Keira-anne.com

I live in a West End high rise in downtown Vancouver. I’ve been in this exact same apartment for close to four years. Hard to believe, but it’s true. Someone once told me that the building I live in is known as the ESL building. I guess that would explain the high tenancy turn-over rate. Often there are many, many young men from Mexico living in the building, usually for only a few months at a time.

You can imagine how delightful my red bikini-clad trips to the pool are while 10-15 of these young men are lounging on the deck.

There are a lot of weird people in my building.

In the suite below me, a rather flamboyuant man likes to crank up Celine Dion at any hour of the day. Needless to say, my hand’s rapped on his door many, many times.

On my floor lives a man who sometimes dresses like the Chiquita Banana lady and almost always admires whatever handbag or pair of boots I’m rockin’ when we meet on the elevator. Though, in the few times he’s been drunk, he never can recall who I am.

A few months back, another resident from my floor moved out of the building. She was apparently a doctor who exercised obssessively. She never said anything and kept entirely to herself. That was, however, until the day I went to retrieve my laundry from the dryer and found her going through my clothing and examining each piece. “Excuse me?” I asked. She turned around, looked at me and walked right by without a word.

I could regale and amuse you with handfuls of other stories about creepy encounters, but the point of this is simple. I am of the very biased opinion that the only resident in my building who demonstrates some sense of normalcy is the same girl who’s constantly parading around in her legwarmers taking pictures of herself.

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Tomorrow morning, bright and early, Miss604 and her mid-western hubby are heading to Iowa to celebrate U.S. Thanksgiving with John’s family. So on this, the eve of their first plane trip as husband and wife, I say to you “bon voyage!”

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Last night I experienced a fantastic new pinot noir (well, new to me) that was so delightful on my tongue that I actually exclaimed out loud at how delicious, divine and fruity it was. I believe it was called Drummer from New Zealand. Something tells me it came from Waitiri Creek Wines, but their website makes no mention of Drummer. It’s a mystery…

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And lastly, like clockwork, let’s have a look at how Mt. Washington is faring on this Friday afternoon…