Bachelor of Random Shit (BRS)

As some of you know, I'm registered in the Faculty of Science at my University. I am also in the process of taking certain courses to satisfy the prerequisites needed for the professional programs I'm applying to. I have also decided, in case the professional programs take one look at my application and laugh their asses off, that I would take some Nutrition courses so I could at least graduate as a Registered Dietician if said laughing occurred. Turns out, ironically, that Science students are barred from taking any Nutrition courses because the Science faculty doesn't allow it.

Right.

So now, if I don't happen to be one of the lucky 277 people who just happen to be vying for the same 23 spots, I will have no degree. Nothing. Because those prerequisites for professional science careers have nothing in common with the allowed Bachelor of Science programs.

Bachelor of Random Shit here I come.

I hate this province.

Gizoogle it! Damn!

Courtesy of But Back To Me... I came across this site: Gizoogle.com. Highly amusing site that translates any website into Tizzle Talk - ya know, you too can now talk like a gangsta!

Amusing rendition of my HP6 post goes somethin' like this:

Got mah Harry Potta delivered right now . I started yo shit and i'll end yo' shit. And I didn't even have ta wait until 5 PM . Its just anotha homocide. Squeal of glee in all flavas. Thiznat is all.

Check out the rest of my site here.

Chill as I take you on a trip.

Google Me! Please?

Another search (this time on google) for yours truly resulted in this combination: ahi tuna crisps moxie's. Well, if anything, I'm glad I can write about memorable sushi. Thank you, thank you very much.

Soup, anyone? Anyone?

Seriously?

I wonder what they'll make next, the good 'ole Grace company. Nipples Creamed Corn? How about Nuts-in-a-Sac, spicy and regular? I shall wait with bated breath for their next offering.

To Pierce Or Not To Pierce

I've been flirting with the idea of getting a small stud piercing in my nostril for a while now. Except I'm really really chicken. And possibly too old.

As I'm one of those crazy people who researches everything before buying anything, even if it's just cereal, I found the BME website for body piercing and other such things. Which only proved to further freak me out. Talk of scaring and keloids does not a happy person make. But they did have a section on Winnipeg and the different shops here. Turns out the one I'm thinking of going to, The Crypt (nice reassuring name, at that), seems to have not scared the holy crap out of anyone yet. Or else they're just not talking. But either way, I'm ecstatic in my possible blissful ignorance, for the moment.

Aside, of course, from the all-encompassing fear of having a needle stuck through my nose. It must hurt. I mean, have you ever just pinched your nostril? Hurts like a bitch. Come on, just try it. Your eyes will tear up, I tell you.

Maybe I'll do it when New Homeowner is here for her visit. She can come with me for moral support as I can't seem to talk her into getting one as well. We got our belly buttons pierced several years ago on her birthday, so maybe this will be a nice continuation of our history together.

That's One Spicy Fortune!

Citrusboy and I went out to dinner at the Spicy Noodle House last night and I loaded up on my favourite Spicy Peanut Noodle Soup. After dinner we got fortune cookies. The most discriminating fortune cookies to have ever been written in the history of fortune cookie making.

Really? Emotional emotions. What a concept.

And for those that care, here's the French side:

Seems the French don't have emotional emotions but rather strong and sensible natures. Where did we, the English, go wrong?

Skool Sux

Fuck you, University! Fuck you and your fucking appeals for every single thing I want to do every single time I want to do it.

I am bloody well sick and tired of writing fucking appeals for courses I want to take, for programs I want to enter, for labs I want exemptions for, for your fucking skank-ass to drop courses off my transcript that I took 10 years ago at another university IN ANOTHER PROVINCE!

Go to hell, University! If I knew this was going to happen, if I had the foresight of a two year old, I would have bypassed your stupid little province and gone right into Saskatchewan. They don't even know what an appeal is! They don't take marks into consideration that were completed a hundred years ago in another space-time continuum. No, no they don't! They have some sense! Unlike you, you dipsticks!

And another thing: Did you actually know it's registration week, you fuck nuts, or did you forget? Is there a reason why we science students can't register for certain courses? Oh, there's a problem you say? Oh, and the only person, the only single solitary person on the whole University campus who can fix this little problem is on vacation? Really.

Fuck you AND I hope you burn in hell, University (except for the nice science advisor, who was very helpful).

