Friday, December 31, 2010

Five Years of Blogging

Friday, December 31, 2010
Wow. I missed my five year blogiversary yesterday.

I remember when I started this blog. It came on the heels of another, long-forgotten blog, where I attempted to bitch anonymously about people in my life I liked or didn't like, as the case may be. Then someone asked me if I knew what a blog was and if I had one, and I promptly deleted old blog (god forbid people know what stupidity I was capable of late at night after several whatever-I-drank-in-2005s!) and started this baby.

And here we are.

In December of 2005, I was a tired University student. I sat on the couch in my parents' house, wearing a yellow bathrobe, eating corn pops and generally feeling sorry for myself. I was convinced that no one would ever love me, no one really liked me anyway, and that I'd never find a job. But I put on a brave front and carried on and sure enough. I found that I was wrong.

In December 2010, I'm a tired Arts Administrator. I'm sitting at my boyfriend fiance's computer desk in fleece reindeer pants, drinking coffee and generally feeling shocked that half a decade has passed in the blink of an eye. I found someone who loves me, and someone I love, and lo! It's even the same person. But I learned that love isn't a magical band-aid. It doesn't fix everything. I have friends - not as many as I'd like to have, not as many as I had in 2005, but I wouldn't trade them for the world. I've found many jobs. I've lost a couple of them. I'm working on not letting what I do for a living determine what I do with my life - even if what I do for a living is pretty rad. And I continue to put on a brave front, despite some really shitty internal monologue some of the time, and carry on.

Maybe this year I'll figure it all out and it'll be magical, but I somehow doubt it. What it will be is another year that I'm blessed with. Fingers crossed, anyway.

My goal this year is to still be employed in the same place on January 1, 2012.

My other goal is to be happier. Find happiness. Make happiness. Work on my attitude and my perspective. I have so many reasons to be happy. I'm going to work on creating things to look forward to, things to work towards.

Obviously one of those things is marrying Gary, and while I am not BURSTING with excitement, as some people have remarked on, I am quietly and consistently simmering with joy on the back burner! We're planning to be engaged for 18 months or so - that's a long time to BURST WITH EXCITEMENT! I'm sure I'll get there.

And finally, in 2011, I'm going to actually DO IT, not just think about it and talk about it and obsess about it. Whatever that IT is.

Happy New Year. Thanks for reading.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010


Wednesday, December 29, 2010
nothing to see here. I posted on the wrong blog there for a second.

*whistles casually*

Monday, December 27, 2010

every single thing

Monday, December 27, 2010
Either my parents are really, super ecstatic that they've finally managed to convince someone to marry me, or they just are wicked awesome, or both. I somehow managed to receive every single item on my Christmas wishlist.

Except for the diamond stud earrings, but to be honest, I didn't actually write that down anywhere, I just sort of aimlessly hinted by quoting the Spence Diamond commercials for a few weeks hoping it would get my message across.

But if I got everything else on my list, you know what that means.

That's right. In addition to black socks, green placemats, a trivet, a wristwatch and that Mad Men book, a few mean rounds of trivial pursuit, Magi's Turban cookies and an hour-long singalong...

On Christmas morning, my Dad nearly killed me by hoisting a 25 pound KitchenAid mixer on my lap.

I'm so incredibly spoiled.

Friday, December 24, 2010

On Baby, it's Cold Outside and Date Rape

Friday, December 24, 2010
Baby, it's Cold Outside is one of my favourite Christmas songs. I love tracking down different versions. It's got a vintage, tongue-in-cheek sass that I just love.

But on more than one occasion this year, I've seen blog comments, tweets and posts from people who don't like it because they think it's about date rape.

Okay, fair enough. I can see how one could come to that conclusion. Dude pleads with his lady to stick around, plys her with booze, some implied hair-messing takes place. Obviously, if she doesn't go home right now, one thing will lead to another.

But really.

Who hasn't been out with or over at someone's place and not wanted to leave? And then put on that whole, 'Oh, but I should really go' (BEDROOM EYES SAY I REALLY WANT TO STAY) gig? Particularly around Christmas, when we're all drinking just a little bit more than usual and in all kinds of crazy romantic wistful nostalgic moods?

Maybe I'm naive, maybe it's my prairie sensibilities that somewhere inside say, 'Lady, it's dark, probably -40, there are weirdos out there in the streets, if you're walking your Maiden Aunt would probably prefer you to stay inside where it's safe anyway!'

Maybe it's the fact that I don't want to make awful, nasty connections with one of my favourite Christmassy things. I'm kind of protective of my personal Christmas traditions and favourites. But I don't buy it. In any other instance, I'd probably say yeah, consent was certainly not given...but Baby. It's bad out there.

Thursday, December 23, 2010

Oh, the things she could bake!

Thursday, December 23, 2010
Oh the pizzas, the cookies,
The flatbreads and cakes

The wonderful, tastyful, things she could bake!

Delecate biscuits and cinnamon buns
Adding dry to the wet while the mixer still runs!
The dough hook would work, no reason to knead
The shiny appliance - a trusty cookery steed.

The appliance is heavy, the countertop small
and her hips would regret it if she ate it all..

Marshmallows, mereingue, sturdy cheesecake -
But oh! The wonderful, tastyful, things she could bake!

Fresh bread, mashed potatoes, pastry shaped like a braid...

If only Megan had her very own KitchenAid.

Thursday, December 09, 2010

Her heart grew three sizes that day

Thursday, December 09, 2010
I can't believe I'm going to admit this. And that I'm going to go all post-epiphany Grinch on you, but here it is.

I haven't always loved Christmas. Usually I'm so burned out, working in an industry where the FAMILY HOLIDAY SHOW/PRODUCTION/ETC is a really big project (read: opportunity to earn enough cash to pay for the rest of the more ambitious 'high art' projects of the year) and the pressure is high.

Last year come December 24, I swear to god, I was going to kill anyone who danced anywhere near my head with sugarplum.

This year we're dark at Christmas. That means no show. Which means not a lull, necessarily, but definitely a pause to gather our professional thoughts and get things ready to go for our January 6th gallery opening. My urge to drink a lot is pretty much minimal. It's nice. My liver rejoices.

What I have always loved about Christmas, despite angsty years of exams/work insecurity/overwork/low incomes is the presents. I'm a material person. I show love through receiving gifts.

I have always looked forward to what was in the packages. For me. Yes, I love giving gifts and shopping for gifts and generosity etc, but I really love getting presents.

This year, I put tea towels and a cutting board on my Christmas list. (AND A KITCHENAID MIXER HINT HINT HINT) I was stumped, frankly. I appear to have, in fact, everything I want. And need. Except a KitchenAid mixer, but really, I know that's out of the budget so I'll not be disappointed when I don't get one. I promise.

This year I'm really looking forward to Christmas, but the packages, ribbons, bows, festival of gifts bit is totally in the background.

I am looking forward to kicking back with my family. Enjoying a glass of wine or rum. Many many belly laughs. Some kisses in the snow. Good food. And relaxing.

Monday, December 06, 2010

How to have friends over for dinner without really trying

Monday, December 06, 2010
1. Text friend at 3:00 pm inviting him over for dinner at 6:00 pm. Decide there is enough of what you were already planning to make to feed one more person and stop worrying.
2. Rejoice over the fact that your awesome boyfriend, er, fiance, er, life partner cleaned the kitchen the day before while you gossiped with a girlfriend at her house. Take short nap.
3. Wipe down counters. Make cookie dough. Freeze half so you don't eat 54 cookies after dinner. Preheat oven to cookie temperature.
4. Put pre-packaged 'fresh' pasta into pyrex dish. This is key. Do not bake it in the packaging even though it says you can. Have at least a little class. Cover with jarred pasta sauce and *bonus* shredded mozzarella. Cover with foil.
5. Sit down and relax. 10 minutes before guest is to arrive, throw bagged salad into bowl. Add some fruit and some nuts you found in the cupboard. Put in fridge. Put cookies into oven.
6. Welcome guest who brought wine. Congratulations, your house smells like delicious cookies. How welcoming. Take cookies out of oven. Put pasta in oven. Make oil and vinegar dressing for salad. Drink one bottle of wine. Eat.
7. Relax. Drink second bottle of wine. Be pleased with yourself for passing off prepackaged food as home cooking. It's not like he was going to make anything better on his own, anyway.

Friday, November 26, 2010

I am lame

Friday, November 26, 2010
So....someone forgot their laptop charging cable in a Travelodge in Southern California and as such, has limited access to a computer outside of office hours. I can crash Gary's Command Centre if I can manage to tear his attention away from his excrutiatingly complex battlefield star neptune calculating space commanders game, but that takes trickery.
So for those of you that are anxiously awaiting a gushing Proposal Story, I'm sorry. Call or email me and I'll share all the gory details. Well, the ones I can remember. I was more than a half bottle of Pinot and three martinis in by the time Gary got down on one knee. Nothin' but class.
At any rate, I have recently realized that I am a super lame-o homebody. I have a friend's birthday party to go to this evening, and it's ON THE STREET WE LIVE ON, and I really just want to go home and put on some polar fleece and eat takeout and watch old episodes of Gossip Girl.
But no. No, I will not do that. I will sack up in something other than fleecy delights and go to the party. Even if it means an awkward encounter with someone I dated briefly seconds before I met Gary that I used the 'I'm TOTALLY not ready for a relationship but I swear I'll call you when the time comes' line on.

Monday, November 22, 2010

The short version

Monday, November 22, 2010

He asked. I said yes. Cue the happily ever after.

(Wait. Now I have to plan a wedding...yikes!)!

Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Fears, Passion.

Wednesday, November 10, 2010
The other day I was sitting at my desk, thinking. I do this a lot, but usually they are thoughts of the should I use a comma here or why isn't that centre aligned variety.

I was sitting there, drinking a tea, staring at nothing, and thinking about how long it's been since I was truly, mind-blowingly passionate about something.

I love my job. I love what I do, I believe in what our organization does and aims to achieve. I love my boss, my coworkers, and the tasks on my to do list.

