Sunday, March 27, 2005

So what's with the Bunny?

I'm all about learning the non-christian origins of holidays. Me being a Godless heathen and all. Anyway, after a brief search on the good ol' internet I found a guzillion different origins of Easter. All of them infinitely less depresso than being nailed to a cross and coming back zombie-style.

Okay so back in the day there was this Godess named Ostara (she had lots of names actually some of them quite close to the word Easter). Anyway she was the Godess of fertility and of the rising sun. Incidently the word East (as in "the sun rises in the East") also comes from Ostara. Being the Godess of fertility, Ostara was all about the bunnies and the eggs. Bunnies being prolific breeders and eggs being mini baby factories.

One story I like is the one where Ostara entertained some kids by turning her pet bird into a rabbit. The rabbit laid all these bright coloured eggs. (not chocolate ones. The net is pretty vague on the chocolate origins except to say that it was probably the Germans' idea. Go Germans!) Anyhoo good ol' Ostara gave the eggs to the children. What a nice lady.

Another kind of cool story is that some people (I don't remember who, I'm writing this from memory) used to go into the forest and get all kinds of different eggs. This was the first Easter egg hunt. The eggs were different colours because they were from different types of birds (saves time dying). Then they ate them. I guess they realized this was kind of gross because they started dying chicken eggs instead and putting them in baskets made to look like birds nests.

All this fun stuff happens the first full moon after the spring Equinox. Or in our case, the first Sunday, after the first full moon, after the Equinox. That's when Ostara makes the sun rise and makes the spring come and makes all the animals get busy.

McNicoll Traditions:

On Good Friday we do jack all. Jack all is open. There's jack all to do.

On Easter Saturday (why isn't it called Easter Saturday anyway?) we dye hard-boiled eggs with food colouring. Then we colour them with markers. Adam is infinitely perplexed as to why we, after dying the eggs, would need to colour them again but it seems perfectly logical to me.

During the night a giant bunny comes and brings us chocolate. She also hides all the easter eggs around the living room. Some years she leaves us badly rhyming clues that lead all around the house and eventually to our Easter baskets (ie: "When you go to watch tv, and Easter clue is there to see"). This year she didn't do the clues because she left them on her old laptop by accident.

On Easter Sunday we find all the eggs and chocolate. Then we have an egg fight. This is one tradition I was unable to find an origin. It's certainly not something we invented because I found several references to families doing this (including one brief reference in My Big Fat Greek Wedding). So what you do is you hold your Easter egg so only the end is exposed. Then you tap it against some other person's egg. Whoever doesn't crack wins. What do you win? Nothing. I think it's a European thing.

Then we make deviled eggs. Yum!

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Early to Rise. Early to work.

Ever since my hours switched from 8:30 'till 4 to 9 'till 5:30, I've been getting up too early. I keep waking up at 6:30 (the old wake up time) and waiting for my alarm to ring at 7. By then, I so incredibly alert that I get ready in half an hour and arrive at work forty minutes early.

So anyway I have nothing to say. I'm just blogging at work. Waiting for the day to start. Waiting for another glorious day of talking to Americans.

Maybe I'll get in that extra half hour of sleep right now. FAT CHANCE

Sunday, March 20, 2005

Hack. Hack. Sniffle. Sniffle.

I have a cold. Blech.

Stages of the aforementioned cold:

Stage 1: Wednesday night I went to bed with a slight scratchy throat. I attempted to nip it in the bud by making a Neocitran. Unfortunately all we had available was the apple flavoured Neocitran that my Dad bought. My ridiculous father did not realize when he made the purchase that instead of a deliciously soothing lemon drink, the apple flavour tastes like warm, watered down, apple juice with an asprin crushed in it.

Stage 2: On Thursday morning the scratchiness in my throat had increased. I went to work (no need to worry about spreading germs around, guess where I got the cold?). Anyway my symptoms were such that nobody noticed I was sick. By the time to my fiancé's house, however, I was into stage three. (Adam rarely gets my colds. He's got some kind of Jen immunity).

Stage 3: Sneezing. Stuffiness. Never-ending running nose. I went to work again (it's only training, not as if I have to DO anything). This time my symptoms were very obvious. I drank a billion cups of tea (I brought the lemon from home) and even if I hadn't I still would've gone to the washroom every three seconds to blow the mini-waterfall that was my nose. Everyone was all "there, there, you poor sick girl."

