I’ve been quietly obsessed with Prince Harry and Meghan Markle’s relationship since the rumours started. Partially because Suits character turned me onto the actress ages ago, and partially because I wish PH could be Bond, and together I think they’re just delightful.
It’s the last week of the semester, I’m trying to write 6,000 papers, and they go and get engaged. I can’t stop watching them smile.
It’s 6:36 in the AM and I should be doing homework but instead I’m having some serious regrets: I drove back to Iowa this summer and did not drive my KitchenAid stand mixer back to Vancouver on my return. Deep in the self-loathing, I tell you.
Two years left of school, party people! And then who the hell knows what kind of shit I’ll be getting into–but it will definitely involve my trusty KA sidekick.
Nothing says “Life is good!” like getting your taxes questioned in one country, and then learning all your personal and financial data has been hacked in the other country. A week apart.
Well, nothing except that stupid bumper sticker/jeep tire cover.
I hate everything; school started too; so not ready, etc etc etc. Ugh.
My work related stress dreams are all about citations in APA style. Last night they took a turn and became current citation woes: figuring out how to cite things said at a white supremacist rally.
I didn’t think I was ready to move on from MSW. And we’ll, I’m not. I’m not ever leaving JB. But I do think I’m ready to pirate the shit out of another godawful television series with leading ladies. It’s time to find Designing Women.
All this fucking Trump fuckery.
I just reached peak library school and peak old lady in one sitting:
Murder She Wrote playing in the background while I download the Vancouver library audiobook app on my cell so that I could download the M. C. Beaton books (alternative Agatha Christie) that I wasn’t able to download on my other phone from my West Des Moines library audiobook app.
Fact. I live in Hollywood North. I’ve seen campus covered in swastikas, alleys transformed into Chinatowns, and schools coated in fake snow in April. I see film crews, actual filming, and filming site signs all the time. I know Uma Thurman was around my neighbourhood, and I maybe passed Liam Neeson when I was on the bus one day, and my friend most definitely served Nathan Fillion one time. But it all feels pretty removed–I don’t pay too much attention and I’m never around anything good.
Then the cast of Riverdale showed up again. (My god, what a show. So bad, so good.) My friends and I were sharing social media screenshots like, “Oh look, he was right on your street!” or “I think that’s my Chipotle!” I work downtown, on a main drag, and the gang has definitely been in the strip, so I’ve been on high alert.
Saturday morning, because that crew has been a frequent topic of conversation with my pals, MC spent some time looking at photos of the cast while I explained the first season. A mini convo between coffee and crosswords–nothing exciting. Then, we hopped the bus to this brunch place I love and walked right in to get on the list, knowing it’s an hour wait (lemon truffle potatoes with eggs benny, totally worth it).
And there they were,
just behind the woman taking my info:
Kevin, Jughead, Betty
The situation that surpassed my wildest dreams. They were shovelling eggs in their faces, I was sporting glasses and sexhair. I saw them for all of 45 seconds, a few feet in front of me, and it was exactly how I never knew I wanted a celeb sighting. What a day.
I want to binge House of Cards whenever suits me, damnit.
when you can just drive an out-of-town car across the border with two people holding passports from different countries? Thanks, Border Patrol, for forcing a not-exactly-ready girl to define my relationship at the 49th parallel.
To top it off, I’m pretty sure a semi-serious statement of “it’s official” was thrown about… in a Taco Bell parking lot.