megfowler.com

I know how to convert Celsius to Fahrenheit and back again.

I know how to make a flatline poker face.

I know how to get those stains out of your grout.

I know how to choose a good melon.

I know how to drive men up the wall… and not in a good way.

I know how to drive most people up the wall… and sometimes, I mean to do it.

I know how to tape off a room for painting.

I know how to make your PC run faster (get a Mac to chase it! Ohohohoho…)

I know how to how to stand up for what I believe.

I know how to say seven bad words in French, two in Yiddish, four in Italian, and many, many bad words in an Irish accent.

I know how to throw a decent spiral.

I know how to embarrass the hell out of myself in public.

I know how to knock the cap off a pop bottle with a pistol from 75 feet.

I know how to be overwhelming.

I know how long it takes to get through university when you keep changing your plans.

I know how to stop avocado from going brown before you make the guacamole.

I know how to drive a dump truck.

I know how to lull a baby to sleep.

I know how to hold back tears long enough to speak at both weddings and funerals, despite my mom crying somewhere nearby.

I know how to shave my legs in a creek.

I know how to do the perfect roasted marshmallow.

I know — despite all evidence to the contrary — how to shut up.

I know how to buy a men’s suit AND get it tailored properly… for a man, that is, not me.

I know how to live on nearly nothing in a month and make a great dinner out of onions and potatoes and a wilted apple.

I know how to make my dad laugh.

I know how to find the harmony.

I know how to hit a punching bag properly.

I know how to throw a javelin, a shotput, and a discus… but there’s no guarantee you won’t get NAILED.

I know how to play exactly four songs on the piano and five chords on the guitar. And two songs on the recorder.

I know how to draw a bowl of fruit and paint a cloud in a blue sky.

I know how to whip a sentence into shape.

I know how to throw a good party where even the oddest people there have some fun (including me.)

I know how to put things off.

I know how to make your lips look bigger, your cheekbones higher, and your eyebrows much less bushy.

I know how to put up a tent. And then put it up again when it falls down. And then again. Okay, maybe I don’t.

I know how to scare the heck out of people with my lazy eye.

I know how to break your nose if you jump out at me from a bush.

I know how to get 250 kids to stand in complete silence for whole minutes at a time.

I know how annoying I am to hold accountable.

I know how annoying I am when I get going on something that only I care about.

I know how annoying I am when I’m annoying.

I know how to pull a good shot, make good foam, and do it all 40 times in ten minutes or less.

I know how to make a list.

I know how little any of this matters when it all comes down… but I also know how important it is to know what you know.

Get yours here.

More to come….

That’s totally the face I’m making right now. I swear it. And here’s a haiku about that face:

squinty mcsquinter
stop fussing the way you do
think about bunnies

There. Now I feel better.

And onto the plans….!

1. I’m going to write a book. Err, publish a book? Make a book from things I’ve already written? Can you feel my absolute confidence in the project oozing from the screen? But, yes, I am. I’m deciding now on themes and expansion and how to spiderweb it all together into something coherent, thoughtful, buy-worthy and solid. Not just I MADE MY BLOG INTO A BOOK GET IT WHILE YOU CAN… because, hello, you can get it all online. Save for the posts I delete, of course, but you didn’t want those anyway, I promise.

   If you have theme ideas, posts you think should be included, or just a general YES, I WANT TO BUY IT! affirmation, speak now or… you know, speak later. I’m open.
   
   

2. I’m embarking on a life plan beginning next week, focusing on two major areas of my life: health and finance. Now, on the health side, I do have certain issues I won’t be able to conquer with even a super excellent plan, but I think there are lots of things I could do to increase my daily wellbeing. Increased fitness is one of those things, as much as the idea of increasing my output sounds rather UGH! to me this week.

   BUT! I would love some longer, leaner muscles… I would love to make my curves proportional to my wee frame within… I would love to feel more confident and energetic in my own skin. I think that’s worth the effort. To that end, I think I’m going to finally buy the new running shoes I’ve needed for a while (my current shoes pinch my feet) — maybe some MBT shoes? What do you think? Pretty much anything they are designed to remedy has been wrong with me at some point or other, physiologically (I’m hard on this bod!) I also am lugging my sorry ass back to the doctor to adjust a few elements of my treatment to get some better results… more rapid change. Other self care stuff? Drinking enough water. Stretching. Cutting down on coffee (OH MY GOSH!) And perhaps dressing according to my actual levels of sass, non? Yeah!

