Category Archives: Food

Death by Shapewear; Nicole’s Favourite Things, Back-to-School Edition

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I was watching the news the other day and there was a story about how wearing shapewear, such as Spanx, excessively could lead to infection, blood clots, and death.  Death.  By shapewear.  I’m sure there are more humiliating ways to die, but at the moment I cannot think of any.  As my friend Rachel said, you would have to die twice – you would need to come back and die of embarrassment when the coronor cut you out of said shapewear, with the ensuing flesh explosion. 

Death by shapewear.  I don’t even want to think too much about the “infection” part. 

As we all know, nothing gets between Oprah and her Spanx.  So, on that O-related note, may I present the second edition of Nicole’s Favourite Things!  This is the back-to-school edition.  I am not exactly looking forward to the change of seasons.  I’m a summertastic kind of girl, and the thought of cold mornings and my aching, purple hands does not get me excited.  But, as I tell the boys cheerily, there is always SOMETHING to look forward to in every season! 

This is how you can tell I’m a Canadian girl – last week I pulled out all the kids’ winter gear and forced them to try everything on, in anticipation of the stores being sold out of everything by the end of September.  If you’ve ever tried to buy a pair of snow pants in January, you know of what I speak.  Fortunately my methodology of buying large so that the boys will “grow into it” worked – I only needed to buy one pair of mittens and one hat.  I also needed to buy indoor shoes for school since my children have disproportionately ginormous feet that grow quickly.

My favourite shoes for the boys are Skechers.  They last well, they’re cute, and at this time of year there is always a buy one, get one 50% off deal at the outlet store.  My only complaint – and this is not just Skechers related, but related to every single retailer in the world – is that the selection for boys is a tenth of the selection for girls.  RETAILERS, YOU SUCK.  There are always thousands of glittery, adorable girls’ shoes, and a handful at most of boys’ shoes.  This reminds me of my recent trip to Costco – not this Costco, thank goodness, or I would be lynched by the Americans for taking up a parking space – when I looked for boys’ underwear.  Pretty simple, right?  It turns out Costco had – and I am not exaggerating, people – four packages of boys’ underwear, size 16.  NOTHING ELSE.  Of course, there was a large selection of girls’ underwear.  Boys need underwear too, Costco, you bastards.

Whew, I went off on a little tangent there, didn’t I?  I also would like to give a shout-out to the good people at Mountain Equipment Co-Op, where I bought those backpacks last year.  MEC is famous for having an insanely good return/exchange/fixing faulty items policy.  They will literally do anything to satisfy their customers.  Their backpacks – along with most of their items – last forever, so I always make sure I purchase a nice, neutral colour that no one will tire of.  Most of their kids’ gear has reflective strips, which is nice for those days when the sun sets at 4:30 in the afternoon.  Sob.

My kids come home for lunch, which has its pros and cons.  The biggest pro is not having to pack lunches.  The only exception to this is our early-dismissal Fridays, when the kids are out at 1:10 and so they have a “nutrition break”.  I don’t know about your kids, but mine aren’t huge fans of sandwiches when they are not of the peanut butter and jam variety (we are at a nut-free school).  One of my girlfriends suggested a healthy, homemade alternative to those vile Lunchables: packing crackers with various cheeses and meats, veggies, and fruit.  I found these cute little Tupperware containers to keep things separated.

What are those little hearts?  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve never tried one of those label companies before, but I won a set from Lovable Labels and included were these cute little stickers that say things like “I love you to the moon and back” on them.  Awwww.  I stuck some of the little hearts on the inside of the containers, as a special reminder to the kids.  Awwwww.  I’m going to miss them and their constant Star Wars prattle.

Nothing to do with back-to-school, but this time of year is fantastic for zucchinis and tomatoes.  So why not think about baking a deliciously addictive loaf of chocolate zucchini bread, roasted vegetable lasagne, or salsa (not seltzer)?  You can eat your feelings about your children going back to school and your somewhat-empty-nest syndrome.  Or maybe that’s just me.

