megfowler.com

I’m in a bit of a state.

Not a bit of a state as in Rhode Island, mind you.

I’m just really up in the air and boggled and slightly unsettled and I’m not totally sure why. Yet, that is.

It makes me loathe to blog because I figure everything coming from my keyboard right now sounds inane or ill-thought-out. Which is not to say that this isn’t NORMALLY the case, but it’s actually irritating me right now.

I want to say something worthwhile.

But what excites me and gets me going doesn’t really seem to be something I can articulate right now. Or at least I can’t articulate it to the point that it will sound anything but half-baked or half-argued or half-considered.

And that means something is up.

I find that, right before I make any large change in my life, I always have to go through this period of uberfrustration. I get inordinately angry at mistakes I make. I discredit good things I’m already doing because I’m not doing everything perfectly (not that I could, but there you go.)

At times like this, I rail at people for speaking cliches at (note: not “to”) me, or giving the standard advice people give to anyone going through a transition:

Don’t be so hard on yourself! Nobody is perfect!

You need to not worry about it so much!

And it’s not that I don’t KNOW all those things (actually, the second one is complete crap, I’ll discount it without any further consideration), but I’m one of those people who hears “Just relax!” and feels my blood pressure rise.

Yep. A spaz.

It doesn’t mean I’m frustrated every moment of the day or week or month. Or that I don’t go merrily about doing most of the things I normally do. Or that I’m not moving forward with every good intention and a big dose of passion. It just means that there’s something else lurking right below my skin that isn’t, you know, a tick.

On one hand, it’s awesome, because it means I’m on the edge of something major.

On the other hand, it sucks horribly, because it means I’m on the edge.

I want to process it all in a million ways, but the permanence of words intimidates me. What if I say something and sound serious when I’m not? What if my questions hurt someone? What if I explore something and totally change my mind?

I think the only big thing I don’t have trouble saying at this point is “I love you.”

So will that do for now?

So.

I got my hair cut.

Got the bangs. Yep.

Let me tell you: when you haven’t had proper bangs for like, A MILLION YEARS, they come as a bit of a shock. And when you go to blow dry your hair the next morning, you might forget how much they SPROINGGGG! from your head if you don’t blow dry them DOWN.

Well, there’s no “might” about it.

And they did SPROINGGGGG!

So keep in mind that my bangs are, in fact, longer than this (they go down below my eyebrows… never underestimate SPROINGGGG!), and less SPROINGGGGG!-y:

UPDATE: New Sproing-Free Shot:

Yep.

Kept the length, lots of layers, less SPROINGGGGG! than you think, and also less sorority than it appears in this photo (it doesn’t curl inward at all, it lies flat or flips out.) Trust me.

It’s good.

What WASN’T too good was getting it cut next to the woman who HACKED it off last time. I had to keep convincing the guy cutting my hair that the “bad lines” he was finding came from ANOTHER salon, yes. Another one.

But she kept staring at me nonethless, as though she knew she should resent me, but didn’t know quite why.

Sigh.

What ALSO isn’t that good is the way wind turns your bangs into mighty, mighty wings. Whoa.

But I’ll figure it all out soon enough…

Whew.

On my way home yesterday, I actually almost got nailed by a bucket flying off the third floor of a construction site. So it was, you know, kinda dangerous and stuff.

Traffic was backed up, people were underdressed for the sudden “cold snap”, and me?

I was alternating between being deliriously happy in the cold, clear weather… and wanting to kill my fellow commuters because a) HOW CAN YOU TAKE A BUS EVERY DAY AND STILL NOT KNOW HOW TO HANDLE STANDING OR MOVING DOWN THE AISLE OR LETTING PEOPLE OUT; b) MOVE SO THE OLD MAN CAN SIT DOWN; and c) NO, YOU SHOULDN’T GRAB AT MY iPOD BECAUSE IT LOOKS INTERESTING WITHOUT WARNING ME.

Sigh.

Come on, people.

Then I was in a grocery store lineup for 30 minutes while a new cashier dealt with a man with approximately 1,200 coupons, a thick Russian accent, and a great deal of residual anger from SOMETHING, I don’t even know what.

By the time I was in the home stretch towards my place, I was actually running gleefully through the wind with my groceries, giggling like a fiend to not be on a bus or in a line or in weather-appropriate clothing.

Vancouver, you don’t know how to handle much.

