My house looks like it has been hit by a tornado, which can only mean one thing.
Tax time.
Ah, the unglamorous tax time. My brain is mushy from figuring out how to not soil my perfect score of never owing any income tax. Seems that 2007 was a big income earning year for me and I am thinking I may not be able to reduce the number to one so small I make homeless people snicker. Nope, looks like this may the first year I am going to OWE taxes. Frustrating. Although I see its silver lining. To have at least one year's tax return be eligible for something like a credit application or a mortgage can't be all bad. Of course, 2008 is shaping up to bring my gross income (not to mention my net income) back to Shamesville. So, who knows what affect one good year will have.
In my SEP classes this week we spoke about Insurance. Insurance! Boo, I say. The topic couldn't be more boring if it tried and will probably only be paralleled by next week's classes on GST and Saskatchewan Labour Laws. All this piled onto Tax Time and my eyes start to glaze over. No wonder most of my artistic friends hide from the realities of all this stuff. It is about as creative as dirt. Most actors I know don't file taxes until they've built up to some horrible monster and then they sheepishly cart piles of paper to some random H&R Block in the mall where they end up owing so much money that take their names out of phone books and screen all their cell phone calls. In comparison to them, I am a virtual Donald Trump with my color coded filing systems and my business classes. Yet, I feel their pain. No one teaches you that being an artist is just a euphemism for being an entrepreneur. An actor is essentially a business person who makes very little money and talks really loudly.
I had better go clean. Truth is, I am blogging to avoid.
Oooo, just one more second of avoiding...an interesting tidbit...today is my mother's last day of work EVER. When she leaves work today she will never have to go back ever again for the rest of her life and YET she will still be sent cheques in the mail every month!
If only artists had pensions.
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Monday, February 18, 2008
To Pee, Or Not To Pee
Even though Leon and I are about to take vows to spend the rest of our lives sharing the same bed, the same holidays, the same dreams and the same brain, there is this one step that we just aren't ready to take yet. It is a step that I have taken with my other long term relationships, but in this particular partnership, it just doesn't seem to be naturally unfolding.
We don't pee in front of each other.
We don't do anything involving the toilet with the other present, at all. Now, I get how this could be the truth for other couples. Other couples that are less co-dependent, but Leon and I do everything together. And, being actors, we aren't shy, either. Shy? Hell, we are down right demonstrative. So, this is what makes it strange. A pattern has been set. Leon walks into bathroom, Leon looks at Krista with that pained expression in his eyes, Krista exits, closing the door behind her. In a minute or two, Leon emerges from the bathroom, smile on face, giving the room back to Krista. No one has questioned it, no one has disputed it.
There have been moments that we have been engaged in intimate acts of love making - uninhibited, ooey gooey love making only to tip toe afterwards to the bathroom and with a squinched nose and a whispered 'sorry!' we have shut the bathroom door in each other's face. The only time I do remember peeing in front of Leon, it happened faster than I could possibly stop it. We were in the middle of an in depth conversation - you know those kind where time and space cease to matter - and as we talked I ended up in the bathroom, pulled down my pants and plopped onto the toilet for a pee. Suddenly we both realized what I was doing and the conversation abruptly ended. Mid-stream, I was helpless and feeling terribly 'wrong' about the situation, but I didn't want to appear to be prudish. So, I kept on peeing and Leon, not wanting to seem prudish as well, kind of half turned away to look into the mirror, his mission suddenly to take a detailed inventory of his nose hairs. When I was done I wiped, I flushed, I washed and then I looked at my fiance. "That will never happen again," said my eyes silently. "Thank God," said his in response and we launched right back into conversation.
Ah well. Extroverts can't be showmen about everything. And I seriously doubt it is an issue that we should take to couples therapy. I believe we are both at peace with it.
In a relationship that is lived so intimately, I suppose that there is something quite nice about having at least one thing that you don't share.
We don't pee in front of each other.
We don't do anything involving the toilet with the other present, at all. Now, I get how this could be the truth for other couples. Other couples that are less co-dependent, but Leon and I do everything together. And, being actors, we aren't shy, either. Shy? Hell, we are down right demonstrative. So, this is what makes it strange. A pattern has been set. Leon walks into bathroom, Leon looks at Krista with that pained expression in his eyes, Krista exits, closing the door behind her. In a minute or two, Leon emerges from the bathroom, smile on face, giving the room back to Krista. No one has questioned it, no one has disputed it.
There have been moments that we have been engaged in intimate acts of love making - uninhibited, ooey gooey love making only to tip toe afterwards to the bathroom and with a squinched nose and a whispered 'sorry!' we have shut the bathroom door in each other's face. The only time I do remember peeing in front of Leon, it happened faster than I could possibly stop it. We were in the middle of an in depth conversation - you know those kind where time and space cease to matter - and as we talked I ended up in the bathroom, pulled down my pants and plopped onto the toilet for a pee. Suddenly we both realized what I was doing and the conversation abruptly ended. Mid-stream, I was helpless and feeling terribly 'wrong' about the situation, but I didn't want to appear to be prudish. So, I kept on peeing and Leon, not wanting to seem prudish as well, kind of half turned away to look into the mirror, his mission suddenly to take a detailed inventory of his nose hairs. When I was done I wiped, I flushed, I washed and then I looked at my fiance. "That will never happen again," said my eyes silently. "Thank God," said his in response and we launched right back into conversation.
