Author: Vanessa Woznow

Writer, runner, ranter, reader. I write about all things.

Standing in the shower thinking

Hey you beauty cats.

After a weekend of solid rain this is what we have been gifted on this otherwise ordinary Monday:

Everywhere the trees look like they are fire-kissed, fresh out of the autumn oven.

Leaves litter sidewalks and parking lots, an electric collage of reds, oranges, yellows, purples, and greens.

They are maple shaped, multi-coloured cobblestones that crunch (not clatter) underfoot.

For myself, after two days in a row of running in an absolute deluge I am fit to bursting with excitement to get outside and stretch my legs in the sunshine.

While there is always something to be said for running in the rain, I made the absolute worst mistake on Sunday afternoon.

I wore WAY too many pieces of clothing.

To make matters worse, I not only managed to cook myself alive, but did so despite running in what was, for all intents and purposes, a gigantic, omnipresent shower stall.

(With the water set to FULL BLAST.)

Not even an actual, real-live ice cold shower post-run could sufficiently bring down my core temperature, and for a good portion of the afternoon afterwards I was plagued by residual (and random) heat attacks.

Lest it need repeating – shedding clothing (at the drop of a hat) in public is not the defining character trait I aim to cultivate.

On the bright side, at least I will be a seasoned veteran of these things by the time menopause rolls around.

Little victories.

So how, exactly, did I end up dressed for Siberia (despite encountering Seattle), sweating my little face off?

I made the mistake of assuming that the massive fog bank that had rolled in that morning would be a pretty good indicator of what was happening outside temperature-wise, and as such, was duped into thinking that winter wear was a must.

What can I say? I see fog, I think freezing.

Boy was I wrong.

But as they say, live and learn!

Live and learn.

I’m actually glad I’m making these mistakes now, and not come the 18th – as a hardcore over-heat on race day is pretty much my worst nightmare ever (and definitely much worse than going into a run under-dressed, because when that happens at the very least you can just run faster to warm yourself up.)

Because –

Dudes, I am so excited to run in this race.

MEEP.

First, there is something so delicious knowing that it is only ten kilometers long.

The last three competitions I’ve entered have all been half-marathons (where ten km doesn’t even count for the half-way mark) so I am practically giddy knowing that once I reach the 7km sign I am pretty much at home plate.

And while I do, of course, hope that the rains stay away, I can’t help but wish that come race-day, when the gun goes off, the temperature is on the colder side.

Just enough so that I can wear my sweet, sweet running pants (the ones that keep my legs feeling limber and lithesome, and that trick my limbs into thinking I have swaddled them in feathers and fleece).

(Plus, being the good Canadian girl that I am, I never give up the chance to wear a sweet toque.)

Second, my amazing and hilarious friend Alannah is also racing and THIS WOMAN IS SO FUNNY I HAVE ABS BECAUSE OF HER.

I can only imagine the post-run hijinks that will ensue.

And finally, well, I seem to be on some kind of perpetual runner’s high (hot flashes be damned) and I’m just stoked about competing on a new course, with new people, in a new season.

Variety and spice, and all that, right?

What about you folks?

Do you prefer to run in the heat or cold? And what pieces of clothing make braving the elements just that little bit easier?

You can tell me all about it, once I get out of the shower.

Rain, rain, go away

So we meet again.

I’ll get you next time gadget!

Erm, I mean, happy Friday folks!

First I would like to send a giant hug to all of you who live on the east coast.

I hope you are all safe and sound and have escaped Sandy’s clutches with minimal damage.

Mother Nature’s wrath is most muted here out west; although the weather is absolute rubbish, we are lucky enough to be dealing with nothing more than a tepid drizzle (so constant you’d think that our city was built smack dab in the middle of the world’s most anemic waterfall.)

But really, ho-hum, pigs bum, it’s all one.

So this Fry-Up is dedicated to all you who call the sweet sights of the Atlantic Ocean home (especially my beautiful big sister who rode out the storm in her Brooklyn flat. Love you sweet K with all my heart!)

Double rainbow.

Sometimes I wear an outfit that is made up of so many colours that it looks as though Picasso painted me.

I always become so much more aware of my multi-hued clothing as we enter the winter months, as it seems that all the other individuals who work downtown dress in progressively grayer and grayer tones.

This is not a good idea folks.

My rule of thumb is never dress the same colour as the weather. That’s just too depressing for your own good.