I have hobbies I enjoy, I'm working hard to lose weight and love myself, and I'm in love with someone pretty cool, who shares my "atrocious taste in TV" and doesn't mind that my idea of fun on a Tuesday is sitting on the couch in my pj's, reading smutty books or watching BBC Sci-fi about a Vampire, a Werewolf and a Ghost that live in a house together.

It's actually pretty simple to keep me happy, when I admit to myself that despite pressure I feel from god knows where (my friends? some belief I have about what life should be like when you're 26? I don't know), going to the bar or a party every night would (and has) left me feeling empty. Like a dead battery.

But it's been awhile since I felt aflame with passion for something - until I started NaNoWriMo.

It's a novel-writing contest. There are no prizes, only bragging rights. Write 50,000 words in November - as simple as that.

So I sit at my laptop and churn out word after word. I'm doing quite well, past the 10K mark that usually freaks me out.

But last night I couldn't do it. I couldn't get past the idea that what I was writing was a giant piece of wasted time and energy. That all this effort was ever going to amount to was pages and pages of crap.

I guess that's the point. First drafts are crappy. I've never written a novel before.

You know when you think about what type of work would make you truly happy? I am happy at my job, but when I imagine my fantasy world, I'm always a writer. A novelist. I work from home, or from cafes, going to meetings, eavesdropping in line at the grocery store and turning those interactions into minor characters. I dream about going to bookshops and watching as people flip through something I created, out of nothing. I dream about wearing big thick sweaters and working late into the night in a fit of creative spark and drinking lots of tea.

But I am so scared. I'm scared that I'm actually doing it now, I'm writing a book, and it is awful, and in 30 days and 50,000 words, that dream up there will be gone forever.

And then what will I do?

Monday, November 08, 2010

On a Boat

Monday, November 08, 2010
We're going on vacation in exactly ten days, and it's about the only thing pulling me through Headache: Day 7, The Pain Never Ends.

We're staying on the Queen Mary.

We're going to eat mexican food.

We're going to go to an aquarium.

We're going to not be in Calgary.

Thursday, October 28, 2010

I guess they call this growing up?

Thursday, October 28, 2010
There are a lot of things I used to do *cough*still do*cough* that I thought were really clever, but actually just make me an asshole. Because I'm preparing for The Year of Shame, where I will attempt to shame myself and others out of their bad habits and behaviours, it's time to fess up.
1. Correcting grammar and spelling on menus, signs and posters with a sharpie. This is neither original nor polite. Plus, spending most of a 40 hour work week for the last five years correcting other people's grammar kind of sucks the joy out of it.
2. Using coffee mugs or wearing things with either independent radio station logos OR local indie rock band logos on them when I don't listen to either. Or donate money to their fundraisers. I just want people to think I listen to CJSW because it's the cool thing to do. Apparently the fact that I listen to the Classic Rock station or the Glee soundtrack when left to my own devices is shameful enough to make me think it's okay to LIE.
3. Reading books by, say, Naomi Klein and then taking every single opportunity possible to reference them, proving to people that I've read them. Uh, no one cares that I've been trying to impress them by reading impressive shit.
4. Stocking my office bookshelves with back-issues of The Walrus, Mental Floss, Adbusters, Maison Neuve...etc...because I want the people I work with to think I do something other than read Glamour. Oddly enough, this is sort of only half applicable because in purchasing those magazines, I've contributed to keeping them afloat. Also, sometimes I get bored and flip through them and realize that they are all awesome publications. So...jury's still out on this.
5. I occasionally do not recycle. Make it even the SLIGHTEST bit difficult for me when I'm in a bad mood and that newspaper is going in the trash can. Sorry, Earth.
6. Ordering high-maintenance and annoying drinks at Starbucks, because I thought a $6 cup of coffee was a status symbol and that making some poor barista's morning just a little more difficult meant that I had power. Whatever. Extra hot, no foam, three shots - now I just want some damn coffee.

Monday, October 18, 2010

On Dan Humphrey

Monday, October 18, 2010
Recently I have become somewhat obsessed with watching old episodes of Gossip Girl. I am sort of ashamed that I enjoy a show about outrageously privileged teenagers so much, but the truth is - I don't think this is a show about teenagers FOR teenagers. Like the film 'Easy A', this is a show about teenagers for people who USED to be teenagers. And now either want to re-live their glory days or chuckle inwardly about the hilarity of their mistakes.

Case in point, one Dan 'Lonely Boy' Humphrey.

Dan Humphrey is 2002 Megan's IDEAL boy. He's sensitive. He's dark and gangly. His dad is a former rockstar who now is somehow associated with a gallery. He has a good relationship with his sister. He's sensitive. He's a poet. He's non-threatening, because... He's probably gay.

See? Ideal.

But the problem with 2002 Megan's (and 2004 Megan, and 2005 Megan, 2006 Megan, and even early 2007 Megan) Ideal Boyfriend is, aside from the fact that he probably is gay, is that he is a DOUCHE.

Lonely Boy up there is going to suck 2002 Megan DRY. He's going to be all tortured and soulful and look at her with those puppy-dog eyes, and he's going to write long, wistful poems and short stories for her and about her, and gaaahd, 2002 Megan is going to love it.

Until he sleeps with her former best friend/current nemesis EVEN THOUGH he told you he thought that sex was SPECIAL (obvs. just to get into her pants) and then she realizes that he copied all of his stupid poems word-for-word from the works of an author who ISN'T EVEN OBSCURE. Douche.

But he talks about things other than hockey and boobs. He really seems to care. So she'll let it slide. Again.

Dan Humphrey, and his swoony ways, is what young women who are vaguely uncomfortable in their skin and who are probably just a little bit smarter than most of their high school friends but aren't comfortable with that either THINK they want.

Thank god most of them come to their senses. The other ones, might take them some time but they'll get there eventually. Even if it means watching Teen Soap Operas in their spare time to help them figure shit out.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Engagement Chicken

Thursday, October 14, 2010
Several years ago, Glamour Magazine published a recipe for roasted chicken. As internet legend has it, several Glamour staff members made this chicken and shortly thereafter, their boyfriends proposed - so the magazine dubbed it "Engagement Chicken" and *swears* that if you make it, it'll make your guy pop the question.




Google 'Engagement Chicken' and you'll find thousands of forum posts, blog entries and comments from women who are trying it - and a good chunk of them swear that it worked. They made the chicken. Ring landed on their finger. The End. The discussions are wild, actually. The number of poor, unsuspecting men that have come home from a hard day at work to find the Engagement Chicken lurking on the dinner table with a hearty side of expectations and a cold, cold dish of resentment for dessert if it doesn't work is staggering.

I mean, honestly. Do you really think a chicken is going to make your boyfriend decide he wants to spend the rest of his life with you?

Well, folks, I tried this Engagement Chicken recipe.


And the only thing hanging out on my left hand is a papercut.

Last night we had Slightly Embittered Long-Term Commitment I'm Not Getting Any Younger Shepard's Pie for dinner.

And it was pretty tasty, I might add.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010

Reasons for and against an ereader

Tuesday, October 12, 2010
So I'm thinking about buying myself a fancy new ereader. The fact that I'm now blogging about it means that it's a pretty sure deal, but I need to account for a few holiday gifts, etc before I spend $150 on a gadget for myself.


1. It's light. My purse is HEAVY. Usually because there's a paperback or two kicking around in it.

2. It's packable. I always take two or three or nine books on any trip longer than overnight. This would be a definite plus, and cut down on my seriously heavy luggage.

3. It's high-tech and appeals to my materialistic GenY nature. GIMME!

4. I could read things like...well, this:


in public without covering it with an alternative dust jacket or hiding.


1. I'd be reading nothing but Kilted, Time-Travelling, Bodice-Ripping Historical trash, 24 hours a day, because if no one can tell that it's Tolstoy I'm reading, what in God's name is the point of reading Tolstoy?!

Monday, October 11, 2010


Monday, October 11, 2010
I'm thankful for so much.

For this guy. Who looks at me like this, makes me feel like this every day, not just when I'm wearing a $300 dress and more rouge than befits a lady.

For parents who encourage me to learn, to grow, to seek new challenges and new opportunities, but provide incredible support, comfort and security when those opportunities are just too challenging. And who have a hell of a lot of fun.

For a brother who reminds me that we all grow up in different ways, who continually teaches me to develop my side of an argument carefully and with purpose and yet, to keep an open mind, and who reminds me to take a deep breath and chill out sometimes.

For the family I was born into, nutty and wacky and smart and genuine. For the family who has welcomed me in, generous, supportive and non-judgmental. For the friends who became the family that I chose, hilarious, brilliant and wickedly fun.

For the ability to express myself freely and strongly, for the ability to hold my tongue, and the sense to know which one to choose.

Sunday, October 03, 2010

The feeling you're describing is SHAME

Sunday, October 03, 2010
I can't be the only person who suddenly becomes really, really uncomfortable when Mr. Shue starts singing on Glee.

It's like a really awkward cross between titillated and embarrassed. Sort of like the first time I read that VC Andrews novel I found in Grandma D's house. Yeah, pretty much just like that, except now I can't look away and the image and soundtrack is forever seared into my mind.

Turning off those Flowers in the Attic kids and their weirdo triple-deep incest was, comparatively, quite easy.

I just replaced them with years and years of Highland-themed Harlequin novels and teenage vampire smut.

But Mr. Shue? Nope. The dark, tingly, icky feeling in my stomach will probably never go away.

Thanks, TV. Maybe next week I'll just watch Sister Wives instead.

Sunday, September 26, 2010

Things that really annoy me

Sunday, September 26, 2010
When people take the elevator DOWN two floors.

Really snotty teenage baristas. This is your job. It won't always be your job, and you might feel like you're better than it, but dude, suck it up. It pays the bills. I smelled like deep fryer grease and missed almost every party from 1999-2003. Also, listen to me when I order my latte using the ordering convention your company invented. I know I'm ordering it properly. I've been well trained in ordering drinks at Starbucks. I'm trying to make it easier for you, so stop siiiiighing and giving me your crap attitude.

