Timmy's vs Starbucks: Round One

Yesterday morning I had a craving for a Timmy's chocolate danish. The Head got me addicted to them. Bastard! So off we went to the Tim Hortons down the street. Seems everybody in the North End had the same idea, even though it was raining (seems even the rain won't keep people from enjoying a double double): the line went right out the door and around the corner. Now personally I thought that with the advent of a Starbucks up the street the line would get smaller. Boy was I wrong! Call me stupid and colour me whatever the hell colour you want! Gullibility is not for the faint of heart.

So citrusboy, exasperated by my need for the awesomely delicious chocolate danish, gives me the look of sexual favours on the horizon for him and we get into line. An older gentleman gets into line behind us and immediately starts talking to me.

Sidenote: Now, all you Torontonians, don't be alarmed. This is what people do here. They talk to everyone, everywhere, all the time. They never stop. They talk to me at bus stops. They talk to me on the bus, while I'm trying to read. They talk to me as I'm walking, very quickly I might add, home before I freeze my ass off. And they talk to me as I'm shopping for tampons. Seriously. At first I was freaked out; now I just smile and nod.

Anyway, the man started going on about how the whole of North Kildonan must be here and damn if he wasn't right! Why aren't people going to the Starbucks? It's the same distance, just the other way for goodness sakes! Don't get me wrong, I have actually seen people jump out of taxis in the morning and run into Starbucks, but never have I seen a line. Well, maybe five people, tops. But not twenty-five people! That's just insanity.

After about a half hour wait in the crazy line, I get my danish and chamomile tea. By this point citrusboy is hungry again so he gets a bagel with cream cheese. We sit down and stay seated for about forty-five minutes. In all that time, not once did the line get any smaller.

I implore you Winnipeg: go to the freakin' Starbucks. Forget the Timbits and the doughnuts; just get your damn coffee fix there and leave me to my danish! I don't relish the idea of performing freaky favours for citrusboy.

All's Fair At The Fair

We went to the fair at Garden City last night. Had my first candy apple. It cost 4 coupons, which somehow equals three dollars. This means that 1 coupon costs seventy-five cents? Weird. Anyhow, I had my first candy apple. And it was good.

It was damn good - and I don't even like apples. In fact, I hate them. If you gave me a choice between apples and cat poo, I might just choose the poo. But citrusboy, the candy apple connoisseur, says it was the best candy apple he's ever had. And since I'm a fair and just person I say: Winnipeg, one point.

Score:
Winnipeg Damsel vs Winnipeg
Love:15

Now I Know How Lorelai Feels

Does anyone hear that? That ominous rumbling in the distance? Maybe it's the Jaws theme. Maybe it's the End of Days. Oh, nope. I was wrong. It's just my family coming to visit. My mother, a creature who lives in her own little world. My father, who will hate every minute here, yet has to come or my mother will skin him alive. And my Aunt, fresh from New Zealand and bat-shit crazy. They have decided to grace us with their presence in Winnipeg. On our First Year Anniversary. This ought to be a blast. No really.

So my mother calls and tells me they'll be staying here for five days. In a motel. Praise the Lord, you really do exist. Then she proceeds to tell me, nay, demands of me that I renew my driver's license, rent a car, and become their chauffeur for the duration of their stay. Gawd. I, very reasonably I might add, suggest that they could just take a taxi on all their fabulous Winnipeg adventures (of which there will be none because such a thing is impossible in Winnipeg). But, of course, that's not good enough for the Polish Princess. I say the taxi will be cheaper. She refuses to believe me. I say I've already done the calculations. She tells me she wants to do lots of things here and needs a car (by-the-by, my mother never had and never will have a license, but whatever). Where does this woman think she's going? New York? Los Angeles? The South of Spain? THERE'S NOTHING TO SEE HERE. Unless you count the World's Largest Coke Can, and I don't.

Then I have to book their plane tickets online for them because they are that computer/internet savy. Since I have dial-up and no cable modem (yes, I am a dinosaur), I end up calling them back literally every five minutes. Ring. Is $99 one way good for you? Fine. Click. Ring. Does flying in at 7:30 work for you? Aha aha, that's good. Click. Ring. How about flying out at 6 AM? Am I crazy? I don't think so.... Click. Ring. What about 9:50. No, no, I think my senses are still here. Let me check. Yup, still here. Click. Ring. How's 12? Good good. Click. Ring. On and on it went until I remembered why I was in Winnipeg in the first place. Two thousand kilometers is a good two thousand kilometers.

