Month: October 2012

Smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss

* All names have been changed to protect the innocent and nerdy.

The watery moon winked overhead.

The December winds played with Samantha’s loose, brown braids. Letting out a long sigh, she watched as her warm breath hung suspended in the cool sea-salt air.

As she unlocked her front door, she traced the top of her lips, remembering the kitten’s paw touch of Dave’s hand against hers.

Her first real first date.

Idling outside of her house, they had taken off their seat belts and held hands, making silent, but short lived eye contact.

Samantha hadn’t known if she was going to throw up or start crying.

When Dave placed his arm around her shoulders, she too shifted, nestling into the smooth groove of his upper chest, stealing glances at their reflection in the rear view mirror.

Samantha liked the way the olive tones of Dave’s skin stood in contrast to her own.  She had smiled when she felt him fiddle with the frayed pompom on the top of her toque.

Unfortunately, in an awkward attempt to turn up the heat, but not dislodge Samantha from her nook, Dave accidentally poked Samantha in the eye, hard, and with his elbow.

“Owww…” moaned Samantha.

Dave had shot ramrod in his seat, appalled.

“I’m sorry! Samantha, are you okay?  I’m – are you okay?”  Inching to the edge of his seat, Dave had paused, and then gingerly, reached out to try and stroke the right side of her cheek.

Samantha, trying her best to smile it off, wanted desperately to pretend that she wasn’t hurt, but instinctively shied away from his touch.

Slowly, slowly, she opened her eye.

“It’s…it’s fine. Really.” She said.

Dave shifted a little closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Samantha wiped away at her tears. “Yes.”

“I cannot believe I did that.” Dave rubbed at his furrow brow.

Samantha let out a timid laugh. “It’s totally okay.”

Turning to face her, this time Dave did place his hand on her cheek.

Samantha felt herself turn to stone.

For a second their faces seemed to hover next to one another.

Samantha’s cheeks burned hot, two glowing coals in the light of the dash.

Her heartbeat in her ears.

Dave inched closer.

Her breath paused, lips parted.

And then, as the car stalled, their teeth clattered together – a crack like that of a stack of pencils knocked onto a freshly swept floor.

Panicked, Samantha had quickly tried to kiss him again, but only got the peak of his nose and then the side of his chin.

“I’m sorry! I’m not very good at – ” She blurted out.

But before she could finish, Dave had placed his soft, shaking hands on either side of her face and pulling her closer, pressed his lips against hers.

Samantha pressed back.

Thinking back, as she tiptoed to the top of her staircase, Samantha realized with just a twinge of disappointment that she had completely forgotten to close her eyes.

Next time, she thought to herself.

Next time.

Making an effort to stretch myself

Hey gang.

I have a dirty, horrible secret that I need to get off my chest.

(Urg, that conjures up some truly horrific imagery doesn’t it? It makes me think of a putrid, gelatinous squid laying waste to my body, its tentacles wedged into the crooks of my neck and the dip of my bellybutton.)

[pauses]

Gaaaaaaaaaah!

Why would I even write that? Now that I’ve conjured up that visual nightmare, I’ve only made this whole thing even worse.

Enough of this pseudo-Alien bullshazzle Ethel. Pull yourself together woman!

Okay.

My secret doesn’t have anything to do with my sci-fi film proclivities, nor does it have anything to do with seafood (although you can bet your bottom dollar I’m not going to be ordering a plate of calamari anytime soon.)

My dark globule of shame is thus:

I’VE STARTED DOING YOGA.

[pauses]

Gaaaaaaaaaaaah!

I should have just stuck with being eaten alive by a blood thirsty extra-terrestrial octopus.

And yet, alas, it is true.

To paraphrase Katy Perry: I did yoga and I liked it. (I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it.)

Jeeze Louise, I am losing all the cool points today, aren’t I?

GOOD GRIEF.

So how did this all come about you might ask? (Or maybe just, you know, can you get to the point Ethel because you’re rambling like a rambling thing?)

It all started with the rain.

You see, here in Beautiful British Columbia© it rains like the absolute dickens. The relentless deluge we west coasters suffer through betwixt the months of October to April (and sometimes later) is of such magnitude that there is a good chance we will grow moss all over our bodies if we do not exercise constant vigilance.

This is fact.

So. As the drizzle has now descended upon our fair city, coupled by the fact that the days are growing ever shorter (and ever darker), I am trying my darndest not to reenlist at the gym, because a.) I’m trying to save money and b.) GYMS ARE THE WORST.

