It’s my birthday in two days, and as such I’ve been gifted with some pretty sweet swag from Sephora:
Seriously, all you need to do is purchase one expensive blush there ONE TIME, and two years later they’re still giving you free stuff!
Now that is the kind of relationship I can get behind.
So yes, this Sunday I turn twenty-eight years old, which officially vaults me into the “late-twenties” catagory.
This is fabulous, because it means that my actual age is finally catching up to what I feel to be my “inner age” – a number that I imagine hovers somewhere around seventy-two, give or take a few tubes of Polydent.
GET OFF MY LAWN YOU YOUNG WHIPPERSNAPPERS!
Ahem.
Meanwhile, my “outer age” seems to be suffering from a whacked-out case of Benjamin Buttons, as I can’t seem to go anywhere without getting IDed.
Just the other day I was carded at 7-11 while trying to buy a one dollar scratch and win.
(As you can imagine, my life is pretty much a continual stream of glitz and glamour.)
Of course, being me, I didn’t have any ID on me, (because who brings their whole wallet on a late-night jaunt about the neighbourhood?) so I wasn’t able to complete my purchase.
I was all: LOOK LADY – I’LL TAKE IT, BUT NEXT TIME GIVE ME THE DANG GOLD RUSH AND NO ONE GETS HURTS, YA DIG?
Then I took my can of coke and ran out of the joint laughing like a maniac.
(That didn’t actually happen.)
(OR DID IT?)
This weekend, Mr. M and I are going to gussy ourselves up for a fancy-schmancy dinner on Saturday night, and then it’s off to the familial units on Sunday afternoon for more pageantry and more importantly, some sweet, sweet Superbowl action.
(Or as myself and many others have taken to calling it: The SUPERBAUGH.)
To be honest though, I was so super (har har) bummed when Seattle was eliminated (WHY OH WHY DID YOU CALL THAT TIME OUT PETE!?) that I’m a little less than enthused about the two teams competing the finals. However, if I had to pick a team, I’m going for San Fran because I don’t think I have it in my being to actually cheer for Ray Lewis.
I cannot stand that guy.
I’ll have to wait a week to celebrate with friends, as VanComedy Fest is next Friday, but I figure what better time to jam that after some crack-up comedy?
And in the meantime…
Fry-up time!
Sister acts.
So I don’t know if you are all acquainted with the awesome Canadian power due that is Tegan and Sara (they are two sisters from Calgary, Alberta), but if you’re not, you should probably rectify this situation at once.
These gals have been making rad music for years, but their most recent release is much “poppier” than their older records, and being the pop-lover than I am, I really can’t get enough of it.
So if you have a hankering for some mad dancing about your house, please let me recommend the following:
Last weekend I was in full-on cleaning mode and I must have listened to this song well near twenty times.
Plus, this music video is pretty much exactly what I imagined every one of my birthday parties would be, during my years as a permanently love-struck, doe-eyed teenage girl.
(Unfortunately, it never did happen.)
(OR DID IT?)
Next!
Olive garden.
So the other night I returned home from work to a startlingly cold and very much empty house, what with my husband having to work late, and the temperatures hovering just above zero degree centigrade outside.
My whole neighbourhood was socked in with a low-hanging, thick, wet fog, and just walking home from skytrain had left me feeling well-soaked and completely ravenous.
After taking off my boots and putting on the fireplace, I immediately set about preparing a dinner that would both quell my hunger pains and warm-up my frigid little body.
(I may have taken a few minutes to cuddle with my kitten before commencing dinner preparations.)
The end result was a meal of spaghetti with tomatoes, olives, basil and fresh mozzarella, accompanied by crunchy French bread and a massive mug of earl grey tea (not exactly the most traditional drink, I know, but goodness knows if it wasn’t needed to rejig my sluggish circulation.)
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.
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.
Rant and Roll 