Monday, July 30, 2007

Today Would Be a Good Day to Bake a Cake

Monday, July 30, 2007
That's what ran through my mind first thing this morning. That was my first thought. Seriously. My alarm hadn't gone off yet, I opened my eyes and thought, "gee. today would be a great day to bake a cake."

I don't know what is wrong with me, because it's a) too hot to bake a cake b) I can't eat an entire cake (okay, I could, but I shouldn't) and c) today would be a good day to get out of bed and go to work.

Going back to work after four days of doing absolutely nothing but reading back issues of In Style Magazine and going to the poolside bar at Hotel Arts (swanky!) really is not a lot of fun.

Friday, July 27, 2007

Long Long Weekend!

Friday, July 27, 2007
So I took yesterday and today off, because I have an excess of vacation time to use before the end of summer. Instead of taking another 10 day vacation and doing something meaningful, I've opted for three long-long-weekends. Smart, right? Inexpensive, for sure, but I can't help but feel like I'm squandering my time off.

I don't have the resources right now to take off for a real holiday, so here I am, sitting in Bridgeland, drinking a slurpee and reading back issues of In Style magazine. I'm going to do some laundry, lie around by the swimming pool, and play with my hair. That's about it. And wait for the phone to ring. No deadlines, no projects, nada. Just sweet, sweet leisure time.

If only I could ignore that voice in the back of my head that seems to be demanding productivity, I could really get used to this lifestyle.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

I'm Still Alive!

Thursday, July 26, 2007
It's been awhile since I updated this here blag, I know. But to tell you the truth, I haven't been doing much. I've been in kind of a funk since Wednesday morning, as I read the Harry Potter book in one sitting, ending several years of suspense in one fell swoop. Now I've got nothing left to live for. I feel so empty. So alone.

Yeah, and today, not only was the ice cream shop across the street out of the Coconut flavour I was craving, but they also referred to me as "ma'am" several times. I must be getting all fine-liney and saggy or something. Gahd. I'm only 23, and I'm greying and bitching like I'm past my prime. Life, she is not fair.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

An Open Letter to the Mallrats at Chinook Centre

Saturday, July 21, 2007
Dear Teens Who Hang Out At The Mall (And Loiterers, Meanderers and Slow Walkers in General),

Listen up, yo. As far as I'm concerned, shopping is a contact sport. I do not appreciate you slowly walking in a ziggity-zag pattern up and down the aisles. I do not want to wait behind you in line for the washroom, where you plan to change clothes because your mom won't let you out of the house wearing what Amber and Dakota and Rosebud or whatever the hell your friends are named are wearing. If you are in my way and refuse to move, I will take you out of my way.

The rules of the mall are very similar to the rules of the road. Pass on the left. Signal when about to turn or come to an abrupt stop. It is unsafe to oogle cute Steve from the Sunglasses Hut or talk on your cellphone while in motion.

Follow these rules and I won't have to hurt you. Because if I proved anything today at the mall it is this: if I managed, while carrying three bags, to slip, ballet-flat clad right foot sliding three feet ahead into a near split, falling onto knees and then getting right back up without breaking pace or dropping anything- then surely you can simply keep moving in a foreward direction at a reasonable speed.

You have been warned.

Hugs and Kisses,
Meg

ps- And don't think I didn't hear you laughing at me. One day, you'll be old and prone to falling too, punks.

Coming to You (Partially) Live from Chez Chapmaneroniopolous!

Housesitting is weird.

It's kind of like having a vacation home, or a timeshare, but not really.

You hang out in a friend or relative or even stranger's house for a predetermined amount of time, use their stuff, sit on their furniture and amuse their pets. New houses make strange noises- older houses make even stranger noises- but now that I've figured out how to use the clock radio, I've eliminated the fear that the weird noise coming from the kitchen is either their dead neighbourlady or the token neighbourhood crazy, known here as the "Interloper". Nope, now I can go about reading my Canadian Literature in blissful ignorance of the dangers lurking outside the back door.

