January 2013 – Rant and Roll

Take two, and rolling

Some outtakes from a very impromptu at home head-shot photo shoot for the upcoming Vancouver ComedyFest:

WITH CAT:

The finished product:

Next time it’s a bathtub of evian or nothing! NOTHING I SAY!

It’s all the little things

Hey you jazzy cats.

Let’s just say that I’d like to imagine that you all look like this:

Because goodness knows that would make me so, so happy.

Anywho, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?

Sometimes there are moments of such infinitesimal happiness in my life that I feel as though my heart might just shatter.

Take for instance, last Saturday morning. I had gone to bed incredibly late the night before (actually, come to think of it, it was more like very early the day of) and woke up at noon to this kind of magic:

And it’s at moments like this that I absolutely relish being a grown-up gal, and all the shiny splendours that my little life has to offer.

Now, on the other hand, there are also times when I feel as though being an adult is total rubbish, and all I want to do is tie my bed sheets into one crazy long bed sheet-rope, fling my belongings out of the window, and then Robin Hood my way to adventure and freedom.

No one likes to pay Visa bills, or get up at the crack of dawn every day, or have a conniption fit every time the price of apples/cheese/detergent/moisturizer/paper towels/gas seemingly doubles overnight.

Seriously though, how are all of these things so expensive!?

Mortgages aren’t exactly a barrel of laughs, and neither are budgets and financial planners.

But despite all that, very often I am overcome with so much joy about my life – and all the amazing things that come with it – that I am basically struck mute (and sometimes motionless.)

Now, to be fair, there are times when this reaction may or may not have something to do with the delicious knowledge that should I want to, it is totally within my power to spend ten dollars on gourmet jellybeans at Save on Foods.

SCREW YOU CHARMIN! I’LL CLEAN MY BATHROOM WITH CANDY IF WANT TO!

But – not always.

Sometimes they are but a work of a moment; a short interaction with a stranger, or watching the sunset as I walk home from work.

At the moment there are three things poking about the recesses of my mind, each one responsible for giddiness and glee.

They are:

1.) Races and places. I recently signed up to run the BMO April Fools Half-Marathon and I am SO EXCITED. First race of the season and I’m already jittery like jittery thing. The race is on the Sunshine Coast which means a beautiful course, and hopefully a mini-vacation for Mr. M and I.

2.) Milkshakes and crosswords. A late-night snack. (Full disclosure: I only ate the milkshake.) But it was awesome. And not totally unhealthy because, well, CALCIUM right?

3.) All the love. That I get to spend the rest of my life adventuring around the world with this mad hatter:

(The fact that he gifts me pain au chocolat and coffee on Saturday mornings just adds to my delight.)

And I don’t know about you folks, but all of this brilliance makes my mundane grown-up “musts” shine just a little bit brighter.

And as a honourary hummingbird, goodness knows I do love my shine.

So happy Wednesday to you all!

I hope you’re all celebrating may and multiple fab things, wherever you are.

A very hairy situation

Let’s talk about body hair, shall we?

So.

As a white, western woman, I feel as though it is socially (culturally?) expected of me that I remove most of my visible body hair, save for that atop my head.

I don’t know if it’s my newly minted old age* or what, but I just really haven’t had the time for these expectations of late.

*SARCASM PEOPLE, OKAY?

But seriously. I mean, I really, really hate shaving my legs. Almost as much as I hate shaving my armpits. I hate shaving my armpits THE MOST. Especially in the winter. I’ll go for months without taking a razor to my limbs because of my rampant MEH syndrome.*

*Also sarcasm, but sometimes it does feel this way.

I’m also completely lax about plucking my eyebrows, and I’m starting to believe that the only time I really get around to using my tweezers is when it becomes apparent that I’m only using my eyebrow pencil to differentiate my actual eyebrows from the ever-thickening unibrow taking over the width of my face.

And I don’t know how to feel about this.

On one hand, I don’t want to have to worry about carting around a fainting couch for all those I inadvertently scandalize should they catch a glimpse of my underarm hair, but then on the other hand, I do worry, because my initial reaction to seeing my own armpit hair is pretty darn unfavourable.

