Monthly Archives: July 2012

It’s Fashion Disaster Week in YYC!

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If you’re from Calgary, or you know someone from Calgary, or if you have ever been in the vicinity of Calgary, then you know of what I speak.  For the benefit of my readers who are not in the YYC area, I will attempt to educate you on the local cultural phenomenon known as the Calgary Stampede, which is celebrating its 100th birthday this year!

The Stampede takes place for ten days in July, and the Stampede grounds are the site of many a teenage group date/ drunken debauchery/ parents walking around with furrowed brows and crying children.  I don’t go to the Stampede grounds anymore, but I do enjoy the general camaraderie that only decorative hay bales and store windows painted with cartoon cowboys and bucking broncos can bring to an urban platform.  It’s not a big deal to me now, but when I was working in an office downtown, Stampede basically equalled a license to get drunk during the day and on company funds, two-stepping with drunken coworkers and watching them do tequila body shots off of waitresses/prostitutes, wheeeeee.  I am not even kidding about the prostitutes, people.  We like to pretend it actually IS the Wild West out here. 

The weeks following Stampede, divorce attorneys are kept busy, and sales of home pregnancy tests skyrocket.  March brings a mini-baby boom every year.  I have a son born in March, ahem.

Another “benefit” of working in downtown during Stampede is the novelty of being able to don “Western wear” at the office.  For many, that simply means wearing jeans.  For an alarming number of people, though, it means WESTERN WEAR.  I don’t know how many times I was completely startled by a co-worker who, during the rest of the year would be wearing normal business casual clothing, but during Stampede would show up to the office in skin-tight Wranglers, a Stetson, and a shirt with wolves howling at the moon on it.  It was oddly unsettling, like my co-workers had whole other lives aside from stressing out, screaming obscenities at brokers, and breaking phones (true story).

Let me be clear: I’m not a hater.  But this week is full of fashion disasters, and it doesn’t have to be that way.  Little dress worn with cowboy boots and jean jacket?  Cute.  Super short Daisy Dukes with “Save A Horse: Ride A Cowboy” t-shirt?  Skanky.  

As an aside: I really, really want to get one of those shirts when I’m ninety and living in a nursing home.  It will be simultaneously hilarious and horrifying.  Wearing one NOW would indicate that I’m a slutty coug, and would probably alarm my non-cowboy husband, but when I’m ninety?  COMEDY GOLD, BABY. 

But there is good Stampede wear:

I may be biased since I have a total girl-crush on Kate, and also I love all her clothes and her shoes, my god, her SHOES.  There is also terrible Stampede wear:

  
This is a poor, poor choice.

Now, lest you think I’m being judgemental, I’m not.  I just want to prevent complete fashion disaster.  Let me give you the benefit of my experience; back in the early nineties I had a denim vest, for the love of god.  A denim vest.  And I wore it, over a tiny cropped tank top, to the bar.  That denim vest was the catalyst for the only celebrity comparison I ever received: a very, very drunk man told me I looked like Shania Twain.

Note: I do not look like Shania Twain.

Stampede can be fun, though, ignoring the bad fashion and the poor life choices that are frequently made.  This morning my parents took the boys and I to a private pancake breakfast where there was a good band playing, bouncy castles, and a plethora of sno-cones, popcorn, and cotton candy.  Jake received a cone of cotton candy that was way bigger than his head; Mark had three sno-cones.  Good times were had by all.  Plus, it was at the military museum!  Boys + tanks = happiness.

Yes, I’m wearing a denim top and plaid neck scarf.  Don’t judge!  I bring them out only during Stampede, I swear.

Ketchup Chips are a Canadian Thing?

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Right this minute, there is a news story on TV, in honour of Canada Day, all about the words “eh”, “knapsacks”, and “washroom”, and how ketchup chips are a Canadian thing.  American friends, I must know this for true: are there no ketchup chips in the States?  Really?  If that is true, I am very sad for my friends south of the border.  I am also sad that this is the news channel I watch of my own volition.  Who needs real news anyway, when I can marvel over Americans calling them “candy bars” instead of “chocolate bars”? 

Related to the state of my mind right now: Jake and I just sang “Call Me Maybe” together and it was a proud, proud moment for me.

Also a proud, proud moment: on Thursday I took the boys to the local amusement park where we met up with friends, and the kids rode the log ride all by themselves.  For me, this is quite possibly the greatest developmental milestone ever, the fact that I never again have to sit in a big plastic log zipping down a big slide with slimy, possibly decades-old water splashing all over me.  And why was I feeling verklempt about the passage of time?  For no good reason, that’s why.

Speaking of the rapid passage of time, today I heard on the radio – not my usual oldies station, but an actual modern, for-the-young-people station – something disturbing.  For the long weekend, the station was playing various number one hits from years past.  One of the flashback years was 1995. 

Now, I don’t know about you, but to me, 1995 does not seem so long ago.  It doesn’t seem worthy of a flashback hit.  But then again, when they played the song, I could clearly recall dancing to it in the bar, probably while drinking a vodka slime out of a jug, and wearing a crop top and high waisted jeans, with my Rachel haircut.  I was twenty years old: a significant number of years have passed since those days.  All I’m saying is that I can really understand how old people say that something happened a couple of years ago, when the reality is that the relevant event really took place decades ago.

More on the passage of time: this weekend my parents took the kids up to the lake without me.  This is the first time such a thing has happened; my parents have looked after my kids overnight before, but this was the first time that they have been taken to a second location.  After typing that I realize that I just made it sound like my parents abducted the kids, but no.  A fabulous time was had by all.  They celebrated Canada Day by going to the nearby small-town parade, where they waved flags, ate ice cream, and went on bouncy castles and through obstacle courses.  They had a great time.  I, on the other hand, celebrated Canada Day by eating scrambled eggs and drinking coffee while watching episode after episode of Mad Men, nursing a little hangover since I was at a party the night before and I didn’t get home until almost 11:30.  See what happens when the kids are away?  NICOLE’S GONE WILD. 

My husband and I went up to the lake to spend the night and bring them home today.  When I asked them if they missed me, the answer was “Um, not too much.” and “It was kind of MORE fun with just Grandpa and Grandma!”  Well, I guess that’s to be expected.  I’m not exactly known as Super Fun Mom – I did, after all, just buy them math flash cards, some workbooks, and journals for the summer.