Tuesday, March 18, 2014

Due Date

Tuesday, March 18, 2014
Today is my due date.

I had been told by everyone in the entire world, and I completely understood, that due dates are essentially meaningless. I knew the Fetus would liberate itself when it sees fit, and only when it sees fit (or is forced out by the medical team at Foothills Hospital).

But seriously, I am goal oriented. I am the person who counts down the sleeps until Christmas starting in October. I like to check dates off, rip the calendar pages down, draw big Xs. 

This is not working to my advantage, it seems.

I'm sure that over the course of the next few weeks rest of my life, I will regret things I did before I was a parent. I have many, many times made eyebrow waggling comments about the best way to get the baby out being the same way it got in there.

I have since learned the error of my ways. When you are 40 weeks pregnant and feel like you've swallowed a beach ball inhabited by a hyperactive frog and it hurts to sit/stand/lie down/move, there is nothing appealing about that particular labour inducing technique. I'm also sure that if you're married to someone who is 40 weeks pregnant and who feels like they've swallowed a beach ball inhabited by a hyperactive frog, who bitches about how hard it is to put on pants and how much it hurts to simply exist, the idea isn't really that appealing either.

I have never had so many people interested in the state of my cervix before, and I hope that as soon as the baby is delivered, no one will ever ask again. I am not a shy person, but I don't really think I need to discuss those specifics with everyone I know.

But anyway. I'm still pregnant. Here I am. Waiting. And every time I move and feel something funny, I think, "THIS IS IT!"*

But it's not, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to be pregnant forever.

*It, for the record, is usually gas. I have never been more attractive in my entire life.

Wednesday, March 12, 2014

My old CDs

Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Gary's favourite way to unwind and relax after a long day of work is to organize files on his computer.

I am not kidding.

As I write this, we're listening to the music files he's going through, meta tagging them or otherwise doing stuff to organize them that I totally don't understand. They happen to be the last vestiges of my personal CD collection, tucked away in a binder that I had forgotten about until recently, when an insane urge to clean EVERYTHING ALL DAY LONG hit. 

They call it "nesting" - I call it, the junk drawer is clean for the first and last time in history and I had to throw out all my socks that didn't match because it was keeping me up at night.

So I found this stash of CDs. They're the ones I used to listen to, over and over and over, driving my parents crazy. I'd lie on my bed and dream about the day I'd be a grown-up lady, living in the city, having all kinds of glamorous affairs and wearing fur and costume jewellery and having giant, awesome hair and basically, being a Danielle Steel novel character, but a post-Y2K version.

I played those songs ad nauseum, imaging what life would be like on the cusp of my thirties.

I did not for one second imagine I'd be spending it listening to the same songs, wearing the most hideous, frilly, little-house-on-the-maternity-ward nightgown at 7:30 pm because you guys, PANTS HURT when you're 39 weeks pregnant. 

But here I am. And aside from being more uncomfortable than I've been in my entire life and more than a little nostalgic, it's not so bad. :Life as a grown-up lady has turned out to be not exactly what I expected, but pretty darn good. Unlike Danielle Steel's new novels. 

Oh my god, you guys, do not read the new Danielle Steel novels.

Saturday, January 04, 2014


Saturday, January 04, 2014
Holy crap, you guys. This year I turn 30. But that's not actually what the title of this post is referring to.

In about 10 weeks, Gary and I are going to be parents. I am very nearly 30 weeks pregnant, and as I type this, my in-utero future blog fodder is kicking away.

I registered us for our prenatal classes today, which apparently everyone else in the city does MONTHS IN ADVANCE because we scored nearly the last spot in the eight-thousand sections offered for those of us gestating flood babies due in March. It's January! The class starts in like, 6 weeks!

(Now you know why I ended up in the dreaded Monday morning at 8am Statistics class in University....)

But I have the upper hand on this whole planning-ahead-for-offspring thing. I've got a nice warm crib laundry basket lined up for you, Fetus Geyer, and even a box of diapers that my cousin gave us. We're ready.