As soon as I finish this, I'm going to venture out to their local Starbucks. Meet some new Baristas, see how the Lattes taste this side of Centre Street. But I probably shouldn't wear my romper, eh? I don't want these new neighbour-types to think that I'm low-classy.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

Books, Beverley and B&E

Thursday, July 19, 2007
1. I have to finish Barney's Version by Mordecai Richler before, before, BEFORE I start reading Harry Potter 7. I HAVE to. Book Club in on the 30th, but I know that once I start Harry, I won't stop, and I no longer have weeks and weeks of leisure time to read a 791 page book. Thus, I will KEEL anyone who ruins the end of that book for me. I'm SERIOUS, Michael. DO NOT TELL ME. DO NOT SEND ME LINKS WITH SPOILERS. DO NOT HINT, INDICATE or TEASE.

Or that's it, we're off, broken up forever. This means YOU. (And by YOU, I mean, er, everyone)

2. They tore down the other ghetto rental unit on my street, making the Hendrix Rental that I live in the sole ghetto rental unit on our uppity yuppity street. I live in shame.

3. Apparently there was a B&E on the street behind ours (obviously not as classy), but the Police left me a nice note on the door asking us to call them. So I did, and they wanted to know if I had seen any shady characters or suspicious on-goings lately.

Uh, Officer, Dude, you're calling the Hendrix Rental House. We ARE the shady characters in this neighbourhood. I'm convinced that the man next door is watching us very, very carefully. It certainly doesn't help our situation when the downstairs folk are frequently moving couches in and out of their suite using the windows facing the front lawn.

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

I Miss You Already

Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Maybe it's the heavy doses of Nyquil talking, but I miss the Familia Chapmaneroniopolous already. Juan and Amanda, fly safe, etc. I'll just be hanging out in your house, looking at photo albums and sobbing quietly into your cushions.

Monday, July 16, 2007

Put Your Panties In The Freezer!

Monday, July 16, 2007
Was the advice I recieved on how to deal with the gross heat from Thanks, But I Didn't Really Ask You Guy today. Which then freaked me out, because was TBIDRAYG thinking about my underwear? And if so, did he have some weird freezer fetish?

People scare me. I'm never leaving my extremely hot with inadequate air ventilation and no air conditioning home again.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Stop Judging My Purchases!

Thursday, July 12, 2007
I am aware that the McNally Robinson Booksellers Guy and the Wee Book Inn Guy are judging my purchases. They are judging what section I browse through, what area of the store I linger in, whether or not I can pronounce properly authors like "Anais Nin" (can't) or whether I'm buying the Economist (not at this particular moment) or Glamour (guilty as charged).

I have had enough!

It is summer! I read intelligent works, honest! I do! But sometimes, a girl just wants to obtain her trashy Danielle Steele novels second-hand so it's not as big a deal when they fall into the pool! Sometimes all I can muster is flipping through a glossy fashion magazine, because it's so damn hot! I swear to you, when it returns to a liveable temperature, I will go back to Mordecai Richler or Haruki Murakami or just about anything else.

But for now, give me ChickLit, or give me death.

Also, please give me your phone number. You Judgey Bookselling Guys are pretty hot.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Thanks, Mom and Dad.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007
I just learned that my name (Megan, for those of you who might not be so quick on the uptake....)and the word 'margarine' have the same root.

The proof:

"The word margarine comes from the French margarique, derived from the Greek word margaron meaning pearl." CBC Website

"Megan: pronounced MEG-an, MEE-gan, MAY-gan. It is of Welsh origin. Variant of Margaret (Greek) 'pearl'" Baby Names Website

Basically, I'm to understand that I was named after a butter substitute that was only made legally available in Canada in 1948, and even then, it musn't be yellow-butter coloured, a ban that was only lifted in 1994?

Couldn't they have just named me "Spreadable at Fridge Temperature?"

Seasonally Conflicted

This happens to me every single year.

