Snow Love Hate

It snowed last night. Now, I love snow. I love the whiteness, and the hush it puts over everything, and the clothes people wear. It also makes me love my duvet more than ever.

What I do not love is how this city reacts to snow. We got 5 cm, people! That's 2 inches, for any Americans out there. So please, explain how it is that after 5 cm of snow, buses are sliding across intersections, delayed, disabled, and can't make it up hills? Have you never heard about snow tires? Chains? These are not new developments! And drivers: I understand that snow is not a common occurrence in this city, but it's not the apocalypse. Stop driving at 15 km/h. And the rest of you, stop driving at 70. Look behind you; there's no one there. Slow down.

Also, UBC, you know your drainage issues? Why do they get a frajillion times worse when it snows? And why, when Plant Operations shovels the walks, do they form snow walls around puddles, creating miniature lakes at every crosswalk? And why is it that instead of shoveling the snow in central places like the bus loop, you spend your time clearing Koerner library, and allow the rest of campus to become a huge slushball? Why don't you use your tiny snow plows more in the morning, instead of waiting until 5 pm like today?

Vancouver: why does UBC have more snow plows than you do?

And mom? Please stop stealing my pretty snow clothes - I know you have my hat. It's pretty and soft and warm and it has a bow and I want it back. Now. And also, remember that time you left my favourite shoes outside and racoons ate them? I've decided, since they no longer make those shoes, that you can replace them with warm, fuzzy boots. And they have to be cute.

Election, Anyone?

Rrring! Rrring!

J-Bird: Hello?
Campaigner: Hi, I'm calling from the office of Stephen [crackly sound], [crackly sound]rty candidate for your riding, we believe that soon the government will fall and wanted to know if we could count on your vote in the upcoming election?
J-Bird: I'm sorry, you're calling for Stephen who? (Note: both the conservative and liberal candidates for my riding have Stephen as their first name)
Campaigner: Stephen Rogers. Of the Conservative Party.
J-Bird: Oh. Uh...No. You can't.
Campaigner: ...Oh.
J-Bird: ...Yeah. Um, thanks for calling!

A Bunch of Little Stuff

I'm currently working on my 101 in 1001 list. It's taking me a bloody long time to find 101 things.

I'm addicted to Sudoku. Seriously.

I have Bombay Dreams songs in my head. (Shakalaka baby, shakalaka baby...)

I'm having another one of those phases where I feel all pensive and less bubbly than usual. But It's okay, cause I know it'll pass.

Less than a month til J and Girly are back! Yay!

I have a paper due on Thursday, and I haven't started.

I may, without even having read, have fallen in love with Queer Eye Carson Kressley's new book You're Different and That's Super!

It's almost Christmas! And I love Christmas!

Baby Did a Bad, Bad Thing...

Marciano bag, originally uploaded by Never Reason.

It's not black, though. (If you hadn't guessed, I bought the jacket.)

I Need a Plumber!

My house is currently suffering from an odor problem. Namely, it smells like sewage. Not everywhere; my room, for example, is thankfully free of the stank. But the scent wafts throughout the main floor of the building, coming from the basement, into which I refuse to venture. I did it at the beginning of this whole mess (yesterday), and since I found nothing, I clearly shouldn't be in charge of the second sweep.

The problem is, nothing looks wrong down there; if it weren't for the obvious smell, and the fact that the toilets are tripping out and only half-flushing every once in a while, everything seems normal. Except that I'm now scared to use our toilets (what if, when I flush, it finally gets to be too much and our pipes explode into grossness all over the basement?). And scared to shower (do the toilets and the shpwers use separate pipes? Or the same ones? What if showering could cause the unhygienic explosion?). I figure at this point, a good portion of the perks of living in a house have been negated. I'm basically living in a heated, exceptionally-furnished but non-operational port-o-potty.

For the love of god, get me a plumber.

Fog Rolls In...

There's fog all over the city. Thick fog, like dry ice sublimating. I've always liked fog - walking through fog like this is like walking in a void, where you're hidden by a huge blanket. When you do see objects, they seem more significant for their cloaks. And the air is heavy and wet and feels thicker.

The fog is supposed to stay for a while; I'm going to try to take pictures of it.

I Keep on Falling

When I go shopping, I'm generally perfectly happy with the slightly-above-what-I-would-call-reasonably-priced stores such as Jacob, RW&Co, and the sales racks at Banana Republic and Guess. I'm told that I'm kind of cheap, when it comes to clothes, although I don't think I am at all; it seems to me the people telling me this are way too spendy ($300 on jeans? I don't care who made them, hell no). But lately, I've noticed that every once in a while I seem to fall in love with items I see when browsing with my less cost-conscious friends in pricier stores; falling in deep, obsessive, longing love.

Over the summer, it was a skirt; an oh-so-pretty skirt from Bebe, below the knee (they make things below the knee! The new Bebe: not all skanky), yards of cloth, a reddish pink, with embroidered detailing all over and a sash. I loved it. While T marveled at the bejeweled jeans (I admit it, a month before it was the new thing), I lamented to Kaisha about the price of my skirt - $135. Not including tax. My skirt and I bed a fond goodbye, and we parted ways.