But it’s hard. Who wants to arrive home from work and go running outside in the pitch-dark pouring rain?

The absolute wettest I have EVER been on a run. Taken this past weekend.

That is bleak, bleak sauce.

However, I figure if I work really hard at it, a gym-free solution is doable.

For instance, because I am currently taking a break from my half-marathon training schedule, I have the option of going for much shorter, faster runs.

For instance, yesterday I burned through a 5 km while practicing my sprints/hill running.

I also have to admit that running in the rain isn’t always as dreadful as it sounds. Sometimes it’s actually pretty empowering and deliciously badass. Plus, it’s definitely manageable if you’re only doing it for 20-30 minutes at a time.

Further, no one is saying that should we get the odd nice weekend here and there I can’t take advantage and bang out a sweet 10-15k just to make sure I don’t backtrack in terms of my distance training.

The second part of of my gym-free workout plan is to do a crap load of resistance work, which means push-ups, pull-ups, squats, lunges, burpees, wall sits, planks – you name it.

And the plus side of all of this is that I can do all of these things in the comfort of my own home.

Okay, okay, I know what you’re all thinking: “WHAT ABOUT THE BLOODY YOGA!?”

I’m getting there, I promise.

Seeing as though I’ve been told that I should be practicing my downward dog and sun salutation for something like the past two-hundred years, last Sunday I finally thought to myself, “Enough of this bollocks. I might as well give it a go.”

Now, don’t get any crazy ideas that I actually went out a bought a mat and paid for a class or anything.

After a brutal session of burpees, jump squats, pull-ups, and hip raises, a twenty-minute beginners yoga class via Youtube (that I could do complete on the carpet in my bedroom) was looking pretty good.

And it was!

It was good.

It was so good in fact, that I’ve done the same video every night since, as well as an extra session of stretching.

The only fly in the ointment being that whenever I am doing my poses M walks around the house muttering “HANI PASHA” to himself, which completely ruins my concentration and sends me into uncontrollable giggle fits.

But I’ll take it.

In the end, I guess a leopard really can change her spots, as I have long ridiculed yoga and its disciples (living in Lotus Land it’s pretty hard not to, what with the city’s collection obsession with Lululemon and its competitors.)

So that’s it folks; that is my slimy, salacious secret.

I am a budding, neophyte yogi.

And I blame it on the rain.

A year of ranting and rolling

Can you believe it?

One hundred and eighty-odd posts later and here we are – looking back on a year of blogging.

I started Rant and Roll because I love to write and because I am easily destroyed by issues that either break my heart or force steam out of my ears.

My amazing friend Sherie encouraged me to write down my rants, mostly due to the fact that she would absolutely kill herself laughing any time I was on the warpath, orating and gesticulating widely (like the modern day – severely pissed off – Pericles that I can be.)

And so I did.

At first all of my posts really were rants – calling out injustices, lamenting social ills, and waxing long on my huge beef with institutionalized sexism.

Pfft. If it’s not cutting at least 50 lbs, I can’t even be bothered.

But then, little, by little, my small corner of the internet began to evolve.

Sure, I still wrote about issues near and dear to my heart (I don’t think I could stop even if I tried.)

However, I also started to write about other things – my relationship with the brilliant man whom I share my heart and home; our kitty cat who rules the roost; and my travels both near and far, new and old.

Ms. Nymeria cuddling with Mr. M.

I began sharing pieces of fiction and poems.

My tricky relationship with the fashion industry has been well documented (as have the very good and very bad pieces I’ve stumbled across whilst playing dress-up on my lunch breaks.)

I’ve written about my past struggles with eating disorders and an experience from my youth that has left me scarred, but not broken.

I’ve written about my rocky relationship with hockey and my slow-building courtship with soccer.

CONCACAF action.

In April I was Freshly Pressed and it was pretty much the COOLEST THING EVER.

There were days that I was so tired coming home from work that I cried.

But I also drooled on the metro.

I made pea soup and I cooked breakfast for dinner.

I hiked a mountain in California, and came third in my third ever half-marathon.

Beautiful Haystack Mt.

I was a Tough Mudder.

All that mud covered a crap load of bruises and cuts!

I took on the “I don’t watch TV” crowd.

I laughed a lot.

It has been simply smashing.

So what have I learned from this brilliant experience? What do I take away from three hundred and sixty-five days of blogging?

Well, the first thing is that I am darn proud of my little R&R.