But you sure looked fabulous this morning, all clear and sunrise-y and glowing and cool.

So I guess it’s worth it.

Canadian Blog Awards.

I’m, um, up for a few. Best Blog, Best Personal Blog, and Best Blog Post.

And be sure to vote for my radio pal and Scrabble foe Buzz Bishop while you’re at it for Best New Blog (which I won last year) and Best Media/Celebrity Blog!

Also, local maven Miss604 is also up for Best Local Blog. Awesome!

Best Personal Blog
Best Blog Post
Best Blog
Best New Blog
Best Media/Celebrity Blog
Best Local Blog

Thanks, if you do. :) And feel free to share this post with anyone you like. :)

Note: Unlike last year, you can only vote once per round, instead of once daily.

Oh, yes.

It’s that time again.

That special time when Meg loses all perspective on what’s important in life and freefalls into hair neuroses.

When Meg writes a whole blog entry about getting her locks cut when really, someone should be locking her up and throwing away her blog until she actually just lets someone take scissors to her head.

Here’s the thing, though.

I’m excited to get it cut this time.

Not because I always have great stylist experiences (oh, heck no) and not because my hair is awesome (it’s just hair) and not because I really think any haircut is going to turn me into WHOA CHECK OUT THAT GIRL.

No, I’m excited that I am stepping further into happy territory I covered last time: the cutting of bangs.

Now, I had bangs pretty much the entirety of my growing-up years, partly because my forehead is the size of the Berlin Wall, and partly because, well… my mom cut my hair like that.

When I grew them out in my teens, it was all exciting and stuff. Hair autonomy!

Since then, I’ve had pretty much any hairstyle you can think of — from bobs to layered shags to pixie-short to anything in-between — many of which were terrifying.

Finally, I settled on keeping it long, with longer layers and no true bangs. This seemed “Meg”. For years.

Then, around Septemberish, on a whim, I got long, choppy bangs. And it was somehow MORE “Meg”:

(Why so stern? Where is my upper lip? Or neck, for that matter?)

I’ve actually been happy with this look! WHAT?! I know. Weird. But now they’ve grown out.

So I’m taking it further, to this. (Except not blonde… just my normal espresso-y hair.)

Fun?

I think it will be good.

But all of a sudden, I’m worried that more bang-ish bangs will make me look boring or pedestrian. Or that they’ll get cut too short. Or that the rest of my hair will get cut too short.

Someone told me bangs are chic, but not sexy. Stylish, but a bit more “particular.”

Hmm. Uh. Well. Is that bad?

I think this will be my last entry on this because really, hello, be quiet.

But if you want to leave a comment saying I THINK BANGS ARE WICKED CRAZY MAD HOT, well… feel free. Even if you just mean on Reese.

Just click on the “either or” category to see more “Choose Ye” posts…

(Note: Some of these have shown up in previous editions. Which is good. Because food? Is good.)

Lemon or lime?

Edamame or corn on the cob?

Curries or jambalaya?

Papaya or mango?

Coffee or tea?

Still or sparkling water?

Lobster or crabcakes?

Stew or stirfry?

Vinaigrette or ranch/creamy dressing?

7-UP or Coke?

Bell peppers or carrots?

Milk or soy milk?

Nacho or potato chips?

Lettuce or spinach?

Gummi bears or licorice?

Potatoes or rice?

Sourdough or multigrain?

Chocolate or vanilla?

Sushi or teriyaki?

BBQ or pizza

Olives or pickles?

Sandwich or salad?

Roast chicken or roast beef?

Hot fudge or caramel?

Risotto or pasta?

Apple pie or lemon meringue?

Appetizers or dessert?

Grapes or berries?

Ice cream or sorbet?

I really, really love playoff season in the NFL.

As in REALLY.

As in standing-for-the-whole-fourth-quarter, yelling-things-at-Peyton-Manning-I-would-not-say-in-front-of-my-Mom, delirious-about-Tom-Brady, weeping-as-a-Seattle-fan in love with playoffs.

The Seahawks lost. Sigh.

The Pats won. WOOHOO!

The Chargers are currently leading, but it’s still anyone’s game. YIKES. Indy is very much still in it. UPDATE: CHARGERS WIN! MANNING DOES NOT!

And I’m torn. I want the Cowboys out, but do I want Eli Manning to win? Neither!

I get so excited that my stomach twists into knots.

But I love it.

