The Daily Chai Just Got in Shit From Her Mother

I didn't get a Chai Latte today because I'm feeling guilty about lying to my mother when I was ten. It's my punishment. JUST KIDDING, it was frothy and foamy and went down like the sweetest dream you can imagine.

Read this and you will know why I am in shit.

I just got a text from my mother that said, "You need to call me!" Drama queen that I am, I immediately call her expecting the worst, that she's fallen and needs an ambulance or been in a terrible car accident (although why she wouldn't just 911 herself never occurs to me). Unbeknownst to me, my mother, having enjoyed my Daily Chai posts, has decided it would be a good idea to read all my posts, right from the very beginning, starting in 2006, shortly after Kate was born.

"Hello Megan. Are you somewhere that you can talk to me? I need to speak to you about something that has shocked me to my very core. I just read your blog post from July 27, 2006." My first thought is, "What the fuck is she talking about?" but then she begins to read it out loud to me. She gets about three sentences in and I say, "Oh shit." But I can't help it, I begin to laugh like crazy. After all these years, she's found out my big, dark secret all because of a stupid blog post I wrote nine years ago!

Oops. Forgot about that.

I kept my blog a secret for a long time because I wanted to write honestly about my life and didn't think I could if people I knew read it. Clearly, I have gotten over that little foible. Many of my earlier entries seem fatuous to me now and I can hear my younger self so clearly in them, it's almost scary. But I haven't re-read them all, I don't even know what most of them say anymore, it was almost nine years ago that I wrote them after all.

My mother and I had the most hysterical conversation about my deceitfulness and now she's asking me to think very carefully about anything else I might need to tell her, that I might have lied about to her years ago and if it's suddenly going to come to light in another blog entry. I'm wracking my brains and reading previous entries as fast as I can.

The Daily Chai is Puzzled

I'm just about to go get a chai latte and I will tell you all about it some other time. Right now I have an extremely puzzling situation with my phone that I simply must tell you about!

So...a few weeks ago I did a search on S&M, purely to figure out how to spell Sadomasochism (which I didn't spell right when I first published this post) I can't remember why now. Maybe I was drawing up a contract or something, I don't know. Research. For a story. Or something. Moving on. 

So anyway, my Google search came up with S&M on wikipedia and I clicked on the link. Probably because that idiotic movie was coming out. Yeah, that's must be why I was looking it up. But the weird thing is, now, whenever I pull up the Safari window I keep open for my Blogger dashboard on my phone, I get a very brief flash of the main page for the S&M wikipedia. Every time. It's like my phone just wants to remind me that once upon a time, I searched for this particular subject matter AND IT'S NEVER GOING TO LET ME FORGET IT. EVER. Damn you Bridgette* and your damn moral high ground. 

*Bridgette is the name of the phone. 

The Daily Chai Doesn't Have Time to Make Pie

But I have time to buy it and eat it. Too bad it's not key lime, but apple is a close second.

Fun with pie

The Daily Chai Celebrates Pie

Today's Chai Latte is still at Starbucks. Be a dear and grab that for me? Thanks love.

Today I will eat pie. Lots and lots of pie. This is possibly one of my most favourite days of the year. I love all pie, although I am especially fond of key lime pie. Today I am going to make a key lime pie and possibly eat the entire thing myself. I will take a picture of it and post it later if it looks photogenic. If not, I will just eat it and take a picture of my face with crumbs on it. Either way, win/win.

My love of pie has been well documented. I would say it is = or > my love of Cadbury Cream Eggs and that's saying a lot. I'm a little irritated with Cadbury to be honest. With all my free advertising on Facebook, I have yet to receive a single complimentary egg. WTF? So I move on to pie in all its glory. I love pie.

Some interesting facts about pie and π.  Did you know the American pie was invented before π was discovered? Just kidding, some American made that up, they are always taking credit for stuff. Did you know that π is a transcendental number? I don't know what that means because I am firmly rooted in reality and don't believe in spiritual numbers. Did you know that in 2013 scientists used computers to extend the decimal representation of π to 13.3 trillion digits, but because most scientific applications only need 40 digits after the decimal, this was performed (with countless grant dollars no doubt) purely to show off how SMRT they are? Did you know that π is used to calculate the circumference of a circle? Which is interesting only because traditional pie is round. So, therefore, if you want to calculate the circumference of a pie, you would need to use π. Did you further know that π is considered an irrational number, somewhat akin to my irrational love of pie. Just kidding, my love is not irrational. Pie is good. What's not to love?

That is pretty much where my knowledge and urge to look stuff up on Wikipedia ends. Enjoy your pies darlings, I know I will. 

The Daily Chai Has Writer's Block

I haven't bought today's chai latte, so I will give you a fake review. It was good.

Moving on.

It was bound to happen. I've been writing every day for just over two weeks and now I'm at a loss for something to write about. NOOOOOOOOOOO how will I entertain myself if I'm not writing hilarious hijinx about grammar and insane four year olds?
That reminds me. I went to the mall today with the girls and ate mall food. Delicious. Anna smashed some sushi like a fucking champ and Kate had her normal Subway sub, two cookies (which she always delightfully shares) and strawberry Frutopia. Then we got a banana, strawberry and Nutella crepe. Thrilling, I know!