Adventures in Boyland

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I’ve been reading the boys all the Little House books, in order, since they became interested in settlers and whatnot after reading Little House on the Prairie at school.  Their favourite was On the Banks of Plum Creek, what with all the plagues and Pa getting lost in a blizzard at Christmas and Laura getting a fur cape and muff from the church Christmas tree and totally flaunting it in Nellie’s face – Nellie didn’t have a muff – take that, Nellie, you uppity bitch.  But now we are reading The Long Winter and it is by far the most captivating for them.  All the tragic foreshadowing – no geese or ducks to be found, the muskrat’s extra thick home, the teeny tiny harvest they have to make last an entire winter – along with the drama of the storms, near-starvation, and seemingly imminent death really captures their interest.  I do not know what this says, but in any case, we’re enjoying it.

So I was very entertained when they dug out Jake’s old Playmobil farm and all the various Playmobil people from other sets – including the veterinarian and dinosaur hunter – and began to reenact scenes from the books.  Kind of.  There were blizzards, and there was fetching water from the creek, but there was also an ocean involved, and water desalination.  There were two moms, two dads, and two kids, so it was either a commune or a gay marriage thing.  I’m guessing commune.  Then one of the Pas – whose name was, coincidentally, Charles – bought some droids to help with the farmwork.  Just like Uncle Owen.

Story worlds colliding!

Then a friend of mine who is a farmer told me that the dairy farmers she knows all have robots that do the milking.  I informed the children of this development and they stared at me, wide-eyed, and said in a reverential whisper “Cooooool”.  My friend said that the cows have computer collars so that the robots know where their teats are located, and the cows CHOOSE WHEN TO BE MILKED.  My mind – along with the children’s – is blown.  Completely. This is a little different from when Pa would use the clothesline to feel his way to the farm during a blizzard, and come back with a pail almost emptied of milk from the wind, and the milk in there just little frozen shards of milky delight.

What an age we live in.

Speaking of dairy, I’ve had a few people ask me how the whole no-dairy thing has been going, and I will tell you this: it’s much less horrible than I thought it would be.  I’m craving it much less, and taking the opportunity to eat more of the yummy non-dairy things I love.  Like guacamole.  So far this week I’ve had three avocados’ worth of guacamole, which is not giving me the shiny hair I covet, but IS pretty tasty.  I’ve also made my own version of my friend Natalie’s banana “ice cream”, which I plan on writing about over on my cooking blog, but here’s the Reader’s Digest (remember Reader’s Digest?  All those hilarious jokes?  Life’s Like That?) version: take two frozen bananas.  Put in food processor.  Add some almond milk.  Put in some chocolate syrup.  Process until it looks like soft ice cream.  EXCELLENT.  The kids lost their little minds.  YOU CAN MAKE ICE CREAM OUT OF BANANAS?  THIS IS THE GREATEST THING EVER, MOM!

Speaking of the greatest thing ever, the kids wanted me to make bacon for them, for one of our weekly “breakfast for supper” meals.  Now, as a vegetarian who is now practically, and reluctantly, a vegan, making bacon is not my forte.  The thing is, if one doesn’t consume meat, one generally sucks at cooking it.  And yet the motherly love I have for the children pushed me to make it, on the recommendation of a number of friends, in the oven.  OH THE JOY.

Jake: Are we eating Porky Pig?  I sure hope so.  I hate that guy.

Nicole’s Favourite Things: Summertastic!

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When we were in Maui, the boys wrote in their journals every day, in order to show their class when they got back.  Mark’s was ridiculously and tediously detailed (“Mom, do you remember what I had for breakfast yesterday?”), while Jake’s simply wrote out the major activities of the day.  In other words, the majority of his daily journal entries read as follows:

I went to the beach in the morning.  I went to the pool
 in the afternoon.  I ate ice cream.  It was good.
Not, perhaps, riveting, but accurate.  This is what blogging feels like in the summer sometimes, like a mix between some kind of glorified scrapbook of activities – SUMMERTASTIC! captions, along with photos of us at the pool, again, or at the zoo, one more time, everyone smiling and sunshiney – and a tedious listing of details about how I made ginger cookies out of beans.  
By the way, the bean-based cookies are pretty fabulous. 

I’ve been thinking for a while about writing posts about things I love, in a non-sponsored way.  I thought it could be like a meme for bloggers, and a fun discussion in the comments about products, fashion, and food that we love.  In the theme of SUMMERTASTIC, I propose the first of such posts be My Favourite Things, The Summer Edition.  Care to join me?   It will be like the O List, but without the bazillion dollars and free stuff.

