Working or walking?

To those who know me, know that my athletic abilities balance somewhere between amateur and dismal. As hard as I tried, I never quite had athletic prowess. To avoid looking like a fool with my ridiculously flat duck feet while running, I have taken to taking daily walks. Not only as a form of exercise, but also prying myself away from the computer and smelling fresh air.

It’s probably the dorkiest routine ever, but whatever it prevents me from getting diabetes and keeps my ever growing lower half in check.

It may come as a surprise to no one but guys in my general age bracket are pretty… immature, let’s say. What I mean to say is brainless; but immature works. 

But I digress.

So my daily walks are a time to reflect, relax, and sweat and listen to some terrible indie music that interests no one but me. I enjoy discovering new trails, ways around my neighbourhood, perhaps see a cute dog (owner) or two.  For the most part, I thoroughly enjoy my walks.

Fort McMurray has other plans for my relaxing walks.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my neighbourhood. The municipality could literally not have put me in a better home with a better neighbourhood. BUT. And this is a major but. Almost as big as my butt. Guys in this town act like they’ve never seen a girl walk before. Literally. I’m like a new imported phenomenon that no one has ever seen or even dreamt of the concept. I walk. My lady bits walk with me. This is no reason whatsoever to yell at me from your truck, honk at me, turn around and drive by me again, or speed up really fast when you drive by me.

I know what you’re thinking. Oh Joelle that’s just flattery! They think you’re pretty! NO. This is what I have to say to you dear friends. This is not flattery, at all, ever. Whenever I get a lucky break or something good happens to me someone ALWAYS has to say “Yeah it doesn’t hurt that you’re so pretty!” This friends, is not only incredibly frustrating, but very degrading. Sooo you’re saying I got an A+ in that class because I charmed the teacher with my blonde bouncy hair and infallible smile? I got this wicked job and people are really nice to me because I have nice eyes and a funny little cute voice? NO. I work DAMN hard to achieve my goals.

So next time when you think it’s appropriate to yell “Working or walking” to the girl on the sidewalk, for the love of all that is holy please refrain from doing so. You may just be ruining someone’s favourite part of their day.   

Doesn’t every small hick town of every province have a local drug dealer house?

Fort McMurray has a lot of names. Fort McDirty, Fort McMoney, and of course Little Newfoundland. A lot of people have a lot of different opinions on a place where over 100,000 people call home, but do these opinions hold any water?

We’ve all heard it. Fort McMurray is overrun with crackheads, the venereal diseases, and the under educated over paid. Where do these rumours come from? Well let me tell you.

Most of the rumours about Fort McMurray come from those who couldn’t stand to be away from mommy and daddy. People come up here hoping to make quick, fast, easy cash, so they can go back to their home provinces as soon as possible. People don’t take the time to live within the culture (yes, there’s culture!) of Fort McMurray.

The community residents of Fort McMurray are generally nice, kind, considerate, and they have families! I’ve been here for about two weeks and I have yet to stumble upon a crackhead. Now, don’t get me wrong, every community has its troubles. I have no doubt that if you wanted crack, you could get crack. However, isn’t this true of every community? Doesn’t every small hick town of every province have a local drug dealer house? I’m pretty frickin sure it does.

Fort McMurray has over 100kms of trail systems! I walk a lot, almost every day, and I am constantly discovering new trails and parks. The residential areas are amazingly set up so that there is green space, dog parks, playgrounds, and trails absolutely everywhere you go.

I have made friends already in my short time here. Everyone is very welcoming to newcomers, and everyone knows how to make people feel at home. The municipality is a wonderful place to work, with brand new buildings and amazing initiatives simply on improving the quality of life for its community members.

My opinion may change once winter hits, but for right now, I am loving my Fort McMurray!  

Mourning Cooper

Please stop reading right meow if you get offended by giggles and the nickname’s Faggot and Pussy Willow for kittens :3

Well this summer is almost over, which means I finally have time to post something on my wayward blog. Sister and I had a fantastic summer with the kittens in the apartment. They really added an element of fun on those nights when trash reality TV wasn’t cutting it for us.

Lazer chasing in the best invention for cats in the world. Whether you have a spry, half wild, crazy insane hyper cat, like Pussy Willow, or a fat, lazy, apathetic cat, like Faggot, there’s fun for the whole family.  

Pussy Willow not only chases lazors, she wants to catch them and destroy them with every ounce of her being. Which isn’t much considering Faggot eats all her food, but I digress. She will chase, Scooby Do scrabble, jump, and use all manners of parkour to attain the impossible.

Faggot on the other paw apathetically and sometimes pathetically will reach out with one little arm and swipe at the red dot so slowly you’d think the lazor was in the shape of a snail. Faggot could care less about your lazor. Sometimes he will Scooby Do scrabble after it but that always ends up horribly with him toppling over and then lay there and is to say “Yeah I fell. I meant to. Now I’m going to have a nap here because I meant to fall. Duh. Eff your lazor nonsense.”

Sister discovered one day that Pussy Willow actually has maternal instincts even though her own mother pretty much rejects her at home. Sister plays a video called “kittens and cats meowing” and if you ever need to know where PW is in the house, oh. my. goodness. Is this the video for you. Featuring a plethora of kittens and cats meowing (exactly as advertised) PeeDubs will meekly scurry out from her favourite hiding spots, under Sister’s bed and the fouton, and will investigate immediately. She will climb on your lap and look around every corner of the laptop for the crying kittens and when she can’t find them settles for rubbing up on the laptop screen and biting the corners.