BUT, I will forgive all if they pay for my ticket to New York to see my cousin, who'll be there for a couple of days. They're going to see her so I should too, right? It's a fair trade-off, don't you think? Maybe. Possibly not. Very possibly not. Oh gawd, what have I gotten myself into???

The New Ghetto Game Show With Your Favourite Host, Guy Smiley

I'm on the bus with citrusboy, going to see Star Wars III, when a girl about 11 years old and her mother get on. They're white. I'm not a bigot, but trust me, they are white. They sit down behind us and, all of a sudden, the mother screams out:

What colour is Mommy's boyfriend???

And I could have sworn the kid said: Blue!!! I'm thinking, the woman is dating the Cookie Monster? She must get some cool perks! But, alas, I must have misheard because the kid says again: Black! He's BLACK! Wow.

Get your board game right here, folks: The Ghetto Coloured Dating Game. Sold out of the back of a bus. In Winnipeg. Yes indeed, it is your lucky day today!

If you guessed Orange, your boyfriend is Jay Manuel. If you guessed Yellow, your boyfriend is Bert. Or Ernie. Bernie? Either way you're screwed. And if you guessed White, make with the Michael Jackson joke.

Note: Available only in Winnipeg.

Hell Hath No...Well, Anything, Like the Winnipeg Library

I ventured out today with citrusboy to collect my aforementioned Skipping Girl purse from the post office. After giving me a hard time yesterday, the woman behind the counter takes one look at citrusboy, hands him the package, tell him she doesn't need to see any ID 'cause she remembers him, and waves him off. Honestly. AS IF! What am I? Yesterday's leftover turkey? Why the hell doesn't she remember me? I've been there just as often! I'm telling you, this city is out to get me.

Then we decide to take a painful (they're always painful, so don't ask) bus ride down to Osborne Village (here on in known as The Village (no jokes, please - this is what they call it)) which masquerades as the downtown of Winnipeg. I wanted to eat lunch at the Spicy Noodle House so I twisted citrusboy's rubber arm and I got my soup. Best spicy peanut noodle soup and steamed barbecued pork buns ever! So good. The martini bar wasn't open yet so I couldn't get my extra-dirty gin martini. Too bad. I think I may just buy some gin and make 'em at home. I'm sure citrusboy will love that. Honeeeeeeery, yoooooouu're hooooorme alrrrrreaaaady???? Nothing crazy happened during lunch, so Winnipeg gets a point.

After that, I hopped on a bus to go to the library for the first time in this city and get me a library card. The library. Wow. No, no, really. Wow. It's the size of my apartment. Not including the bedrooms. Wow. There are, like, 20 libraries in Winnipeg and they're all the size of a postage stamp. Combined. And to top it all off, all the books are hardcover. Every single last one. I HATE hardcover. Bulky. Heavy. Just plain annoying. You try lugging a 10 lb book with you everywhere on the bus; you'd despise them too. Winnipeg just lost its lone point. But thank god I had my Skipping Girl bag. Handy dandy thing it is indeed.

My arms would have fallen off if I had to carry those hardcovers all the way home.

Now, there is an alleged revamped library opening up downtown that is going to be ginormous with lots of non-hardcover books. I say alleged, since they've been saying it's going to open next month for the last nine months. Winnipeg down one point.

Eventually I dragged my sorry ass home, with my sorry ass pile of hardcover books (which I only kinda wanted to read but had no choice as THEY HAVE NOTHING ELSE). And the bus driver asks me if I'm sure I want to go west. Yes I'm sure. But I go east later. I don't want to go east, I want to go west. Are you sure? Of course I'm sure! I know where I live! Man, this city get weirder by the minute.

The Votes Are In!

So I may have been stupid to ask "Would you ever move to Winnipeg?" but I did anyway. That's right, I dared to ask the unaskable!

Funny how nobody said "Yes". Zero percent. I'm left baffled.

33% said "Hell no" which tied with "I'd rather live in Nanavut". Nanavut, where the milk costs $12 a liter and the average temperature in May is -24C. Interesting.