Dirty public washrooms. I have become that person who does complain to the staff when the restroom is in disarray. I'm sure the dude working in the Men's Department in the Bay really didn't give a frog when I told him the Ladies' was a mess, but hey. Who do you think spends most of the money on Dockers and Tommy Bahama sweaters in the Men's Department in the Bay anyway? Women. Clean the damn washroom.

Public laundry facilities. Who the hell thought it was cool to put something oily, dirty and gross in the dryers in our building? Yuck. Thank god I noticed before I tossed my towels in.

Air Canada flights from Toronto to Calgary.

Saturday, September 25, 2010

Our love matures, like a fine wine.

Saturday, September 25, 2010
Guys, MeganFest 2010 is AWESOME.

Not awesome in a way that's like, I want every day to be like this!, but awesome in the same way that Christmas is. It's an annual event, one to look forward to, one that is good for the soul but also, if it happened every day, we would be hollow, grumpy, sugar-coma bitches and no good could possibly come from that which we previously cherished.

It's not that I don't miss Gary, it's that I'm really enjoying having my own space. When you share a 640 square foot apartment with someone, you really lose any and all personal space. I can see him or hear him or sense his presence even if I'm in the bathroom and he's hanging out in the storage room, for whatever weird reason. It is good that I am not a nervous pee-er, because there is no getting around that. The walls - they are thin.

Our stuff overlaps, we step on each other, and there is never enough counter space, but we love each other and we're not married so we kind of have to be, at a bare minimum, nice to each other all the time.

Not having him around is kind of refreshing. There's no one to scowl at me when I dump the entire contents of my purse on the coffee table and then leave it there. There's no one judging me for eating toast for dinner. Or not having dinner at all, and spending my dinner money on pedicures and popcorn and a Julia Roberts movie.

Damn, I love Julia Roberts. Something about her makes even the most pretentious, self-serving first-world-problems schlock appealing. Maybe she's the devil. It's the only logical explanation.

But I do miss him around an hour before bedtime, when we're usually curled up on the same end of the couch or hanging out, giving each other mutual foot massages and nice compliments and watching vampire trash on TV.

When Gary and I had been dating for about three months, he left town for 18 days to go visit his Dad in Germany. Oh my lord, that was the longest not-quite-three-weeks of my life. I missed him with every fibre of my being. My soul hurt. I could barely breathe, I missed him so much.

I went over to his apartment (now our apartment) to water his plants and I noticed that he'd left a previously worn t-shirt on the floor. I picked it up and (then did the most repulsive thing ever) sniffed it. I burst into tears because obviously it smelled like him and OHHH GAAAARRRRYYY I MIIIIISSSSSS YYYOOOOUUUUU.

Two and a half years later, we fast forward to tonight. I'm feeling a little sentimental, so I rifled through his dresser and pulled out one of his super-soft man tshirts to sleep in. Because, you know, it'll smell like him and be the second best thing to snuggling.

We've been living together for almost two years now. We use the same laundry detergent. Sadly, his tshirt doesn't smell like him. It smells like my clean tshirts. Which is just sort of like cottony clean. Pleasant, but not really what I was going for.

I suppose I could go sniff his laundry, but dudes. That is SERIOUSLY UNAPPEALING. I'm in love with this man, but smell his laundry? Oh, god no. I'd like to stay in love, thanks.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

Turn your speakers on

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The last 30 seconds or so is almost an exact play-by-play of one of my fantasies.

Did I tell you that I was recently invited to participate in a Flash Mob? Well, pretty much everyone I know, work with, have worked with or will work with ever was invited. I didn't say yes, because the time commitment was intense, I had some personal reasons and I've got a pretty busy schedule this month. Those last 4 seasons of Highlander aren't going to watch themselves.

Monday, September 20, 2010

4-Day MeganFest

Monday, September 20, 2010
Gary and I have been together for 916 days, living together for over half of that, and I have never spent a night alone in our apartment.

Until now. Gary is heading out of town this weekend for a convention, and I am going to be all by my sweet self from Thursday morning until Sunday night. Yes, I'll miss him, but duuuuudes. I am so totally going to have a Meganpalooza!

So far, I have the typical girl's weekend activities planned - a mani/pedi, brunch, a rom-com marathon while eating Indian takeout on the couch in my bathrobe. I plan on demolishing at least one bottle of cheap fruit-flavoured white wine, drunk texting G how much I luuuuffffff him and that he'd better not be accepting any inappropriate wagers of the other-lady-fraternizing-variety, and that yes, I am at home in my bathrobe eating Butter Chicken directly from the container, watching Love Actually on his precious 92 inch screen with surround sound turned OFF. Girlie weekend five!

(Actually, why would I ever watch something without surround sound when I could watch it with surround sound? That's just stupid.)

So if you'd like to join me in my Bachelorette Weekend bliss, I suggest that you, too, ship your partner off to some industry-specific conference in Georgia for the weekend. Or come by my place. The Arbour Mist is already in the fridge.

Wednesday, September 15, 2010

Ten Thousand

Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Everyone has those pie in the sky, one day dreams. We call them goals, we call them retirement plans, we call them what I'll do on Mat Leave. I made a ridiculous list of them, and one of them that has been weighing so heavily on me in the last few months is to write ten thousand words of fiction.

I write all the time. You read it here. You might read it there. Maybe you stalk me and read every single press release, media advisory, brochure, annual report, and ad I produce. I don't know how many thousands upon thousands of words I write in a year, but I'm betting it's way up there. But never, ever, ever have I been able to sit down and write ten thousand words of fiction (and no, I don't mean in one sitting, though that would be rad). Papers, reports, whatever, yes - but fiction? I can't bust past a thousand words, no matter what I do.

Yeah. So I set out to write ten thousand words of fiction. And every single bloody time I got started, I wrote and wrote and came up with a clever ending and voila! Seven hundred and eighty words. Nine-fourteen. Twelve hundred and three, once.


So I decided that this year, I was going to do it. This summer. Now. Summer never really arrived, and I didn't get down to writing as much as I wanted, but I got a good start.

And then, five short minutes ago, I was poking around on my hard drive, checking out old reports and projects I'd done in University.

What ho!

A short story. A piece of detective fiction, actually. Written in 2005. In about three hours over two extra large non-fat hazlenut lattes at the Second Cup on 10th Street and 5th Avenue.

Ten thousand and fourty-six words long.

For years, I've been stumbling. Hitting my head against my desk. Wailing and moaning about OH GOD, I CAN'T. I SIMPLY CANNOT WRITE ANYTHING LONGER THAN A LONG BLOG POST! Woe! My dreams shall never come true!

And I'd done it already.

Damn it. Now what am I going to do with my life's only true, long-lasting ambition? I've got no more solid excuses.

And no. You can't read it. Because I used real-life people I know as the characters and I don't really want to share with you who I killed off. And how. You might get suspicious.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Counting down

Monday, September 13, 2010
I love Fall. It's no secret that September through December are my favourite months - minus November, whose whole purpose is to wear black clothing and slouchy hats, drink cheap Cab Sav, hang around in coffee shops and mope about in an increasingly annoying arty fashion. But to tell you the truth, I kind of love that, too.
Fall is great. The colours suit my skin tone better, the clothing is generally less skanky, and I like being cozy. I adore fall food - roasts, casseroles, apple pies and crisps. I like the temperature change, the darker evenings and football games.
But most of all, I love how there is an almost endless parade of things to look forward to.
I don't do well when I have nothing to look forward to. And by nothing, I mean, no event or occurance in the four week future. After summer vacation is always really tough for me - I've taken holidays in mid June a few times and always come back feeling a bit depressed. July and August are a rare treat, yes, but with little to look forward to, I easily slide into mild depression.
That's why the fall months are so great. September is always really busy - we celebrate an anniversary of sorts, there's often a lot of parties, Arts Days, and new fall clothes! October has Thanksgiving and Halloween...November, see above. December is holiday parties, seasonal events, and Christmas and New Years.
This year, I've also got a four-day Megan Fest when Gary goes to a convention in Atlanta. I've got a mini-break planned for Thanksgiving weekend,a weekend escape to Banff in the works, and the makings of a fabulous last-minute vacay in November. And then...
So much to look forward to! I can't wait!

Wednesday, September 08, 2010

And now you're wondering if I mean you, aren't you?

Wednesday, September 08, 2010
There are two people on my list of facebook friends who, whenever their photo, name, or facebook activity pops up, I am compelled to mutter Dumbass under my breath.
Perhaps I should un-friend these folks if my opinion of them is so low. But guys. The amusement! The amount of sheer, at-least-I'm-better-than-someone joy I get from judging these people for but a few seconds would be surely missed. I mean, isn't that why God created dumbasses in the first place? Because as bad of a day as I may be having, no matter how many times I've tried to fix my dropped hem with the stapler and managed to run that dang sharp pokey thing, aka, the staple, through my hand (EVERY TIME!), hey. At least I can sleep at night knowing that things could be worse.
I mean, please. As if anyone clicks on my profile and mutters Dumbass. Sure, Pretentious Bitch, but not Dumbass. And I certainly know which side of THAT fence I'd rather be on.

Wednesday, September 01, 2010

here's to the girls

Wednesday, September 01, 2010
Someone in my office threw me the Vulcan Salute this afternoon as we passed in the hall.
My immediate instinct was to reciprocate. But my hands were full.
Then I got to thinking about it. This is someone who works many floors above me who I interact with perhaps twice every three months. This person is - well, pleasant isn't the word, because that brings forth general impressions of optimism and happiness. No, he's not so much pleasant as friendly. But in a dark way. Dark friendly. I can totally get behind having casual, 8-times-a-year dark friendly encounters with this colleague.
But if I tossed him a Vulcan Salute, dude. We'd be workplace BFFs, by default. We'd have to start lunching together. Or whatever the self-perpetuated-outcast-by-society trekkie emo equivalent of lunching is. I'm not sure I'm up for that kind of commitment. I like where we're going with our dark friendly working relationship.
Back at my desk, I realize I'm overly concerned about this. Maybe I really do need a new workplace BFF who understands the call of scifi.
Or, perhaps I just need to stop wearing low-cut tops to the office.

