megfowler.com

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.

So I woke up to a foot of snow this morning.

Well, in all honesty, I can’t really gauge what a foot of snow looks like, and I didn’t have a ruler, so I just ASSUMED it was a foot of snow because it ate my boot! Up past my ankle! Woo!

It was even kind of dry and fluffy, which was AWESOME. That’s not the kind of snow we get here at all. I always compare Vancouver snow days to living in a 7-Up Slurpee.

And true to form, that’s what it looks like outside now. Two hours and two degrees make ALLLL the difference.

(Unless the degrees are in Art History and Comparative Literature.)

Blech.

Also? My boots are SOAKING WET.

Also? PEOPLE KEEP POKING AT MY PUFFY COAT.

Also?

Wait, I don’t have another also. I’ll think of one, though.

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. That I’m currently involved with Tom Brady on the sly. Or maybe just that I’m a supermodel. Same difference.
2. That I had a catfight with Oprah Winfrey in the lobby of a Jack In the Box.
3. That I’m releasing a tell-all memoir about my experiences as an NHL rinkbunny.
4. That Angelina and Brad are planning to adopt me.
5. That I’m a CIA operative trying to infiltrate the Scientologists by stowing away in John Travolta’s plane… or Tom Cruise’s dimples.
6. That I’m going to rehab for my coffee addiction.
7. That someone caught grainy footage of me blogging with John Mayer.
8. That I’m a celebrity. Period.

More hair…

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.

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.