(Luckily though, I have yet to employ the use of the couch.)

But overall, this reaction of mine does bum me out.

The fact that I’ve internalized prescriptions of what’s acceptable and what is not when it comes to the completely natural growth of hair on MY OWN BODY makes me glum.

And it is this glumness, combined with my before mentioned apathy, that makes me feel as though I am catapulted back and forth between NOT CARING and CARING about my body hair.

(I should look into whether or not that correlates with not summer, and not summer.)

Either way, right now, I have engaged NOT CARING mode.

Plus, at the base of it all, I am one of those people that just doesn’t care for sticking around any longer in the bathroom than I absolutely must.

I don’t want to faff around getting ready for LIFE, because LIFE is already completely bonkers and as such, I have enough things to do already.

And also, excuse my horn blowing, but I kind of think that I’m pretty darn snazzy looking as is, and I’m of the mind that whether or not I remove my leg hair everyday – during the eighteen years of winter I am currently living through no less – isn’t going to put a significant dent into my hotness quotient.

At least not in my eyes.

I mean, isn’t that what it’s all about anyways?

If you think you look good, who cares either way?

Unless you’re telling me that my leg hair is slowing down my running.

Then we might need to talk.

Such a smooth operator

Yesterday I drank a beet-berry smoothie.

It was weird.

I really like beets. And I really like berries.

But mixing the two together in a smoothie was a little like drinking a (strangely sweet) emulsified garden.

That is definitely one sentence I never really imagined I would ever be writing.

Thank goodness that the drink was at least red, because goodness knows I cannot abide a green smoothie. Anytime I see someone sucking down some horrid kale-spinach concoction, I always think the same thing:

“It looks like they are drinking a salad’s tears!!”

JUST SAYING.

So anyway, the following facial expression pretty well sums up how I felt the entire time I was consuming the beverage:

Not good. But not bad either.

Just strange. Really, really strange.

I’m fairly certain all of you are staring at your computer screens thinking: WHAT THE HECK IS SHE TALKING ABOUT?

To which I reply: BACK OFF YOU KALE MURDERING BASTARDS!!

Erm.

I mean, what I’m trying to say – in the most roundabout way possible – is that my life at the moment feels like one massive beet smoothie.

Ya know what I mean?

I’ve been feeling all over the place of late, stretched a little too thin by the GIANT ROLLING PIN OF LIFE and I’m having a little trouble trying to keep myself together.

And I really hate it.

I really hate feeling like I don’t have my stuff together.

But mostly I despise feeling like I don’t have my stuff together when my stuff IS actually together – all neatly folded away in colour-coordinated drawers (or hung on sweet plastic hangers, and not those awful cheap wire ones that always end up sagging in the middle) if you get my clothing-storage-focused drift.

Seriously friends – WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

It’s like my Type A insanity is at an all time high.

Yeesh.

For all you other TAers out there, how do you cope when you’re certain your manic perfectionism is taking over your life?

Normally a solid week of 9 pm bedtimes has me feeling right as rain, but I’ve having a hard time getting myself together this time. Any advice you have to help me stop BEETing (heh) myself up would be much appreciated.

In the interim, shall we see what’s frying up on YE OLDE FRIDAY STOVE?

Forsooth, and forthwith my good chaps!

Clean as a whistle.

Exhibit A:

Now, normally I wouldn’t get all shirty over a pre-washed bag of lettuce, but TRIPLE WASHED?!

Come on.

How dirty were the leaves to begin with? And how anemic was the water spray that they were using? Where you using something other than water to begin with? Who was doing this washing?

This notation had me so freaked out that the entire time I was eating my salad all I could think of was: I AM TOTALLY EATING ALL THE RADIATION AND OR COMPOST.

Compost salad!! AHHHHHHH!

Side note: Am I the only one who eats the entire bag whenever picking up one of these things for dinner? I always think that it will last me at least two servings, but nope! I hoover that stuff down like it’s a beet-berry smoothie.

Next!

Guns a-blazing.

