Category: To whom it may concern

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.

Don’t forget. I’ve got bionic hearing.

Hey you beauty cats.

Well, another day, another dollar. I’m not sure about you folks, but I am absolutely knackered. Thank goodness it’s Friday. And a long weekend at that!

It’s Thanksgiving up here in the Great White North (GWN) which means that over the next three days there will be an extra serving of turkey on dinner plates across the country.

For us (quasi) veggiephiles, Thanksgiving is the perfect excuse to go double duty (or just completely bonkers) on the multitude of multi-coloured tubers and gourmet gourds, so readily available around this time of year.

And goodness knows I plan on eating myself into a sweet potato stupor come Monday, mid-afternoon. Airing on the side of caution, if one of you could check in sometime Tuesday morning just to make sure my glucose levels have returned to normal I would really, really appreciate it.

(If I don’t respond, please contact that appropriate authorities.)

One million thank yous!

In the meantime, let’s get started on this Friday’s Fry-Up.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Guess what I did?

Check out MAH NEW HAIR!

As a treat to myself for my success at the half-marathon last weekend I got it cut and dyed professionally.

Professionally! For the first time ever!

I’VE MADE IT TO THE BIG TIME MOM!

Meep.

As you may remember from my post last March, all previous attempts at colouring my hair had been self-initiated (with varying levels of success.)

The lows were, erm, very low.

So, I vowed I would never again colour it again with dye from box. I’ve done my time wearing Dexter gloves and ruining M’s t-shirts.

And may I just say, I LOVE the results.

I’m digging the bangs, I’m digging the colour, and my ends no longer look like I stuck my finger into wall socket.

I also totally cracked up when why stylist told me, “You look like Jesse Pinkman’s dead girlfriend.”

Oh I certainly do.

Only, you know, less addicted to heroin and making much better life choices.

I am, after all, a role model.

Next!

Weirdos, weirdos, everywhere

I recently started watching Freaks and Geeks on Netflix. It’s pretty freaking awesome (no pun intended.)

Bill is hands down my favourite character. I just know that if I was fourteen years old I would be head over heels in love with him.

Check out his fancy moves:

I have to say I like the “Geeks” story-line much more than I like that of the “Freaks”. There is only so much James Franco I can take. And I just not that big a fan of Lindsay and her freak-chic slumming ways.

Is that harsh?

Eh, whatevs.

On the other hand, the trio of Neal, Bill, and Sam is just perfection.

I certainly wasn’t the coolest ice cube in the high school tray (my penchant for the musings of long dead Russian communists and nihilistic German misogynists didn’t exactly ingratiate me to a ton of suitors) but even though I wasn’t exactly on the same level as these three nerdos, I sympathize with them entirely.

The brilliance of their friendship warms my heart like mad.

It almost, almost makes me yearn for the days of braces and topical acne gel.

ALMOST.

Onwards!

Bradbury, you evil genius

Given that I’ve been keeping up an intense reading regimen, I’ve been reading a ton of Bradbury.

Just today I finished The Illustrated Man.

All I can say is: HOW CAN SOMEONE WRITE SO WELL ALL THE TIME!? HOW?

How could this man describe things in such unimaginably beautiful ways – describe all things in such heart-stoppingly fantastical language – in a manner that never, ever gets tiring.

In a manner that is never, ever trite.

It is never too flowery, it is never overkill.

It is always perfect.

His words tie my stomach in knots, they bring tears to my eyes; they make me think. They make me fear. They make me nervous for – I don’t know what.

They make me question my life, question my writing; they make me want to be a better writer.

They make me want.

“They moved down the echoing throats of the castle, level after dim green level, down into mustiness and decay and spiders and dreamlike webbing.”

And so I dream.

I dream of this webbing.

I dream of the stars.

I just felt like running (a half marathon)

Yesterday I ran the best race of my life.

I took part in the Surrey International Music (Half) Marathon and finished the course in 1:32:40. Not quite the sub-1:30 I had originally hoped for, but a solid six minutes off of my previous fastest time.

To say that I was (and continue to be) super stoked is an understatement.

This is something that I am really, very proud of. I trained hard, rested up, ate well (look Ma, no junk food!), and watched Chariots of Fire the night before running (CLASSIC).

And when the time came to kick some ass?

I KICKED IT HARD.

Oh and even crazier still?

I placed third overall out of all the women competitors and thirty-first overall. Like, out of all the runners!

How nuts is that? I mean, we’re talking mixed, salted, 60% peanuts here.

NUTS.

On Saturday, M and I walked down to the River Market here in New West for a sunshine filled brunch, and also so I could pick up the foods I like to eat the night before I run (butternut squash ravioli with pesto, rye bread, and dessert – vanilla ice cream.)

Later that night, as previously mentioned, Mr. M and I snuggled up in bed and watched Chariots of Fire for some last-minute inspiration.

It’s ridiculous how much I love that movie.

(I also have mad love for – and a bit of a crush on – the character of Lord Lindsay. He’s just such a foppish privileged prick. The scene where he practices hurdling over the hurdles with the champagne? Love it.)

This morning I woke up to an absolutely stunning sunrise.

There is something insanely calming about eating a banana with peanut butter, sipping on a steaming hot mug of coffee, next to your little cat, staring at a creamsicle coloured sky.

Soon enough, it was time to wake up the mister, and get our butts out the door.

We skytrained it to Surrey Central and upon our arrival took in more of the sunrise inside SFU’s main atrium. There were a ton of runners about, stretching, gabbing, just generally getting their game faces on.

You could definitely feel that there was a buzz in the air.