I spend February through May wishing for summer. Longing for summer. Praying that Dear Sweet Lord, it will be summer soon and I can lounge about in fuscia terry cloth drinking sangria and applying aloe to my sunburnt hide. Oh, how the long lazy days and their promise of relaxation drive me through the crappy Canadian winters!

But then in Mid-July, when the Autumn fashion lines start to hit the stores, when it's been hot for a month with little reprive and I'm forced to choose between stifiling outdoor heat and suffocating indoor heat, all the while wedging my feet into strappy sandals that give me blisters and trying to find a top that won't expose my random tan lines.

Then I wish for Summer to end, and Fall to start, so I can cozy up with a sweater but still enjoy the sunshine after 5:00pm.

I guess I'm just never satisfied, am I?

Monday, July 09, 2007

So, How 'Bout Those Riders?

Monday, July 09, 2007
Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, in less than 24 hours- I will have watched Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. I will have you know that I failed in my elaborate plan to read the book again before I watched the movie- too busy living and sticking my foot in my mouth, you know how it is. But I'm very, very, very excited.

Did I mention that I'm excited?

EXCITED!

Also, full of smug joy over the 41-point TROMPING that the Stamps suffered at the hands of my Riders this weekend. Hah! Stam-pathetic.

Sunday, July 08, 2007

Conversation Topics to Avoid When Trying To Impress or Woo Someone

Sunday, July 08, 2007
A few things I have learned through many, many, many awkward encounters:

1. "My Dad loved his fish more than he loved me, so I killed them".

This one is pretty self-explanatory. This indicates to your conversational partner that you are psychotic and have high emotional needs. And you will probably kill their pet sometime in the near future, should you become romantically involved and they indicate a preference towards said pet.

2. "I'm writing a book about the psychotic people I've dated".

This is seriously a killer should you actually be ON a date. Because then the conversation will naturally progress to the crazy stories one has about the weirdos they may have dated. And then you just look like a loser magnet, and no one wants to share a peanut butter sandwich with a loser magnet. Nope. No one.

3. "I tried to iron my shirt while I was wearing it. Can you tell?"

Um...yeah. I've got mad ironing skills.

4. "My mom made this wine. It goes down faster than a homesick gopher!"

This doesn't make you sound sophisticated OR quirky. No, you just sound like a home-brew-swilling hick. Move on to some witty commentary about global warming or the latest art house film release. Don't talk about home-brew. Also, don't talk about how you know a humane way to trap gophers. All conversations involving gophers should generally be avoided.

5. "I have no social life, so, um, I'm pretty much free..."

No frigging wonder.


Also to be avoided? Blogging when one has drank a glass shy of an entire bottle of home-brew that their Mom made and two beers. I apologize for any grammatical errors.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Hairspray'd!

Thursday, July 05, 2007
Oh, the freedom of having no dependants, no obligations and a lazy summer evening. Yesterday, at precisely 3:40ish, I learned of an advance screening of the movie Hairspray, to take place that evening at 7:00.

Because I don't have children, or pets, a domestic partner or demanding hobbies of any kind, I am free to blow off an evening of sitting in a sweltering house in favour of seeing a movie a full 2 weeks before anyone else.

And it rocked. The AC was on high, the diet coke was cold, and the movie was full of camp, ratted out hair and an adorably chubby dancing girl. Oh, and some racial politics for fun. And a cross-dressing John Travolta.

And Christopher Walken. Oh, Christopher Walken. Sigh.

Wednesday, July 04, 2007

Hogwarts-Ho!

Wednesday, July 04, 2007
Squee!

So, guess who will be basking in an air conditioned den of fantasy in 6 days time watching the new Harry Potter movie before the rest of the normal-people chumps get to see it?!

That's right.

ME!

But only because I have such hot connections, and my dear friends thought of me when offered ADVANCED SCREENING PASSES to this summer's hottest part-five-of-seven blockbuster!

Have I made the point that I get to see the movie before normal people do clear yet?

