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.

Frustrating.

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...
 
HARRY POTTER AND THE HALF BLOOD PRINCE PART ONE.
 
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.