Long Time, No Blog

I gave myself a five-day weekend. It was wonderful. For some reason, I chose to take an unpaid five-day weekend. Not so wonderful. But the government will soon send me a cheque that covers the lost income over my lovely time away from the computer. Tax season is sometimes okay. Like this year. In so many ways.

Let me catch you up [Tues-Sun]:

• Brothers (+ girlfriend of Brother 2) arrive by Greyhound
• We eat Easter chocolate
• And blow up the air mattress
  
• We go to dinner
• We see Eugene Mirman at the mall
  
• We see Flight of the Conchords
• We laugh
  
• I wear plaid
  
• We visit a 24-hour grocery store and buy frozen pizza and chocolate milk
• Midnight pizza at my place
• Indoor camping at my place
• The next morning is Brother 1's birthday, so we go out for breakfast
• Breakfast is across the street, beside the under-construction cocktail lounge
• We head to the bus station and say goodbye to Bro 2 + girlfriend
• Bro 1 and I meet up with Vancouver friend and old Guelph friend
• Bro 1 gets on the bus
• He should have boarded a train
• Vancouver friend and I end up in a coffee shop
• We chat, just like old times - but better
  
• We part ways
• I go home and write and write and write
• I sleep
• I go to the gym
• I think about skill sets and career goals
• And ponder the great unknown
  
• And then I try to tell a stranger about said skills and goals
  
• I embed a YouTube video and subsequently embark on a new adventure -- maybe
  
• I fire off invoices
• I do laundry
• I write about Salma Hayek
  
• I wake up super-early
• I read The Great Gatsby on the subway
• I read The Great Gatsby in Tim Hortons
• The parents arrive
• I get in the van, and later notice it's a new van
• It's moving day at Emmanuel Bible College
• I carry Bro 2's CD racks and shoes and watch everyone else move him out
  
• Lunch with grandparents in Kitchener
• So we order pizza
• And eat chocolate cake
• Happy 55th anniversary, Grandma and Grandpa
• Happy birthday, Dad
• We play games
• We watch the sky darken
• And watch the thunderstorm
• I'm dropped off in Toronto
• I prepare for KidMax
• I wake up early
• I go to church in the rain
• I teach kids about the Great Commission
• And build microphones out of cardboard and tinfoil
• Microphones double as weapons
• I go home and nap for two hours
• I make Monday's breakfast and lunch
• I catch up on emails
• I go to 4worship in Newmarket
  
• And sing
• And sing
• And sing
• Jack Astor's for salad and conversation
• Finally home, with this perfect song in my head:

Brooke Fraser is tied with the Conchord boys for favorite New Zealander. But this song doesn't need her. It stands alone.

I feel like I'm forgetting something. But I've been writing all evening and nothing makes sense anymore. I need sleep. So good night.


P.S. Dev Patel and Freida Pinto are dating. So are a lot of other people, I'm sure. But I can only write about one couple at a time. Sheesh.

It Happened Wednesday Night: Flight of the Conchords

I smuggled in my camera. Rules don't apply to me.

They played "Sellotape."
And "Albi the Racist Dragon."
And paused the show until some guy in the front came back from the washroom.
And I laughed. Very, very hard.

Note to self: Laugh out loud every day.
Other note to self: Apartment officially sleeps four. Almost comfortably.
Final note to self: Next time you see Eugene Mirman walking around the Eaton Centre, talk to him. Ignoring quasi-famous funny men is so last year.

For the Love of Plaid: Prologue

I know I promised a post that would explain my love for plaid. This is the post to acknowledge that a post is coming. It won't live up to the hype, but it's coming nonetheless.

My dear friend Julia explained to her mother last weekend that plaid's my favorite pattern. (Probably followed by nautical stripes, gingham and pinstripes. In case you were wondering.)

Oddly, despite my waxing poetic on the subject, I don't own a lot of plaid. A couple of scarves, a Value Village skirt from a costume party years ago, a pair of wool trousers that will fit again once my runner's body decides to lean out a little more, and a purse.

And as of yesterday, I own this:

It makes me feel like a hip, preppy cowgirl. As someone who once defined her style as "Audrey Hepburn goes to camp," it seems appropriate. It also might be just the thing to wear in the presence of these guys next week:


I'll expand later. On the topic of tartan and checked fabrics. And then I'll chat about Bret and Jemaine. Because next Wednesday will be quite the adventure in Toronto.

P.S. I'm pretty sure my crush on plaid has a lot to do with Clueless. Or The Beverly Hillbillies.