The seventh level of hell must include many poor souls who decided to off themselves while in the midst of home renovations. Now, don't get trigger happy and call 911 yet -- I'm not really that desperate. But I'm close. Just look at what a long weekend's worth of work hath wrought:
Dontcha wish your household was hot like mine? Dontcha... dontcha?
I really thought we had turned a corner in our kitchen renovations, but I was sadly mistaken. Even my normally temperate darling Hunny Bunny is pitching a 10 alarm hissy fit because every single thing that can go wrong has. Last night we went to bed after one am and when I awoke, I hoped to find that this mess was just a dream. But, alas -- hell no. It's a waking nightmare.
I think I'm going to head over to Toronto's Gladstone Hotel to get grounded. Its homey atmosphere just might cut my melodramatic crap and whip me into shape. Maybe.
On my first night there, I plan to stay in the Teen Queen Room, where I will bust out my Swatch phone, call Karly and whine about my kitchen. Then I will make moonpie eyes at my posters of Simon LeBon and Corey Hart. Please do not tell me if you are too young to know who these people are. I probably won't like you anymore.
On night two I shall to visit the Skygazer Room, where I will ponder the mysteries of the know universe, chief among them being: how can Louise Nevelson still make artwork when she's been dead for 20 years?
Night three: I will restore my faith in humanity while relaxing in the comforting grandmaesque Faux Naturelle Room. Only one catch -- apparently I will also enjoy "a jumb-o-tron view of a bevy of husky wood nymphs frolicking in a forest glade via a giant erotic fun fur canyon scene covering the largest wall in the room." Oh. I see.
On the fourth night of my vacation, I will chillax in the Snapshot Room while drinking in the photographic scenery of Toronto in fall. I find that trees always diminish the night terrors, don't you?
Night Five will find me in the Canadiana Room, where I will pray to god that the antlers don't eat me while I'm sleeping. If I'm lucky, I will be visited in my dreams by those guys from Strange Brew -- you know, the ones who had to drink themselves out of a tank of beer. Now that sounds like a vacation, eh?
On my last night I will stay here, in the, uh, Blue Line Room. Well, let's just call a spade a spade, shall we? This is the sex room. I can think of 800 hilarious things to say here, but I'm just going to let this one go for fear of somehow incriminating myself. Anyone care to say what I won't?
Well, friends, it's back to work I go. No real rest for the weary!