Rant and Roll

Put your hands on my body

“Use up the rest of your benefits,” they said.

“Go and get a massage,” they said.

And get a massage I did.

Ooof.

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the one hour I lay prone on that table as a very kind, and incredibly petite woman lay waste to my internal organs.

I mean, who doesn’t LOVE a good deep-tissue muscle scrub? Am I right or what?

Massage are great!

IMG_20131213_154316 — They’re GREAT! (Also, look at my giant hand!)

Seriously, there is no question at all about that.

But, let’s not pretend that the best ones don’t hurt like heck, and as such, force you to perform your yoga-breathing for the entire sixty or so minutes that you’re engaged in one.

I went to my local RMT this afternoon because I’ve been having some tightness in my shoulders and upper back. I haven’t been running as much these days, what with the sun setting at 2:15 in the afternoon, and temperatures hovering around -1 degree centigrade, so instead, I’ve been doing quite a bit of body resistance work and strength training.

This is great, because I can now do sixty push-ups relatively easily during one workout (but not in a row alas. At least not yet. However, my plan is to be Linda Hamilton circa T-2 by the time I do Tough Mudder next June.)

This is not great because it leaves me very sore.

And to combat this soreness I go and get massages that just make me even more sore. (Sorer? Sauron?)

Ahem. Moving forward.

While I was getting massaged today, I started thinking about all the good things and all the bad things about the process, and because I was having so much fun mulling over these things in my head, I decided it was high time to dust off this old, but always popular, Rant and Roll chestnut:

I LOVE I LOATHE – MASSAGE EDITION!

Things I love about getting massaged:

The lead-up to the actual act. How great is it telling others that this coming Friday afternoon you have an appointment with an RMT?

SO GREAT.

People are always so darned excited for you, and then they’ll say something like “I should totally get one too!” And then you’re all “OMG YOU TOTALLY SHOULD” and then your friendship is bonded even harder over your shared love of upcoming massage visits.

Things I loathe about getting massaged:

That weird minute or so when you’re in the room with your massage therapist, and they’re all asking what you want worked on, but it’s awkward because you’re thinking about taking your clothes off, and you’re also kind of like, “IS THIS CUTTING IN MY ONE HOUR LADY? BECAUSE I PAID FOR AN HOUR!” and then once they’re gone you get undressed (always vaguely alarmed that there just might be hidden cameras) and then you lie there for what seems like forever until they knock on the door and you’re all “YES!” in a voice that is much, MUCH too enthusiastic.

Things I love about getting massaged:

Those moments after they’ve absolutely massaged the crap out of one spot on your body (so much so that you briefly think you’re going to pass out from the pain) and then they just rub lightly in circles around that point and everything in the world feels like it’s right again, and you also think you might be a superhuman because of your insanely high pain tolerance and would you exist in the Marvel or DC universe?

Things I loathe about getting massaged:

I am a competitive bastard, and I hate the thought of losing at ANYTHING. As such, whenever an RMT asks me if the pressure is too much, I cannot bring myself to say yes, despite the fact that I’m pretty sure that I can feel her fingers inside of my kidney(s).

I just keep deep breathing and telling myself that “this too shall pass” while the pain in my head hollers indiscriminately “HAHAHAH! NEVER. YOU SHALL NOT PASS!!!!”

Good grief.

One day I will be mature enough to say “less pressure please!”, but until that day, I suffer in silence.

In silence!

Things I love about getting massaged:

Afterwards.

All hail the rest of the day following the massage.

Seriously, I feel like I’m floating on air.

Add to this a piping hot shower, a lovely comfortable outfit, a good book and a glass of tea?

HEAVEN.

If the insane pain of the actual massage didn’t manage to kill me, this definitely will.

I am definitely dead by how fantastic I feel having come out the other side.

And it’s because of this that I will never, ever stop getting massaged.

Whether I mature, or not.

(Or not.)

Like sand through the hourglass

Holy frick on a stick it’s been two week since my last post.

WHERE IS THE WORLD SLIPPING AWAY TOO?

I don’t know about you folks, but here in Vancity it is frozen like a frozen thing. We’ve had big puffs of fluffy white stuff falling from the frigid grey heavens for two days straight now. I don’t go anywhere without my massive winter coat and big boots because goodness knows I wouldn’t want to end up stranded in a rogue snow drift unprepared!

Goodness knows.

Speaking of unprepared – can we hit the pause button so I can possibly get my act together and think about what needs to happen in preparation for the big December Two Five?