   As far as finance goes, I’m going to be a self-nazi, and nail down my saving goals for the next two years. Also? How I plan to find a sugar daddy. Ahem.

3. I’m going to aggressively seek out more freelance work. I think this is good for both my bankbook and my self-identity as a writer. Yes — I DID mean to sound fruity about that, thank you. But seriously… I know what I’m capable of. Time to haul ass and get published like a good girl… under my own name!

So. Ideas welcome, either in comments or via email. And of course, you can just say LOVE YOU! GO FOR IT! because I’m going to, so you might as well.

WOO!

Well, at least SOMETHING to tie together a toilet paper ad and early Kevin Bacon films, besides possibly the extent of fluff involved and the close relationship with… well… crap.

But the ACTUAL theme for the rest of the week here at the ‘Com is Things We Were Obsessed With As Kids.

In my case, two of those things were fluffy television kittens and Kenny Loggins kickin’ off his Sunday shoes.

For you, it could have been Transformers or an EZ Bake Oven or a BB Gun or Lego or the stone you used to write on the cave walls. Especially since the age range of people coming here stretches from 15 to 83! And my dad, somewhere in the middle.

So…

1. What stands out in your memory as the favourite toy of your childhood/early teen years?

2. What song do you remember listening to repeatedly as a kid?

3. What item of clothing sticks out for you as something you a) wore too often and b) didn’t wash enough because it was so cool and you had to put it on every day?

I was totally obsessed with these cats as a kid. Not in French, mind you, but hey… it feels more “cultured” to watch fluffy kittens play with toilet tissue if you do it bilingually.

Hey!

It’s freakin’ snowing!

Awesome!

(Buzz, not a word about my photos going outside the lines. What are you, a kindergarten teacher?)

Or sorta, at least:

I was kinda unprepared (thank you, phone camera.)

BUT! While I was out, I saw two fun things (taken with phone camera, too):

Oranges with pet names…

And EGGPLANT PENGUINS!

That’s just weird. Nutritious, yes. But weird.

And here’s me in a shot taken by Justine’s camera phone (in Justine’s glasses) while out with my peeps last night:

Elton, or chic? You decide.

The best part of last night was Catherine and I inadvertently ending up out for dinner at a pub that was ACTIVELY celebrating Robbie Burns Day. We laughed so hard, we could barely eat. It was AWESOME.

Singing! Dancing! Shouting!

YEAH!

WOO!

HEY!

Wanna vote for me at the Canadian Blog Awards?

Okay! Go here:

Best Personal Blog

Best Blog Post

And want to vote for Angella, whom I love? Okay! Go here:

Best Blog Citizen (and she is!)

Best Blog Post Series

Oh yeah! And you should vote for Rebecca for Best Local Blog, too.

Whew!

1. Was attacked by a bus door that grabbed my coat sleeve and held me hostage for two stops.
2. Tossed my phone at a man in an elevator because I pulled it from my purse with such gusto.
3. Bumped my own arm while using burny lip gloss, thus creating a burny stripe across my cheek.
4. Dropped half a bottle of Advil into my coffee (no, I didn’t drink it.)
5. Put a Slinky on my arm as a bracelet, but neglected to remove it before running to the store for something.
6. Was listening to WHAM! on my iPod Touch when an attractive man leaned over to check it out.
7. Existed.

1. If some idiot in tight pants approaches you, you get to knock his ass flat.
2. There’s a penalty for Offensive Holding.
3. Getting shut down? Just call an audible.
4. There’s an actual possibility of Too Many Men On The Field.
5. Three words: Backfield in motion.

I’ve fallen a thousand times in a thousand places, but it manages to surprise me still.

I was trundling (I don’t use that word nearly enough) innocently down the hill to work, latte in hand, new iPod Touch playing nothing less than Kenny Loggins’ “Footloose” as I prepared mentally for two days of busyness and mental fatigue.