Skeeters, Peters, and WHAT???

Oh. My. God. No, no, seriously, oh my God! Okay, so I'm on the bus and this drunk-as-a-skunk guy starts singing:

There's a skeeter on my peter
Whack it off!

There's a skeeter on my peter
Whack it off!

All to the tune of "She'll be comin' 'round the mountain...".

I thought I was going to die laughing. I had to get off the bus lest some old lady smack me with her purse for being a pervert.

And in Winnipeg, if you ever plan on taking public transportation, I warn you now: there is always a drunk guy (at least one) doing something inappropriate and half the bus is chock full of little old ladies getting their feathers ruffled about something or other.

Everybody now!

There's a skeeter on my peter
Whack it off!

One more time!

There's a skeeter on my peter
Whack it off!

I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did.

Egg, Thou Art On My Face

Remember when this happened and I couldn't find a reasonable explanation for it? Well, turns out there actually is. Check it out. Who'd a thunk it?

Except it still doesn't explain why he was so very angry.

Cannot Contain Excitement!

I just found out New Homeowner is coming for a visit over the long weekend. I cannot wait! This is going to be so awesome! Well, aside from the fact that I will now have to clean the house from top to bottom again (but I doubt she'll complain about it being messy, at least not to my face) and poor Fatty will be relegated to spending the rest of her days under the bed but if she's going to be that stupid about it then she deserves it. 'Cause my bestest friend is coming to relieve me of the hell that is this "city"!

Let's see, we can:

1. Drink. Did I mention I got a new blender?
   
2. Go see cheapie movies.
3. Drink. So I can now make Pina Coladas.
   
4. Go for sushi. I scream "SUSHI" and then proceed to gobble up everything in sight, Cookie Monster style. I'm sure New Homeowner will be pleased. And so very glad she came to visit.
   
5. Drink. And Strawberry Daiquiris.
   
6. Play Mario Party.
7. Drink. And Lime Margaritas.
   
8. Go to the Martini Bar to, well, drink. Think Crazy Monkey Sex. It's a drink. Really. Please drag your filthy minds out of the gutter. I am a lady.
   
9. Drink. And Peppermint Penguins.
   
10. Did I mention drinking? Because if I haven't, I must apologise. That's very remiss of me.

Good thing there's a hospital nearby. We may need a little stomach pumping by the end. Oh well, new experiences are enriching, they say. Although can "they" be trusted? And anyway, what's a little stomach pumping between friends?

How Well Do Mosquitos Do On Survivor?

On Saturday night and Sunday morning it poured rain. And poured. And poured some more. So much so that if you went out into the street in certain parts of the city you would be up to your waist in water. If I went out, and thank God I had enough sense not to, the water would be up to my chin ('cause I'm so tall). And it also managed to knock out my internet connection. My brand new, high-speed internet connection. What boon-docks do I live in? Seriously?

One of citrusboy's friends was coming back from a stag that night and accidentally drove through a patch of water so high that it flooded into his car, over the dash and wet everything inside, including the seats. Everything. I say this as we then had to sit in it since he was kind enough to give us a ride to a barbecue. A barbecue that, at that point, was being held in a swamp outside the city. A swamp that had a house floating on an island in the middle. Boon-docks.

And of course I got chomped. (There was no booze to save my hide at this particular outing.) My entire body is swollen with bites as we speak. Or rather, as you read. See, I'm delirious already.
If I don't catch West Nile, I will at least catch Malaria. Guaranteed.

The only thing that remotely works is this stuff:
Problem is I can't find it anywhere. If anyone has any hints on where to get this stuff, please, please, PLEASE, I am begging you with every inch of my pride down the toilet, please tell me where to get it. PLEASE! Don't make me cry tears of shame. Don't let me catch Malaria. Please.

Skeeter Sauce

Okay, I'll level with you, boys and girls. I'm afraid to leave the house. I fear for my life. I'm a prisoner in my own home. Winnipeg has been declared to be under a health emergency due to the number of mosquitos in the city. A health emergency? A health emergency! Due to mosquitos? I didn't even think that was possible in North America.

So Friday night citrusboy and I go to a party to booze it up and try to forget about our perilous state of health. And those crazy-ass Winnipegers (love you!) are all out enjoying the fresh air on the deck in the backyard, thumbing their noses at the danger that awaits them at every blink of an eye, every turn of the head.