Everywhere there might be a feeling of Christmas, but there’s also a feeling of urgency and stress!

Egads.

In similar news, Marc and I keep racing about like mad gophers, trying to keep up with all of our work and volunteer-related commitments.

I’m still doing the comedy thing, but definitely taking on less gigs than earlier this year, what with my sanity being held together by an all too fragile thread. I’ve also been hosting the Storytelling Show, running up a storm (up until the buckets snow started falling to the ground that is), and doing a ton of United Way speaking engagements.

We’ve also been knee-deep in DIY home repairs (Ms. Java can you hear me? I have foolishly followed in your footsteps!), repainting our walls, and installing new carpet in the upstairs.

I am pretty ready for our house to go back to normal.

Whatever that is.

BUT HOLY COMFORT BATMAN.

Who knew what a difference a new carpet could make? I never!

It’s seriously like walking on heaven. My little feets smile up a storm every time I get out of bed and step on that sweet, soft carpet-y goodness.

Riiiiight….

OKAY.

I promise to actually write a real blog post this week, not just this insane mish-mash of my life’s eccentricities plus a collection of photographs of all the delicious treats I eat.

But until that time!

Here we go…

YES.

Cat.

Birds.

Book.

Boy.

Happiest of days to you my fab chaps!

I hope that everything for you is both merry and bright.

Worth one thousand words

Well, another day, another dollar.

How are all you fab chaps doing of late?

It’s a bit bonkers to think that we’ll knocking down December’s door in but two days.

TWO DAYS!

Where is the time going?

Let’s take a breather and assess what’s been going round the cosmic kitchen over the past few weeks:

Soccer matches.

Family fun.

IMG_20131110_123507 — We are not awkward only incredibly good looking.

IMG_20131109_150030 — Do we look fourteen?

AMAZING SIGNS.

IMG_20131127_184530 — The remedy for a beter sex life? Thank goodness!

My love!

Le chat.

Selfie fun.

IMG_20131123_124115 (1) — International spy.

Skyfall.

Cookie monster.

New friends.

IMG_20131124_093820 — I told him to act natural.

PHEW!

There ya go. My brilliant little bonkers life on film.

And I, as always, encourage all you cool cats to share a snap or two.

Or two.

Prime Suspect? Prime Indeed!

Okay folks.

Here’s the deal.

I love Helen Mirren.

Well, I love DCI Jane Tennison, but it’s really all one, right?

Yesterday I worked only in the morning, and then headed home thinking I would lounge around a bit, before giving my house a very much needed deep clean.

I put on the fire, wrapped myself in a blanket, and then turned on Netflix, eager to watch a movie, or a couple episodes of a TV show before getting out the rubber gloves.

What I really wanted to put on was “Call the Midwife” but seeing as though that’s the show that Marc and I are currently watching together, I felt bad about skipping ahead without him by my side.

Surfing through the selection, I came across Prime Suspect, and paused.

I’d been seeing this show pop up now and then in our recommended feed, and I thought it best to finally give it a try.

Boy am I glad that I ever did – it’s SUCH a fantastic show.

What’s even more incredible, is that despite the fact that it was filmed in 1991, it really doesn’t feel at all dated.

Sure the haircuts, and fashion styles may be a little Duran Duran, but the writing, acting, and direction is so great that one can’t really care about such trivial things.

Plus, Helen Mirren.

Ack.

SO GOOD.

DCI Tennison is such an epic badass, in all areas for sure, but especially in how she deals with the ingrained, institutionalized sexism of the Metropolitan Police Force.

What makes this show so special is that it offers zero apologies for Tennison and why she is the way she is. Nothing fazes her, and every time we think that she’s going to capitulate to the male hegemony of her work force, she totally bucks our expectations (and in the process, forces us to examine why we even have those expectations in the first place.)

This, in my opinion is one of the best, and most important aspects of the show.

Further, so many other shows about a “strong solo female detective” would have caved and would have included the requisite “tough lady finally breaks down and cries to show her real femininity” or some other inane and disappointing scene, but instead, through it all, despite her ups and downs, and trials both inside and outside of work, Tennison just powers right through.

Just watch any scene with her Director Superintendent where she literally plows right through him, finishing her sentences when he tries to interrupt her, or talks over him when he tries to bully her (despite him knowing full well that she is, in fact, in the right, and he, in the wrong.)

It’s is just so, so awesome.