We bought my ex a present for his upcoming birthday so the kids would have something to give him and then we got rain boots and hot pink converse for Anna.  I loved getting new running shoes when I was a kid, so she better appreciate the fact that I went to two different stores to find the exact right pink for her. At the first store, I tried unsuccessfully to convince her that purple was better than pink. No dice. She knew my game and wasn't falling for it. On to the second store where we were successful in finding two different pinks, both in her size. One on each foot, we walked over to the mirror and Anna gazed with deep satisfaction at the reflection of her feet in the mirror.

"Perfect! Which one do you like best?" I asked her.

"Both of them." If Anna could put charming little smiley face emoticons into her speech, she would.

"Tough, pick one." I replied unyieldingly. She made the right choice and went with the super cool hot pink instead of the lame baby pink. Journeys has the most amazing selection of Chucks just FYI.

She PROMISED me she would wear these sneaks and not rip them off in hysterics and refuse to ever wear them again once we got home. I requested this promise from her because this is what happened last year when I bought her brand new hot pink Vans (please pay special attention to second 12 of the video):

I love my girls. I really do. I'm glad I have both of them in my life and I look at them daily and marvel over the fact that I made human beings from scratch. But there are times, just some times mind you, that I wonder why I had children. Lovely little creatures, but they never stop talking. They are like me in that respect, but imagine, just fucking imagine for one moment, if you had TWO OF ME talking at you, telling you endless stories and asking a constant stream of questions, UNCEASINGLY FOR HOURS ON END. You would pray for bedtime too. 

Some of today's questions were:

Mom! Is the sun really getting closer to the earth all the time? Someone at school said we're all going to die. 

Mom! Why does the word shampoo have the word poo in it? 

Mom! Can we have a treat?

Mom! Is this crepe as good as the ones in Germany?

Mom! Does shampoo have poo in it?

Mom! Why do you have elastic bands around your car's mirror? 

Mom! Can we have a treat?

Mom! Why do I have to wash my hair?

Mom! Why is Elsa's hair yellow and Anna's hair is red?

Mom! Can we have a treat?

Huh, even with writer's block, I manage to have a lot to say. NOW IMAGINE TWO OF ME. Yeah. 

The Daily Chai Goes Apeshit About Grammar

Today's Chai Latte is too milky and not quite hot enough. That's what I get for going to the Bean Counter which only professes to serve Starbucks coffee but not be an actual Starbucks. Sad. 

I have a few things to say about grammar and punctuation. My grammar is pretty good, my punctuation needs work, but basically, I know most of the rules. The rules for colons and semi-colons continue to elude me, no matter how often my mother explains them to me, which is why you will never see me use them here. Lots of people think the rules for grammar are overrated, but it's so bloody important for correctly communicating your ideas and thoughts. Even if you don't know the rules exactly, when you see a word or punctuation used incorrectly, your brain stops for a moment to process it. Most of us can figure out what the person means, but the flow of the words has been lost. Or, worse still, the meaning of the message is completely lost and you actually have to take precious seconds to text back a "?" to get clarification. I know. So brutal, right? Empires have been lost over less, of that I am absolutely sure.

I'm just going to give you a few of my very favourites to make my point.

Your welcome. This doesn't make sense. "Your" indicates possession, therefore, when you use it, you are talking about someone's possession. Your dog is ugly. Your story is boring. Your blog is too long and self-righteous. So the ONLY WAY your welcome makes sense is if you follow it by a possession. Your welcome email was appreciated. When you want to be polite after someone thanks you, please write, "You're welcome." Just remember that "you're" is a contraction of "you are." Does it make sense to say, "You are welcome?" Why...YES IT DOES!

Alot. This is possibly my favourite. You know how I know it's not alot? Because my MacBook keeps fucking telling me that it's "a lot" and I actually have to physically click the "x" to tell my MacBook she's wrong. I'm sure her little hard drive heart shivers in agony just a tiny bit every time I do it too. I also know it's not "alot" because it's not "alittle", "alarge", "abig" etc ETC ETC. Okay? Please stop doing this. It drives me mental.

Basically anything with an apostrophe that doesn't need one. This happens when people are trying to make a singular word plural. Here is an example I saw at Target tonight:

Seriously. Are you talking about more than one bra? I'm going to make a huge assumption here and say yes. Many bras are on sale for 30% off. Plural. One bra. Many bras. This sign indicates that one bra owns something. The bra's strap is too tight. The bra's cup is too small. However, as you can see, the salesperson who made this sign didn't finish his or her sentence and has once again left us all hanging. And just as a little bonus...if you were talking about the straps of many bras, it would be bras'. As in, "All the bras' straps were defective." Isn't that fun?

Anyway, my point is that communication, the SOLE PURPOSE OF THE WRITTEN WORD, has not been served here. You are letting us all down Target. Oh, wait. That already happened when you closed 130 stores and left thousands of Canadians without jobs. Hmmm...with that bit of perspective, I feel a little bad about my grammar rant.