19% responded with "Not if you paid me a million dollars". People willing to give up money. Lots of money. A million dollars, in fact. Just so they don't have to live in this hell-hole. Something to think about.

"Not if it was the only place left standing after nuclear warfare" got 10% of the votes. So some of you are trying to tell me you'd rather live with crazy, giant radioactive spiders than in Winnipeg. Wow. And thats "nuclear", not "nucular", just to be clear.

And 5% said "No". Just plain no. No qualifiers, no explainations. Just no. As if the thought was mind-boggling in and of itself.

I think I need to move.

I Left My Wallet In Winnipeg

Winnipeg strikes again, folks.

My friends, Chris and The Head, came to visit for a week (which is the good part, and not, I stress, the bad part).

1. The weather, after promising to be sunny and dry, lied to us and became rainy and wet. We were soggy for the most part.
2. It was so cold, and let's remember it is now May people, that we were forced to wear our down winter coats. IN MAY. I'm fine. I'm not bitter at all. At least it didn't snow 50 cm this time around.
   
3. Someone stole Chris's wallet out of her purse. And her cell phone. And $200 cash. And all her credit cards. Except for the Moores' Paint card which, for some inexplicable reason, was taken out of her wallet and placed in one of her purse pockets. Guess someone in Winnipeg has something against Moores Paint. Who'd a thunk it!
4. Favourite Chinese restaurant: closed on a Tuesday. I have no words. We made The Head drive around the city looking for something to eat. Anything. He found some crappy Chinese from the only place that was open at 9:30 on a Tuesday night. And, let me tell you, it was crappy. I would have fed it to the Cats Without Shame but I was afraid it might kill them.

But it wasn't all bad. No indeed.

We ate.



And ate.



And ate.



Man, that's a lot of sushi!



Oh yeah, did I forget to mention we ate? Chris made a breakfast that even Fatty came out for!



Right. There was drinking too! Chris got me hooked on extra-dirty gin martinis. I crave them. All. The. Time. In my sleep. On the bus. Walking to the post office to pick up my Skipping Girl purse, except the stupid woman behind the counter won't give it to me because the package has citrusboy's name on it, but I digress. Let's just put it this way: if I'm awake, I want one.



And more drinking.



And more drinking.



And folks, you heard it here first: mini coronas are cute!



One cool thing about Winnipeg? There's an Olive Garden!!!



And a good time was had by all. Eventually. After we got over the wallet thing.

Oh, and now my aunt and my mother are talking about visiting. Together. Oy. I guess they figured someone made it out of Winnipeg alive, so they might too.

Why Men Love Bitches

So I bought this book by Sherry Argov for the amusement I thought it would contain as recommended by several friends. Never did I dream that I would so vehemently want to hurl a book out the window (but, alas, I live on the ground floor and much to my dismay it would not result in any serious injury) or try to maim it until it died a slow and painful death (and I'm a great book lover who is offended by the slightest crease, so this speaks volumes).

Let's go back to a time when men were coddled and treated like children; praised for picking up the mail from the mailbox right outside the door; lavished with love when a shelf was hung at a 45 degree angle; and my personal favourite: men handing their paycheck over to the women at the end of a hard fortnight so she could make sure he got paid the right amount. Does this really happen? Seriously? If it does, I think my marriage is doomed and my husband is gonna kick my ass when he gets home. No dinner on the table. His dirty clothes are still in the pile where he left them. I expect *gasp* him to pick up the mail since he passes the mailbox on his way in. I laugh when he tries to hang something up. And I sure as hell don't know what his paycheck looks like.

And please, correct me if I'm wrong, but how is any of that being a bitch? It seems to me like it has doormat stamped all over it!

Hey Sherry, maybe a better title would have been "Why Men Love Doormats". Though the subtitle of this book is in fact "From Doormat to Dreamgirl - A Woman's Guide to Holding Her Own in a Relationship" I think she's got it backwards. It should, if one wants to be truthful to their faithful readers, read: From Dreamgirl to Doormat - A Woman's Guide in 5 Easy Steps to Crapping Out in a Relationship.

*Sigh* I blame Winnipeg and its infinitely long bus rides that made me pick this book up and begin reading it. And finish reading it I shall, even if it kills me. Which it just may. Would anyone notice if a person died on Winnipeg Transit?