I cannot wait to quit my life and just spend the next little while watching all the other seasons and TV movies that spun off from the original series’ run.

(I might only be a little bit joking here. If you haven’t heard from me in a week, phone the police. PHONE DCI TENNISON AND TELL HER I WANT TO BE HER FRIEND.)

Love Actually, is, all around (can we move the Japanese Ambassador to 4pm tomorrow?)

Well, it seems as though the Christmas season has officially arrived here on the West Coast of Canada.

Which means, it’s only a matter of time before I watch my three favourite holiday movies:

Muppets Christmas Carol

Home Alone

Love Actually

It’s actually the third film on this list that was the impetus for me writing this post.

I was thinking about when would be an appropriate time to sit down for our yearly viewing of this masterpiece, before asking myself (for maybe the millionth time) – DID ALAN RICKMAN REALLY CHEAT ON EMMA THOMPSON?

This questions has been plaguing me for the past ten years.

Common consensus would say, yes, Harry and Mia did in fact engage in coitus (hence why we see her putting the necklace on in her undies, with an unmade bed in the background – I HAVE SEEN THIS MOVIE MANY TIMES) but I have such a hard time accepting this reality.

But most likely this is because of my all-consuming, and always growing love for Ms. Thompson.

Ya know?

EXACTLY.

Anyway, even though to me, this movie is perfect (to paraphrase Rick Grimes and all), here are a few other problems that always arise upon every viewing.

*holds up sign of mummified human being*

Too much?

ONWARDS!

1. I don’t believe that Colin Firth’s (Jamie’s) wife would cheat on him with his brother. I mean, THAT GUY? Really? HIM? Could they not have cast some crazy, smoking hot dude (a real Carl if you will!) to play this part?

And why is everyone so disappointed that Uncle Jamie isn’t staying with the family for Christmas? HIS BROTHER WAS SEXING HIS WIFE BEHIND HIS BACK! The fact that his entire brood of blood relatives is willing to excuse that horrible behaviour, but is insanely upset that Jamie won’t carve the bloody turkey is WAY COLD. And I’m not buying it!

Although “I HATE Uncle Jamie!” has become one of Marc’s and my most favourite sayings to date, so – not all bad I suppose.

2. “Miss Dunkin’ Donuts 2003.”

COME ON RICHARD CURTIS. We all know Aurelia’s Portuguese Dad isn’t using that as his insult of choice when he’s fat-shaming his other daughter.

What the hell man? IF you’re going to go for the cheap weight-related joke, at the very least use your imagination and don’t just go for the lazy laugh!

3. That photo of Harry (Alan Rickman) and Bernard (his son), framed on Karen (Emma Thompson’s) dresser cracks me up every time I see it. Bernard just looks completely nuts, and is making the most bonkers face of life.

I can never NOT see it now.

4. What is UP with the Prime Minister’s Press Secretary (Is that her title?) who likes to make fun of Natalie? Is she in love with the Prime Minister? Why the hell would she make such a crappy comment about the size of Natalie’s bum? I mean, isn’t that crazy unprofessional? I DON’T GET IT.

5. Daniel (Liam Neeson) and his step-son get over his wife’s death way too quickly. Also, no one learns to play the drums in a week. TAKE THAT YA WEE MONGREL!

6. Do we really think that backpack is chock-a-block filled with condoms?

7. What is UP with girls from Wisconsin? Is Christmas Eve and Budweiser some kind of lethal sex combination for these young ladies OR WHAT?

8. Look man, I think Kiera Knightley is as lovely as the next gal, but what the heck is up with that wedding dress? Midriff baring? In the middle of winter? And is she wearing feathers in her hair? I mean, look how effortlessly amazing Peter (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is in his suit. Could we not have at least tried to match this?

9. Also, am I the only one who thought that Mark (Peter’s best friend) was in love with Peter? I still kind of wish that this was, in fact, the case. And that he really did hate Juliet, because she had taken away not only his best friend, but the love of his life.

10. LAURA LINNEY. What are you doing friend!? TAKE CARL AND RAVISH HIM. We all die, over and over again, every time we watch you waste such a magical chance to bed Carl the enigmatic chief designer-cum-underwear model!

So there you have it dudes. My (small!) beefs with one of the best holiday movies of all time.

Do you agree?

Disagree?

Let me know.

But in the meantime, I’ll let Joanna have the last word:

All I want for Christmas is YOU.

(And you.)

(And you!)