In August, however, we returned to the store, and lo and behold, the skirt was on sale! I have to give Bebe its due; they know how to put things on sale. I walked out with my skirt for a mere $45, tax included. And wore it to a wedding later that month.

Friday, I went shopping with Kaisha and T again. Kaisha and I took a look through Guess before meeting up with T. Generally, I find a few things in the store to earmark for the sales rack later on. Friday I found nothing. The whole store was completely bleagh, until I got to the back where I found...this (but in all black).

I'm completely in love again.

Unexpected Guests

What lives in your sink?, originally uploaded by Never Reason.

So last night, I get home, go to the kitchen to fix myself a snack, and hear a scrabbling noise. Look in the sink, and behold! My mum has six live crabs chilling out in there. They weren't so impressed with my arrival however; got a little snappish when I came too close.

I love my family.

Damn, I'm Mouthy! (250!)

250, people! This is post number two hundred and fifty! Which means three things:

1) I type a lot.
2) There's a strong possibility I have far too much time on my hands.
3) It's time I introduced a new, exciting aspect to the blog, so behold...

(look to the right hand side of the page)

the Flickr badge! That's right, I have added photo (and what limited video you see in the badge) to NeverReason! If you can't see it, get Flash, people. Seriously. This is the 21st century we're in. Join the party. And to see all my pictures, in larger, less squinty format, click on the "what is this?" and then Never Reason.

I'll write more later today, I promise. However, it took me a long, long time to cajole my computer into letting this work, so I'm going to take a break and bask in the glory, and in the Oprah. See? Nothing's really changed.

Bruised

Ow. I am at my most battered in a long time. I generally live a fairly delicate life; no contact sports, no heavy lifting...you get the picture. Tonight, I type before you a wounded woman. Not as a result of impact sports; no, although the last few days have also been my most athletic in a long time, with the exception of a broken nail (which no, I do not include in my inventory of injuries), I emerged from them unscathed. No, these bruises have been inflicted by The Cafe.

Yeah, you heard me. A Cafe/family breakfast place has beaten me into submission. This is probably where some of you are starting to think I'm just using "beaten" as a metaphor for "exhausted", but I'm serious. I have bruises, people!

So how did I get them? Mopping. Not by me, mind you - peripheral character mopping. Basically, the boys in the back (ie the kitchen crew) were mopping the place. When the floors of the cafe are wet, they get very very slippery. We're talking slip'n'side here. And I bailed. Full on, landed horizontal on my left-side, bailed. On my iPod mini. Which, thank god, lives up to its claimed sturdiness. But my body? Does not. I am bruised to the bejeesus. And my ankle really hurts.

Ow.

Stay tuned for the 250th NeverReason post! That's right, 250! Right after the break.

Good News!

After three consecutive "passes", I now need only go in for pap smears once every two years! Oh, wonderful day!

Of course, that's assuming I'm a nun for the next two years. If otherwise, smear me up. I'm all for taking care of myself, people.

here's reminding you to go take care of yo'selves too

Muffin is the Word!

Tonight, I have completed a challenge; the A-Maze-ing Team Challenge. This is a time-honoured tradition of garbage-bag mazes, shooting adversaries with pingpong balls, and memorizing Mr. Potatohead configurations (among other things). And not only did we complete the challenge, we WON the challenge, baby! That's right, undefeated throughout the events, after head to head playoffs, we came out so on top!

As I mentioned, a garbage-bag maze is involved; a more detailed description is necessary, which will now be supplied (to you, my enthralled readers. Heh). The maze is made up of various wooden frames covered in orange plastic mesh (these make the walls). This entire structure is covered in garbage bags, making it basically pitch black inside, and then smoke machines pump smoke in the whole thing, making it even harder to see. The maze is only about four feet high, which means you have to run around in it hunched over. Objects are hidden throughout the maze (at least two teams are going at a time, the objects are colour-coded), that have to be retrieved by team members in the maze (armed with flashlights, thank goodness). In the preliminary round, each person must get one item, in a relay setup. We got the 2nd best time overall in the prelims, which should have warned us we were about to rock the whole thing; after completing the other stations (I'd describe them entirely too if I wasn't sure you'd all just get up and leave if I did), we advanced to semifinals, which were head to head against another team. We won handily, getting ourselves to finals.

Finals were a little different; three objects to retrieve, three flashlights, six people in the maze at once, everyone had to be outside the maze to win. The objects were as follows - a pingpong ball duct taped to the floor, a baton also taped to the floor, and a hockey bag weighing over 100 lbs. As another round was occuring, our team got together to strategize; we decided to stay in pairs (so no one was wandering in the dark). After some more discussion, I came up with the idea that we should have a safety word; if all the objects were found and outside the maze, but team members were still in the maze, those members outside would yell the safety word to let those inside know that they should just get the hell outside. We decided on the word "muffin", for it's distinguishability, and guarded our word closely, so the other team wouldn't hear and use it against us.

Finals start: we all enter the maze, and myself and my partner couldn't find a single one of our items. We found every item that belonged to the other team, but not one of ours. We're running frantically through the maze, trying to find these things, when we hear our team mates yelling "MUFFIN! MUUUUUFFFFFIIINNNN!!!" at the top of their lungs. We were a little lost at this point, but after some handy teamwork between myself and my partner, we were outside, and the CHAMPIONS!!!

Which is why, of course, muffin is the word.