Nicole’s Favourite Things – Summer Edition
Favourite Summer Beauty Products
My hair, since I started Operation Grow It Out, and also since I’m getting old and have been colouring it for so many years I barely remember what it was like before, is QUITE dry and brittle.  In the summer, I like to walk around hatless, all footloose and fancy free, and my poor, processed hair takes a beating from the sun.  I love Herbal Essences “Hello Hydration”.  I buy it in humongous jugs from Costco, and it works much better than any super-expensive “hydrating” salon product I’ve ever tried.  Once I accidentally bought the 2-in-1 shampoo/conditioner, and it wasn’t until I noticed I had the softest hair ever that I realized I was double-conditioning.

Giant jugs.  Hehehe.
Just because I walk around hatless does not mean I am all casual about sun damage.  I wear sunscreen year-round, but I really pile it on in the summer.  I like Neutrogena’s Ultra-Sheer Water Light face sunscreen – it’s even good for those of us who are still considered “acne-prone” decades after our teen years.  You know those people who say things like “I don’t know HOW I got sunburned, I put on sunscreen.”?  I am not one of those people.  Here’s the trick: put sunscreen on after your shower, naked, in front of a mirror.  It’s the only way.  I use Neutrogena’s Ultra Sheer Body Mist to spray my back and shoulders, since I tend to wear tank tops that expose a lot of skin in those areas.  Then I use Hawaiian Tropic on the reachable parts of my body.  It smells so nice and summery, I think.  For the rainy days in which there is no sunshine – like yesterday! – I love Bath and Body Works Body Lotion in Forever Sunshine.  Get it?  I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day…


Speaking of cloudy days, how about a body wash that practically FORCES you to have a Happy Time?  I use body wash instead of shaving gel, because it seems to work better and leave my skin more hydrated.  I read this manifesto about not shaving the other day and embracing my natural self, but my natural self is a yeti, or at the very least, a fair-skinned, dark haired lassie who belongs – apparently – in the Highlands, and my body seems to think that growing hair will keep me warm and comfortable.  Long story short, I shave/wax a lot, and this body wash is marvelous as a shaving aid.

You’re going to be happy, dammit!

Favourite Summer Fashion

I wear a lot of tank tops, and my favourites are those with shelf bras.  So I can be braless!  But not in an alarming, scare-the-neighbours, depressingly deflated hippie-chick sort of way.  But these tanks – from Lululemon – keep everything in, the straps don’t slip, and they are long enough for my liking.  They are a bit pricey, but I have tanks that I bought five years ago that are still in mint condition after much washing and wearing.  The caveat here is to purchase in a colour that I don’t tire of (black).

See?  Braless, and yet…not.

It’s no secret that I hate shorts.  I loathe them.  For years, when my varicose veins were rivaling those of bedridden senior citizens, I wore nothing except capri pants in the summer.  This summer, now that my scars are (mostly) healed, I am rediscovering my love of skirts.  Skirts are so cool and fun in the summer, but I also like to not be concerned that I am going to obscenely flash someone at the playground, or that I can sit crosslegged without my children requiring therapy.  Check this out! 

It’s a skirt (please ignore my apparently filthy mirror)
But it has SHORTS built in underneath!  It’s a miracle of skirt engineering.

Favourite Summer Food

My very favourite snack in the summer:

Delicious summer berries!  I try to eat berries until I’m sick of them, because, well, ’tis the season, but I never, ever get sick of them.  I used to eat them with vanilla yogurt, but sadly dairy products are causing me to break out like an extraordinarily awkward teenage boy, and so I just eat them as-is.  I add a little sugar and I barely miss the yogurt. 

My favourite summer meals:

Thai noodle salad!  I created this recipe!  It’s pretty yummy and I crave it all the time.  Recipe is here.  My other favourite is actually a year-round favourite, but it really is better in summer, what with seasonal veggies and it being a cold salad: GREEK SALAD (recipe here).  Feta is my concession to dairy consumption.  Maybe goats are better than cows in the whole dairy department?  I don’t know.  All I know is I don’t want to imagine life without feta.  I can’t.  I won’t!

Now it’s your turn: tell me, dear readers, what are your favourite things in the summer?  Share in the comments, or share on your blog, if you’re a blogger.  I chose fashion, beauty, and food, but that could be because I’m shallow.  You can choose any category.  Make yourself feel like Oprah at Christmastime!  Tell me all.  xoxo

Ketchup Chips are a Canadian Thing?