As the minutes ticked down to the start of the race, we wandered over to the start line chatting with a few of the participants, taking some photos, including this one of my race day nails:

Is it weird that I am almost as proud of these as I am the outcome of the race? Because goodness knows I have a hard time painting my nails as it is, and I just love this combination of colours.

With about eight minutes to go, M bid me farewell, wanting to get to a different part of the course in order to take photos and cheer me on.

When the gun went off, I was very close to the start of pack. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t go out too fast, but I was feeling really good so I figured I would push myself from the start, focusing on keeping my strides long and breathing consistent.

There weren’t a ton of spectators lining the route, but M met me at the 7km and 18km markers; my brilliant and beautiful friend Stamata met me at two different stops along the way (the 8km and 10km I believe?), dressed in her amazing-as-all-heck pajama pants, hoodie and chucks (!); and M’s parents met just before the 12km mark.

I cannot begin to say enough about how important it is to have people cheer for you along the course. It really, REALLY pumps you up.

When my hips started to feel it like mad (sometime around the 19km mark) it was the support of the crowd that really helped me solider on.

Speaking of that blasted 19th kilomenter, I finally experienced something similar to what I imagine “the wall” is like (let’s call it a “mini wall”).

It was brutal!

The only thing that kept me going was the thought of just getting myself to the 20km marker. That and a TON of self-talk.

(I should also take this opportunity to stress the importance of shortening your stride during these testing episodes.)

On the whole I knew that I was running a good race, but didn’t know exactly where I was in terms of positioning, especially in relation to other women out on the course.

Having started so close to the start line when the gun went off I knew that my chip time would be very, very close to whatever was going to be displayed on the clock at the finish line.

As I neared the end of the race, I saw 2:01 on the clock (the marathoners having begun thirty minutes before us halfers) and I just gave it everything I had – pumping my arms, lengthening my stride –and WHOOSH!

Before you could say tight hip joints – it was over.

I heard the emcee announce my name, and something about me being the third woman to cross the finish line.

Third!

I was so shocked and exhausted, that when the woman handed me my medal, I automatically went to shake her hand, and she was all “What the eff?”

So I kind of just shook her hand without her shaking mine back.

AWKWARD.

But oh, how I laughed and laughed.

And then I celebrated! I drank some sweet, sweet chocolate milk, got a free massage at the athletes expo, listened to some of the entertainment, and stretched.

Speaking of which, I could probably stand to stretch some more. I’m not going to lie – I’m a little more than stiff.

So there you have it friends – another life milestone achieved.

Until the next time!

Have laughs, will travel

Sometimes, you just need to act like a nutter.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

In December of 2009, M and I spent a week in Geneva and five days in London before returning home to Canada.

We had been living in the UK while I was on research leave for my MA, and we really wanted to wrap up our trip in a special way.

We figured stops in two brilliant, bustling cities (in the weeks leading up to Christmas no less) would make for an excellent send off.

Now, suffice to say that I love my husband madly (emphasis on the mad) and when I state that we have a heck of a good time travelling together, this is not hyperbole.

This is fact.

During our time in Switzerland, we bopped about the place, our eyes semi-sprung from our sockets, incredulous at how expensive everything was (I mean, twelve francs for a happy meal!? How is that even possible?), attempting to take in all the jaw-dropping beauty offered up by our environs.

M is half-Swiss so we had the immense pleasure of staying with his amazing cousin Lisette, a woman whom I love dearly – so much so that I will be hard pressed not to name my first child after her.

(If luck should have it that it be born a boy, well, he’ll have to endure. Perhaps some hard living country songstress will write a rousing tune about him and his namesake. It would be a bona fide hit; a certified chart topper.)

Lisette’s sister Bea is another of my all time favourites – she is the epitome of chic. Her doggie Tisha is also the epitome of cute, with her eyes that melt your heart, and magical powers to make handfuls of biscuits materialize out of thin air.

On our first day in Geneva, we toured much of the old town and then visited St. Pierre Cathedral. Having climbed to the bell tower, we took full advantage of an empty observation deck to partake in some high tom foolery.

Exhibit A:

Magic!

On our trip to Bern, M kept asking me to take photos so “it looked like he was running to jump aboard the train while it was still moving.”

This is the best I could do:

It’s amazing the associated press hasn’t been blowing up my phone trying to get me to come and work for them.

Perhaps one of my most favourite laugh-until-you-cry-and-then-bloody-well-laugh-some-more moments came when we were in London.

It was our second day in the city. We sprung out of bed at an early hour, despite having walking some twelve-odd hours the day before, so eager we were for adventure.

Boy was it was cold as heck.

We arrived at Kensington Gardens and immediately were besieged by hoards of hungry, and as such, aggressive water fowl. They were absolutely insatiable! I managed to capture the madness (albeit all too briefly) in the following video.

P.S.  THIS IS NOT HOW MY VOICE SOUNDS IN REAL LIFE GOOD GRIEF.

Finally, because I’m a silly, silly girl, and I’m always asking M to pose for inane photos, I requested that he pretend to tickle the giant, mummified hippopotamus that’s hanging two stories up in the Museum of Natural History:

And then pet the skeleton of some poor prehistoric beast that perished in some Jurassic tar pit and/or meteor shower:

Alas.

Just typing out these words – just looking at all of our many photos from this trip has got me feeling homesick. Yearning for our small, rubbish flat on Rotton Park Road, my running loop at the Edgbaston Reservoir, my young English students at Right Track School, the beautiful red brick at the University of Birmingham, and all the carefree nights and weekends M and I spent around the city, and different parts of the country.

So you’ll have to excuse me.

I’m off to take some photos. I’m off for a new adventure.