Ah well. Extroverts can't be showmen about everything. And I seriously doubt it is an issue that we should take to couples therapy. I believe we are both at peace with it.
In a relationship that is lived so intimately, I suppose that there is something quite nice about having at least one thing that you don't share.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Furnaces, Insulation and Other Tales To Warm The Heart
Before I start, there is something you need to understand. Leon and I were trained as Music Theatre Actors. This means our expertise lies in projecting whimsical fancy and effervescent charm while floating up brightly lit staircases wrapped in fluffy boas. At no point has anyone ever spoken to us of 92% AFUE qualified gas furnaces or R 13.5/RSI 2.4 fiberglass insulation. You'll now understand why I might be so bold to start this blog post with a statement as dramatic as:
I have no idea what we were thinking to have purchased a house that was built in 1920. Actually, I do know what we were thinking. We were thinking that the white picket fence was as adorable as it was cliche and that the home had an overall good 'feel'. We were imagining the day that Leon would sweep me up off my feet and carry me in over the threshold of our very own house with all its old quirks and charm and that we would spend our days lovingly renovating while we passionately embraced.
Six weeks after crossing the threshold for the first time, our passionate embraces have become the result of the emotional trauma that has been inflicted by our furnace replacement estimates. We were so proud of ourselves for applying for every retrofit grant that we could get our hands on. When we got our letter telling us just how much money we would be reimbursed for our upgrades we squealed in delight. Now, it seems, that money will be just about enough to cover a couple of new ducts and a union coffee break. How will we pay for the rest? I am not sure. I'd offer a barter but something tells me that very few plumbers are looking to have me sing Cole Porter tunes while gaily prancing about in their living room.
If only the humiliation ended there. Yesterday, Leon got inspired to do some insulating. Let's go to Castle, he urged. Always thrilled when my partner wants to take on tasks that I would rather poke dull forks into my eyeballs than do myself, I sped off to our local hardware store. "Do you know what you are looking for?" I asked my future husband. "Nope," replied my ever optimistic fiance, "but I'll just ask."
So we hunted down a friendly lookin' chap to service us. Leon stared him right in the eye and asked "do you have any of that pink stuff?" "Pink stuff," the salesman repeated, obviously confused. "It's squishy." Leon offered, confident that this would clear up any fogginess. But the salesman just stood there, probably not knowing how to reply without deeply offending us. "I need a batt," continued Leon, and I silently wished for the same thing, if only to knock us both out and end this misery.
"Oh!! You mean insulation!' saved the sales guy, finally catching on. Then he asked us - well, to be fair he asked Leon - "will you be needing R-20 to fit the band joists in a 2x6 stud wall?" My heart went out to Leon in that moment. Since moving to Moose Jaw, men have asked Leon all sorts of questions, expecting that, due to his genitalia, he is somehow going to know what the heck they are all talking about. How are they supposed to know that the closest Leon has ever come to home renovations was that one day when he accidentally flipped to Holmes on Homes on HGTV. One thing my boy can do is act, though, and so without missing a beat he gave the man an answer, articulating his guess with the panache of an expert. Chalk one up for the theatre degree.
In the end, we got our batt insulation and have scheduled an appointment with a small loans officer to discuss paying for our new 92% AFUE qualified gas furnace. Until it is installed and we figure out where to jam the pink stuff we have purchased slippers from Walmart and are wearing many layers of BC fleece.
And maybe a boa or two around our necks for extra warmth.
I have no idea what we were thinking to have purchased a house that was built in 1920. Actually, I do know what we were thinking. We were thinking that the white picket fence was as adorable as it was cliche and that the home had an overall good 'feel'. We were imagining the day that Leon would sweep me up off my feet and carry me in over the threshold of our very own house with all its old quirks and charm and that we would spend our days lovingly renovating while we passionately embraced.
Six weeks after crossing the threshold for the first time, our passionate embraces have become the result of the emotional trauma that has been inflicted by our furnace replacement estimates. We were so proud of ourselves for applying for every retrofit grant that we could get our hands on. When we got our letter telling us just how much money we would be reimbursed for our upgrades we squealed in delight. Now, it seems, that money will be just about enough to cover a couple of new ducts and a union coffee break. How will we pay for the rest? I am not sure. I'd offer a barter but something tells me that very few plumbers are looking to have me sing Cole Porter tunes while gaily prancing about in their living room.
If only the humiliation ended there. Yesterday, Leon got inspired to do some insulating. Let's go to Castle, he urged. Always thrilled when my partner wants to take on tasks that I would rather poke dull forks into my eyeballs than do myself, I sped off to our local hardware store. "Do you know what you are looking for?" I asked my future husband. "Nope," replied my ever optimistic fiance, "but I'll just ask."
