40 Days & 40 Nights

No, this isn’t a post about the Josh Hartnett movie from 2002, but this post is about giving something up. Namely my biggest vice: shopping. 

Now, those of you who know me know that I don’t abide by any form of organized religion, least of all Christianity (don’t even get me started), so during the Lenten season I don’t bother giving anything up for the 40 days before Easter. Besides the tradition of Fat Tuesday (any excuse for a pancake feast) I don’t see the point of giving up the things that I love. My vices are pretty non-harmful and are generally under control so being told that I should give up something “just because” doesn’t really fly with me. 

That being said, in 40 days I’m going on my first passport-stamp-able international adventure (my 12-year-old trip to Disneyland came before the 9/11 drama of children needing passports) with my BFF to Las Vegas, mostly for the point of shopping. Come on, this is us, and shopping is what we do when we’re together (as well as driving everyone around us insane with our extrapolated weirdness). Most people go to Las Vegas for gambling, showgirls, and conventions, but besides the practically mandatory Cirque du Soleil show, we plan to shop until we drop. 

We’ve already started working on our plan of attack - shuttle buses to the Premium Outlet Mall(s), second hand book stores, and everything in between - so by the time we get there we’ll be able to hit the ground running. Or not running, since shopping the way that we do is a marathon rather than a sprint. That being said, I figure that there’s not really any point in doing any shopping in the meantime, since anything that I find here I can find in Vegas (and likely for a fraction of the price), so I am making a conscious decision not to buy anything besides groceries (girl’s gotta eat!) for the next 40 days & 40 nights. 

Will I make it, or will my shop-a-holic tendencies take over? I’m betting that I can (I’ve done it before for a lot longer), but a lot can happen between now and the beginning of October…

image from Tumblr

Heat Wave

Most people greet summer with cheers along the lines of “Woohoo, let’s go boating, bitches!” 

My reaction sounds more like “Ugh, what did I do to deserve an early trip to Hell?”

Sure my trip to the hottest place in the Universe is guaranteed (my throne is waiting) & I may have grown up in the only place in Canada that is officially designated a desert (cacti, rattlesnakes, and 40°C are the norm), but that doesn’t mean that I handle temperatures above 20°C well. Starting in early May I refuse to wear closed-toe shoes (don’t even say “sock” to me), daily showers multiply (thank goddess my apartment doesn't water meter), and constant litany of complaints accompanies every drop of sweat that the climbing temperature causes. 

Common phrases include: 

“If only public nudity was acceptable and I didn’t have morals” 

“You can’t make me go outside.”

“Why didn’t I buy a real air conditioner last year when they were on sale?”

“I’m only going to the mall [again] because they have air conditioning”

“Goddamnit, that’s a third tan line, even with the SPF 110!”

But the most common phrase out of my mouth is always “Is it Autumn yet; I miss _____.” (Fill in the blank with variations of my winter wardrobe/hot food/sleeping properly/not sweating off my make-up).

Thankfully we’re only a few short weeks away from Labour Day and the onset of another Saskatchewan Winter. Oh joy for the lack of heat, but then again I’ll likely be complaining about that too. (As my mother always said: “If [you] got paid to complain, you wouldn’t have to work ever again!”) Until that happens though, you can find me planted in front of my fan, with an iced tea with lime in one hand and a bowl of ice cream in the other. 

*Antistar dress in the style of Emilio Pucci; Windmere fan