megfowler.com

When I left the office at 5 o’clock to meet work friends, I had no idea what chaos would unfold in the space of an hour.

But I should have known, since I am me, and me = chaos.

And even if there is only an hour, I can fit the chaos in.

Oh, chaos.

And toes.

Oh, toes.

I’m so sorry I smashed you when I skidded across the sidewalk on a pile of wet leaves. I didn’t mean to squish you so thoroughly. But I did, just like I did last year.

The same exact way.

Oh, pedicure.

I’m sorry your OPI prettypretty was transformed into a mangled mosaic of leaves and blood and chipped sadness.

But thank heavens nachos awaited, only a block down the street.

Oh, nachos.

How tasty you are.

How I love it when you fill my belly!

But not so much my bra.

I’m sorry I let an entire chipful of your happy, spicy salsa escape straight into my shirt while I spoke to our new VP.

I didn’t know a chip could hold that much.

Sadly, I knew my bra could.

Thank heavens a refill of my signature perfume awaited only a block down the street.

Oh, Angel.

I’ve wanted to refill you for a long time. And so I did.

And the lady I bought it from was SO nice to me. She stuck all sorts of samples into my bag.

Oh, samples.

How I love to try new things!

Then I stole out into the rain to go home and oh, my.

Oh, rain.

WOULD YOU PLEASE FREAKING GO AWAY.

I consoled myself by giving all the samples a sniff.

Then I accidentally sprayed Covet into my eye.

That’s a little Old Testament for me.

Oh, Old Testament.

At least you spared me the locusts.

This is my 900th post.

Which doesn’t actually mean too much at my blog, because I’ve actually written 1354 posts.

I just deleted the other 454 because I thought they were boring, or thought you thought they were boring, or they made my mom cry, or I was getting freaky Google hits.

This is not a recommendation for what remains, of course. I’m sure I’ve left a lot of tripe/fluff/silliness behind.

BUT!

In honour of this, the 900th Post Not Yet Deleted, tell me a little about YOU! Delurk! Come on out! Hello!

1. Who are you? (be as thorough or as vague as you like)
2. What are you wearing?
3. What’s the last thing you ate?
4. How did you get here? (the blog, not the planet)
5. Been here long?

Stephen Colbert or Jon Stewart?

Sushi or Thai food?

Magazines or newspapers?

Hockey or NFL?

Coffee or fruit smoothie?

HGTV or the Food Network?

Sephora or MAC Cosmetics

Williams-Sonoma or Crate and Barrel?

Starbucks or anywhere else?

Weird, indie movies or Hollywood romantic comedies?

Justin Timberlake or John Legend?

Fresh flowers or candles?

Vancouver or San Diego?

Pomegranate or grapefruit?

David Sedaris or Calvin Trillin?

Long hair or short hair?

Road trip or fly there (if either is an option… I’m not talking Peru, here…)?

Sourdough or multigrain?

Blogging or Facebooking?

Sarah Richardson or Martha Stewart?

Martin Scorsese or Steven Soderbergh?

Jeans and bare feet or skirts and ballet flats?

Seriously.

I haven’t even had time to buy warm shoes, and my only coat that’s useful prior to -10 C (I do own a down coat, partly because I used to live on the prairies, and partly because I always wanted to look like the Michelin Man) is a slightly ripped and ineffectual GoreTex thing from the MEC 1997 collection.

Granted, I’ve had other coats. I just don’t know where they went.

And I think I broke them, regardless.

Where do broken coats go? Can they find their way home?

Anyway.

We have a wind warning here in magical Vancouver, and it’s already been raining wee, chilly drops of anger for hours.

I find that the weather tends to go all CHICAGO IN NOVEMBER whenever I’m sick or about to be sick or trying to recover from being sick. And I don’t mean that it rains, because if I was sick every time it rained here, I’d be dead.

No, it just gets SUPER ICK every time I am prone to chills or a rattling chestal region.

So to you, Weather of Vancouver (which sounds like an indie band as yet unsigned), I say this:

HEY.

KEEP IT DOWN OUT THERE.

I wish I had a big ol’ dance studio of my very own.

I would dance for hours at a time — all by myself, mind you — to everything from Missy to Tchaikovsky.

Did I mention I don’t really know HOW to dance? Like, at all?

Still, it would be cool, especially when I’d do knee slides across the hardwood floor, and rock my own personal cartwheel, which looks a lot like someone trying to get out of a boat.