Today the women handing out the free newspapers at skytrain nearly flipped their wigs when I showed up in my poppy coat and fuchsia skirt.

“Oooooooeeeerrrr,” one exclaimed. “Look at all your colours!”

“That’s one way to keep your spirits bright!” The other laughed.

I cannot argue with this statement.

Plus, wearing an outfit that pretty much pulsates colour makes it incredibly difficult for cars to miss you when crossing the street.

Because it’s all well and good to look like the work of a Spanish cubist – but as my parent’s would always say: safety first kids!

Safety first.

Next!

Sweet tooth.

So, on Monday night I ventured out for some fab pub trivia, with some equally rad folks.

(Spoiler alert: we won! Taking Care of Quizness – the team’s name – really was taking care of quizness. Also, I may or may not be a good luck charm, as every time I’ve gone the team has emerged triumphant, either richer – in both money and spirit – or stocked with free booze.)

Now, given that I live in New Westminster, and the trivia was in the very heart of Kitstilano (a very posh, very yuppie neighbourhood of Vancity – enter at your own risk, lest you succumb to the clutches of Starbucks, Lululemon, and overpriced baby paraphernalia) it’s pretty necessary for me to drive, unless for some strange reason I feel like subjecting myself to a good hour and half of late night bus riding, post-game.

(For what it’s worth, I haven’t yet had any desire to pursue this experience.)

Anywho, what I’m trying to say here is that I drove to the pub.

As I was motoring into the city, I took the opportunity to absolutely blast the kind of music I don’t normally listen to when other people are in the car with me (as it would seem as though my loved ones are much more discerning when it comes to their musical tastes.)

When I’m all alone, on my own?

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again: I blast the absolute crap out of the cheesiest, most inane pop you could ever think of.

For instance, I managed to listen to this song three times driving to and from the pub:

And as I was chair dancing like a chair dancing thing, I began to mull over why it is exactly that I love this stuff so much, and how is this representative of my life overall.

In both music and food I have a penchant for syrupy sweet junk.

As much as I love healthy food and good (or whatever my be the musical equivalent to “healthy”) music, I really, really like crap.

I mean, life is all about balance right? And as long as I remember this, I’ll probably be okay.

Plus, I probably couldn’t stop if I tried.

(And I probably won’t try.)

English Breakfast.

I’ve written a few times before on ye olde Rant and Roll about how I am a bit of an anglophile – ie. there are many, many things about British pop culture that I love.

For instance, almost every concert I have attended over the past ten years have been bands from the UK, most of my favourite TV shows originally aired on (or continue to air on) the BBC, and I’d wager a fair guess that the majority of the dudes I’ve gotten all shirty over for, oh, I don’t know, my entire life, were born “across the pond” (in the parlance of our times.)

M and I just started watching Life on Mars on Netflix. We’ve only seen a few episodes, but so far I’m really enjoying the series.

If you haven’t seen it, the premise is that Sam Tyler – a policeman working in Manchester – is hit by a car in 2006 and wakes up in 1973. We don’t know if he’s in a coma and is dreaming everything, or if he’s actually been transported back in time.

The show is funny and witty and infuriating and has some of the best tunes I’ve heard on a television program in a long time.

If you have a chance, check it out.

If anything, it will make you want to get a really sweet leather jacket.

…

So that’s all she wrote you beauty cats!

Enjoy the weekend, stay warm, dry, safe, and sound.

I wouldn’t wish it any other way.

Tricks and treats

Happy Halloween boils and gouls!

(That will never not be funny to me.)

Tonight, as the rain coats all that is living (and all that is undead – MUAHAHAHA!) M and I are sitting by the fire, playing some Skyrim, and handing out candy to all the little ones skipping about our neighbourhood in their fancy dress clothes.

We were supposed to be heading out to a murder mystery party, however poor Mr. M is sick as a dog and the thought of transforming himself into the Grim Reaper without at least one clear nostril to breathe through wasn’t exactly topping his “must-do” list, 2012 edition.

Completely side note: In 2008 he went as the Headless Horseman and it was absolutely phenomenal. Unfortunately, when it came time to cut out his eyeholes, I was laughing so hard that I accidentally poked him in the face with the scissors. As such I was immediately relieved of my duties as vision granter and he tried to do it himself.

Let’s just say it wasn’t the best.

Fast forward to us dancing our faces off at an absolutely packed Media Club to the musical stylings of our friend Marco’s Celtic-punk band.