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Right this minute, there is a news story on TV, in honour of Canada Day, all about the words “eh”, “knapsacks”, and “washroom”, and how ketchup chips are a Canadian thing.  American friends, I must know this for true: are there no ketchup chips in the States?  Really?  If that is true, I am very sad for my friends south of the border.  I am also sad that this is the news channel I watch of my own volition.  Who needs real news anyway, when I can marvel over Americans calling them “candy bars” instead of “chocolate bars”? 

Related to the state of my mind right now: Jake and I just sang “Call Me Maybe” together and it was a proud, proud moment for me.

Also a proud, proud moment: on Thursday I took the boys to the local amusement park where we met up with friends, and the kids rode the log ride all by themselves.  For me, this is quite possibly the greatest developmental milestone ever, the fact that I never again have to sit in a big plastic log zipping down a big slide with slimy, possibly decades-old water splashing all over me.  And why was I feeling verklempt about the passage of time?  For no good reason, that’s why.

Speaking of the rapid passage of time, today I heard on the radio – not my usual oldies station, but an actual modern, for-the-young-people station – something disturbing.  For the long weekend, the station was playing various number one hits from years past.  One of the flashback years was 1995. 

Now, I don’t know about you, but to me, 1995 does not seem so long ago.  It doesn’t seem worthy of a flashback hit.  But then again, when they played the song, I could clearly recall dancing to it in the bar, probably while drinking a vodka slime out of a jug, and wearing a crop top and high waisted jeans, with my Rachel haircut.  I was twenty years old: a significant number of years have passed since those days.  All I’m saying is that I can really understand how old people say that something happened a couple of years ago, when the reality is that the relevant event really took place decades ago.

More on the passage of time: this weekend my parents took the kids up to the lake without me.  This is the first time such a thing has happened; my parents have looked after my kids overnight before, but this was the first time that they have been taken to a second location.  After typing that I realize that I just made it sound like my parents abducted the kids, but no.  A fabulous time was had by all.  They celebrated Canada Day by going to the nearby small-town parade, where they waved flags, ate ice cream, and went on bouncy castles and through obstacle courses.  They had a great time.  I, on the other hand, celebrated Canada Day by eating scrambled eggs and drinking coffee while watching episode after episode of Mad Men, nursing a little hangover since I was at a party the night before and I didn’t get home until almost 11:30.  See what happens when the kids are away?  NICOLE’S GONE WILD. 

My husband and I went up to the lake to spend the night and bring them home today.  When I asked them if they missed me, the answer was “Um, not too much.” and “It was kind of MORE fun with just Grandpa and Grandma!”  Well, I guess that’s to be expected.  I’m not exactly known as Super Fun Mom – I did, after all, just buy them math flash cards, some workbooks, and journals for the summer. 

Cheese is my boyfriend, but we’re breaking up.

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“I think you actually are under a lot of stress,” my friend said to me the other day, “But you just don’t want to complain about it because it’s princess-stress.”  Exactly.

Last night, Jake had a screaming nightmare, and I don’t know what you do when your kids wake you up in the middle of the night with a blood curdling scream, but my instinct is to jump out of bed and run to their bedrooms.  Unfortunately, I have low blood pressure and often get dizzy if I get up too fast from sitting, so you can imagine what might happen if I am awakened at three in the morning from a dead sleep and start running down the hallway.  I dizzily fell heavily into the doorframe, somehow simultaneously bruising my right shoulder and my left wrist.  It was not a particularly good start to the day, which included a trip to the dentist, yet another phone call about summer swim lessons, and no cheese.

If I was to name one single favourite food, it would just be cheese, as an all-encompassing description.  I love cheese.  I love dairy products.  However, as I age – Hello, I AM older than Mrs. Robinson! – I am realizing more and more that our amorous relationship is one-sided.  Dairy, it seems, does not love me back.  I have been thinking about this for months but have been in semi-denial, continuing to consume my 5-6 dairy servings a day. 

Here lies the problem.

I am biting the proverbial bullet and cutting down on my dairy consumption; although, as my friend said, if I cut down to ONE serving a day it would be a huge reduction, I am trying to cut down to only a few servings per week.  Like the day I decided that I would no longer have a daily glass (or two) of wine, but instead only drink wine on weekends (and moon days, I’m only human), I have decided that I will cut back to only what I consider the bare necessities of dairy consumption: feta, goat cheese, and Parmesan a couple times a week.  The thought of no dairy ever again has filled me with far too much angst and sadness; I’m hoping by restricting my intake I will be able to savour and love the things I love most when I have them.  When I curtailed my wine consumption, I found that I enjoyed it more when I had it; I looked FORWARD to Friday so I could have some of that nectar of the gods.  (When is it Friday, again?  Tomorrow?  YAY.)