Tuesday, August 31, 2010

The world needs more Grandmas

Tuesday, August 31, 2010
My Grandma Clara wants me to enter a writing contest.
Not just any writing contest, but the CBC Literary Awards.
Of course, this is preposterous. I love writing. I love words. I even love typing. I keep a giant stack of scrap paper stapled together in my drawer at work for one purpose only - to write out those thoughts that chase me around and around. I have notebooks and computer files and two freaking blogs. But I know better. I write, but I'm not a writer.
I am not entering the CBC Literary Awards.
Whether I enter or not, whether I pull together some higgledy piggledy portfolio of what I consider to be my "best work" or not, this is beside the point. The point? Just knowing that my Grandma has so much faith in me, and loves me so much, and thinks I'm brilliant and special - that's award enough.
This might be the problem with today's kids, guys. Parents are supposed to raise you. They make a decent adult out of the clay of childhood. They teach you the tough lessons, and stay up with you at night when you're sick, and ground you for reasons beyond your comprehension. It's love, but it's hard, and sometimes, you hate each other. And that is the way it's supposed to be. Parents are loving and encouraging and positive, sure, but there is inherent responsibility in making sure your precious prince or princess becomes a responsible, grounded human.
Somewhere along the way, we all became special princesses with a shoebox full of participation ribbons and gold stars for effort and massive applause for merely existing.
Parents ground us, teach us, stretch us when we don't want to be stretched and push even when it would be so much easier to give up. Learn from those mistakes. Take responsibility for your actions. Seize the consequences.
And grandparents? They exist to tell you how freaking fantastic you are. That you, to them, are one hundred percent perfection.
It's a balance.
And I know that my own beloved Mom and Dad will do a FABULOUS job of being grandparents. Because they are kick-ass parents. I just hope I can rise to the occasion.
If not, maybe someday I'll win a CBC Literary Award for my scandalous tell-all, "How I Effed up My Child in Three Easy Steps."

Thursday, August 12, 2010

Thursdays Unplugged

Thursday, August 12, 2010
As I have told you and everyone else in my life sphere, when they ask me what I thought of last night's episode of The Bachelor, Gary and I don't have any kind of TV signal, service or package. No cable, no satellite, no PRV.
However, we are of the yaaaar, internet persuasion and like to watch our TV on DVD. We have the bad habit of watching shows that have been or are about the be cancelled. We like it that way - we know how many episodes we're signing up for. (though some, like Firefly and Veronica Mars, shouldn't have been cancelled in the first place!)
But this means that we often fall into the rut/habit/routine of watching an episode of the same TV show every night for weeks on end. I have watched 31 episodes of Highlander since we returned from vacation at the beginning of July. This is not healthy. I often find myself screaming things like "I AM DUNCAN MACLEOD!" and "THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!!!!!" and hitting Gary with a pool noodle.
Oh, you think I'm joking?
Anyway, we've decided that maybe this isn't the best habit to get into. So tonight we're attempting the first Thursday Unplugged. No projector, no tv-on-dvd, no internet, no computers. We're going to eat hamburgers (because I forgot to put dinner in the crockpot AGAIN) and play chess.
I anticipate failure. Can we really go a full evening with no backlit screens to keep us company? What on God's green earth are we going to talk about?
And for the record, reenacting our favourite episodes doesn't count as watching them. FYI.

Monday, August 09, 2010

Facebook updates I don't have the stones for

Monday, August 09, 2010
Meg thinks you haven't been dating long enough to get married.

Meg wonders if you realize that the privacy settings on your profile are set to "public".

Meg thinks you are going to have one hella ugly baby. Eeeesh.

Meg wishes that people that aren't her would stop getting engaged.

On the other hand, Meg cannot BELIEVE that you're still not engaged yet. What, hasn't it been like seven years?

Meg hates that new haircut of yours.

Meg thinks you're too old to post photos of yourself drunk/stoned at a party.

Meg thinks you're too young to post photos of yourself drunk/stoned at a party.

Meg can't believe the number of photos of you drunk/stoned at a party on facebook.

Meg thinks you've got to be an absolute MORON not to realize that your boss is also looking at those photos.

Meg can't believe how much weight you've gained since the last time she saw you.

Meg can't believe you wore jeans, a white tank top and rubber flip flops to a funeral. Who raised you?

Meg can't believe you just typed that on facebook. Have you no shame?

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Hi, kuuu

Wednesday, July 28, 2010
I'm never happy
when snow falls, I want sunshine
dreaming of beach days
but now summer's here
all I want is dark evenings
watching Highlander

Friday, July 23, 2010

Isn't it good

Friday, July 23, 2010
The people in my family are huge fans of The Beatles. By family, I mean the entire freaking Bailey side, and by huge, I mean, we have dogs named Jude and Abbey. My brother's girlfriend is (coincidentally? ha.) named Julia. My brother? His middle name is Ringo. My boyfriend? His middle name is George. I have a cousin named Paul. You put the rest of that puzzle together, okay?

I could never, ever name a favourite Beatles song. It's entirely dependant on my mood. Sometimes I like a good early tune, sometimes I need a little Maharajah in my life.

But today, it's Norwegian Wood. Because honestly, I feel a little unbalanced. Like I might do something a little...crazy. And then sing about it.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010


Tuesday, July 20, 2010
I've been at my new job for just over 5 months now. It's funny to think that a year ago tomorrow, I started working at the Ballet. I was sure I'd be there forever, but that quickly turned into a "get me outta here" type situation. The gods intervened and I landed on my feet at my wonderful new gig in February. The last few years have been a wild ride, career wise, and I've yet to ever feel settled in at a job.
I'm feeling settled in. It feels good. It feels weird. I know what is expected of me, I have an amazing boss, and an equally amazing team of people to work with. Sure, there are bumps, but I've NEVER doubted my decision to accept this job offer.
The past two months at work have been super, super busy. Now things have slowed down a bit, and everyone is on vacation. Some people have worked here for so long that they have upwards of 8 weeks of holiday time. Can you imagine? (non-teaching friends and family, that is)
So it's a bit slow. Yesterday I wasn't feeling super hot so I left early. I've had a lot of time to poke around in my office and get my space organized. Things are by no means crazy or chaotic or frantic. It's different for me. I like it, but at the same time, I'm not exactly sure how to process it.
Last night I dreamed about the job that I had in High School. I worked at the local convenience store/fast food and ice cream shack/motel registration desk/video rental centre. I worked there for six summers, and the school years in between. I really liked that job in school - it was one of the ONLY jobs in town available, and I was pretty good at it.
But then it started to drive me crazy. I wanted more - could you blame me? I was 18 and antsy. I wanted the stars, the moon, my name on a marquee. Or the big-city business lady equivalent.
When I was in University, I kept a photo of myself working there taped to the wall above my desk. As a reminder that if I didn't work hard enough, that's where I'd have to go back to.
And every once in awhile, I dream that I've lost my job and my boyfriend and my life and have moved home to work at the 21. Last night I had that dream, and I was unloading the Beatrice dairy shipment, something I really, really hated to do.
Let me tell you, that dream lit a fire under me. All of those things lingering on my to-do list? Today, they're getting checked off.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Yee Haw Haiku

Wednesday, July 14, 2010
there is a new bar
with a goth vampire theme
pathetic? maybe
but I can't help it
kinda want to check it out
for the spectacle
lookin' trampy - hold
still while I cover you in
full body glitter
squee! now you sparkle
like a true prince of darkness
frickin' radiant.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

CRISIS! Of the Long Duck Dong Variety!

Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Gary owns something like nine million dvds. I wish I had a photo on me, but alas, I am at work and do not have access to the "Photos of the Apartment: Past and Present" file, so you'll have to just trust me when I say our living room walls are, for the most part, lined with dvd shelves and a giant bookshelf (represent, bookish nerd girls!).
Gary is super organized and has a giant spreadsheet that catalogues his dvd/blueray collection. He knows when he bought the movie, or if it was a gift; how much it cost, who directed it, where it was purchased, and who wrote the soundtrack. Among other things. This is pretty cool or pretty crazy, depending on your perspective.
From my perspective, right now, I wish I could get my grubby little paws on it at this exact moment, because I NEED to watch Sixteen Candles, RIGHT NOW. And I know that I only own that movie on VHS, and as far as I know, my VCR is hanging out at El Rancho Doug and Lenore. But I can't remember if Gary owns it.
Gary? You out there? Do you own Sixteen Candles? If not, maybe some other film from the John Hughes collection? Help?
PS - did you know that the actor who played *swoon* Jake Ryan *double swoon* has spent the last twenty-some years building furniture somewhere in Upstate New York or something? What a strange, but oddly hot, concept.

Friday, July 09, 2010

do they wobble to and fro, can you tie them in a knot, can you tie them in a bow?

Friday, July 09, 2010
I know, okay. I'm raining on a million hopes and cowboy dreams, but I hate the Stampede. I hate it. I hate the tarts, I hate the fake cowboys, I hate how everyone is drunk and obnoxious and shoving their stupid free pancakes in my face all the freaking time. I have a lot of rage, okay?

I live on the parade route. Oh, I know what you're going to say. "You chose to live there" or "it's just one day" or "you live downtown and you expect silence? think again, bucko!"

I don't expect silence. I choose to live at that address. And yes, it is one day. One awful effing day that started with some jerk who thought he was funny and in teh Stampede Spirit playing the first four bars of "Do your ears hang low" OVER AND OVER AND OVER for twenty-five minutes. Loudly. AT SIX THIRTY THIS MORNING.

I'm pretty sure that by law, outdoor construction, bally-hooing tomfoolery and other forms of noise pollution can't start until 7:00 am.