***

I wish I had my own cooking show, complete with tons of ovens and invisible, silent assistants handing me completed souffles and facilitating apron changes when I sprayed myself with pomegranate blood.

The problem is that I’d become so distracted by the cameras and microphones that I’d catch my sleeve on fire and end up on YouTube with a ruined batch of baklava and a two-foot scar.

***

I wish I had a bulky sweater that made me look thin.

Sound like a contradiction? No way.

You’ve seen those Old Spice ads where the wee model girl is traipsing about in some giant fisherman’s knitted thing, acres of legs left bare, while her shirtless sweater-sacrificing Spice Guy slaps a little sex appeal onto his cheeks.

She looks all lithe and lost in the sheer mass of fibres.

I think I could pull it off if I never had to wear pants.

***

I wish I had teeth that repelled any sort of green items.

If there is a touch of herb or a swatch of spinach looking to attach to someone’s central incisor, it’s going to find me… even if I don’t eat anything with herbs or spinach in it.

In fact, I think I could drink a glass of water and end up blacking out a tooth Deliverance-style with a head of romaine.

What I really love is how subtle people try to be when they tell you about it: “Oh, you’ve just got a little something right… yep… right there. No, you didn’t get it. Up a little. Oooh, sorry, no. Just the next tooth over… oh, missed it. Do you want a mirror?”

Then, when you get the mirror, you discover that you have so much salad trapped in your dental work that you might as well install a Sneeze-Gard on your upper lip.

***

I wish I had a travel mug that actually kept liquids hot. And I don’t mean for a couple hours.

I mean for several days on end.

Then I would only go to Starbucks once a month.

I know I make the love lists every Friday (just click on love in my categories over there —->) but really, I feel like I need more this week.

My whole face feels like it’s going to explode, my lungs are rattling like maracas, and I’m actually a) getting a new puffer today, and b) going to the clinic to get a timeline on my impending death.

“Doctor, will I have time to write my poetry manifesto? And woo Mr. Cusack? And write all those thank you notes I’ve been putting off? And fathom the appeal of high-waisted pants? And finally leave my heart in San Francisco?”

Probably not.

And that’s why I need…

MORE GOODNESS. MORE YAY! MORE WOOOOOOOO!

We live in such a cynical space most of the time. The media feeds us cynicism all day long, the future of the planet is cynicism-inspiring, the condition of our society is ripe for cynical despair…

Nothing really looks good.

So focusing on the good things seems like a relief to me in the midst of all that.

And a hope.

And a goal.

And a bit of a calling.

So.

THINGS THAT ARE GOOD. REALLY.

David Sedaris anything
Reading a magazine over lunch
Numi Dry Desert Lime Tea
Missing truly good people
Tortoiseshell glasses
Falling asleep in front of the fireplace and the hockey game
Affectionate eye-rolling
Effective staplers
Saying “I love you!”
Chocolate eyeballs
Cooking shows
Eyelashes
Laughing so hard you get a cramp in your stomach
Laid-back men
Red toenails
Carbonara
Hand talkers
Travel mugs (I almost typed Travel Megs and YES! YES! YES!)
People who make fun of themselves
Scrabble en Francais
Halloween costumes that AREN’T excuses to show skin
Men who trust me to choose their pants
Pringles
My superior finger-snapping skills
Rain stopping just long enough for me to get home
Dreams you have when you fall back asleep on a weekend morning
Imperfect smiles
Saying what you think to someone who is listening

Now:

What are four good things in your life today?

What’s the last news story you read that actually made you hopeful, not despairing?

What are you doing to make other people feel good?

LOVE Beaker.

Random. But fun. Much like every date I’ve ever been on.

If you take out the “fun” part.

Anyway.

What would you be pictured with? (via kottke).

Good advice for shutterbugs!

Love these And so does Martha. And since I’m eventually redecorating my bedroom…

This made me laugh. Where is the part about swearing? Or the neighbours coming down to see if someone is dying? Or getting a bench minor for yelling at the ref in a rec league? I’LL show you how to watch hockey.

Sounds delish. And so does this! Not as delish as the chef himself, but delish.

These would be PERFECT for our semi-covered deck. Because in BC, we can always sit out, nearly year-round.

I’m sick.

Fever!

Aches!

Congestion!

Cactus throat!

It might be the SARS.

Or just the LAME.

Sigh.