Mamma Mia!

I LOVED this movie. It was so ridiculous, that it made me laugh. I think the whole thing was meant to be a big joke. It got horrible reviews, but honestly, I thought it was brilliant! All the actors were pretty good singers (Meryl Streep...who knew? Go girl!), with the except of James Bond. He was unfortunate. But everyone else? Loved. Christine Baranski...I've loved you since the days of Cybil. Julie Walters/Mrs. Weasley, I want you to be my grandma just like Betty White. ABBA, I"m going to officially adopt your music as the soundtrack to my life.

I got home from the movie, and I was like must...listen...TO ABBA. So it went on my IPOD, and then I danced to ABBA for a long time. Then I got up this morning, danced to ABBA some more, and was then running late for work. More ABBA or shower? That was the question. I chose more ABBA.

I really hope from the bottom of my heart that there is a place, somewhere in the world, where people just sing their lives away. Instead of talking. Please lord, let somebody find this place and tell me about it, so I can move there. No, it would never get tiring. It would be all singing and dancing and skipping, and general happiness. I also really hope this place is on a beautiful island in Greece. That is randomly filled with an overpopulation of cute 20something boys who enjoy dancing and singing while wearing snorkeling equipment.

I love musicals. Always have. It started with Annie when I was younger and it has just snowballed from there. I know the words to an alarming number of show tunes. One day, my goal is to try out for a musical, and be cast as one of the chorus people. Not a main role, but one of those people that doesn't really get noticed, yet still gets to wear a cute costume and sing all the best songs.

I had to refrain myself from dancing down the street to work this morning (while listening to ABBA). I should have just done it. Maybe on my way home.

Another One Bites the Dust

Hi Megan

I’ve reviewed Ottawa, and unfortunately, it was not what I was hoping for.
I’ve re-written it all and can email the doc if you would like.

We’ve found that several writers have tried this format – some with success and others not so much.

Unfortunately, given the time it took to re-write I’ll have to pass on any other assignments.

Sorry Megan, but we tried.

Brutal. I would rather this person have said, this travel guide is a piece of shit, rewrite it. Or perhaps...offer any suggests at all as to what I did wrong. Like...well, what were you hoping for then? I think we skipped about one step in the middle of me sending it, and you telling me you had to rewrite the whole thing. Whatevs. I'll admit it was not my best writing. But still. To a Tee I followed the freaking....arg. Brutal.

It's Raining Dogs and Feckin Cats

I've always had an issue with cats. As in, they scare the crap out of me. I find them to be fairly unpredictable, and that makes me uneasy. They are cute and all, and I think kittens are hilarious, and I love watching them play at the shelter, but I am not a cat person.

I think this all stemmed from the days at my grandmas cottage. Her neighbour had 18000 cats and they were always underfoot. I was little and moved around a lot. This equated to me stepping on lots of cat tails, and subsequently getting the crap scratched out of my leg. I understand...getting your tail steps on hurt, and the clawing is just a natural reaction, but holy crap, I was small, and those cats scared me.

Every cat since then I've been leery of. I don't stare at them too long, for fear they will pounce on me, and I don't pet them too long for fear they will all of a sudden turn on me and claw my face to death.

The only cats I've really found that I can be around without fearing disfigurement, are my friend's cats Marley and Patches. I won't go as far to say I like them, but they don't scare me the way most cats too. Perhaps it is because they are my godkittens, and I MUST love them. Either way, they are relatively docile, and don't do that creepy "I"m randomly gonna jump behind your head now" thing that most cats are prone to doing.

Anyway, my other friend was away this week, so I agreed to go and feed her mother's cat. This is a cute cat people, with big green eyes. I went on Monday with no issue, and on Wednesday with no issue. On those days, the cat could really care less that I was there, she was just happy for me to fill her food dish and get the hell out.