I hate it.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Haiku This! A Special Wednesday Treat

Wednesday, June 23, 2010
I can't wait to go on vacation
I'm feeling a certain elation
soon many books I will read
no rushing, no need
unless it's to pee at the nearest gas station

Pain is Pain

Yesterday I looked at myself in the mirror, and honest to god, my eyebrows had grown together. I told my friend Dana over email, "I don't know what happens. One day, I look fine. The next day - hot damn!"

So after work I promptly rectified the situation. I've been getting my brows waxed since I was in Grade 6. My mom plucked my eyebrows at home a few times when I was in Grade 5, but that went nowhere positive, so off to the Merle Norman she took me.

I still go to Merle Norman, but the one downtown mysteriously disappeared, so I stepped in to the newest day spa on the same block as work and, lucky me, they had an appointment open.

The place was nice. Soothing music, soothing paint colours, quiet but friendly staff.

Then the woman doing my wax told me she was going to do a 'touch up' by threading.

I don't know if you've ever had your brows threaded. I hadn't, but my old roommate swore by it. She had nice eyebrows. (Still does, I assume) She also told me that it didn't hurt as much as waxing.

Before she got to business, the lady with the thread told me that it was better for me than waxing, because waxing pulls at the skin and causes wrinkles.

I had a bit of a freakout. Silently, because I don't like to cause a scene.

Do I *rrrripp* look like *riiiiippp* someone who *riiiipp* should be concerned about wrinkles?

Good thing I had something to distract myself with. Because let me tell you. That roommate is a liar. Waxing, threading, tweezing - however you slice it - is still ripping the hair out of your face.

And it's going to freaking hurt no matter what you do.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

I'll bring the blanket, you bring the basket

Tuesday, June 22, 2010
I have this incredible urge to go on a picnic. A Don and Betty Draper in the Happier Days style picnic. I want to wear a pretty dress and sit in the sun with my beloved and play checkers and eat sandwiches and drink lemonade.
Yes, I mean gin.
One of the happy fuzzy childhood memories I think back on often is going for a picnic with my best friend, Candice. Her mom packed up the little plastic toy picnic set with a banana and a thermos of red koolaid. I realize this is unconventional picnic food, and okay, it was just a banana, but to us it was an incredible adventure! We must have been four or five, because we weren't allowed to go very far. We sat under a tree around the corner, in the back alley, and played and pretended for the entire afternoon.
I remember pulling over on the side of the road, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in Kananaskis with my parents, trying to catch squirrels and skip rocks - two things I've never been able to do.
And I remember eating Tiger Tiger ice cream in the playground beside the swimming pool, my mom dishing it out every June to that year's Kindergarten graduates and next year's Kindergarten class.
Why can't I go back to that? Why does that magic slip away so quickly? I was so eager to grow up. What I wouldn't give for a thermos of red koolaid right now. And some gin.

Monday, June 21, 2010

That's why those Nirvana lullabye albums are so popular

Monday, June 21, 2010

The music industry has forsaken me.

It's been four years since I finished my last paper, wrote my last exam, handed in my last assignment. I finished my time at the U of C and proudly went out into the world, thinking that I had finally arrived and damn it, everyone would continue to cater to my needs and wants and desires for the rest of time.

Imagine the rude awakening this has resulted in. Here's the thing - the world has changed. No one cares what 26 year old employed women in a relationship but not yet engaged or married want. No one, not even fashion magazines, care what I think or what I need. I don't use acne products, I haven't yet faced facts and started shelling out for anti-aging eye cream. I have no need for lip gloss that will bring all the boys to the yard, I perfected my "I don't give a damn" hairstyle years ago, and aside from the occasional spa visit to rip out all of the visible body hair below my scalp and to get my heels buffed, I'm super low maintenance. I drive your average Japanese 4-door sedan, I go on occasional vacations, and my boyfriend picks the movies we go to because it's just freaking easier that way.

Given the choice between something blowing up and a couple overcoming obstacles through dance, the explosions are going to win. I don't want to drag Gary to see Step Up Part 62, especially if he's going to be miserable the whole time. Also, most of the time the actiony films have cute shirtless guys in them. Win-win!

No one cares what I want or what I'm going to buy. Purchasing decisions are made by mothers and teenagers, and I am neither.

I realized this morning that all of the music I listen to is old. We're talking OLD, people. Most of it is 15 odd years older than me. I was raised on a healthy diet of Lennon, McCartney, Zeppelin, Jagger and Van Morrison. This is what I still listen to. Right now, my iPod is running a playlist of music that only gets airtime on the AM dial.

When I workout, I listen to Madonna. Old Madonna. Good Madonna. The Spice Girls. ABBA.

I stopped buying music about three years ago. I can count on one hand the albums I've purchased in the past two years - Ray LaMontagne's Gossip in the Grain, who sounds like my golden oldies; and the first two volumes of the Glee Soundtrack.

Which, for the record, are mostly covers of old songs I already love.

The music industry has completely abandoned me. Or I abandoned it. Somewhere along the line I stopped tarting up and going to the club to get shake it. I stopped binge drinking and going home with strangers (KIDDING! I never did that, stop hyperventilating, Mom!) and cruising around with the windows rolled down and the stereo blaring.

That's bad for your hearing, and gas is expensive.

I knew it would happen. I knew the day would come when I would spend all my time listening to Bon Jovi and singing along to Journey and bopping embarrassingly in the passenger's seat to Britney Spears, circa 1999, and on the rare occasion that I turned on the Top 40 Radio station, I'd have to ask after every song, "Who is this? Why are they singing about drinking Jack and Coke? Aren't they 15?"

I just thought I'd have pre-teens in the backseat to torture when I did it.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010


Wednesday, June 16, 2010
dear children outside
bang on my office window
you drive me insane
maybe I won't breed
don't think I could deal with you
twenty-four seven

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

We have a winner

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

I could never understand why people 'forgot' why they broke up with someone. This was, until recently, when I was trying to enter a contest with a local TV station.

I'm such a sucker for those "tell us your best story" contests. Because I have me some goooood stories. Recently I entered a Best Shopping Story contest and a Best Father's Day contest. What would have been better is if both were the same story, but I digress.

So when I saw this contest, asking for your best (worst?) bad dating story, I chuckled to myself in my office. Which has a terrible echo, and I'm sure the three ladies who sit in the cube farm outside my door hate me because I do a lot of chuckling to myself. Heh, heh, heh. Most often about my own wit.

So I opened my email, cracked my fingers and ...drew a total blank.

That's the funny thing about memory. Oh, lawdamercy, some of the dates I've been on have been AWFUL! Like that guy who...or that time we went...or, uh...shoot.

Two and a half years off the meat market and I've forgotten what it's like. I'm that smug bastard friend who says things like, "Oh, I remember being single! I had so much fun!" and "What do you mean, dating is hard? Dating is fun! Go slap on some lipstick, get out there and have FUN!"

I would smack myself if I wasn't concerned about visible bruising.

Of course I remember some of the more hurtful, painful, emotional speed bumps on my dating highway. Like the guy who FINALLY came over to my place after weeks of not calling me back because I threatened to burn the 'shit he left on my nightstand'. Or the guy who wouldn't take a hint and kept calling me, at my office, long after we'd 'broken up'. Or that damn Bradley Hayes* who eluded my love from 1989-2002, told me on September 18, 1998 that he didn't want to go out with me "right now" and then did the total jerk maneuver of asking a friend of mine out RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME on December 18, 1998.

I've always been good with dates.

Uh, for the record, that day was also the day that I first met vodka shots. Yellloooo!

Oh, or the guy who took me to a comedy club, where I was mocked and picked on by a low-grade comedian for an hour before I excused myself to go cry in the bathroom. Yeah, that was romantic.

But some of the best stories, the funniest ones, the ones that made my friends cringe over jagerbombs and double dogs and those delicious pot stickers at OJ's, the ones that I know would have won that freaking contest are gone forever.

Maybe it's human nature. A survival tactic. You know, like how mothers forget the pain of childbirth, so they can manage to do it all over again. If we didn't wipe the slate clean over time, maybe we'd all just give up before we found someone who made us happy enough to give it all up on purpose.
*Bradley Hayes went on to become a very smart, responsible, respectable citizen and if you are googling him with the intention of hiring him, you should do so. At least I think he went on to all of this greatness, because even now, almost a decade later, I still can't really talk to him without saying something stupid and breaking out in a sweat and giggling like a baying donkey. I get the nerves, y'know?

Monday, June 14, 2010

I'm an Auntie!

Monday, June 14, 2010

My brother got a puppy. I'm so excited, because Gary our apartment management company won't let me have a puppy.

She's so cute!

Also, I should add that it seems really unfair that I would probably be the best Aunt in the world (after all, I learned from the best Aunties a girl could have...), but I've decided to shack up with an only child. The concept of my brother having kids? Let's revisit this subject in, oh, 15 years.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

An Open Letter to Jon Hamm

Thursday, June 10, 2010
Dear Jon Hamm,
I just wanted to state, for the record, that even though you are a total jerkwad to your wife Betty on Mad Men, I would run away with you in a second if you asked me to. Preferably to 1960s California. Also, in this fantasy I would have a body and wardrobe much like Joan's.
Oh, shoot. Am I confusing reality with fiction again? My bad.
My offer still stands.
Hugs and Kisses,
ps- don't tell Gary. I want to break it to him gently, you know? Somewhere nice and private, like on my blog.
pps- ooops. You don't have blogs in the 1960s, so disregard that last sentence. I'll explain it soon enough.

Wednesday, June 09, 2010

An Ode in Haiku

Wednesday, June 09, 2010
To my diet coke
friend, confidant, companion
trusty cold bevvie,
I promise to love,
honour, trust and refrigerate
not drink before noon.
Even at room temp
a few days old, slightly flat
down the hatch you go.