On second thought, Fetus, maybe stay in there for another couple months. Your terribly disorganized mother has a few things to do before you make your entrance. Like actually read the how not to neglect the basic physical needs and emotionally stunt your baby forever book.

2014 is going to be a big year.

Monday, April 08, 2013


Monday, April 08, 2013
Gary and I have been together for five years now.

It alarms me that we are slowly becoming one of those married couples that look alike.

We've always looked alike. We have the same colour of hair, we're the same height, we have similar faces, generally speaking. But recently, we've started wearing similar outfits.

But Megan, you say, anyone can wear a black t-shirt and jeans, and that doesn't necessarily mean you're dressing alike. And that would be true. More often than not you will find me out in the world wearing jeans and some kind of black sweater, top or t-shirt, and the same can be said about my spouse.

But alas, on Saturday, we sunk to a new, desperate, mockery-inducing low when we showed up to a dinner party wearing...

Well, the photo speaks for itself. But in case it doesn't, the new Team Geyer jersey colour appears to be lavender.

What is more puzzling is that moments before we left the house to attend said party, Gary was wearing orange and I was wearing green. Seconds before leaving, somehow, in our one-bedroom apartment, we managed to both change without the other person knowing, and before we could correct this horrifying faux pas, we had our coats on and were in the car.

I'm not sure what's next. His and hers haircuts? Matching windsuits? It's just a long, sad, slippery slope.

Saturday, March 02, 2013

Winter is Coming

Saturday, March 02, 2013
It is finally March.

And March means that Winter is Coming.

Game of Thrones, Season 3, debuts at the end of this month and I am absurdly excited about it. Gary and I are watching a behind the scenes featurette as I type this and I am considering spending the rest of the weekend watching Seasons 1 and 2 over again. Who needs sleep, anyway?

 Plus, they've just issued a winter storm warning and it's going to snow tonight, so you know. Timely.

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

Coming up empty

Tuesday, February 26, 2013
Something has happened. I can’t pinpoint when. I don’t know why. But all of a sudden, I find myself without anything interesting to say.

It’s not just on this blog. It’s in my day to day life. And it’s never happened before. And I don’t like it.

I’ve always found myself to be an interesting person. I have no problems finding friends, which is surprising when you consider the arrogance of that last sentence. But it’s true. I enjoy my company. I have a pretty decent set of social skills. I like to listen as much as I like to talk.

And for the first time in my life I find myself coming up short with things to say.

I don’t know if this phenomenon can be contributed to confidence (I have my doubts - I still think I'm pretty awesome), or routine, or weariness of hearing myself rant about the same issues over and over. Perhaps it’s because I’m actually challenged and satisfied in my daily activities from 9-5 and it’s using up all my available brain cells. Maybe it’s because my personal life is stable, with the hazy Vaseline-smear of the first year of marriage making everyday life appear soft-focus. Maybe it’s because I took a personal pledge to try to stop whining about things my husband does that drive me kind of crazy when he became my husband, because I had a choice. I could have chosen to not marry the man who gets incredible satisfaction from what appears to be his only hobby, which is spending 6 months of his life reorganizing media files on his computer.

But then I’d be single, with a hugely disorganized music collection, and where’s the benefit in that?

I lamented this notion, that I have nothing of interest to contribute to a conversation, to my friend Amanda, and she passionately told me that I need to fix this. I need to do things. DO THINGS, she said. Amanda has two kids under the age of two and I’m pretty sure it took all her resolve not to punch me in the face because while I know she wouldn’t trade those kids for anything, she sure would like to go see The Hobbit/any movie, ever/except maybe Paranormal Activity Part 37 in the theatre on a whim on an average Monday night.

I see how I take my DINKy freedom for granted. I should be doing things with my free time, while I still have free time. I should write that freaking novel. I could spend my evenings in the pub playing name that tune or taking continuing ed classes or doing things that aren’t watching 5 seasons of Hot Aussie Drama Sea Patrol like my life depends on it.