At one point I looked over at M who was just careening about and thought, “WOW. He’s really going for it.” Right then though he lunged at me, grabbed a hold of my forearm and shouted, “I CAN’T SEE!!! HELP!!!”

Of course this set off a massive laugh attack like nothing, so I had to really work hard to get myself together AND drag him to safety.

Needless to say, he spent the rest of the evening very much with head and clear vision.

And to this day, just thinking about it makes me bust a gut like crazy.

Anywho, getting back to what I was saying, yesterday as I got into bed, I too could feel an itchy-tickle in my throat, so I thought it best if I also sat this one out, much to the chagrin of my inner drama queen.

I love a good chance to get into character, and just generally act like mad chicksor.

Today at work everyone was dressed up, which was pretty heartening to behold.

We had a Robin, a Princess Di, a Justin Bieber (probably one the most amazing things I have ever seen), an Axel Rose and Slash, a snow princess, a law suit, a flapper, a patch of seaweed – honestly, my workmates really hit it out of the park.

My favourites hands down though were these two gals:

L is the train-hoppin’ hobo, and S is the scarecrow.

THESE LADIES BE CHAMPS.

As for me, I am sad to say I somewhat half-arsed my way through Halloween this year.

For the morning I dressed as a Tough Mudder (not exactly me at my most clever I can assure you) but it was pretty fun to walk around saying, “I actually dress up every other day of the year. This is my natural self!”

What ended up happening was that I had a speaking engagement with the United Way at noon, so I needed something I could easily change out of, as I did have need to Clark Kent myself into professional attire.

(Although I kind of wish I could have gone in TM regalia. Talk about a way to pump people up! )

Also, I must apologize for not having photos to share, but I promise to post one as soon as I get a copy of the snaps S took of me in costume.

In the mean time, I’m happy to rest my knackered bones (I actually did a Tough Mudder workout yesterday, and that, combined with a long day of work, and my stand up classes at night has left me feeling a little deflated) and have a glass of wine.

Meanwhile, the kitten is investigating all the treats for our little tricksters:

What are you all up to for the night?

Stay safe, stay warm, and scare yourselves absolutely silly.

BOO!

A peep through the curtains

Good morrow friends!

Well that weekend absolutely flew by.

M and I keep saying that one of these days we are going to have a laid back, solitary fin de semain – but until that day, we seem to just jam pack our Saturdays and Sundays with as much activity as humanly possible.

On Friday night I made a massive batch of mint pea soup, and parmesan toast and just barely managed break away from the beckoning comfort of my pajamas and the cozy heat of the fireplace, and instead ventured out into the rain to meet up with a bunch of M’s colleagues.

Two of them play in a ridiculously awesome surf band, so we enjoyed a drink (stout for M, white wine for me) and listened to the sweet sounds of what can only be described as a live rendition of a Quentin Tarantino soundtrack.

(Which, to be honest, is pretty the only way I can stand Tarantino – his music, or otherwise.)

The rest of the weekend was a blur of house hunting, runs in the rain, meet ups with friends, runs in the sun, pumpkin carving, shopping for birthday presents, family dinners, and a couple of episodes of Top Gear, just to keep things fresh.

Phew.

At one point this weekend, conversation turned to bucket lists, and I began to ponder what events or achievements I may choose to populate my own list.

Without spending copious amounts of time thinking it over, I did come across three things that I would really like to achieve within the next year.

They include:

1.)    Dying my hair blonde. This was only further exacerbated by my friend Tracy’s e-mail which read:

Wow, imagine you a blondie!!! Doooo it! It would look so hot :) And it’s just fun to muck around with hair colour.

I cannot argue with this logic.

2.)    Run a half-marathon in under 1:30:00, a 10km in under 40:00, and just run a marathon PERIOD.

3.)    Send at least five separate pieces of writing to publications in the aim of getting them published.

It’s good to have goals right? And now that they are out here in the interwebs, there’s no going back. I expect all of you brilliant chaps to keep me to my word, okay?

No faffing around allowed.

In the interim, let’s have a dance why don’t we?

Aaaaaaaaand SNAPS:

Hallo pumpkins!
Paddington Bear coat.
Homemade pasta and garlic bread.
Sunday sky.
Amazing veggie burger.
Post-run badassery.
Adventure cat!

What did you cats get up to this weekend?

And what’s on your bucket list (yearly, or lifetime?)

And if you’re looking for a hair dying partner in crime, well then, I’m your gal.

