Archive for September, 2010

Taking the joke too far, in one act

THE SCENE: Monday. Mid-morning. Gchat.

Colin: So I bought my tickets for New York. Just sayin’.

Megeen Mike: YAY! What are your exact travel plans, so I can resume my intensive stalking of you?

Colin: Well, first of all, I’m going to pack seven shirts, three pairs of pants, two long-sleeved thermals, eight pairs of underwe—oh, wait. Not that specific?

Megeen Mike: …What color underwear?

Colin: Grey, blue, other blue, other other blue, olive green, multicolored stripe, Hello Kitty…

Megeen Mike: Oh, I miss that Hello Kitty underwear.

Colin: I know you do.

Megeen Mike: I haven’t seen it since I had my telescope trained on your bedroom window.

Colin: Well, I know you had at least three other identical pairs when I stole it from your panty drawer, so you can’t miss it that badly. By the way, did it ride up as badly on you as it does on me? Because daaaang.

Megeen Mike: Tee hee. “Panty drawer.”



“Dance like no one’s watching—because they’re probably not.”

Have you ever come across a particular musician, band, song, whatever, that—from the very first note you hear—fits you perfectly, like that hoodie from high school that has fraying cuffs and holes in the armpits but still holds pride of place on your closet shelf because no other article of clothing could ever come close to its comfort; that fills a small hole in your heart you didn’t even know was there; that makes you yell “HOW DID I NOT KNOW ABOUT [blank] BEFORE” so loud you scare the other person in the room, that kindly soul who introduced you to your newfound musical love?

Yeah. Meet Tanya Davis from Halifax. She’s amazing.

Continue reading ‘“Dance like no one’s watching—because they’re probably not.”’

The San Francisco Treat: Part One

"For God's sake, Alcatraz, prisoners. Prisoners, Alcatraz."


It begins, innocently enough, with a Facebook message. STC’s boyfriend, Matt1, wants to surprise her with a birthday weekend a thousand miles away, and he wants you and The Onion Juggler in on it. You think this is a fantastic idea, because STC is one of your oldest and closest friends and deserves nothing less; you haven’t seen The OJ in more than a year, because she lives in the godless north (or Ohio, whatever); and Matt1 is quickly becoming your hero. Yes, you say. Count me in. And so the planning commences.

Here’s the thing: keeping a secret is hard. It’s especially hard when the secret involves plane tickets, hotel reservations, time off work, four people in three cities. You will almost spoil the surprise approximately thirty-seven times. The others will too. You and The OJ will call each other and giggle about the close calls. There will be a panic one afternoon, the three masterminds frantically Facebook-messaging each other back and forth, when it looks like STC can’t get the necessary day off work and everything is ruined; luckily, this will be a false alarm. You should win an Oscar for all the IM conversations you have with STC, not to mention that time you had coffee with her and Matt1, mere weeks before the trip, where you managed to keep a straight face while she complained about missing The OJ and hoped to see her soon, where you managed to avoid knocking over your coffee and shouting “WE’RE TAKING YOU TO SAN FRANCISCO.” Seriously. You’d like to see Meryl Streep top that shit.

And suddenly, after months of planning and secrecy, it’s The Big Day and you’re driving to the airport, squinting against the early-morning sun. It feels like you’re getting away with something, because you know at that moment your coworkers are eating breakfast or sitting in traffic on their way to the office, while you’re barreling east on Peña Boulevard with your carry-on in the passenger’s seat, rocking out to…to…what is this song, anyway? The hell, iPod? You didn’t think you even owned any rap. Whatever. You will gladly listen to all the rap in the world, because you’re headed to the airport. You have a ticket to a city you’ve never seen before, and you’re going in the company of some of your best friends, and the sun is shining and you’re so young and cool and it feels like someone else’s life, someone else’s story, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Continue reading ‘The San Francisco Treat: Part One’