Maybe I’d have more to talk about if I did. I’m sure I would. Any suggestions? (I guess I could go on about how hot talented Buffer is and how long it took me to come around to Dutchie even when yeah, I see the appeal, but I wish I didn't have to trade one for the other.)

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

I read it, so you don't have to: The Goddess Test

Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Before we begin, a big heads up: I'm going to ruin this book for you. This "review" is breaking all the rules of book reviews, wherein I'm going to spoil all the parts of this book, including the ending. So if you have any desire in your giant beating heart to read The Goddess Test by Aimee Carter, I suggest you look away.

Maybe go read this. Look at this.

Or watch this, or this.

Or just go read the damn book. I'll wait.


The Goddess Test is one of the books I've recently picked up at the library. I've heard a lot of buzz about this book, but I would not be surprised if you haven't. Because after all, I might be the only one in my circle who frequently keeps tabs on what the various Harlequin imprints are publishing and follows trends in YA fantasy/romance. Because hypothetically, if one is considering writing a sweeping series of fiction about, say, a girl's unrequited love for her stepbrother who is ACTUALLY a mythical unicorn, you might be inclined to keep tabs on those sort of things. Hypothetically.

The Goddess Test, and the two sequels, and the two additional bonus-reel novellas set in the same world, are written by Aimee Carter, who is younger than me and I'm pretty bitter about it.

To make myself feel better about the fact that I'm twenty-eight years old and haven't even published a SINGLE novel yet (sigh), I decided I would read The Goddess Test and decide for myself what this publishing wunderkind has that I don't.

Turns out, what she has is an uncanny knack for making greek and roman mythology really after-school-specially and a big ol' imagination that appeals to tweens. I'm not saying she's not a good writer. Her ability to write is not what this is about. Good for you, Aimee Carter. If I were you I would stop reading this right now, and just go pop another bottle o' bubbly, because Giiiiirl, you wrote some books and people masses of teenage girls obviously loved them and you should be proud, and plus, I'm just a bitter husk of a woman who hasn't actually finished a draft and who might be a little bit drunk right now because it's 4.99 Keiths night at the pub down the block, and who can resist that?

So, to save those of you who aren't teenage girls some time, here is my review.

The Goddess Test. Here's the blurb from the back of the book:



It's always been just Kate and her mom--and her mother is dying. Her last wish? To move back to her childhood home. So Kate's going to start at a new school with no friends, no other family and the fear that her mother won't live past the fall.

Then she meets Henry. Dark. Tortured. And mesmerizing. He claims to be Hades, god of the Underworld--and if she accepts his bargain, he'll keep her mother alive while Kate tries to pass seven tests.

Kate is sure he's crazy--until she sees him bring a girl back from the dead. Now saving her mother seems crazily possible. If she succeeds, she'll become Henry's future bride and a goddess.


Dramalicious, right? Well, here's where the problem starts.

This book has a prologue which kills the entire thread of suspense running through it. There's a big reveal at the end, but the answer to the big reveal is given in the first 2 pages. What?! Kate's mom isn't actually dying of cancer? She's a Goddess? And this whole thing is rigged? No. You don't say.

So the book is basically a play off the Hades-Persephone myth. Without doing any fact checking and simply referencing what's rattling around in my mind from that degree I took that I'm still paying for, the gist of it is that Hades, Lord of the Underworld, traps Persephone into marrying him, her mother loses her shit, they work out a deal that Persephone can hang out up here for half the year, but for the other half, she has to rule the Underworld with Hades, and that's what we call Winter. (Did you see that Kate's last name is Winters? Clever. Oh, wait, that's not clever at all, that's offensively obvious. My bad!)

One of my favourite story concepts is "tell me a story I already know in a different way." Well, that's sort of what happens in this book. But less awesome.

Kate strikes a bargain with old Hades and gives up her life to save the life of a friend. A stupid, selfish, obnoxious friend she met minutes earlier. But teenage girls frequently bond quickly, and she has a hero complex and doesn't like it when people die, so ok. We can get past that.