So yesterday, I go to feed the cat for the last time. I don't know what happened between Wednesday and Friday, but cat darn gone crazy. She would not get out from around my feet. So much so that I could barely walk anywhere. Nonetheless, I feed her, I flush the toilet so she has fresh water. Then I am standing in the living room, doing various tasks, all the while talking to the cat so she hears some human voice, when all of a sudden, the cat rushes over, bites my leg, and starts hissing up a storm. ?? I have no idea what provoked this sudden attack, so I start thinking to myself, "has she gone crazy? Is she just warming up? Is my face next?". I know nothing about cat behaviour. I can read dog behaviour fairly well, but cat's...I got nothing. Because that biting and hissing fit came outta nowhere! So anyway, after this happens, I was pondering my options. "Maybe I can go out the back door, sneak in the front door, grab my purse and get out...but no, because then the back door will be unlocked". What resulted was me going out the back door, running to the front door, peeking in the window, only to see this demon cat staring me down. To the back door I go! But once I get there, there is the cat, staring at me..again. I repeat this pattern several times, with the cat stalking me all the while. After about 5ish minutes, I realize how RIDICULOUS this is, and decide to just go IN the back door. This is just a cat after all. A fairly tiny one at that. It's not a mountain lion, or a puma, or anything that could kill me.

So I open the back door, and there is this cat, hissing and staring away. "I must remain calm", I think. "Be rational. Animals sense fear". So I grabbed the bag of cat treats, and proceed to pour wayyyy too many on the ground. "This will stall her" I think, and I make my way for the front door. I grabbed my purse, the key to the house, my sunglasses, throw on my shoes and got the hell outta there.

I think my car made screechy noises as I peeled out of the driveway.

Over-reaction: most definitely.
Puffy bite marks on my legs: two.
Number of people I've ever cat watch for again: 0.

I'm sticking with the dogs.

Oh My God....Puppies

I spent the majority of my evening playing with puppies. Yes, it's that time of week again! It's quickly becoming my oh so favourite day.

Today there were puppies. 10 week old poodle mixes of some sort. I wanted to die. And I wanted to bring one of them home, really quite badly. It would have been so easy to sneak one under my shirt. Alas, my time is not now. They looked something like this:



Squeeze! There were two white ones, one black one, and one brownish one. I went in their cage with them, and they all just jumped on me. Tiny puppy teeth, everywhere! One of the white ones was crazy though, he just kept running and leaping onto me. Pet me! Love me! Oy. And they were just so tiny.

People kept coming in to see them, and I could not wait for the time when the humane society would close, so I could have them to myself. They put a picture of all the puppies in the paper yesterday, and they are letting people fill out applications today and tomorrow and then the owners will be chosen by a random draw. I dunno. Something about that...I don't like. Well, several things really.

1) These puppies are from a puppy mill. I mean, who knows, they could turn out fine, but if they were from a really bad puppy mill....who the hell knows how the mother was treated, and if their father is actually their uncle. Yes, they are no longer at the puppy mill now, but their mother lived there for her whole life. And, I just...don't think people totally get puppy mills and all the problems that could stem from getting a puppy from one. I mean, yes, these puppies need loving homes, but people see them in the paper, and think "ohhh puppy!", and don't really get informed about their pedigree in any way. En. Maybe I'm just super cautious about puppy mill puppies because of personal experience...

2) I really don't like that they put them in the paper...I feel like...if people were really looking for a dog, and were truly ready to have one in their lives, they would be looking at the humane society anyway. Now, because of a picture in the paper, all these people see it, and think, I want one of those puppies! Two days ago, bringing a new dog into their home never crossed their mind, until they saw the picture. If they hadn't been in the paper, they still would have gotten adopted...but a lot less people would have been disappointed when they didn't get a puppy. I suppose it IS a good way to get people to come into the humane society, and by default, they see all the other dogs in there and maybe will decide to take one of them home. But...why not put a picture of my friend Samson in the paper? Or one of the other dogs that has already been at the shelter for several months? Let's face it...it's because puppies are cuter. People want to see pictures of puppies!