Tuesday, June 08, 2010

One of those days

Tuesday, June 08, 2010
Someone I used to know once uploaded a bunch of crappy techno to my precious iBook laptop. One of those songs was by Blossom Dearie/The Brazillian Girls and the chorus was "just one of those days..."
Wait. A quick google search to verify has informed me that for years I've had the incorrect lyrics playing on annoying repeat in my head for like, 4 years. It's "just one of those things," not "days." Bastards.
Okay, so that point failed. Anyway, I hate techno and I really hate today. Today is one of those days where I'm scraping the bottom of the already shallow bright-side barrel. Last night I was in a great mood, because we were going to have steak, but then Gary got home and brought his grey cloud of Monday frustration with him, and then the quest to get propane turned sour, and we didn't eat until 7:30, and the grumpitude rolled in.
The grumpitude has not rolled out.
So. Help me, blogiverse. What are some things that always make you smile? Here are mine:
1. "Let's go to the Mall!" by Robin Sparkles. Video mandatory. Because I'm emailing this post in, I don't know how to imbed video so go youtube it yourself.
2. Kittens and big-eyed exotic baby animals.
3. Judging and general mockery of other people. Yeah, I'm going to the hot place but I like what I like.
4. The colour green.
5. Thinking about how epic and great the HBO SATC series was. Oh, NYC. Oh, wearing my hair naturally curly. Oh, high-sugar cocktails.
6. Fantasizing about escaping to a Greek island paradise. Maybe with Jake G, but he wouldn't be allowed to wear a shirt or speak because that would ruin the mystique. Also, in this fantasy I would have perfect hair and a slammin' body and wear pretty much beach clothes and white sundresses all the time.
7. True Blood Season 3 is starting on June 13th! This may not be an "always makes me smile" but it makes me happy right now.
8. Laughing until my stomach hurts. Now, to just find something to laugh about.
9. Baby ducks.
10. Puppy kisses.
Crap. Now I'm thinking about how bad Sex and the City 2 was and I'm all grumps again.

Saturday, June 05, 2010

summer blockbusters '10

Saturday, June 05, 2010
I've now seen all of the summer blockbuster movies I was planning to see. Because I love you, I will now provide you with a review:

Iron Man 2 - meh. First one was better. RDJ, on the other hand, only gets better with time. Growl.

SATC 2 - Insipid. Annoying. Like watching a train wreck, but without any of the excitement. Skip it. SJP, tragically, is NOT getting better with time.

Prince of Persia - Jake Gylenhaall. Gyllenhaal? Gyl-len-haaal-io? Whatever. EXTREMELY hawt. Entertaining quest-y adventure film. The best of the three. Looking forward to a sequel where Jake spends the entire film shirtless and kind of sandy. I'd go see it at least five times.

Friday, June 04, 2010

Bare All

Friday, June 04, 2010
I am pretty low maintenance when it comes to my appearance. By pretty low, I mean about as low as one can get before scraping the bottom of the pond.
I'm a fan of wearing my hair clipped up (thanks, Lady Buttons, for tipping me off about those Goody Ouchless clips, I've used mine pretty much every day for six months or more) or in a ponytail.  Occasionally I'll pin the top back and let it air-dry curly.
I wear a pinky red tinted lip balm and mascara almost every work day, sometimes I toss on some light coloured eye shadow, but often not.
I use Noxema and Oil of Olay moisturizer with SPF.
And if I paint my finger nails, which is pretty infrequently, I almost always reach for a bare pink or beigey nude colour. If I'm getting a pedicure, on the other hand, it's red or hot pink or coral, or some equally punchy hue.
But despite the fact that I have a really bare-bones cosmetic routine, I own a hell of a lot of makeup. I've got several brands of perfume. And about fifty thousand bottles of bare pink or beigey nude nail polish. Which is why, despite Sephora's summer launch of their newest Canadian exclusive nail colour, a barely there, nude colour, I'm resisting my lizard brain's urge to GO BUY IT NOW. Shut up, lizard brain. You already have nine million bottles of almost the exact same colour at home. It's highly unlikely that this new colour will fufill all of your wildest, nude-polished nail dreams. Buying it won't make you richer, thinner, smarter, or cuter.
Damn, I wish there was a Sephora with lunchtime walking distance...

Thursday, June 03, 2010

The Girl Your Man Could Smell Like

Thursday, June 03, 2010
I did not sleep well last night, blog friends. I don't think Gary did either, because it was a restless and fidgety night for both of us. When my alarm went off ths morning, I turned it off immediately. Gary left for work and I went back to sleep.
Until 5 minutes before I was supposed to be at work.
I hauled myself into the shower, still half-asleep. I was going to need a swift kick so I turned down the temperature of the water considerably. That didn't work. I looked at my soothing vanilla orchid body wash and determined that it's delicious, calming scent would only make me head straight back to lullabye land.
So I used the uber man scented Cool Tingling Irish Springs body scrub the other person who lives in my apartment uses.
Shazam. It does tingle, this is true. And now I smell delightfully man-fresh.
It's going to be a loooooong day.

Wednesday, June 02, 2010

Wednesday Haiku

Wednesday, June 02, 2010
Ice cream and hot dogs
barbecues and camping trips
Summer. Finally.
slap on the sunblock
Let's pretend we're in LA
drive with the top down
except - my car is
a mazda four-door sedan
but let's make-believe

Monday, May 31, 2010


Monday, May 31, 2010
Recently I confessed to a couple of friends that I'd like to hit the restart button. Yes, I want a do-over.

I'd go back to my first year of university. I'd smack myself upside the head, take that obscene vodka candy apple out of my hand, tell myself to go put on a turtleneck and study some more (OR AT ALL, DAMN IT). Also, that boy will never like you back for reasons to be revealed in Season 2 of Meg in the City, don't sweat it so much. And stop rigging your schedule to casually "bump into him" in between classes and in the cafeteria.

And I'd get a different degree.

When my friends asked me what I'd have taken instead of Business, and I answered, they pointed out that it wasn't too late. I could quite easily, with my BComm, go back to said faculty and in two years be on the way to a brand spankin' new career.
I could start now! I could probably still apply!

Basically, two of my best and oldest friends in the city, the ones that have known me since October 2002, when I delicately set foot into an audition, the ones that made fun of me for believing that sagging and fine lines would never happen to me, and listened to me whine about how I was neeeeeeeever going to find looooooooooove and then were patient when I found love and dropped off the face of the freaking planet for a year (or two)...

They called me on my bullshit.

Because I do like my job. And I'm good at it. And it's sort of glam, and fab, and shiny. Unlike some other career that pretty much everyone in my entire family and life has devoted themselves to, which is unglam and unfab and entirely about serving other people and the betterment of society and not about how sparkly fabulous am I and this awesome cocktail dress that I am wearing to this sweet gala, and I know so much about art and culture and I am so incredibly captivating!?!


And if I'm honest, I'm not ready to give up the galas.

Thanks, friends. I guess sometimes a girl doesn't need a restart button. She needs a reality check.

Sunday, May 30, 2010

Fitness Failure, The Sequel

Sunday, May 30, 2010
After my previous sporting-related incident, I am beginning to think that the Universe would just prefer me to be lazy.

This morning Gary and I got up and headed to the gym. The gym we go to is on 39th Avenue, and we were pulling up to the light at 36th Ave when I realized that I had forgotten my iPod at home.

So we turned the car around, I went upstairs, iPod retrieved, and back to the car. Fitness, here we come!

Well, I gave it pretty good on the elliptical and then the stationary bike, working up a sweat to burn off the previous night`s pub fare (chicken cajun caesar salad droooool). I mean, I really gave all I had. That Glee soundtrack had me pounding out all my stress on the machines. I was dripping with sweat by the time I finished a few sets of crunches and stretched out. Man, I could not wait to shower off and get on with my day full of errands, conveniently located in the same neighbourhood as the gym. Bliss! Endorphins! Lattes!

It was at this point that I remembered that the gym on 39th Avenue, the one we go to on Sundays, does not have the same services as the gym we go to on Saturdays. The Saturday gym is closed on Sundays. That is why we go to this 39th Avenue location.

And the most important service the downtown Saturday gym has? Towel service.

So after my great workout, I had a great shower. Then I dried myself off with my sweaty tshirt, climbed into my clean clothes while still mostly damp, and tried to finish the job with the hair-dryer.


Friday, May 28, 2010

Clown Rage: Day Three

Friday, May 28, 2010
People, I can't take it anymore. How much time do you think I'd have to serve if I killed a clown? Maimed a clown? Threatened a clown? Gave a clown a threatening look and shook my fist in his/her direction?

Thursday, May 27, 2010


Thursday, May 27, 2010
I don't hate clowns like a lot of people do. I've never seen IT or read the book, because Stephen King and I don't get along (aside from that one summer when I read firestarter and carrie and one other book back to back and couldn't sleep for a week).

I'm not afraid of them. I totally get the creepy thing, though. But I sure don't LOVE clowns.

Especially clowns that spend the blowing whistles directly outside my office window. Oy vey, the headache.

But I understand that the crosswalk patrol traffic clowns are there for the safety and amusement of the Children's Festival patrons, so I will just suck it up for two more days of ipod-wearing at my desk.

The downside to wearing your ipod at your desk to drown out 7.5 consecutive hours of CLOWN WHISTLE BLOWING? Missed phonecalls and people standing in your doorway knocking several times and eventually shouting your name. Ooops. Sorry, coworkers.

I will, however, pledge to get my revenge on the traffic clowns. Because when I have childrens? I'm going to teach them to LOOOOVE clowns. And by LOOOOOOVE, I clearly mean bite and kick in the shin.

If you're going to play with me, you'd better get ready to play dirty, Clowns.