She agrees to submit to The Goddess Test, seven tests that, if she passes, she'll become immortal and spends her winters for the rest of time with Hades, ruling the Underworld with him, side by side, as his child bride wife. Except instead of calling him Hades and him being a badass Lord of the Underworld, we call him Henry and he's a pasty, wimpy emo boy. Which is pretty annoying, and we all know that I am a sucker for pasty, wimpy emo boys.

Greek Myths are really big on the concept of the test. Heracles and his Labours, for example. But instead of doing awesome things like stealing cool stuff from important scary people and beheading three-headed dogs (who, by the way, makes an appearance in this book as a big and cuddly dog with only one head) and impregnating 50 virgins in one night, our heroine has to pass 7 tests based on the Christian concept of the Seven Deadly Sins.

Here are a few of the tests that Kate passes. (SHOCK! SHE PASSES!)

She is given a room full of fancy fancy ballgowns and shares them with her dumb friend, because she'd really rather wear jeans and sweaters anyway! (greed)
She stops eating because her boyfriend tells her to!
She studies very hard for a written examination, but doesn't manage to score above the minimum grade! (sloth)

And my favourite, the test she doesn't pass: Girlfriend gets roofied, but oh-oh...she can't resist the charms of her milquetoast mopey Underlord boyfriend and they do it. (lust)

But it ends well, because "they" decide, well, meh, good enough, and they make the broad immortal anyway.

Now, to my recollection, Greek Mythology is rife with violence, rape, murder, incest, and general bad behaviour. The gods certainly wouldn't be testing people based on a belief system much, much more recent than them, that doesn't define their values anyway. So that didn't really make sense.

And, there was not a lot of smut in this book. I was expecting more smut. Our heroine does get roofied, and she does apparently do the no-pants dance with the hero, but it happens behind closed doors. And she refers to sex as "that" (ie: I don't want to do that; you'll have to earn that; I wasn't thinking about that) which is even more obnoxious than the 50 Shades of Grey "inner goddess" business.

AND THEN they reveal that Henry, Oh Whiny Love God of the Underworld, was a virgin. Despite the fact that he's spent the last hundred years auditioning nubile young things for the role of Wife.

There is only one character in this book who is even remotely trampy in the Greek tradition, and she gets punished big time for having two boyfriends on the go, and then, to add insult to injury, one of them dies. It's not even like she has both of them in the bed with her at the same time, nope, just dates two of them. But then one must die. Because, well...consequences are important.

The Goddess Test has taken a concept that is pretty awesome and washed out all the potential things that would make it awesome: the lust, the backstabbing, the greed, the lust, the incest and the violence. Those things are not things I want to happen to me in real life, or to anyone else for that matter, but I sure want to read about hot young gods doing them to each other.

Kate was annoyingly self-aware, made responsible decisions and accepted the consequences of her actions. She was about as un-Bella Swan as they come, but she was still basically just a soggy cardboard cutout. She gets half marks as a likeable Heroine.

Henry was boring and mopey and quasi-British, and I would have been AAALLLL over that when I was 14, so we'll give him a pass in the Hero category.

The rest of the characters were bland and forgettable and I'm really glad the author provided a cheat sheet at the back to explain which god or goddess each character represented, because I could not figure it out on my own and I resented being outsmarted by a book published for teenagers.

 And seriously, who would rename Zeus - Lightning bolt tossing, raping while disguised as pretty much every animal on the planet, child-killing, maiden impregnating Zeus - Walter. Walter. Walter is a fine name but it is not the name of the head god. Or whatever they call him, King God? Big God? Head God? Oldest God?

But, all things considered, I burned my dinner while I was reading this book because I couldn't put it down and stop to feed myself, so it held my attention. I will probably read the rest of the books, all nine hundred and eighty seven of them (I think there's going to be 3, but who knows? I smell a cash cow!), so I guess I didn't hate it.

I just hate myself.

I give this book: three stars out of five.