The sky’s the limit

Hey chickadees.

I cannot believe that it is already Friday. The mind boggles.

I took this snap of the sunrise yesterday morning:

I seem to have developed a rather large obsession with the sky, in all of its variations, which has manifested itself in an insatiable need to take dozens and dozens of photos of everything from mid-day cloud cover, to startlingly brilliant sunsets.

But in all honesty, my favourite will always be the sorbet coloured striations that divide up the early morning, and patch together the early evening skies.

Always.

Fry-Up Time!

Tom Hanks.

So I watched Sleepless in Seattle for the first time the other night and I have to say it wasn’t half bad.

Despite never really warming to Meg Ryan, I’ve always loved Tom Hanks – in particular 1980s/1990s Tom Hanks.

Sure, I haven’t been that a big fan of his work post-Y2K scare, but nothing will ever take away from the majesty of his early stuff.

(Except of course, for Joe vs. the Volcano. What broke acip trip was responsible for that hot mess?)

Erm, right. So what I’m trying to say here is that while I don’t go to see any of his newer stuff, I certainly do love to dip my toes in his more seasoned pool of material.

For instance, I always, always laugh my face off while watching The Burbs. Yes, I understand that this movie is completely daft and terrible, but nothing will ever stop me from falling over during the scene when the weirdo neighbours drive their garbage to the bottom of the driveway and anytime Mr. Hanks goes absolutely bonkers.

(Which is pretty much the entire film. See the below video for details.)

I will never stop laughing at pretty much every scene in Splash, I LOVE That Thing you Do (and still know every single word to that song), and A League of Their Own is, well, in a league of its own.

Remember kids: Avoid the clap.

It’s sound advice!

Anyways, I was thinking about ole’ Tom as the end credits to Sleepless were rolling, and I was trying to figure out what it is about this actor that I like so much.

M put forward the hypothesis that so many women (and dudes too) love Tom Hanks because he’s a normal human being. He’s not stereotypically “hot”; he’s not ripped, or suave, or an Adonis in human form.

He’s attainable.

Women (and men) can actually see themselves with him.

Men (and women) can see themselves being friends with him.

While I’ve never thought about Mr. Hanks this way, I can see his point.

However in my case, what really does it for me, is the fact that Tom is the absolute master of the hilarious angry yell.

Even when he’s pissed off, he’s bloody entertaining as heck. Seriously, check it out:

Ohhhhh, I die.

Next!

Elevated discourse.

So it’s no big surprise around here that I am massively in love with my cat and will pretty much do anything for her because of how nuts I am about her.

However, of late I’ve really started to notice just how barmy I sound when I talk to her.

(And just how barmy I sound even typing out those words.)

But it’s true. I’ll be walking around my house, jabbering on like a monkey in a tree, regaling Nymeria with details of my day, when I’ll just start telling her over and over again how beautiful she is.

Eventually I’ll transition to complimenting her on how good of a job she is doing of cleaning her paws, how awesome that last yawn of hers was, or how impressed I am that she jumped up on the windowsill with such grace and agility.

Sometimes I’ll just pick her up and do nothing save mutter “beauty cat” over and over and over again. (Sometimes for variation, I’ll make those words into some sort of three syllable nursery song.)

I’m seriously waiting for the day when she’ll turn, look at me and say, “Look lady, is it possible for you to stop talking to me like I’m some kind of simpleton?”

But until that day…

Ten kilometers go!

So I made the executive decision to sign up for the Fall Classic 10k race.

It’s on November 19th, so it’s bound to be raining, and freezing – but I think I have managed to coerce a number of my amazing pals to also run, so I am really looking forward to a massive post-race hang-out fest.

(Hopefully somewhere warm, and dry, where people won’t be turned off by our non-stop laughter.)

When I signed up to race, I had to enter my estimated finish time, as the two individuals with the closest guesses will win a New Balance prize pack.

I submitted a conservative forty-two minutes, but I’m hoping to run it faster than that. However, I don’t know how the rain or cold will affect my race, so I figured I would rather be safe than sorry.

My comedic genius of a friend Alannah just entered: I’m done when I’m done.

Brilliant.

Also, I think she may have made herself an automatic shoe-in for the prize!

Humour and brains, folks.

Humour and brains.

(If I was a zombie, this is what I would put as my “ideal match” in the zombie classified ads.

…

So that’s all she wrote folks.

A very merry weekend to all of you fab chaps!

I hope it’s absolutely smashing.