Stage 4: Saturday and Sunday. No work. My nose is still stuffed up but not running. The worst is my throat. I have this hacking cough and my vocal cords have become useless. My voice ranges anywhere from "You sound funny" to "You need an interpreter". If my voice is still like this tommorrow I will not be able to go to work. On Monday my fellow trainees and I are scheduled to go on the phones and talk to real Americans for the first time. Any other job and I would rely on my winning smile. Calling in sick the first day of real work is not going to look great. There goes my dream of being promoted to head weasel.

In other news: My Dad is convinced that our across-the-street neighbour is responsible for the egging (see previous entry). My Dad's scenario is this: neighbour doesn't like us parking in front of his house. In the middle of the night he eggs the car, and then calls the cops on us. This, in my Dad's opinion, is the only explanation for getting egged and ticketed in the same night. I find it difficult to believe that an adult would do this, but I must admit the logic is sound (especially knowing my accross-the-street neighbour). Maybe I should go cough on his car. :)

Saturday, March 12, 2005

Attack of the Egg-weilding Parking Bilaw Officer

Wednesday night I decided I didn't want to go through the embarrassing ordeal of attempting to parallel park at the end of my drive-way, so I parked on the road. Thursday morning, I awoke to find a thirty-five-dollar parking ticket and a car covered in frozen egg. Have you ever tried to scrape frozen egg off a windshield? It is not possible. It was not going to happen.

No time to wash it off, I drove to work, knowing that I was the laughing stock of the entire QEW. After work, I went to a gas station that had a car wash. I tanked up and asked the attendent if there was any way in hell that the carwash would get the frozen egg off my car. The answer was no. No. Way. In. Hell. Touchless carwashes don't actually wash cars. They just make already clean cars look cleaner.

Okay, so I probably could of guessed that a touchless carwash wasn't going to do it for me. But I challenge anyone to find a carwash that is not touchless. For Spock's sake! TOUCH THE CAR!

Luckily Adam knew of a coin car wash where you could wash the car yourself (how innovative). So him and I got to work and got most of the egg off. Now I just have to pay that STUPID TICKET.

By the way, further analysis of the ticket revealed that it was written at around 4 am, well after most egg-weilding youngsters go back to their homes to watch Olsen Twins videos. Therefore one of two things must have happened:
a) The parking bilaw officer egged the car him/herself.
b) The parking bilaw officer saw the egg, laughed and laughed, then poured salt in the wound by writing the ticket.

Only Captain Meanieface of the starship Prick would do either of these things, but then only Captain Meanieface of the starship Prick could hold a job as a Parking Bilaw Officer for any length of time. (Sorry PBOs. I know how hard it is to make money without selling your soul).

Monday, March 07, 2005

Spontaneous Vacance

I'll make this quick because I have to get up early tommorrow and start my glamorous call centre job. Saturday morning Adam calls me up. He has e-mailed in "sick" for work and wants to go on a trip. "Let's go to Montreal," says he.

Well this weekend, spontaneity was my middle name (usually it's something like procrastination, or Trekkie, or Meghan). So I packed a few things and hopped into Adam's Forester and made the 7ish-hour journey to the birthplace of Mordecai Richler, William Shatner, and Yours Truly.

We found a cheapish motel (the bathroom door would not shut but it didn't matter because the door was transparent anyway). Then we rode the Metro to nowhere in particular and ate dinner at a crowded Mexican restaurant. Then we went to the grocery store where I bought 2 BIG jars of pickled tongue (you can't get it in Burlington; Adam seems to think that's a good thing) and some alcoholic beverages (mostly because of the novelty of being able to buy alcohol in the grocery store).

The next day we went to La Musée des Beaux-Arts and saw an Eqyptian exhibit, some Picassos, and some interesting furniture from different art-historical periods (much more fun than it sounds). Then we had lunch at an all-day breakfast place and then we drove ALL the way home.

Note to Montrealers: Lines on roads are VERY necessary. Repaint the lines NOW.
Note à les Montréaleurs: Les lignes sur les rues sont TRES necessaire. Il faut peintre les lignes MAINTENANT.

Tuesday, March 01, 2005

Alien Moon Bikers

In my never-ending quest for ultimate nerdom, I have created this picture:

Star Trek Klingon Ferengi BMW Star Trek Klingon Ferengi BMW Star Trek Klingon Ferengi BMW Star Trek Klingon Ferengi BMW Star Trek Klingon Ferengi BMW
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