3) I find it weird that whenever their is some sort of sad story about a dog in the paper, people rush in to adopt them (see Lady and the Tramp, etc). People feel sorry for them, and want to make a better life for them. I'm totally not knocking that! That's great! BUT. All of the dogs have some sort of sad story. Take my friend Sammy for example...he is basically growing up at the shelter. For the past...I dunno how many months...a long time...he has been there, only getting let out three times a day, and for the rest of the time in a tiny kennel. He's still only a puppy...but all he's known for pretty much his whole life, is this extremely stressful environment, with 20 other dogs, barking barking barking, all the time. That's sad! It's not, two ignorant assholes starved him to death sad, but sad in it's own way.

Anyway. I just hope the people that are adopting those little lovelies know what they are getting into, are in it for the long haul, and are not getting them simply because they looked cute in the paper.

Over n'out.

Like sand through an hourglass...

Dear Ms. .......:
Thank you for submitting your work to Room magazine.

While it has not been accepted, the Editorial Collective thanks you for your submission. When a manuscript comes into Room, it is initially read for quality and then passed on to individual editors. Each editor then decides if the manuscript is a match for their issue.

We receive more than 1,000 manuscripts each year, and have to make some very tough choices. We look forward to reading your submissions again in the future.
Again, thanks for sending your work to us and best wishes in your literary pursuits.

Room magazine Editorial Collective

Ahhh, my first rejection letter. Is it weird that it makes me feel more like a writer? I will begin a collection of them. I had hopes...maybe not high hopes, but hopes, that this journal would publish my story. I will try again at another journal. There is a part of me that won't let me call myself a writer until one of my stories has been published. Because until that happens, it all just seems a little bit...unattainable. When someone actually does publish one of my stories, it will be encouraging in the sense that someone is actually saying, "okay, you can do this. You are maybe even good at it". It will give hope and acknowledgement to the little writer me so that I can keep on keeping on.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

I came home from work today, and my landlord was there, and said "I'm going to be showing your apartment to somebody now". I knew this was happening, and I thought I had come home late enough to avoid awkwardly sitting in here while people nosed around my living space, buuut I didn't. It's not really a big deal, people could nose around all they want. Even if they are the neighbours from three doors down. I am nosy too, I understand! Watching people walk through my apartment, just kind of hit home how close to the end it is, and in two months time, I'll be....somewhere, and that somewhere won't be here.

Moving out of the apartment is going to happen at the end of August. I have been mentally preparing myself for this since February. I really do love this apartment, but I find myself becoming more and more detached from it. Like, I can't really care. It is a place to sleep, and that's all I can let it be. I have a habit of becoming really attached to *home*. Home is a place that is mine, a safe little haven to come back to after a day away or a week away. It is where all my stuff is, and where I feel like I fit. I need that constant in my life to feel a semblance of sane. But right now, I don't have it. I have been slowly detaching my notion of this place as *home* for several months now, so that in August, I can walk away from it, and not feel as though I want to burst into tears.

I know it is just an apartment, and it was never really mine to begin with. I am merely a tenant. One in a long line of tenants who came before me, and a long line of tenants who will come after. It is not like I was planning to spend the rest of my life here, but I had grown to like it and moving all the time is a bloody drag. I understand the need for change though, and I have accepted it, and am even looking forward to what September may bring for me (cause as of right now smack dab in this moment I have no idea)...all that being said though, moving still sucks.

The location of this apartment ROCKS. My room is pretty. I have a closet big enough to fit all my clothes. The landlord is so so great. The apartment is huge. I need to let go of all these things.

The idea of moving again has hit me so hard, because it seems that this is the year of moving. And while I am perfectly fine with change, I still want a home base. When everything else in my life is in a sort of turmoil...at least I have the familiarity of my home. My parents recently moved out of the house that I grew up in. It was the only house I ever lived in, and while I completely understand and support their choice to move on up to the North side, it didn't make it any less difficult. Any time I drive down our old street, and see our old house, I still think, "there is my house." I'll never be able to go into it again, ever. It's not my house anymore. A whole lot of my life happened there, but it is no longer my house.

Perhaps I place too much emphasis, and get too attached to the places where I live. I just don't know. I can't imagine not being attached to the place that I live though. The actual house people live in, and the community that that house is within makes up so much of a person. The next place I move too, it's gotta last for a while. I need to establish a home base, a place where even though everything else is swirling around me, I can open the front door, and fit right in.