Wednesday, May 26, 2010

I interrupt your regularly scheduled programming

Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Hi guys.
It's Haiku Day, but I've got something bigger on my mind this afternoon. One of my aunties is going in for some pretty serious surgery tomorrow. If you have a second, could you direct some positive vibes her way, for a complication-free procedure and a fast recovery? We're a close family and we all love her very, very much.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Things I Hate

Friday, May 21, 2010
Hate is a strong word. But I feel it's appropriate here.
I am a professional proofreader. My specialty is actually media relations, but that almost always goes hand-in-hand with being the chief grammar nazi in an organization. So I spend all day debating whether it's "a unique" or "an unique" and "an honest" or "a honest" and if that should be Members or Members' and why.
Fortunately for us all, I dig it.
Unfortunately for youse guys, I need somewhere to let off my grammar steam, and that place is often my blog. If you read here long enough, like Breanne, you'll notice that I love commas and hypens and elipses and run-on sentences. That's because I have to actively reduce my use of these things in my writing (and the writing of dozens of other people much, much smarter than I) 37.5 hours a week.
But at the core of my being, there are a few things I hate.
1. The wrong you're and your.
2. Messing up their, there and they're.
3. People who don't get the difference between its and it's. SING THE STRONGBAD SONG IN YOUR HEAD. I do.
3. "Gifted". THAT IS NOT A WORD. Someone gave you that shirt as a gift. It was a gift. I am going to give this as a gift. The gift itself is not the verb!
4. When people use 'is' when they should use 'are' and vice-versa. This usually only happens when someone is speaking. You don't see it written down improperly very often. There are many things that bother me, but this is one of the big ones.
5. Fancy words. I love a robust vocabulary, but you aren't convincing me that you're any smarter when you use them improperly. Yeah, technically you could use that word, but in most cases you'd be better off with a simpler one to get your point across without confusion.  Also, descriptions of things that border on pornographic? A bit icky. (ie: the brushtrokes pulsate across the canvas, throbbing with light and dripping with energy)
6. Gifted. Did I say that already? It makes me want to kill myself when I read it or hear it. I'm not exaggerating. Don't make me do it.

Wednesday, May 19, 2010

Long Weekend Haiku

Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Momma! I'm coming
home to you for the weekend
oh yeah - to Dad, too.
I anticipate
three glorious days of peace
Saskatchewan = quiet
I can't wait to see
that scrappy fat puppy
eats too many treats
I hope the rain stops
running water would be nice
this isn't camping.

Tuesday, May 18, 2010

101 in 1001 - Summer shortlist

Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Well, it's Sprummer. That, my new friends who haven't experienced the wonder of a Sprummer blog before, is the strange season in Calgary that starts in May. We don't do spring here in Cowtown, apparently. Snow one week and straight into heat waves the next - but this is my 7th Calgary summer so I'm well adjusted to it.

Every Sprummer I make a list of the things I want to do in the few short months of warm, blamy bliss that we're blessed with. I'll make that list eventually, but this is about another list. I've decided that it's time to get cracking on some of my 101 in 1001 goals (see sidebar) and I've made a short list for the next few months.

I'm going to work on the following. You can sit back, relax with a mojito and enjoy.

1. Make homemade jam or jelly
2. Go to the gym at least twice weekly for 3 consecutive months
3. Lose 25 lbs - I'm not saying I'm going to lose 25 lbs this summer, but I'm going to get working on it.
4. Take my lunch to work 4 times a week for 6 months
5. Write 10,000 words of fiction
6. Plant flowers
7. Plant and grow an edible thing
8. Read The Tipping Point
9. See 3 movies at the Uptown or the Globe (1/3)
10. Blog every day for six months
11. Try an ethnic cuisine I've never tried before
12. Eat something I can't pronounce
13. Style my hair, put on makeup and wear an "outfit" every work day for 2 weeks
14. take a picture every day for three months
15. Invite friends over for a special occasion Brunch
16. Treat a stranger to coffee
17. Make homemade pizza totally from scratch
16. Treat a stranger to coffee
17. Make homemade pizza totally from scratch

Monday, May 17, 2010

Monday - off to a not so great start

Monday, May 17, 2010
This morning I got up around 6:30, shortly after Gary left for the gym. Not to be outdone by my gym-rat partner, I decided to work up a sweat before work. I mean, I was already awake, and we're almost out of coffee - what else was I going to do?
And sweat I did. Holy Calorie Burn, Batman. It was also a great opportunity to bust out the new sports bra I picked up at Old Navy on Saturday.
Usually I purchase a size smaller in sporting support attire than I would wear in regular street clothes, because bouncing is not so much fun. Because I'd purchased this exact same style before, I didn't bother trying it on. It was a bit of a tight squeeze getting it on this morning, but whatever- it's stretchy. It'll stretch out, right?
Well imagine the amount of fun I had this morning when, arms shaking from a zillion bicep curls and slippery from sweat, I couldn't manage to get that dang sports bra back over my head.

I struggled and twisted and yanked and grunted and struggled some more and at one point, managed to get one arm out. I pretty much had resigned myself to being half stuck in an unattractive sports bra and calling in sick for work.
On one hand, I'm glad Gary wasn't there to witness this. On the other, I sure could have used some help.
In a last attempt to free myself from the spandex that was rapidly cutting off my circulation - I cut myself out.

So long, brand new $14 sports bra.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Big City Friday Night!

Friday, May 14, 2010
Ahh, Friday.
It's finally warmed up here in Calgary to a liveable, optimistic, Sprummer temperature. Last week it was snowing, this week it's 20 degrees and sunny. May we live interesting lives, indeed.
But this means two things - patio season has arrived, and my pasty pasty legs will soon be on display. Traditionally I get a wicked sunburn in May, on the first Sprummer weekend.
This weekend I hope to at some point sit on a patio covered in SPF 45, but given that tomorrow night is the big Launch Party! at work and Sunday we have a first birthday party to attend, I'm not sure I'll get there. We have a whole week's worth of TV to watch tonight - HIMYM, Big Bang Theory, Glee, something that totally is NOT The Vampire Diaries, because duuude, who watches crap like that? Not I.
Maybe I'll sit on my balcony with a frosty diet soda this afternoon - seems like a decent compromise.
Speaking of Launch Parties!, if you were attending a 1950s French cafe-culture themed shindig, what would you wear? I'm thinking cute 50s silouette black dress and little cardigan, or a pair of nice trouser jeans or a skirt and a colourful summery dressy top. The party is casual - jeans are totally appropriate - but I work there, so, y'know. I have to at least pretend to make an effort.

Thursday, May 13, 2010

Oh, Universe. Why?

Thursday, May 13, 2010
I have a small collection of about nine hundred million tubes, jars, and pots of lip balm.
Every single last one of my little balmy friends is either at home or in a purse which is not the purse I brought to work.
What kind of grown up lady has no lip balm handy? I live in a very dry climate! Exceptionally dry! Outrageously dry! Spontaneous nosebleed (aside: I've never had a nosebleed) dry!
This is like a level 5 crisis situation! I don't even have any in my desk!
All I've got is a tester-size lip gloss that is bright pink and sparkly. Great. Now my lips are dry, flaking, sticky and covered in fuscia glitter.
Being a lady is haaaaaaard.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010

you got it...

Wednesday, May 12, 2010
watch where you're going
I've got a very large bag
I'm solid matter
Walk right into me
oy! look up or we'll collide
my face a fierce scowl
I know, it's lunch time
but you are an idiot
do not text and walk.


This morning I stepped on the bathroom scale for the first time in about 14 months and was completely disgusted with what I saw.

So I'm blogging here about it. (Yes, again)

If you don't want to read about the ups and downs of trying to look less like a hippopotamus and more like a...realistically slender lady, you can feel free to skip it. But if you're interested in my pain and body image angst and many attempts to not eat my feelings, come on by!

*As always, thank you for your love and support - Meg*

Monday, May 10, 2010

Thinking way too far ahead

Monday, May 10, 2010
I have spent a ridiculous amount of time in the last 10 years wondering if I will always be Megan Bailey.
If I get married and decide to change my name (which I probably will, on both counts) I'll have to deal with a new signature and new ID cards and so on and so forth. But I'll also have to update my resume, get the word out on my professional name change, and have new business cards printed and a new corporate email assigned.
But I'll also have to change my personal email address. And my facebook profile. My virtual identity. And countless other logins that are some combination of my name, my initials or whatever.
This blog.
It definitely occurs to me that I am putting the cart way before the horse with this matter, but I'm a little concerned. How will I ever remember a whole new set of frickin' logins?
(because I really like to count my chickens: I may or may not have already registered a gmail account for a potential future first and last name combination. I'll let you know when I can officially be reached at mrs.megan.clooney at gmail dot com for any future correspondance)

Thursday, May 06, 2010

A special treat

Thursday, May 06, 2010
I know, I know. Yesterday was Wednesday, and I totally gapped out on the Haiku.
But yesterday was hard. I didn't want to do ANYTHING. I was late for work, and then I had a roller-coaster of a day. That's the rub with my career choice - 50% of what I do is proactive and planned, but by the nature of the gig, 50% is reactive and things can come up at any time, without notice. Then your whole nicely-planned day? DERAILED.
But I can't complain because I love my job and I'm pretty darn good at it, and living in a world where I could schedule everything might drive me bonkers. I like a little surprise in my day - gets the adrenaline going.
But anyway. It's really hard to get out of bed when it's May Bloody Fifth and it's snowing. Why can't we have rain? I could deal with rain. I could deal with pouring, grey, stormy rain. But no. Snow. Spring is never going to come. I might as well curl up in a ball and die.
(I'm a little dramatic, okay?)
So yesterday I was late, I had a vicious nightmare that threw off my whole morning, I forgot my wallet when I went to buy lunch, and by the time the day was done I had no ambition left. Gary tried to tempt me with a date - dinner out wherever I wanted!
I wanted to not leave the couch, so we ordered pizza instead.
And here we go again, more snow, more shitty weather, more non-stop Old Job Media Coverage (grumble of Elton-John related bitterness) and more slightly greasy ponytails.
But because I can't believe I forgot Haiku Wednesday, here's something special for you loyal readers who put up with my whining.
A Thursday Limerick
I wish and I wish it was hot
but no matter what I do, it's not
It snows and it's cold
winter gets really old
blizzards in May make me drink - a lot.