So I guess we haven’t really broken up.  It’s more like dairy and I are casual fuck-buddies, rather than the committed marriage we used to be in.

However, I think I’m in mourning.  Yesterday I looked tearfully in the fridge at lunchtime, thinking that all the joy in eating is now GONE.  I look forward to my lunch every day, like this little noontime beam of light, and every single day I have the exact same lunch: veggie wraps with cheese, berries with yogurt.  NO CHEESE NO YOGURT MAKES NICOLE A SAD GIRL.  Today I rallied, though.  I dug out my nutritional yeast and made a spreadable cheese that made me feel like a bit of a douchebag, but it actually was not at all bad.  It was kind of tasty, actually.

So I have a question for you: have you ever had to cut a food out of your life that you loved?  When I went fully vegetarian it was not a hardship at all; I barely ate meat for many years and I didn’t enjoy it when I did eat it.  THIS, however, feels like a sad hardship, even if it IS a princess problem.  I mean, I’m reading a biography of Laura Ingalls Wilder right now, and I’m reading On The Banks of Plum Creek to the boys, so hardship is a very relative term.  (THE GRASSHOPPERS ARE COMING, PA.  DON’T BUY THE HOUSE ON CREDIT.  YOU WILL NEVER MAKE A WHEAT CROP, EVER.)  I mean, I’m discovering that coconut milk is not bad on cereal, and berries without yogurt are still delicious, and even though it’s only been two days I’m feeling pretty great.  But still. 

I miss you, baby.  Can we schedule a booty call for later this week?

Mr. Wilder, the Gangsta of Malone

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A fully functional kitchen plus a couple of rainy, miserable days equals KITCHEN PARTY!  I spent yesterday making granola – hippie me – baking cookies, chopping fruit and veggies, and making hummous that would make you cry tears of joy.  Well, it made ME cry tears of joy.  I was skeptical – who puts yogurt into hummous? – but it was the greatest hummous I ever consumed, no hyperbole.  I need to put it on the cooking blog – which right now has back-to-back cupcake recipes on it, so you should really be checking it out anyway just for the porny cupcake photos.  My husband has a new portrait lens in his camera and I didn’t know how to change that, so I had fun taking some arty pictures of peanut butter/chocolate cupcakes. 

Sigh.  It was only yesterday that I was kitchen party-ing.  I miss my kitchen so much.  Today the electrician came to put in new lighting and there are currently giant holes in the ceiling and much woodchips and insulation scattered all over the floor.  Lalalala.  How much longer until I can crack open that wine bottle?  Ever since giving up booze on weekdays, I appreciate Friday nights so much.  SO VERY MUCH. 

A few months back the boys were reading Little House on the Prairie in their class, and they asked me to read them the other titles in the series.  SCORE!  Pretty excited to not be reading another Geronimo Stilton or Magic Tree House, I dug out my old box set of Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and we read Little House in the Big Woods.  Why, oh, why did the Ingalls leave the Big Woods?  It all sounded so lovely and cozy, what with the excitement of blowing up a pig’s bladder like a balloon and eating a roasted pig’s tail, and going to a sugaring-off dance, and having both a corncob doll AND a rag doll.  Every other book is a tale of narrow death escapes and crippling poverty and malnutrition. 

But now we’re reading Farmer Boy and it is both heartwarming and horrifying.  On the one hand, I greatly prefer wealthy, businessman-like, pillar-of-the-community Mr. Wilder to flighty, keeps-putting-his-family-in-constant-danger Pa.  For one thing, there is always lots of food.  The food descriptions in that book reach food-porn levels.  If Almanzo was alive today, maybe he’d be a food blogger.  There would be lots of pictures of pie, we know that much.  So that’s kind of nice, compared with the Ingalls’ meals of bread and molasses, with salt pork fat if they are lucky. Plus, Mr. Wilder is kind of a badass.  Remember that it is Mr. Wilder’s blacksnake whip that is lent to the teacher so that the teacher can beat the living hell out of the disruptive boys who intend to murder the him and dissolve the school?  Just like they did the previous year?  Kind of makes the kids nowadays who speak in class without putting their hands up look like pussies, no?

