Old friends in the new city

Technically, the city is no longer new to me. I have been here since July 12, 2006. My health card has long since been an Albertan one, my driver’s permit was traded in earlier this year. There’s not a whole lot which still screams “Ontario” about me. Not unless you talk to my friends anyway.

Then, it’s the slightly southern accent (from southern Ontario? Personally, I don’t get it), the use of 2-4 (as in a 2-4 of beer, or May 2-4), celebrating Pancake Tuesday, chicken souvlaki from a trailer, tales of university days gone by, a longing of maple trees, Mustang pride (see related: love of Andy Fantuz), knowing that a snow storm is not a snow storm until you can’t see your hand in front of your face… oh, and those old Ontario friends.

One of those old Ontario friends, from my Western PR days, is coming to visit with her hubby in a mere nine sleeps. Mary, from Real Mary Tales, is making the trek to see the Edmonton contingent of the old PR crew.

This tall, buxom blonde and I used to get into a world of trouble. Upon breaking the news to her about my pending desertion to the Canadian prairies, she thought for a second and then exclaimed, “Well, we need to go out every day you have left, so my liver is sick of you by then!” We only lasted for a couple of nights, but created enough laughs and debauchery to last a while.

Since that, the week my liver has been trying hopelessly to forget, Mary has visited Edmonton on one whirlwind visit, and Suz and I visited London on another… to celebrate Mary’s birthday last year around this time.

It should be a marvelous reunion; I can hardly wait to experience, first-hand, more stories for Mary to blog about!