No, I don't.


I'm going to leave you with this highly entertaining and disturbingly vulgar guide to help you avoid grammar mishaps.

You're welcome.

The Daily Chai Just Saved My Life

Today's second chai latte might just have saved my life. I was going back home from an evening with my kids when this car comes up right behind me and starts flashing its high beams at me. I wasn't texting or weaving or anything ridiculous like that, just driving.  So I check that my lights are on and they are so I'm just like WTF, right? Well this person keeps flashing me and then keeps them on, shining them right in my mirrors. I'm starting to get a little worried but I'm thinking maybe my brake lights don't work or something but really, what the hell do you expect me to do about it right this second? Do you really think I'm going to pull over on a dark highway and say, "Howdy! What's up fucker?" So you can kindly let me know that my brake lights don't work because you've already proven to be such a great person already? NFW.

After a few kilometres I hit the roundabout and the person turns off. Phew. Not following me all the way in thank god! Then I get into town and see this person behind me again. Not sure of course that it's the same person, but the lights are the same. Not flashing but maybe they're now trying to be stealth as they plot my murder? Jebus. 

That's it! I need a latte! I pull into Starbucks because there is no fucking way I'm going home with that suspicious car following me. The car continues on and I'm in the clear. I text a girlfriend to tell her what happened:

I'm still laughing. Because you fucking know I checked my backseat double quick. 

The latte was great. Spilled it on my hand and found out it was fucking hot. Shock. 

Adventures in Germany, part 2

This happened in March, after we'd lived in Germany for about two months: 

The door to our balcony has a lever on the side that flips up to lock the door and flips down to unlock the door. The entire door shifts down when it's locked so it's quite secure. We leave it unlocked all the time as we are on the second floor and no one can break in. I went out for a smoke this morning first thing, before even having breakfast, which is not something I normally do. However, for whatever reason, I grabbed my coat this morning, one cigarette from my pack and went outside to smoke it. Kate was already up, colouring and  watching cartoons so I figured my minor deviation from the morning routine would not be noticed. 

Before we moved to Germany, Kate never watched TV. It would be on and she wouldn't even look at it. She preferred to play with her toys while we watched our own shows. I think it has something to do with all the German cartoons, but our darling daughter is now addicted to the box. 

Anyway, as soon as she realized where I was she stood at the door, asking to be let out, but of course I shook my head and said no. She seemed to accept this and wandered back to the living room and I went back to reading the magazine I had. Suddenly, I heard a thunk! And I froze.

No, no, no, she did not just do that, did she? Oh yes she had. Without me noticing, Kate had returned to the kitchen and had flipped the lever up, locking me outside and herself inside. This happened at 8:45 in the morning. I tried desperately with much crying and swearing to coax her to pull the bar down and she almost did it twice, but she gave up both times. She just did not have the strength to push it into place to unlock the door. I was stuck. And I panicked. I screamed, I shouted, I coaxed, I cried, I begged Kate to try again.  Please baby, try again. She would not. While the lever was apparently fascinating five minutes before, it was of absolutely no interest to her now.

Fortunately, I had our only cellphone on me, but who on earth would I call? Brad didn't have a phone and I didn't have many people I could call. Our fellow expats were away on a trip so they couldn't come. And it was not even 9:00 am. That is practically dawn to Europeans. 

My best bet was Sonja, the girlfriend of one of Brad's co-workers, Marco. They were a great couple that we had quickly become friends with but Sonja worked late nights as a server at a local bar and she likely wouldn't appreciate an early morning phone call from a stupid woman she barely knew who had managed to get locked out on the balcony by her toddler. I waited until 9:30 and the entire time I was having anxiety attacks about what Kate might get into while she was unattended by her fabulously responsible mother. 

When I finally reached Sonja, it was 9:45 and I'd been out there for an hour, alternately sobbing over my predicament and pounding on the door in the hopes that a sound thumping would dislodge the damn German engineering. No luck. 

Kate spent that hour crying at the door to be let out to join me, playing with the curtain by putting it on her head and saying 'Hat!', sitting in front of the door with her feet up on the glass of the door, playing peekaboo and, finally, getting her shoes, like THAT was the reason that I wouldn't let her come out with me. She went into the living room to put her shoes on and when she succeeded,  she gave me a big smile and lifted one foot and then the other to show me. When I still uncompromisingly would not let her out, she gave up and went to the living room with her shoes still on, sat on the couch and watched cartoons. She had a lovely time, while I sat on a plastic chair and cried. 

Thankfully Sonja's grasp of English was good enough that it was possible to even explain the problem, and she called Marco, who told Brad (without explaining why) that he needed to return home immediately. Poor Brad flew home, imagining the worst only to find his furious, embarrassed wife locked outside and Kate happily watching German SpongeBob.   

To make it even worse, Kate has been saying fuck loudly every time she gets mad today. She's also been telling Brad, complete with fake crying, how mummy cried today. Then she loudly says Fuck!

 And before you EVEN start, I know I should quit smoking.  I'm pretty sure, someone, somewhere, is about to give me the mother of the year award. Oh and they are calling me Rapunzel now.