I cry in silent pain. I was afraid of this. Now I'll have to drink all the alcohol I can get my hands on just to forget that I'll probably be dead tomorrow from some mosquito named Cujo.

The host hands me some repellent and a vodka cooler. I eyeball both, and decide a swig of vodka would definitely be more effective than the repellent. Maybe if I get all the mosquitos in the vicinity drunk they won't have the good sense God kinda gave them to bite me or anyone else.

So I drink, citrusboy drinks, everybody drinks, and you know what? It worked! The mosquitos became so deranged by the haphazardness of everybody's drunk-off-their-ass state that they stayed away. I got about two bites on my knee, through my light-coloured pants as recommended by Health Canada, but that didn't even count as I wasn't toasted in any effective way yet.

So a little tidbit from the Skeeter Queen herself: The best revenge you can take out on all the mosquitos making your life miserable is to get sauced. Hard work, ain't it?

Fatty the Foil

I have my Harry Potter book in one hand, a cup of jasmine tea in the other, and am all ready to settle down into the nice cozy groove I created on the bed for just such a occasion, when all of a sudden:

I tried poking her with a stick to no avail. She wouldn't move for love, money, or kitty treats. I guess Harry Potter will have to wait some more. Anybody want some tea?

I Squeal, You Squeal, We All Squeal For HP6

Got my Harry Potter delivered right now. And I didn't even have to wait until 5 PM. Squeal of glee. That is all.

Mosquito Capital Of The World, Thy Name Is Winnipeg

Let me introduce you: Winnipeg, Mosquito. Mosquito, Winnipeg. Now that you've met I'm sure you'll have a beautiful friendship over the years to come, starting...NOW.

Apparently it has been a record high for mosquitos this week. A record high. Folks, that means EVER. In Winnipeg's entire history. Do you hear what I'm saying? Can you hear the pain in my voice from where you're sitting in your comfortable, non-mosquito infested city? And not worried about the rampant spread of disease in your little insect-free bubble of a world? I didn't think so. Don't believe me? Think I'm exaggerating? You can check the count here.

So citrusboy leaves the house yesterday morning, with long pants and a long sleeved shirt as his work attire demands. And steps outside, gingerly so as not to disturb the sleeping mosquito-demons. And promptly gets knocked to the ground by, let's error on the side of caution in our estimate shall we, a million mosquitos who are hungry for some breakfast. And maybe a little snack afterwards. He swears he heard one calling to his buddy: Hey Joe, get your abdomen over here! I've just found brunch and linner!

This actually happens here:
You're slap-happying away at all the mosquitos on your body, when all of a sudden, one will explode on you. And you're stuck with someone else's blood on your hands. Literally. Someone else's blood. On your hands. Putrid.

And it's stinking hot too. And humid. And just plain gross. Can you imagine the lovely combinations of clothing I can come up with? Either I wear jeans, which those damn Winnipeg mosquitos still seem to be able to get through (I shudder in fear) and boil myself alive, or I wear shorts and get bitten so as to resemble a small pox victim. Pretty picture, ain't it?

But in our collective pain, I see that the city can still laugh at itself. Or at least the Roman Catholic Church can. Passing by on the bus, I saw this on the church's signboard:

God didn't create anything without a purpose.
But mosquitos come close.

Winnipeg is the only city I know of where the entomologist is a celebrity. And his name is Taz. Seriously. Taz. That's a good sign, right?

The Mystique of the Sushi

In my ever-growing quest for sushi, citrusboy and I decided to go to Ichiban for half-price sushi Mondays. Half-price sushi, people! Half-price sushi! Please, take a moment and let it sink in. I don't mind waiting.

I've hit a gold mine here, folks. I think I'll just set up a tent in the restaurant and go from there.

I swear they put crack in those rolls. They are so spanking-good and I'm addicted. All I can think about all day is eating sushi. And I never liked sushi rolls until I came to this hell-hole. Here they make some of the niftiest rolls I've ever see. I used to be strictly a sashimi kind of girl, but my, how crack grows on you so quickly. Watch out kids, crack is whack. I'm proof. Once you taste the Unagi, you'll never go back.

So we sat at the sushi bar and watched the chef make our maki rolls and nigiri sushi. I'm not sure I like watching; it seems to take away from the mystique of the sushi. I don't want to know how it's done, I just want to bite into its yummy goodness.