On day one I swore to myself that I would write three times a week, no excuses.

At first it was hard – I wanted each piece to be INTELLIGENT, and THOUGHT PROVOKING.

High brow or die! FIRE AT WILL COMMANDER.

But then I just started to sit back and let it flow. I made sure not to force any one post into being something that it wasn’t – that it couldn’t be.

Looking back, there were some weeks where I wrote four, even five posts – not because I felt like I had to, but because I was inspired, and passionate, and excited, and so so happy to feel my fingers a-tap-tapping, flying across the keyboard, just trying to keep up to the pace of my frantic thoughts that were just spilling out of my head, onto the desk, and all over the floor.

I’ve learned that pictures and media are a good way of adding colour to your blog (no pun intended).

Palm trees at night, a visual delight.

(Or just to drive home the point of how truly bonkers you really are.)

I’ve learned that spam bots will leave comments that leave me breathless from laughter, and that real life people will leave comments that melt my heart into a puddle of mush.

(This is a good thing.)

But it the end, what I first and foremost take away from this crazy year of blogging is the opportunity to make my way through the remarkable WordPress community, read some outstanding blogs, and get to know some truly phenomenal people.

To all of my brilliant and beautiful blog friends, I wouldn’t want to do this without you.

You make me laugh at your fantastic wit.

You make me cry with your profound prose.

You make me fall in love with your children and your pets.

You make me jealous of all your amazing fashion pieces, and your delicate eyes for mixing and patching different patterns and palates.

You make me run faster, and work out harder.

You make me marvel at your art, your photography, your writing.

You make me want to be a better blogger.

You make me want to be better.

So thank you. Thank you all.

Here’s to another year of blogging.

Till next time champs!

So everyone buckle up – here come the terrible twos.

Some kind of madness is swallowing me whole

So.

I broke the weather.

After posting my piece on Monday about how us West Coasters were living in perpetual summer, literally overnight we went from this:

To this:

So to all my fellow BCers – I apologize profusely.

I never meant to bring on the Exorcist fog.

In a bid to win back your hearts, I dedicate this Friday’s Fry-up to you all.

Here we go!

Just a walking down the street.

Yesterday the world let me that I was looking pretty good.

Now you may ask yourself, well, how do I know this?

I will, of course, spill all my secrets, but first: you must acknowledge that you definitely read that last sentence in the voice of David Byrne.

(And remember: this is not your beautiful house.)

Second, I know that I looked good because other than having spent the majority of my work day making kissy-duck faces in my compact mirror (spoiler: that didn’t actually happen), I counted a few dudes giving me the old how-do-ya-do as I walked the length of the downtown core on my lunch break.

(For those of you not familiar with my antiquated euphemism, I mean they checked me out.)

Okay first off – I don’t normally notice these things. And if I do, I either get really angry because the level of douche accompanying the check-out is off the charts, or get all shirty and do really stupid things like winding myself on parking meters.

How I normally feel about these things.

I should also stress that when I first started to notice this happening, I initially just assumed I had food all over my face because a.) I often have food all over my face and b.) I’m not just that conceited okay?

However, as it kept happening even after I completed my secret, ultra-inconspicuous “face wipe” (my ace in the hole for successful social outings and for Keeping the Passion Alive™) I started to kind of dig it.

I stopped thinking about Justin Trudeau’s twenty-six page photo spread in Maclean’s magazine, how foggy it was when I woke up this morning, national security threats in the form of Chinese telecoms, Russian spies in the Canadian navy, if I was going to eat asparagus ravioli or cheese on toast for dinner, and just how much I hate it how my other winter coat is just a tiny bit longer than many of my dresses, so when I wear it, it looks as though I’m not wearing anything at all on my bottom half.

I allowed my mouth to form the faintest of smirks.

I slowed my gait ever so slightly, switching gears from “charging bull” to “lolloping giraffe.”

I even managed to steer clear of all manner of dangerous sidewalk detritus, such as parking meters (more commonly known as my diaphragm’s nemesis) and MEN AT WORK signs.

After all, it’s my klutzy nature that is one of the many reasons I don’t normally pay attention to how the surrounding populace reacts to me as I charge about town.

Also, I’m normally too busy checking out all the other weirdos and what’s going on in their lives. I just waiting for the day that I come across someone with braided nose hair and a roving eyebrow.

(I figure I’m about two levels short of achieving this goal.)

But hey, some days are the exception to the rule right?

And some days, well, you just look exceptional.

I find you a-MUSE-ing.