With my luck, I’ll end up with a guy who couldn’t care less about any of this stuff. Perhaps that’s good, though.

We only need one of us scaring the crap out of the neighbourhood once a year.

I know.

THIS IS NOT PROTOCOL.

This is supposed to be a love list!

But folks… I gotta be honest. I just don’t have it in me today.

I realize that the love list is to help me and everyone else shake off any bleah/whiny/snarly/crabby attitude before the weekend hits. I suppose I should really persist against the forces of MEH that are holding me back and fight the good fight.

After all, I’m a lucky and blessed girl.

Then again, I’m also allowed to have crap days now and then.

That’s why I think I’m going to do something a little different and clear my decks of all the crabbies by being… well… crabby. And never using the term “crabbies” again. Ew.

Seriously. Ew.

Ahem.

So without further explanation — because, really, it’s FINE — the Crabby List.

THINGS IRKING ME

Automated response phone systems that sound like really smarmy people you would not hang out with, had you any choice in the matter. People who say “Sorry about that.” when you refuse their suggestion of “Did you say you want to connect to Monkey Tuna?”

Seinfeld quoters

The valley in the middle of my bed that claims me every night WHOOSH!

The fluorescent-bulb like pastiness of my face

People who call someone who is larger than a size 6 “full-figured”. Oh yeah? I call you “full-idiot”

People who don’t stop at crosswalks, ESPECIALLY in the rain because HOW IMPORTANT IS YOUR SCHEDULE, NO I INSIST YOU GO FIRST AND I DIDN’T NEED THAT LIMB, NO WORRIES!

Constant toe-stubbing

Reality television in general

How quickly organic produce fails. As my roommate once said, the bananas are like “HI EAT ME EAT ME! Oh, too late.”

Too-short pants

Last night’s bus driver, who was so startlingly rude that he almost killed my I JUST SAW ELVIS COSTELLO IN WHOLE FOODS OMG buzz (not quite, though.)

People who obsess more than I do about finding me “that special someone.” Stop! How do you know what I think is special? Yoinks.

How ALL air fresheners smell like someone’s grandma bathed in Lysol and apple juice.

The rip in my jeans. Drafty!

That itchy spot on my back I can’t reach because of my short flipper arms. And while I’m at it, short arms. Flailflailflail.

People who obsess about Britney Spears and perpetuate the drama by not taking their eyes off the whole thing. As soon as the media stops creating their own tragedies and then “wondering what went wrong” maybe I’ll be able to take them seriously. Nah, that’s not gonna happen either.

The price of the damn shoes.

“Pap” as an abbreviation for “paparazzi”. Eeek. Couldn’t you do “razzi” or something?

People who hate Top 40 just to be cool.

My own annoying weirdness about getting my hair cut. Who cares? It’s just hair! You are not a supermodel! Few people will even notice. Get ye a grip!

Larry King. Always. Forever. Dear mercy. Suspenders SNAP SNAP!

The really cold, bucketesque rain that falls when I’m just trying to get somewhere and look like something other than a wet kitten.

Hormones. Enough said. Grrrr.

Fall Out Boy

People who say, “Must be nice” whenever something good happens to you. WELL, YES, THANKS. IT IS.

Anything used to measure popularity on the Internet. You’ll see why next week. Sigh.

Gummi candies that have gone rock-hard.

Most chatspeak abbreviations, especially used by those over the age of 30. And if you’re over 40, we should really chat. And not like this: LOL UR BN SO MEAN.

***

And you?

I recommend you not follow my path and choose a Love List instead, as I normally would.

But if you gotta vent… go right ahead.

When I left my house today, it was kind of misty out.

You know, that jolly West Coast “keeps my skin moist!” kind of damp stuff that Vancouverites ignore because hey, it’s what makes us green.

But that didn’t last long.

No, by the time I was two blocks from work, we were in the midst of a full-on downpour that flooded the streets with Lake Erie-size puddles and raging rapids that seemed more suited to rafts than boots.

I had my umbrella in my bag, so only the wind-driven drops managed to catch me (of which there were many.) But other people were not so lucky, and looked as though they’d showered in their clothes as we stood in line for coffee.

Then the sky turned blue! By the time I got into work, of course.

Now it’s a strange yellow colour, and I’m waiting for the locusts.

Happy Wednesday, Vancouver!

Sara Bareilles. She’s one of my new favourites, and this song resonates with me in a big way.