So we hunted down a friendly lookin' chap to service us. Leon stared him right in the eye and asked "do you have any of that pink stuff?" "Pink stuff," the salesman repeated, obviously confused. "It's squishy." Leon offered, confident that this would clear up any fogginess. But the salesman just stood there, probably not knowing how to reply without deeply offending us. "I need a batt," continued Leon, and I silently wished for the same thing, if only to knock us both out and end this misery.
"Oh!! You mean insulation!' saved the sales guy, finally catching on. Then he asked us - well, to be fair he asked Leon - "will you be needing R-20 to fit the band joists in a 2x6 stud wall?" My heart went out to Leon in that moment. Since moving to Moose Jaw, men have asked Leon all sorts of questions, expecting that, due to his genitalia, he is somehow going to know what the heck they are all talking about. How are they supposed to know that the closest Leon has ever come to home renovations was that one day when he accidentally flipped to Holmes on Homes on HGTV. One thing my boy can do is act, though, and so without missing a beat he gave the man an answer, articulating his guess with the panache of an expert. Chalk one up for the theatre degree.
In the end, we got our batt insulation and have scheduled an appointment with a small loans officer to discuss paying for our new 92% AFUE qualified gas furnace. Until it is installed and we figure out where to jam the pink stuff we have purchased slippers from Walmart and are wearing many layers of BC fleece.
And maybe a boa or two around our necks for extra warmth.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
The Inevitable Question
We have our answer down pat.
Since moving to Moose Jaw from Vancouver not even a month ago there has been one question that has been asked by everybody. "What brings you to Moose Jaw?" is the inevitable question that comes once we have been asked "You folks from around here?" At first, floored by the overwhelming friendliness of the business owners and service people populating this small city, my partner, Leon, and I would launch into a long winded explanation of the miraculous events that had us packing up our west coast lives to move to Saskatchewan. But soon, oh so soon, our answer was whittled down - for the sanity of all involved. Now, when some curious Moose Jaw-vian wonders what would possess two Vancouver Musical Theatre actors to move to a rural city where there are far more parkas than feather boas and a Tim Hortons instead of a Starbucks, we simply state the truth.
Affordable housing in a growing market.
Too complicated to explain that I am not really new as I was raised here, leaving at eighteen to attend theatre school and pursue the stage. Ridiculous to start telling the story of how, while on contract here in the fall, we decided to try and get pre-approved just to see if we could (actors and mortgages don't usually go hand in hand). How, once we passed that first hurdle, the situation unfolded like a set of dominos and we found ourselves the owners of a house we never expected to buy. And although it does bring big laughs, it was extraneous to amuse the inquisitive with tales of how Leon bought the house during Saskatchewan's warm spell in October and is only now finding out what living through a prairie winter is all about.
For now, we have come to build equity. While we stay we hope to further our creative careers and refrain from losing our extremities to frostbite. We'll do the things we couldn't do as easily in Vancouver; namely accomplish 42 errands in under an hour and pay a house mortgage on an artist's income. Leaving our smirking theatre friends behind in Vancouver and Toronto, we feel like pioneers out here, choosing a road less taken. And a beautiful road it is...
even if it is flat and covered in 3 feet of snow.
Since moving to Moose Jaw from Vancouver not even a month ago there has been one question that has been asked by everybody. "What brings you to Moose Jaw?" is the inevitable question that comes once we have been asked "You folks from around here?" At first, floored by the overwhelming friendliness of the business owners and service people populating this small city, my partner, Leon, and I would launch into a long winded explanation of the miraculous events that had us packing up our west coast lives to move to Saskatchewan. But soon, oh so soon, our answer was whittled down - for the sanity of all involved. Now, when some curious Moose Jaw-vian wonders what would possess two Vancouver Musical Theatre actors to move to a rural city where there are far more parkas than feather boas and a Tim Hortons instead of a Starbucks, we simply state the truth.
Affordable housing in a growing market.
Too complicated to explain that I am not really new as I was raised here, leaving at eighteen to attend theatre school and pursue the stage. Ridiculous to start telling the story of how, while on contract here in the fall, we decided to try and get pre-approved just to see if we could (actors and mortgages don't usually go hand in hand). How, once we passed that first hurdle, the situation unfolded like a set of dominos and we found ourselves the owners of a house we never expected to buy. And although it does bring big laughs, it was extraneous to amuse the inquisitive with tales of how Leon bought the house during Saskatchewan's warm spell in October and is only now finding out what living through a prairie winter is all about.
For now, we have come to build equity. While we stay we hope to further our creative careers and refrain from losing our extremities to frostbite. We'll do the things we couldn't do as easily in Vancouver; namely accomplish 42 errands in under an hour and pay a house mortgage on an artist's income. Leaving our smirking theatre friends behind in Vancouver and Toronto, we feel like pioneers out here, choosing a road less taken. And a beautiful road it is...
even if it is flat and covered in 3 feet of snow.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