Snuggles and cuddles and abundant in the youngest Nickerson’s domicile.  Faggot always wants cuddles and gives the epic BRRRRUUPPP when you rub his enormous belly. They say you always gain weight when you go on vacation; so it true for Faggot. He gained about 2 pounds in 3 months making him now weigh in at 17.6lbs.

The other day I had to send the kittens home because finals are coming up and I need to pack and clean up a bit around here before the apartment owners come back for the school year. Catching Faggot takes the speed and agility of a sloth. He’ll pretty much do/go anywhere you want him too. PW on the other hand when INSANE as soon as she heard the ominous squeak on the carrier latch. She quickly hid behind the tires in the porch closet, making it impossible to get at her without removing all the tires and shoes. I got a hold of her and as I tried to shove her into the carrier after Faggot, I got the full fury of a part Maine Coon.  My arms looked like I had turned emo for the day, and Pussy Willow ‘hid’ between the window and the screen in the room effectively making her stationary so I could wrap her in a towel and render her claws useless.

And so ended the kittens city vacation with a quick strap into one of dad’s lobster trucks and they were shipped home.

But not all’s well that ends well.  Apparently Sister and Boy have been mourning Faggot. Not PeeDubs because she hates boys. But Faggot is currently being mourned. Mourned and missed in such a way that only a big, fat, Faggot, can be missed. 

Your Drippy Yellow Mystery Sauce is Like Homemade Heaven

Dear Homemade Fish Burger,

Your toasty outer shell of steak bun delight is like a melty crunchy carb heaven. Your mayo is spread ever so delicately, oozing into every crevice. Your drippy yellow mystery sauce is like homemade heaven, and kraft cannot do you justice. Everyone knows that true mouth-watering tartar sauce is made by your sweet caring mother with the random contents of the fridge.

The sweet crispy lettuce gives you just the right touch of green watery delight. Your perfectly balanced bread crumbs encrusting you in a warm swaddle much like a newborn babe protects your flakey flesh goodness. Fresh haddock is your name, and deliciousness is your game.

Ode to the most underrated of all suppertime meals. You are perfect in every way.  

Sincerely, 

Your Biggest Fan 

“Did he just say Chicago?” “No he said Shag Harbour."

So it’s no secret I come from a hilariously small town with insanely hickish people. As always, we reinforce the stereotype of weird rural accents and localized slang. I wrote about this a bit before in my rural vs. city post but I’m just going to elaborate because it’s fun.

I took boyfriend home this weekend for mother’s day because, according to my mom, “He doesn’t have a mom.” I called mom to ask if Ryan could come down for the weekend and she said, no joke, “What? It’s mother’s day, why would he come here.. ohh wait ya he doesn’t have a mom. Of course he can come.” In reality his mother is in Saskatchewan, not dead, like my mother implied if anyone else had been listening in.

Anyways, we went home and dad was in full work mode because a truck was coming in that had to be unloaded. And he talks so fast and uses so much slang that any outsider would have thought it was another language. Oh wait, someone was there. Boyfriend. I asked him if he understood anything and he said he got the gist. “Did he just say Chicago?” “No he said Shag Harbour."

In true small town fashion dad said Boyfriend needed to work for his supper and took him down to the plant to unload the truck. He met Robert, an old trucker who’s about 65 years old and apparently trucks because he’s bored as hell of retirement. Boyfriend could barely understand either of them but somehow managed to unload a truck full of lobsters into a tank without falling in and drowning.

After the lobsters were safely in their second to last final resting place, we went to the local bar to catch the back end of the hockey game.  I had neglected to bring him to the bar scene, or anywhere in general, in my hometown other than the beach because I truly did not know how he would think of me and my town once he saw the real grit-of-the-earth locals.

I pointed out the local talk spot, aka Swain’s Garage, where everyone parks their trucks they can’t afford, or their super ghetto cars that they think are the shit. We headed down to Dooleys that isn’t Dooleys anymore but no one says the real name because no one knows what you’re talking about. Small towners don’t like change. 

There was about 25 people in the bar, I knew 99% of them of course, and only the true Bruins fans stuck it out to the end. As the excitement built, the people got louder, the slang got worse, and the accent got thicker.

By the end of it Boyfriend couldn’t understand a word but he got the feeling of excitement. I just think it’s hilarious that we have this localized accent that no one else seems to have.

My friend in University msn’d me and said I thought you were behind me one day in class, then I remembered you lived in Ottawa so I knew it couldn’t be you. I heard your voice and accent so perfectly I knew she had to know you. Sure enough it was my cousin and neighbour, also former babysitter, sitting behind her. It just struck me as so funny that our accent is not only recognizable, but unique.

So I say live proud, live loud all you Barringtoner’s, Capies, Cockawitters, and wherever else in between. We may be the last of a generation with our own made up words, and weird Irishy, Bostony, Hicky accents. 

Who knows, maybe we’ll take over the world and show everyone how to shuck a proper lobster (something dad also made Boyfriend do) and how to back a large truck out of a seemingly impossible wharf corner.