Then somebody decided to enlighten me and told me that the sushi is half-price because it's the old stuff that they're trying to get rid of. Maybe, but I figure if I haven't died by the next day then it's all good.

I plan on trying the All-You-Can-Eat-Sushi-For-$25 next Thursday. If there's no post on Friday, you'll know why: Death By Sushi.

You Give Me Fever, Petition Fever

Remember Spikey Blond Haired Bitch? Well, as it turns out, I found this in my mailbox last night:

Vindication is mine! No more worrying that I was the real idiot in this scenario. No more sleepless nights spent wondering if I was somehow a criminal for trying to get into my own house. No more agonizing over what I said that was so wrong. No more tortured thoughts involving different replays of the whole mortifying experience going through my mind, where this horror would have ended some other, Winnipeg Damsel-favoured way.

I know now that I'm not the only one she was horrid to. And I feel better. Self-esteem issues? Maybe. But that's besides the point.

So should I sign it and be a pivotal force in her ousting? Or should I take the lazy/coward's way out, pretend nothing happened and let other people do the dirty work for me?

Eh, What's Up Doc?

Did you know that Bugs Bunny lives in Winnipeg? Did you know that he likes to go to the movies? Did you also know that he gets cranky if there are no outtakes at the end of the movie? Well I do, and now you do too.

Citrusboy and I went to a showing of Robots at the movie theater. When we got there it was already dark, so I missed Bugs on the way in. Well, we laughed our way through the movie and stayed through the end credits hoping for a funny clip at the end, but nothing of the sort happened. Fine. We got up to leave and that's when I spotted him, my childhood hero, Bugs Bunny. He was sitting right in the back, eagerly waiting for the same thing as citrusboy and me. Wow, now we're alike too! Could my life get any better? I'm just like Bugs Bunny! Childhood dream number three accomplished.

Then I watch as he, still sitting, stomps his big floppy bunny feet up and down on the ground several times, then gets up and, not hops, but stamps out of the theater as best as he can on those big floppy bunny feet of his, his big floppy bunny ears narrowly missing the top of the door frame.

Maybe we're not as much alike as I thought? So much for childhood dream number three.

That was one pissed-off Bunny. Bugs Bunny.

Addendum: And to all of you who think this sort of insanity only happens in New York or Toronto, think again. There really was somebody dressed as Bugs Bunny, top to bottom, in the theater with us. Make of that what you will.

Morning of the Living Kitties

I walk in through the door this morning, and what do I happen to see? Cow Kitty, right by the door, waiting to tattle. Cow Kitty, waiting to tattle? Cow Kitty is usually the one in trouble, so this is a new development.

I skulk quietly down the hall, waiting to catch someone in trouble. I see the office door is more closed than open. Hmm. I peer around the corner and see... a bent window blind. Wonderful. And behind the window blind, bent as it is, is a certain Fatty, sitting pretty on the window sill.

Now, Fatty never goes up there and not, sadly, because she's a good girl but rather because she's too tubby to get up that high. I wonder how she got up there? I have visions of Cow Kitty giving her a paw up.

Fatty spots me and remorsefully jumps down. And grudgingly, I might add.

So Cow Kitty decides it's his turn up on the window sill. Before my blinds sustain further damage, I pull them up. Of course, now Fatty can play with the string. Bat, bat, bat, she goes.

Somehow, really no idea how as there's a screen over our window, Cow Kitty gets the largest fly I've ever seen right in his mouth. So now there's this huge fly hanging out of Cow Kitty's mouth. If I wasn't so afraid he'd swallow it, I'd die laughing.

I try to get it away from him, but he's having none of it. He drops it on the ground and starts pawing at it. I'm not sure if the fly's dead or just shell-shocked - it looks intact to me. I try and try to take it away, but Cow Kitty's a crafty one. He out-maneuvers me every time. So much for humans being smarter. Cats obviously rule.

After about 5 minutes of this craziness, I manage to grab the poor thing and put it outside. I think Cow Kitty actually killed El Humungo Fly since it's not moving. Bad Cow Kitty.

Seriously, morning of the living kitties.

What Percent Chance of Precipitation?