Old-timey life seems pretty grim, even for a well-to-do family like the Wilders, doesn’t it?  The joy and excitement of the tin-peddlar’s annual visit.  The constant drudgery and field work.  The cutting of ice blocks and packing of said ice blocks into the ice house at forty below temperatures.  Walking around in shoes that don’t fit because the cobbler was late in arriving.  I mean, it kind of sucks.  It makes me feel bad for even complaining that my kitchen is currently covered with drywall dust and insulation.  Soon, the kitchen will be cleaned up, and I will be eating the world’s greatest hummous and making my way through a nice bottle of shiraz, so what is there to complain about, really?

Birthday and Earth Day and Painting the Basement

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Today is voting day in Alberta and, as luck would have it, my polling station was located at my kids’ school, making it easy to slip in after drop off and vote.  You know you are at the polling station early when you beat the sea of seniors flooding in. 

How was your weekend?  Mine was absolutely fabulous, and I just have to mention the weather – warm, hot even, and sunny.  It was perfect birthday weather!  I am now older than Mrs. Robinson and yet I feel just as saucy.

I look just like this, minus the smoking and the (I think) fur coat.  Honestly, I kind of love her hair.  I would cut mine like this but I am committed to growing it out, because I regret it every single time I cut my hair.  Hoo boy, here’s a hot picture:

I would totally not trust Dustin Hoffman to fasten my bra.  He looks way too befuddled.  Come on, Mrs. Robinson, you’re better than that. 

I do wear a similar amount of makeup though.
So it was my birthday and it was a very happy one, complete with a date night on Friday, new Pandora beads from the boys – including a dog one, from the dog – on Saturday, ice cream cake, and a visit with my grandma, who is in town!  I also treated myself to homemade cosmopolitans which, while delicious, left my Sunday morning yoga practice a bit to be desired.  Well, as Bridget Jones says, if you can’t splash out on your birthday, then when can you?
Our Earth Day celebration took the form of a seeding and raking party with the neighbourhood parents over at the school’s naturalization area (read: area that has been planted with native grasses and plants; an “outdoor learning area”, if you will).  Did I mention it was hot and sunny?  It was a fabulous day; the kids were riding their bikes, playing in the playground, and blowing bubbles while we raked and seeded and chatted.  The day was only slightly marred by my apparent development of allergies to all the grass and dust.  I took some Benadryl for my sore, itchy throat and then slept like the dead.  LIKE THE DEAD.  I woke up, startled, when my alarm went off and it took me a while to shake that groggy feeling.  Who knew that Benadryl was so deadly? 
Speaking of saving the earth and whatnot, we had our basement painted last week.  Well, that really had nothing to do with saving the earth with the exception that we used special non-smelly paint.  But our basement!  It’s now blue!  I’m so happy with it, and will get around to posting pictures soon.  Years back in the dead of winter I wanted to paint our whole house blue – so cheerful!  Who could be sad in a blue house?  But I met with some resistance, and now we have compromised on a blue basement and wow, it’s lovely. 
We had hired a guy to do the painting, and it turned out that he was the type of guy who preferred to work without even the company of the radio, which meant that I completely forgot he was there.  Normally when we have had people working on our house, things have been very noisy and disruptive – i.e., the hardwood – but painting in the basement?  Silence.  Which meant that I would come in from my errands, and walk around the house singing.  Because, you know, I seem to think my life is like a musical theatre, the way I burst into song at any given time of the day.  Remember my impromptu Christmas duet with the old man at the liquor store?  It’s like that.  The problem was that the songs going through my head were twofold: Linger by the Cranberries, and Over My Head by Fleetwood Mac.  So throughout the day I found myself bursting out with “You’ve got me wrapped around your FINGER, do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it LINGER?” or “You can take me to paradise, then again you can be cold as ice, I’m over my head – OVER MY HEAD – but it sure feels NICE.”  Then I would remember, I’m not alone.  I would stop abruptly, and all I would hear is the near-silence of the paint roller.  It was kind of ominous. 
It turned out that the painter’s girlfriend is a mail carrier, and coicindentally she was substitutng for our mail carrier last week!  She brought him a Jugo Juice and the two of them sat on our step for lunch.  Cute!  Young love!  I’m sure he had better things to talk about than the crazy singing lady-client.  Right?