Dirty 30!

Welcome to your 30s, H. It's an excellent milestone. Really: 30 is the new 25, there are lots of effective anti-wrinkle serums, and you might even save on car insurance (though it's no grey power). And you're in the same decade as me! It's fantastic!

But it hasn't been fun not seeing you today, or celebrating you. That's one of the sucky things about growing up and moving on. So I've tried to make today a little bit special for me. I've:

- used a festive straw all day
- put a candle in my apple strudel (your favourite strudel) before I ate it
- drank a shot of vodka to your health
- recklessly lit sparklers indoors (seemed like a good idea because it took several shots of vodka to get the right picture; I know how much you appreciate perfection)

Happy birthday, P'chette! According to the nursery rhyme, you have far to go, and I think that's a good thing. Lots more for you to look forward to.

(I'm full of grace, but you might disagree if you've ever seen me trip over my feet.)

This Time, I Mean It

Oh, damn it. We broke our "let’s post regularly!" resolution fairly quickly. Or I did, I suppose. After H’s retrospective (and how could you not love that series [not just because it was related to me]?), it’s only fair that I do a bit more, or as the kids say, step up. But sometimes, when we don't explicitly say who’s posting next, or we’re bereft of inspiration, it becomes strangely awkward, we avoid talking about the blog and it suffers. (See posting patterns from October - December 2007) We were sick of the previous post too.

H’s resolutions are also at risk and I can’t stop myself from pointing it out:

I suspect her attention is elsewhere:

She does love that punchline.

Painting Party

Regular readers know that H and I are in the habit of neglecting our blog after a visit. Perhaps it is because we've just seen each other, and find the blog cold and impersonal (mockery is so much better in person, no?). However, the weekend was a success.

• Did we (M) paint? Yes, almost every wall in her apartment. C'est magnifique!
  
• Did H finally buy furniture? In theory, yes. The delivery services forget that a key part of their job is delivering said furniture.
  
• What about money. Did M spend it all? Hmm. A fair chunk. H needed a lot, but she'll be happier for it.
  
• Will H be OK, financially? Of course! She has enough left that she won't need to rent out her air mattress to the neighbourhood crack whores.
  
• Was M harassed by airport security? Yes, she was politely groped by a respectful guard. But he did ask nicely.
  

More pictures to come, but for now, here's a taste of our weekend:
If you like gin, you'll like H's weekend creation: combine equal parts of gin, lemonade and club soda over ice, garnish with frozen blueberries. As the blueberries thaw, their juices mix into the drink for a funky effect. Seriously tasty stuff.

Wil You Be My Valentine?

For the third and final installment of my series, M's Ex-Boyfriends: A Retrospective, I go back, wayyyyy back, to M's first true love. Okay, so he was never her boyfriend. In fact they never even met -- except in her dreams! Oh yes, he is the one and only...

...Wil Wheaton.

Awhile back, I revealed what a geeky Trekkie M is. You may remember Wil Wheaton from his role as that kid from Star Trek: The Next Generation as well as Gordie in the film Stand By Me. I think M was about 10 or 11 when she first took notice of what a fine young man Wil Wheaton was. M, I know you may not have thought about him in many years, but let's take a little trip down memory lane.

I remember walking into M's room (uninvited and with much protest from her) and looking around with bewilderment at the dozens and dozens of Tiger Beat and Bop posters plastered everywhere, each and every one featuring Wil Wheaton.

"Ew! You LOVE him!" I would exclaim.

"So what if I do? Why don't you beam the hell out of here, you stupid little Klingon?" M would snap back.

Oh yes, she would have defended Wil to the death. I tested this idea many times and still have the scars.




Wil Wheaton, looking non-threatening, with still a hint of "come hither."




Wil Wheaton liked to wear many watches. Or "Swatches" as they were called then. M said that he believed doing so would ensure that time never stopped, which she thought was supremely deep and philosophical. I never quite got it.





This red pillow might be Wil's, but more likely, it's yer daughter's. Snap.




It's warp speed to true love, Captain. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!

P.S. Tomorrow M flies to the city where I live for a long weekend visit. If she happens to kill me upon arrival, because of this blog post, please contact your local police service and tell our other sister, E, that she must take care of my cats. Thank you.

Mr. GoodTime

Our next stop in the happy tour that is M's Ex-Boyfriends: A Retrospective, might well be familiar to some of you. You might have even dated him, or at least some hybrid form. Ladies and gents, I present Mr. GoodTime.

M and Mr. GoodTime were together on and off for a few years. You know, because sometimes his search for a good time took him elsewhere, and periodically M felt that, indeed, one can have too much of a good time.

Unlike Beefcake! (see previous post), Mr. GoodTime wasn't all bad. He was pretty fun, and although he was somewhat of a manchild, that can be endearing for a few minutes at least. Here are a few fun facts about Mr. GoodTime, as I remember him:

- He always had tickets to see The Tragically Hip, and contemplated following them around, Grateful Dead style.
- His jeans were that too-pale blue circa 1994, with frayed cuffs.
- He would "drive" two hours to pick up M in his souped-up Ski Doo, but his actual car was a piece of shit.
- He usually wore the free T-shirts that come inside of cases of beer. 'Cause hey, free shirt.
- He was always up for a weekend 'shroom adventure.
- His idea of culture was collecting the caps from international (i.e., American) beers that he'd tried.
- He lived with his parents, in the basement, and wasn't about to leave until some woman made an honest man of him.

Luckily, M refused on that last one.

This is some random guy I met once at a beer festival (shut up, M), and although he isn't Mr. GoodTime, he reminds me of him a lot.


Note that this type, when not wearing a beer shirt, is often sans shirt.

I was a little sad to see Mr. GoodTime go. I was underage at the time, and he was most useful.

Beefcake!

In honour of Valentine's Day, this is the first of my three-part series entitled: M's Ex-Boyfriends, A Retrospective.

Only three parts? you wonder. Ha! Of course it's MUCH MUCH more than that, but I only have so much time.

Today we start with my personal most hated: BEEFCAKE!

Many years ago, Beefcake! brought much needed irritation, annoyance, and some fear into our lives. His work was related to the fitness industry, yet he drank 4 2-litre bottles of Diet Dr Pepper per day. If you do the math, that equals disgusting.

Beefcake! also accomplished other amazing feats, such as the following:
- Sleeping for 21 hours straight when he came to visit us at Christmas.
- Forgoing the breakfast M cooked for him so he could eat at Wendy's.
- Stalking M after she dumped his ass. But the security staff at her work can tell you more about that than I can.

Oh, M, how could you have let such meaty goodness slip through your fingers? He even had his own basement bachelor apartment, complete with his favourites pages from Swank magazine. Tres chic.

Oh, Beefcake!, there's so much I wanted to say to you. But this will have to suffice.


And in M's defense (and normally I NEVER defend her), she was heavily medicated at the time.

Winter Doldrums

I'm thoroughly saddened by the thought of six more weeks of winter. I'm a girl who likes distinct seasons, beginnings and endings, but I'm tired of freezing rain and salt stains and shovelling snow. Or watching my neighbours shovel snow. I don't even have the time or desire to build an awesome snow fort, so all this white stuff is useless to me. Not for the first time, I wish I could self-medicate and hibernate until Spring.

H, captured during a Christmas nap, has the right idea:



While I'm excited about visiting H, I'm already chilled thinking of the ridiculously cold temperatures in her city. I think that I'll head west with a Saint Bernard, equipped with a cask of brandy.


I've always wanted a dog. And brandy makes everything a little brighter. It will go nicely with the goods in her fridge.