening, she mentioned that she was going to have to call him to come and pick her up when she wanted to leave.

“Oh, don’t do that,” I said airily. “Someone here can take you home, I’m sure.”

She looked at me expectantly.

“I could drive you home,” I continued. “You don’t live that far out of my way…”

My voice trailed off as I realized that I wasn’t driving tonight, that Meshka had driven.

“… or Meshka can take you, since she drove me tonight.”

She looked at me quizzically. Apparently I was offering her a ride home with someone else who didn’t even know I was doing this. Brilliant.

And this was after maybe half a glass.

Who knows what I might have suggested after a full glass? A helicopter, paid for by our host, perhaps?

(And ever the gracious gal, Meshka did indeed drive our carless friend home. And she just laughed at me. This is another reason she is my friend.)