BECAUSE I GET TO SEE (slightly hottractive in a jailbaity kind of way) HARRY POTTER FIRST!

Yippee!

Still working on getting an advance copy of Book 7, though. I'll keep you posted.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007

I'm Impatient. Deal With It.

Tuesday, July 03, 2007
There really is no worse punishment in the world than waiting. Waiting to grow up. Waiting to move out. Waiting for the bloody phone to ring. Waiting for Chapters to ship my book club book (Barney's Version by Mordecai Richler, for those who may be interested. I assume that would be none of you). Waiting for the day to end. Waiting to fall asleep.

Waiting for the Culligan Man.

I can't handle it. I know that a watched pot never boils, etc, but come on.

Ring that phone.

Monday, July 02, 2007

An Open Letter to the Whistle-Blowing Child on My Street

Monday, July 02, 2007
Okay, Child.

I understand that it is your right- your well deserved right- to get up and run around in the summertime and eat popsicles and draw sidewalk chalk masterpieces in front of my house. Don't get me wrong- I realise that I am a terrible person for what I am about to say, but that doesn't make it untrue.

Kid, I'm 23. I'm a single woman, with no intention of procreating at any time in the next ten years, possibly ever. I don't like you out of principle. You scare me. Looking at you is like gaping straight into the future- and looking at your parents, who probably haven't had an adult night on the town with adults and adult conversation and an inevitable trip to the adult-only watering hole? That crushes my soul. I'm not ready to spend my shoe budget on wet naps and swim lessons, and I feel that I am honest and well within MY rights here.

But I tolerate you. I like living on a street chock a block full of you tykes. I don't walk all over your chalk hopscotch, I enjoy the sounds of your laughter in the twilight, and I frequently yell at people that drive too fast down our street, out of genuine concern for your wellbeing.

But Child, I am not lying when I tell you that your whistle-blowing and screeching was NOT APPRECIATED before 9am on the MONDAY OF THE LONG WEEKEND HOLIDAY.

I'm hung over. I was up late. I'm a tired, grumpy bitch, okay?

Don't make me go yell at you, or even better yet, throw a raging kegger that keeps you up WAAAAY past your bedtime as a way to punish your negligent and likely exhausted parents, because they too are hungover and tired and really wanted to relax on this, the Canada Day Monday Holiday but can't becuase you are OUTSIDE, BLOWING a freaking WHISTLE.

Hugs and Kisses,

Bitter Old Meg Who Lives in the Hendrix Rental

Sunday, July 01, 2007

My 400th Post-iversary

Sunday, July 01, 2007
I never thought I'd get here. Surely my intensely short attention span would have wavered by now, but it appears that years and years of journalling and writing Dear Diaries has paid off with blog longevity in the long run.

Maybe not for the better, but eh. We do what we can, here in Meg In The City Land.

I sort of feel like I'm letting you guys down- that in the past few weeks, I've started to give you the impression that all I do these days is sit around and pine for Mr. Darcy, watch ABBA videos on You Tube and occasionally leave the house without showering.

Not that much more is happening, but out of fear of being dooced or never ever ever dating again, I keep a tight lid on the eternally frustrating/amusing/mundane life I lead. Google is an evil mistress, you know- and in the interest of keeping my reputation spot-free, I can't go into details about the terrible, terrible dates I've been on lately, or how I've become that girl who just doesn't call back- ever, in any situation, ever...or how I have a serious hate-on for certain baristas. No, alas and alack, I have been found out too many times, so I'm watching my back.

But just for now. I'm sure that within the next little while, after my Mister Darcy obsession wavers and my sunburn flares up and I'm cranky for lack of aloe, and I"ve had another cryptic dream about choosing the death of a hollywood heartthrob over the loss of a canadian sports team, I'll be back on my game.

Until then, friends, you're just going to have to live with song lyrics and you tube links. Because if I open my mouth now, I swear, the words aren't going to stop and then this blog will have to go away forever.

And ever and ever and ever.