Chuck Norris is breaking up with me.

I’m at work right now, trying to concern myself with accurate transcription and comma placement (like any responsible subtitler), but my video has mysteriously disconnected, making the task impossible. Unless I choose to randomly invent what happens next. Which could be quite entertaining. At least to me.

Moments before our media crash, I was watching Walker hurl a knife into a man's midsection. Asked how he distinguished the man from a crowd of illusions, he coolly responded, "Illusion doesn't sweat." His deadpan could give Horatio Caine a run for his syndication money. (I also converted a file in which Trivette is reading one of Chuck Norris' books. And naturally, Walker has never heard of Chuck Norris. Oh, how the inside jokes slay me. My profs would have called the episode's writing "masturbatory," but my virgin fingers are not suited to type such vocabulary).

And so I will quasi-blog (typing now, posting later).

As a side note (you probably hate these, but too bad), for the bloggers out there, do you ever skim over your past blogs and feel as though they're not a very accurate representation of your life? I have no idea how a complete stranger would read this. Do I come across as a rather superficial, self-absorbed spinster or as a quirky observer with far too much pop-culture trivia infecting my brain? Are my umbrella issues charming or downright disturbing?

Now to the real thing.

Cottage-y Goodness.

Sometimes a weekend away inspires a detailed transcription of oddball conversations and a chronological timeline of events. Not this time. In fact, I had such a great weekend at Tim's cottage that I don't really feel like trying to capture much with words. Listing off my reading choices and corn-on-the-cob consumption just doesn’t seem to do justice to the experience. And since I don't have a digital camera, there's nothing to show you by way of images either.

It's easy to forget how isolated I can be in Toronto. I have some great friends and coworkers here, but there's certainly a kind of fellowship that falls victim to Nadine's single-in-the-city adventures. I can go out for dinner or watch a movie with you, but there are very few opportunities where I feel it's absolutely safe to be me. Where I can drop the independent-woman act and just be real. Both in a vulnerable, pour-out-my-heart kind of way and in a Nadine-is-going-to-be-stupid-today kind of way. And the cottage let me pour out my heart stupidly :)

Hanging out with single people who think about one day being not single, and are actually honest enough to admit it, is refreshing. Conversations that flow from the status of today's church to strategic tattoo placement actually inspire me (not to get a tattoo, mind you. It is much less permanent to just admire them on other people and grow up to be a grandma with unmarked shoulder blades). I felt like I genuinely got to know people better (or for the first time), and will hopefully not have to wait until next year's cottage adventure for the sequel to my weekend. Oh, and I think I should write more.

This just in:

A note from my administrator: Walker has been canceled for the time being. I am seriously questioning my purpose in life. I'm also wondering why I never participate in the midday stretch at the opposite end of the office. A daily side bend might do me wonders.

Back to those compound modifiers….