I have completed another orbit around the sun. Still no hamburger earmuffs. Although, a tufting gun made it onto my wish list a few days before my birthday. I assume nobody got me that tufting gun because they didn’t have enough time.
Before yesterday, I can’t remember ever having sunshine on my birthday. I used the need for a rubber eraser to go for a walk. Eraser was acquired, as was Vitamin D. Yes, it felt so good being twice the age of the majority. Then I got a text from the landlord suggesting they wanted to evict me ASAP.
I didn’t think anything could beat an alarm clock as the worst birthday gift I’ve ever received. (My parents gave me the clock so they didn’t have to wake me up for school anymore.)
On Monday, she took me to Cuthbert Holmes Park. There, I saw my first great horned owl in the wild. My favorite thing about great horned owls is how they look perpetually offended: this one was no exception. Tammy also pointed out the camouflaged hummingbird nests in the trees along the trails. Upon dropping me off at my place, she remarked that my landlords had an apple tree–which I knew about–and a plum tree, which I hadn’t noticed. And a pear tree that had somehow eluded me.
To be fair, even if she hadn’t pointed out the pear tree, I would’ve noticed it today as I collected two pears off the ground when I went outside to re-pot one of my houseplants. While lining the container with potting soil, I realized that doing so directly underneath said pear tree probably wasn’t wise. Isaac Newton had beat me to the notion of gravity more than 300 years ago. Had a pear bonked me on the head, the discovery would have been one of my landlords to make: me unconscious under their pear tree.
The landlords’ daughter is in town. She was the one who introduced me to her parents via email, but it’s her partner who I know as I worked with him in Montréal. For this reason, we haven’t hung out, but that didn’t stop her from sharing on WhatsApp what her parents had to say about me. They inadvertently complimented my cycling prowess when they mentioned to her how fast I go up the hill on our street on my e-bike.
I do not have an e-bike.
Not to worry, the rest of this post isn’t going to be about how amazing I am.
The last post was a missed opportunity for the ultimate 90s reference. So, I’ll make it now:
Maybe not ultimate? Honestly, there were so many iconic lines from the 90s. A decade worth of them, in fact. I wasn’t surprised when Zack (not Morris!) admitted to watching Saved by the Bell as a teen. After all, it was the quintessential teen show of the 90s. I played the “I’m so excited, I’m so scared…” clip on the work computer (good use of company time, I know) and Québec-bred Yann, who was using the workbench behind the computer, had the gall to ask, “What’s that?”
He was probably too busy watching Babar.
The day I run out of 90s references, I’m officially senile… and possibly still twitching. The twitching deltoid issue has subsided. I’m doubtful my brave decision to switch to decaf green tea had anything to do with it.
My favorite onscreen personalities this week have been the zany Dominic Skinner and Val freakin’ Garland! I finished Season 3 of Glow Up last night. I enjoyed the makeup artistry: both the spectacular creations and the botch jobs. However, I most look forward to when Val asks Dominic, “Shall we have a conflab (sic)?”
Or when she says shit like this:
Glow Up: 9/10 would recommend to those who enjoy (talent-based) competition shows. Don’t feel like sitting through eight 60-minute episodes? Drag queens Trixie and Katya have summed up the best bits from each season (1, 2, 3).
Because there’s a new episode of RuPaul’s Drag Race All-Stars 6 tonight, I’m going to end this post by recycling something I wrote some years ago in which I reveal that I also enjoy Antiques Roadshow.
I’m sharing this because it’s eaten up more than an hour of my life already. The responses are simultaneously hilarious and sad. I haven’t contributed because I couldn’t think of any children’s-age-level facts that I learned later in life, only knowledge that came to me late.
In the 8th grade, one of the kids in English class told the teacher, “Get laid.” The whole class was stunned, except for me. I didn’t know what getting laid meant. Judging by how the interpreter signed the phrase, I figured it was another way of the kid saying the teacher was a dog who needed to be put to sleep. I asked a friend in class what it meant, and her explanation was, “You know, like, get laid!”
Now I know that sick pets don’t go to the vet to get laid. It was a choice insult: implying the teacher was sexually repressed because he found her demeanor unpleasant. That’s… reasonable?
No chance that kid grew up to be anything but a douche bag. As for me, I grew up to be moderately polite at best, confusing at most.