So just the other night I finally sat down and watched Guy Ritchie’s Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

I remember when it came out and it was THE FILM amongst all of my guy friends (it, and Boondock Saints.) I don’t know what exactly it was that made me so resistant in the first place, but for some reason I just never got around to viewing it.

Over the years I somehow began conflate it (and other works by GR) with the films made by Quentin Tarantino, which only hardened my resolve never to watch it.

I won’t get into a diatribe on the subject, suffice to say that I don’t and most likely will never enjoy Mr. Tarantino’s films, as I believe him to be a psychopath.

Anywho, back to Lock Stock – this film is hilarious! Great acting, awesome directing, and really interesting cinematography.

I loved how every scene looked as though it filmed through the filter of a really dirty window. Or the bottom of a wine bottle.

Also, Jason Statham is hot.

Like, a lot.

Next!

Nap nap nap.

OH HAI THERE!

TIME TO SLEEP FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS?

ALSO NOMS PLS & THANX!

KBYE!

…

I don’t know about you folks, but I think I’m going to be following Nymeria’s lead.

What are your thoughts on squeaky clean lettuce leaves? Are you a fan of Guy Ritchie’s cinematic oeuvre? And what are you plans for the weekend?

Put up your feet, and rest awhile.

Keeping them in stitches

Big news sports fans!

I have been invited to perform a set at the upcoming Vancouver ComedyFest!

Oh. My. Goodness.

You might have guessed that I am more than a little excited.

But what else can I say? It’s only been two months since I started this journey to Stand-Upsville, USA (Stand-Upsville, Canada just doesn’t have the same ring to it) but every step has been simply tip top, candy shop.

To be completely blunt – getting up on that stage and telling jokes is pretty much the greatest adrenaline rush that I’ve ever known.

It’s interesting: I’ve written at length about the runners high that I’ve experienced, both on training runs and during races, but this sensation is something completely different.

Right before I go up on stage I get so cold that I can hardly stop myself from shaking like a mad shaking thing (imagine me as a Polaroid picture, if you will.)

My teeth chatter, my knees lock – I sometimes even lose partial circulation in a few of my fingers. Seriously, I never know if i’m going to turn to stone, or just pass out.

But after telling that first joke, and getting that first laugh, I might as well be flying ten thousand feet above the city, whizzing past cloudscapes, dodging meteor showers and shooting stars.

I go from living in a block of ice to feeling like every fiber of my being has been set alight, set on fire.

Simply put: it feels good. It feels like it fits.

Now, please don’t take this as me saying that I am some kind of professional or unstoppable hot shot. I full-on recognize that I am greener than the Jolly Green Giant’s left thumb and still have much to learn.

I’m just so happy that I finally got up the courage to take the plunge.

I mean, since my days as an absolutely barmy little girl I have always loved to make people laugh.

Some of my earliest memories are of sitting in a room – yammering on like a monkey in a tree – playing comedian for a group of adults and absolutely relishing in the attention.

I learned quickly that if I was smart and deft enough, I could get away with saying terrifically mad things, just as long as the end result was a solid guffaw (or guffaws.)

I might not have been born a drama queen, but I developed the sensibility at a very early age.

As a dreadfully self-conscious teenager, the only way I was going to get through my awkward high school years was to constantly crack jokes and make people laugh.

And now, my delightfully hilarious husband and I are in a constant battle of one-upmanship to see who can give the other person a laugh-induced hernia first.

Sometimes when I am working on bits, M and I jam on the joke together and I am literally left breathless (but also thinking HOLY SMOKES WE ARE DEFINITELY THE WEIRDEST COUPLE IN THE HISTORY OF COUPLES.)

I can only hope that my brand of humour has the same effect on the audiences for whom I perform (the breathless thing that is.) I really do try and present a show that is both funny, smart, and thought provoking. Seriously, for me, I like nothing more than a joke that makes me think, and makes me continue to think.

And this will never stop being my goal every time I set foot in front of a crowd, in front of a microphone.

Well, that and keeping my knees from knocking together too hard.

Because goodness knows, I bruise so very easily.