Last night, Carsin O'Genic, citrusboy, and I decide to go out for drinks. We settle on G's Martini Bar, which has the best martinis I've ever tasted and the attached Meiji Sushi Restaurant, which has some excellent sushi. G's is one floor above Meiji, but if you go to either you can get the other's menu - I think that is such a fantastic concept! Of course, this is all quite expensive and all three of us are quite destitute, so it makes perfect sense for us to go there.

We order way too much to drink (I lie, no such thing with these martinis), and I'd say way too much to eat, but with sushi, there's just no such thing either. We had an awesome waitress, who told us about a mod club where they play '60s music on Thursday nights. That is so cool, it might just beat out '80s night (also on Thursdays) on my list. Must find some time to go there (oh where will I EVER find the time?!?).

I get happy drunk and we proceed to stumble out of G's. Right into the beginnings of a thunder storm. After I had checked not one, but two weather channels and both said: 0% POP. Zero Percent Chance Of Precipitation. After I had left my umbrella at home. I never leave my umbrella at home. I always take it for just such an emergency. ALWAYS. But not today. I guess that's not so much with the always, huh?

Citrusboy and I leave Carsin O'Genic to walk home while we catch a bus. Poor Carsin O'Genic. The bus stop is about 7 minutes from our house, so we have to walk. At this point it's raining like a pissed-off Zeus. And there's lightning. And thunder. And the lights go out on our street.

So we half-walk, half-run, laughing hysterically (still drunk, you see) the whole way home. We're soaked from top to bottom. Mascara streaming down my face. Citrusboy can't see anything through his glasses. I'm hoping my contacts don't slide right off my eyeballs with the rain. My brand-new sandals? Toast. Ironically enough, my butt is perfectly dry. How is that possible? We get home, and of course the first thing we need to do is, not get dry or changed, but give the Cats Without Shame a good, wet hug. I'm sure they love us all the more for it.

And by the way, the Red River is so going to flood. Don't think it won't, people.

Oh, and the grossest part? I got up this morning to wash my face 'cause I was too lazy to do it last night. And the cotton ball turned brown. What the hell is in the rain in Winnipeg? Tar? That grossed me out for the rest of the morning. In fact, I'm still grossed out.

Moral of the story: Well, it's either

1. Always bring an umbrella with you when you go out even if it's sunny with not a cloud in the sky and every meteorologist you know says there's no way it's going to rain or
   
2. Never let Winnipeg rain touch your skin. Which I guess brings us back to point one. So always bring an umbrella. Always. Unless you like the brown cotton ball sort of thing.
   

Fatty's Midnight Meow Clone

In order to soothe the savage breast stemming from this past weekend, I've embarked on a new cross-stitch design. It's called Midnight Meow - sounds like they know Fatty. Actually, the one on the left looks like Fatty. And the red bow? Looks like Cow Kitty. Hey now! Did someone sneak in here when I wasn't looking?

I'm notorious for starting these cross-stitch projects with an eagerness only paralleled by little kids mowing down on their first ice cream cone of the summer but then fizzling out in a burst of disinterest, so hopefully I'll manage to finish this one in this lifetime.

Perogies, Yahoo?

I was browsing through my website referrals, when this search caught my eye. Apparently I talk about perogies so much that when you do a Yahoo search for Perogie Recipe Picture, The Winter of Our Discontent comes up. Granted, it's the 32nd entry out of a grand total of 64, but that's exactly half-way, right? That's good, right?

Bright lights, big city, here I come! Winnipeg Damsel will be famous! One day. Maybe. If she doesn't wake up.

So I'm a perogie whore with a complex. So sue me.

And anyway, just why is somebody trying to find me with Perogie Recipe Picture?

Mutiny On The Red River Express: Happy Canada Day

On Friday, July 1st, which just happens to be Canada Day, somebody (I'm not naming any names) in this house (and it wasn't Cow Kitty or Fatty) decided that it would be a good day to go to the Red River Exhibition (and it wasn't me). Along with everybody else in Winnipeg. Great minds think alike, right? Not quite.

So we gear up to take the Red River Express bus down to the exhibition grounds. Might I add that it's the only bus that goes there. It also only makes the trip once every 15 minutes. There's only one entrance onto the grounds for cars and buses. No entrance for people walking there. And it's Canada Day. This should have alerted us to a potential problem, but no, we're idiots of the finest kind.