I was wearing FULL SHOES… yes, complete boots, warm and practical and Mom-approved.

I was being CAREFUL… it snowed last night, so things were a bit “fluid” out there.

But it didn’t help, evidently, because I hit an icy patch and was airborne in seconds flat.

Which is also how I landed on my knee, which caused my jeans to rip and the sidewalk to skin me right open. I’m hobbling now.

I won’t even mention how stiff my neck just got.

Oh, and the graceful latte is now just half-full, and it was mere seconds old.

I’m a little grrrr right now, so I will be doing things to try and cheer myself up today.

What a start back to the whole thing….

I’m not easily startled.

I’m one of those “keep a cool head” people who can wade into emergencies and stare down creeps and walk dark alleys without seeing a boogeyman behind every dumpster.

However.

Spiders? Turn me into a complete and total KNOB.

I see one — well, okay, a spider bigger than say, the palm of my (very small! very small!) hand, not just a mini spider fooling around on a wall, because hey! hi. it’s cool you’re here, I understand our ecosystems need you, just stay out of my pants — and my brain goes absolutely blank.

I want to be ANYWHERE BUT THERE.

Which is essentially what happened in my bathroom early this morning when I came rolling in with my happy white towels, ready for a hot shower.

There he was.

On the shower curtain.

A behemoth (okay, not really, but he wasn’t tiny AND I DON’T CARE! IT WAS SHOCKING AT 5:45 AM!) of a spider, just waiting to torture me with his very presence.

I made an immediate and involuntary squeak toy noise, and shrank back against the wall.

He was blocking my Portal to Cleanliness, and I was not impressed.

I got a magazine — Avril Lavigne was on the cover, I hoped this would help — and steeled myself to take a whack at him, but every time I moved to do it, he moved enough to startle me into dropping Avril on the ground. And there was nothing solid behind him to help the magazine out, either, so my hits lacked little punch when they actually connected.

Sigh.

That’s how I ended up not showering, pulling my hair back into a ponytail, and doing my makeup bent in from the doorway, one eye trained on the interloper at all times. I’m aware of how ridiculous that sounds, but I literally could not force myself to stay in the room with him.

Finally, he made a hardcore break for it, and that’s when I screamed.

Screamed.

At 6:15 am.

It was at this moment that three things happened:

1. I felt like a COMPLETE TOOL and started to cry. CRY. Partly because of the spider and partly because I WAS BEING A TOOL.

2. Catherine came flying out of her room (she was due up any minute, it’s okay!) to see if I was injured in some way.

3. Dean heard me scream upstairs, and texted Catherine (who he thought was the screamer) to lie and say she woke up the baby (The baby was already awake, as was Dean.)

Here’s where the story improves, mostly because Catherine has a morbid fear of mice and understands the Power of Irrational Panic in Enclosed Spaces with Unpleasant Creatures. She would do no better than I did, if it had been a mouse.

(Which it wasn’t. It was something much smaller, of course. Did I mention that I’m a tool?)

Fortunately, Catherine is NOT afraid of spiders — a power I’d been trying to access for 30 minutes by whimpering in the direction of her door (forgetting, of course that Catherine sleeps like the dead.)

Once she figured out why I was crying, she went straight into the bathroom, shut the door, and less than a minute later, I heard the toilet flush. Then she came out, patted me on the back, and it was over.

Well, except for the fact that I still felt like a tool.

It didn’t take me long to get past it once I got to work and focused on other things, but part of me continues to flail because I never wanted to be one of those girls who was scared of stuff.

Especially a screamy one.

And here’s the worst part — when I’d have a cabin full of terrified girls gathered around a much larger spider at camp, I wouldn’t hesitate to actually PICK THE DAMN THING UP and put it outside, or dispatch of it in a less poetic and earth-friendly manner with my stowed-away and incredibly heavy copy of the Fall Preview Vogue.

I was the rescuer! Not the rescuee!

I’ve become a screamy girl. LATE IN LIFE.

I think this is more depressing than the day I realized that Andrew Ridgeley was never really going to have a comeback.

And I’m still not over that.

Sigh.