When I say that I currently cannot stop listening to Muse’s 2nd law album, I actually mean to say that I cannot stop listening to this song on repeat:

IT’S SO GOOD GUYS.

If I was fifteen years old, I would listen to this some on loop while visualizing what it would be like to make out with Christian Bale, fretting over whether or not post-braces I would be attractive enough to get a boyfriend.

Then I would lip-synch the absolute crap out of it.

As a twenty-seven year old, I can honestly say the process isn’t that much different.

Just kidding! Christian Bale is SO twelve years ago.

Although, I am concerned about just how love I love this song:

I was out driving the other night and it came on the radio, and I was all “TURN IT UP AND CHAIR DAAAAAANCE!!”

When I came home and youtubed the lyrics my jaw nearly hit the floor.

You see, I’ve been trying to keep my life one hundred per cent Justin Bieber-free and to have his girlfriend just waltz her way into my unassuming heart was a bit of a shock to my system.

But then, what could I possible do except let loose a resounding MEH?

I mean, the main lyrics to this tune are: I love you like a love song baby.

That stuff is my kryptonite. It’s impossible for me not to love it (like a love song.) And as I’ve said before: I will never stop loving cheesy and heck pop.

Must. Stop. Saying. Love.

Onwards!

Spreading the word.

Today is my first talk with the United Way Speakers Bureau, a campaign that runs until the end of December. I will be out spreading the good word about Big Sisters and the importance of mentorship in the lives of young women.

This is a cause that is very near and dear to my heart and I am stoked to be out there sparking interest in this truly phenomenal program and organization.

If you have ever given thought to volunteering as a Big or just want more information, please let me know and I would be happy to chat with you more about my experience.

You will change lives.

It will change yours.

…

Happy weekend you beauty cats! I can’t wait to hear what you all get up to.

All these things we love to hate

Life is all about the yin and the yang; the light and the dark.

Let’s embrace it!

I love:

Veggie burgers with melted cheddar cheese, fried onions and mushrooms, pickles, and spinach on asiago bread. Oh, and yam fries.

I loathe:

Turnips, any way. Can we please stop trying to make turnips happen? They are a pain in the ass to peel, take forever to cook, and taste the way that farts smell.

They are the absolute worst.

I love:

Community.

I suffered brief, albeit alarming heart palpitations when I heard that the premiere of this brilliant, and gut-bustingly hilarious show has been pushed back.

Why NBC, WHHHHYYY?

And how does consistently crap programming keep getting renewed (or you know, Charlie Sheen keep getting hired?) while this perfect gem of hilarity gets slowly Arrested Developmented?

That is so not cool, cool, cool.

I loathe:

Cameron Crowe movies. Do people, other than narcissistic fifteen year-old boys and emotionally stunted, middle aged, ex-high school star quarterbacks actually like this drivel?

These are not good movies. In fact, they are terrible. Anytime I hear someone talk about how good Almost Famous is I want to box their ears. Elizabethtown is so awful it’s laughable.

I swear I can just hear Mr. Crowe cackling over his perceived wit every time I unwittingly see a clip from one of these car wrecks.

Plus they just feel so nineties – and not in a good way. Take Clueless for instance – that movies is nineties in the most awesome way possible. These films just feel like itchy flannel chafing my teen spirit to death.

SHOW NO ONE THE MONEY.

I love:

MY CAT.

ZOMG. SHE IS THE KEEEEY-UTEST.

I loathe:

No animals. That’s impossible.

But I do think that people who hate animals are Satan’s minions.

And there’s no saving soulless demon-spawn. They’re goners.

I love:

Going grocery shopping after working out. It always makes me feel like I’M GETTING STUFF DONE.

Plus my adrenaline is still going like gangbusters so I can carry at least 40 per cent more groceries than normal.

Not to mention you always buy all the best stuff post-sweat fest. Except for coconut water with pulp – that stuff is weird sauce.

I loathe:

Forgetting to buy razors.

Because that means I have to go back to the store, and once I commit to going back to the store, it means picking up Drano because for some reason the bathtub isn’t draining quite right, and also bodywash (but not the kind I really like due to the fact that it’s now nine dollars, and that is obscene), and spray that makes my hair way, way shiny (but smells like really strong old lady perfume, so much so that I immediately regret my purchase, especially because if I hadn’t bought it I could have just got the good kind of body wash in the first place.)

That may or may not have happened.

Phew.

So what about you dudes? What do you love? What do you loathe? Let it all Chang out.