See, in Toronto, when one goes to the Ex, there are a million different buses to take you there. There are a million different entrances to choose from. There are also a million different ways to walk there. Never in a million years did it occur to me that this would not be so in Winnipeg. I will never, ever, ever learn. Never. Ever.

So we park our butts downtown and wait for the Express. One comes by. It's full. It doesn't stop. The 16 (I counted) other people waiting at the stop with us get cranky. 15 minutes later another bus goes by. It's also full. It also doesn't stop. The now 21 other people waiting at the stop with us get crankier. I get smart, and citrusboy and I decide to catch the bus going in the opposite direction and just loop around, or else we'll be standing there for an eternity plus a day thanks but no thanks to the strategic planning of the Winnipeg Transit Commission.

So we loop around and come to the stop that we were originally waiting at. There are now 30 people there, all very, very cranky indeed. Of course, at this point, the bus is full. It doesn't stop. I'm waiting for the bus to be pelted with eggs but it doesn't happen. I guess they didn't think to bring eggs with them to the Ex. Funny, that.

So we're moving along and I'm thinking "Yay, we're almost there!" when along comes Murphy, hauling his stupid Law into the middle of the roadway. We had come to a complete standstill. What in the name of Winnipeg-Curse-Ye could possibly be wrong now? I get up and look out the front window of the bus and this is the view that greets me:
A never-ending line such that a 20 minute bus ride has now turned into a 3 hour ordeal. It's hot on the bus. There is no such thing as air conditioning on Winnipeg Transit. There is, however, a really insanely smelly guy standing over us. Everybody on the bus is freaking out. And the children. OH MY GOD THE CHILDREN. Will nobody think of the children? They are all screaming. And I don't mean wailing or whining. I mean flat-out screaming bloody murder so loud I think my hearing has been permanently affected for life. Thanks for that, Winnipeg. And the bus driver? Wouldn't let us off. She seriously would not let us off the bus even though at that point we could have walked there in about 20 minutes. After everybody freaked out on her ass, she finally let us off. We walked, only to encounter this sign at the entrance:
I didn't know irony could make my head hurt quite so much. Use transit, indeed.

We get to the admissions booths, finally, finally. Of course, huge line. As we're standing in it, the sun disappears. The clouds come out. Of course. They would.

We walk in and I get handed some beads a la Mardi Gras. I guess that's my consolation prize? Just for being stupid enough to show up on Canada Day?

Citrusboy and I wander around and end up in the pavilion where I score two items that truly make up for it, like Mardi Gras beads never could: A Grease clock and a neon Martini sign. So, so awesome!

We also stumbled upon the petting zoo and this sign, hanging above the sheep pen.
Ever wonder how that slice of lamb got onto your plate? Well, wonder (bread) no more.

Citrusboy and I decide we're hungry(!) and go forth in search of food. And then I see a beacon in the sky: it's like a bobbing buoy in a sea of madness. The Perogie Stand. And not just any Perogie Stand; a Perogie Stand called Get Stuffed. Hah!
I settle down to my 6 perogies for $6.50 (that's $1.08 a perogie, but it's best not to do the math or even think about doing the math), while citrusboy gets a bison burger. Yes, a bison burger. I have proof:

Now I know what people mean when they say something tastes "gamey". Not sure I liked it, but citrusboy did and he ended up getting another one before we left.

We played some games (re: wasted money), won some stuffed animals (re: space-taker-uppers), petted some Monsanto-sponsored cows and other animals (there go my ethics - ah well, they had to go sometime), watched a sheep-shearing, and had a pretty good time overall. We decided not to stay for the fireworks at 11PM, as the last bus would leave at 11:45 and that just spells another disaster waiting to happen.

Remind me not to go next year, when someone suggests that it might be a good/fun/happy thing to do on a lazy Friday or otherwise afternoon. Actually, I don't think I'm ever going to leave the house again.

Hail? In July? Welcome to Winnipeg.

So it came to pass that citrusboy and I were sitting on the couch, blissfully ignorant of the impending doom about to strike, carefree in our knowledge that the only important thing at the moment was Mario Party. All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I see through the window big rocks of ice raining down from the sky. People are being pelted, cars are being damaged, but Mother Nature will not budge: her rage at this city must be wrought.

Only in Winnipeg, folks, will it hail in July. Also the only place where it will snow 50 cm in May. Welcome to my life.