Tuesday, May 04, 2010

Princess Grumblepants

Tuesday, May 04, 2010
When I was an infant, my loving father so kindly gave me the nickname The Princess of Poop.
Yeah. So glad that one stuck around for over a quarter of a century.
Anyway, today, I dub myself Princess Grumblepants. I'm grumpy. It's snowing. It's cold. My turtleneck is too tight and chafy. I didn't like my lunch. My hair looks like crap. This vest is itchy. My diet coke doesn't taste right. I'm having trouble drafting an awesome press release headline. Inspiriation escapes me. There are no more Harry Potter books. I got handsoap in my eye a few minutes ago. I had an awkward "you can tell I'm not telling you the whole truth but I refuse to outright lie to you because that's wrong, so I am dodging the question even though I know the answer" run-in with a coworker at lunch.
Today is a no good, very bad day.
On the upside, we're having my favourite thing for dinner - spaghetti with tomato, butter and onion sauce. Things are looking up.

Monday, May 03, 2010

Monday Mayhem

Monday, May 03, 2010

Today is one of those days where I realized in advance that I was totally not going to achieve everything I want to.

I usually check my agenda in the morning before I leave for work. Blackberries be handy like that! This may or may not stem from showing up at work one day a few years back, completely forgetting an important meeting with several influential members of the media and finding that I'd decided to wear pigtails, a t-shirt that said Blondes Have More Fun, But Brunettes Can Read and a hot-pink hoodie.

But I digress.

I check my schedule in the morning while slamming back a cup of coffee and applying mascara. Verdict? Today is a total loss.

So much for handing in the final draft of that major press release. Three meetings and a lunch? Three plus hours of writing probably ain't gonna happen.


Wednesday, April 28, 2010

same old, same old

Wednesday, April 28, 2010
when it rains, it snows
a bad day to forget lunch
have to go outside
also a bad day
to forget to wear warm socks
or socks, period.
dinner guests tonight
but I'd rather stay at home
glum? bad company.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Spring Shopping!

Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Help me plan my spring wardrobe! As I mentioned previously, the last time I moved I did a massive wardrobe overhaul. I donated bags and bags of clothes to charity - suits, cocktail dresses, pretty much everything I hadn't worn for 6 months or more. Because it was January, this clause meant that I also parted with most of my summer clothing. Stupid Megans!

To top it off, last summer I was especially broke due to unemployment and a 3-week trip to Germany. Awesome summer, but I spent most of it in cotton shorts and a romper.

So now I have to re-build a professional and casual summer wardrobe from scratch. I've made a list of things I'd like, and then a list of things I think I "need". I'd love some input - am I missing anything? Am I totally boring?

My workplace is pretty casual - I wear jeans and sweaters or blouses pretty much every day, unless I have a lunch meeting or some kind of event, and then I wear a skirt and top of some kind. I'm lucky in this aspect, because clothes can serve a double purpose - for work and play.

I'm planning to scour consignment and second hand stores first, then discount retailers (Winners, Superstore) or outlets, then the mall. I think a list will help me focus and maximize my budget.

My Wish List!

For Work


Skirts - not black pencil skirts, because I have several of these
-patterned - a floral or geometric print
-solid coloured - green, red, pink, blue, purple, open to options
-khaki/beige cotton would be nice

Capri Pants
-dark denim

-well fitting white trousers or capri pant


-black shirt, wrap or shift style
-navy or brown shirt, wrap or shift style
-patterened jersey dress(es) -wrap or a-line


-sweater set(s) or cardigans in bright colours
-lightweight blazer in denim or cotton material, either blue, white or khaki
-blouse or tunic-style top - patterened or brightly coloured


-dressier flat sandal
-nude pump or heeled shoe

For Play

-nice dark denim skirt, a-line, knee length or slightly longer
-bermuda shorts in denim or denim equivalent
-denim capris
-sun dress - if possible, not so low cut and short that I can throw on a cardi and wear to work
-nice cotton t-shirts and tanks in bright colours


-patterned skirt
-khaki skirt
-one dress for work
-dark denim capri
-sweater set or cardigan in a bright colour (turquoise, green or pinky-red-orange)
-patterened top or tunic/blouse in coordinating colour with sweater set
-coloured tshirts/tanks (3)
-dressy but walkable sandal

Monday, April 26, 2010


Monday, April 26, 2010
Every morning before he leaves for work, Gary comes back into our bedroom, wakes me up, kisses me goodbye and tells me that he loves me. Every morning. This is the best and my favourite part of the day - no matter what happens after that, how many times I cry or laugh or complain or sulk - I never doubt how much he loves me.

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Happy Birthday Gary, or, a fish out of water story

Sunday, April 25, 2010
A few weeks ago I used my bonus awesome personal day Friday off to trek up to Cross Iron Mills (a giant mega mall in the middle of nowhere - seriously, it's actually in the middle of nowhere between Calgary and Airdrie) to pick up Gary's birthday present. The main anchor of this gross mega-mall is the Bass Pro Shops Outdoor Something or other store. This place is two floors, around the average square footage of a walmart, and filled chockablock to the brim with taxidermy and everything you need to camp, hunt, fish, and kill things for sport and/or food.

I was so out of place.

Voila. Gary's 30th Birthday Gift (he also got some LuluLemon Gym Swag, blurays and a Go-Mug)

I was holding it in line at the checkout, examining the bag and trying to remember if it was the one Gary wanted. A very nice man in his late 50s in line behind me leaned over and told me that "he's going to love it".

This very nice man spent about 10 minutes telling me that he has one of these bags, and that it's perfect to just toss on the boat. Apparently different fish need different fishing gear, so you can have a box filled with trout stuff and a box filled with bass stuff and so on and so forth.

This very enthusiastic and sweet man left thinking I was the wife/girlfriend/daughter of the year, purchasing for my man EXACTLY what every man wants and needs - a $120 tackle bag.

I just didn't have the heart to tell him that Gary's using it to organize his computer and AV parts.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Let's dance around the real issues!

Friday, April 23, 2010
Do you ever have those days when about half-way through the work-day you look at your calendar and exclaim, "HOLY CATS! It's April 23rd!"? Because I often do.
April in Calgary is weird. It usually snows, it's usually cold, and it usually blesses us with a few days of legitimately hot patio weather. We of the odd-weather-patterned city cling to those snippets of warmth, and as soon as it's above 10 degrees (yay metric system!) you see people in shorts and sandals <small>freezing their tushies off</small> gallivanting all over the place.
April means we've made it through another long, dark winter, but then slaps us upside the head with a random snowstorm. But whatever, we're Canadian. We can handle snow in April. And May. And June. I get peeved when it snows in July, though.
Anyway, I'm rambling about the weather like a fool because I'm trying to distract myself from the real point of this post: a discussion on the crippling feeling of fear and panic that I got to wake up to this morning.
Every once in awhile I wake up to absolute anxiety. I don't know why, I don't know about what, or the triggers, but I open my eyes and all of a sudden every possible worst-case scenario flashes before me. If I can make it out of bed and into the shower, it just gets worse. Past experience has taught me that the answer to this is to get OUT OF THE HOUSE as quickly as possible and distract myself with work. By my second coffee run of the day the awful feeling of light-headed, short of breath, racing pulse and nausea has passed.
Today it comes and goes, but is mostly gone. Lucky me. Hopefully I'll make it through the day without bursting into tears under my desk.
Does this happen to anyone else? Please, someone, tell me I'm not alone.
*no, it's not work-related stresses. I LOVE my job. LOVE IT. Adore it. Would marry it if I could. Eventually the honeymoon will end and my job will be annoying sometimes, but I still really am quite enamored with it. But I can understand why it might have in the past been related to work - or lack of work - stress.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Cranky McGrumblepants

Wednesday, April 21, 2010
I am so cranky today. I don't know what's wrong, or what in particular is irking me, or why I'm being so difficult.
So I present to you, in random order, a random list.
- I want beaners and weans. You know, hot dogs sliced up in a can of baked beans, simmered until heated through. I would like to eat this with white bread a margarine. I think this means I miss my dad.
- I seriously wish this freaking headache would sod off already. A girl can only consume so much advil.
- My jaw hurts. Stupid headache.
- I gave away all of my summer clothes when I shacked up with Gary, and then last summer I was unemployed and broke, so everything I own is black or grey, shapeless and made out of wool. This is great beacause, yay, legit reason to shop, but not great because, boo, I hate my hips.
- I hate my hips.
- I hate that I hate my hips.
- Good lord. STUPID EBAY PURCHASE, arrive already!

Wuh-wuh-wednesday haiku

Oh, killer headache
going on almost three weeks
advil doesn't work.
But at least it's spring
finally warm and sunny
everything still brown
patios open!
hey, lady! another beer?
Make mine Rickard's Red
pasty white Canuck
legs that haven't seen the sun
since last September
Making their debut
flip flops, short-shorts and rompers
you'd think it's July.

Monday, April 19, 2010

some of my secret thoughts revealed

Monday, April 19, 2010
I've spent the better part of the last 45 minutes looking at local bakery websites. Why? Oh, just scouting a quote for Parisian Macarons. Legitimate work business.
But for some reason, all that sweet has made me sad. And ravenous, but hey, I've got pie at home and we'll be together again in roughly 25 minutes.
Why sad?
Because all of those frothy pink sugarplums and sugary confections remind me of Sweet Sixteen parties. I didn't have a Sweet Sixteen, but my 16th birthday fell during Drama Festival so I got to let my freak flag fly - a freak flag that was kept under wraps 51 weeks of the year, so this was a glorious occasion. For one week, I was popular -I got to wear a tiara, meet new friends, do the thing that 16 year old Megan loved the most (be an attention whore), and go to a dance, where I danced with the cutest drama geek I could find. I think I did not so bad.
But I was saddened, because all I can think of this afternoon is what I would go back in time to tell 16 year old Megan:
10 years from now, you will still be minorly obsessed with the Harry Potter franchise, and occasionally be very, very sad that there are no more Harry Potter Books. Also, don't be so embarrassed about reading them, because in about 2002 they become way mainstream. Also, in about 2008 you'll stumble upon another fantasy fiction series for young adults that is WAY, WAY more embarrassing and you should save your secret reading shame for that one. Whoo. It's a doozy.
Also, stop trying to get a boy to like you by standing near him and saying ridiculous things super loud. That never works. You know what does? INTERNET DATING.