Happy mother’s day to all the beauty cat mothers out there!
I’ll be working on my posture all day in your honour.
We have been all sunshine saturation and balmy breezes out here on the west coast.
Mostly importantly, it is finally, FINALLY slurpee weather:
And BBQ weather!
And patios!
And road trips:
And long walks!
So let your shadows dance!
I hope you all have a great Sunday.
If you can, hug your mommas extra tight.
And for goodness sakes, sit up straight!
I live with a man to whom I have pledged my troth, until the sun supernovas, the stars fade away.
During the first month of our courtship, I flew away to Nova Scotia for two weeks, and during this time we wrote to each every day; back and forth we went, feverish, all firing synapses and tricky fingers – and often times very late at night (or early in the morning), so our typos, like our emotions, were plentiful.
I would love to share with you something he wrote to me – something that will forever make me laugh, something that will forever live in my heart.
An excerpt – Monday, August 25, 2003, 00:17:34:
As the evening progressed I began to feel more and more that I was part of some macabre Dostoevskian dinner party, wherein a carnivalesque ambiance lies so heavily upon the evening that I expect at any moment to have one of us drop down dead, or for Inspector Porfiry to burst through the door and proclaim me a student and a criminal in equal measure.
Finally we began to watch the Anniversary Party with director’s commentary. This was good because it allowed a dimming of lights so the rest of the party could no loner sit around awkwardly as my face watched my mind build and destroy lines of compassion and comradeship, leaving me on a sober island alone, being the only member of the melodramatic depressed monkey stock.
Finally I went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and announced I was retiring for the evening.
Many sad farewells were exchanged, and then my door was closed and at last the misanthrope was safe, and glad that his room was devoid of mirrors and the curtains were pulled. Then I turned off the one light by my bed, and sat, and in the darkness.
I wrote, since I could not speak, and my fingers were the tongues of my mind, and true for once for they were too long steeped in the deception of my company.
Last Night:
Because I spent an hour untwisting my phone cord, so I could lie where you lay that first night though miles apart; your heat a weir around my slippery heart; electric pulses shaping the darkness with the phosphorescent paintings of your words. And today I am order in my sock drawer, pairing and pressing, thinking of the arch of your strong feet trembling beneath my touch. You make me believe in a symmetrical world beyond my usual preoccupation with chaos; the gyre widens not forever – the hawk will tire, and bank, and glide in a descending inscription to the face of the world. To live forever in the heights of my mind is a beauteous peril, and folly. It is the loose loam between my toes, the touch of another, a lover, you who unquakes my weakness and fear of uncertainty.
Tonight I will sleep deeply; I may not dream.
But when I wake, I live a life of magical reality – this man and I, sewn up in a sea of soliloquies and stardust; tulips and tea.
The nose-less sphinx, straight roman roads under pumice and ash – I could have been a statue if I hadn’t met you.
I wish you all beauty and brilliance, this windswept day, and always.
Guess what friends?
This is my one hundredth blog post!
Heavens to Betsy, I can hardly believe it.
I started Ye Olde Rant and Roll last October, because I was missing creative writing something fierce.
I was already writing a boat load for work- including blogging three times a week – so I figured if I had the stamina to keep it up at my job, there was absolutely no reason why I couldn’t stick to a schedule of writing three times a week for fun.
(Hilarious almost typo. I first wrote “fur” instead of fun. I most definitely would not write three times a week for fur.)
At first all of my posts were Rants. (Definitely capital R.)
There was bad stuff going down all over the world, including in my own back yard, and I wanted to draw attention to those issues.
I had a voice – I might as well use it.
This was fantastic for the first little while, until I realized that I wasn’t totally worked up about issues all the live long day. I didn’t have enough things grinding my gears to produce three posts a week.
Plus, amazing, intriguing, inspiring things were happening on an almost daily basis – brilliant things were going on, and they were affecting me as much as the other issues I was discussing.
So gradually, I began to explore different sides of the world, and my life, through this here blog spot.
I started writing about fashion. And food. I wrote more about my life with Mr. M and our little beauty cat Nymeria.
I wrote about past travel plans, vacation adventures as they were happening, and I’ve hinted about expeditions that will soon be coming down the pipe.
(Mixed metaphor? Oh well, I’m owning it.)
I’m chronicling my progression to Tough Mudder status, unpacking my love-hate relationship with professional hockey, and singing the praises of my always entertaining family, my brilliant friends.
BUT! One the most important elements of this insanely wonderful ride is I’ve had the chance to meet all you rad-freaking-tastic readers and writers.
And I love that I get to have a glimpse into your lives, your stories, your rants and your rolls.
I’ve started writing upwards of five times a week because I feel so honoured to be a part of this amazing community, and I just get so jazzed the heck up all the time about stories that, well, jazz me the heck up!
A couple of you have asked me where I got my nickname from. So prepare yourselves for a thrill!
Well, almost three summers ago I worked with two beautiful young ladies, both the same height, one brunette and one blond. One day I made a joke to another colleague about them being Betty and Veronica. He turned to me and asked, “well, what does that make you?”
“Um,” I said. “Well…I’m tall, and lanky, and pretty nerdy. So – I guess that makes me Ethel?”
And it did. To many, many people from that day forth, I was Ethel.
The second part stems from a lunch break I had the day after I defended my Master’s thesis. I spent the whole time describing my research to a co-worker. At the end of my (ahem) rant, he asked me if I would rather he call me “doctor” or “the dean.”
“The dean,” I said.
So there you go. The birth of Ethel the Dean!
And to mark this auspicious occasion, if there are any other questions you have about my bonkers life, I’d be happy answer them.
(To an extent. Or for fur.)
Happy Wednesday you winsome and wonderful weirdos! I don’t know what I’d do without you.
So here are five things that make my little heart smile:
Lunch dates with my rad mates.
On Tuesday Ms. A, Ms J. (good grief, do I sound like Tyra Banks?), and I had lunch at one of Vancouver’s newer food carts – Mom’s Grilled Cheese.
These roaming food wagons are getting more and more prevalent – especially around the downtown core where we work – and offer a huge amount of choice in terms of menu options.
It’s not just chili cheese dogs and cans of coke anymore, folks.
You can get Vietnamese subs, shawarma, Asian-fusion, Ukrainian pierogies (who knew that spell check doesn’t know what a pierogi is!?), pulled-pork sandwiches, BBQ – seriously the list, like Rip van Winkle’s beard, grows ever long.
(Man, I can’t believe that the most hip facial hair reference I could think of is a make-believe dude who slept a lot!)
Yeesh.
Anywho, grilled cheese was eaten; grilled cheese was loved.
By all three us.
I ordered Swiss with tomato on multi-grain.
Cor. Absolutely delicious that was. If you ever visit the truck, and you’re wracked by indecision – give that a go.
You won’t be disappointed.
Trying on pretty pretties.
Today at lunch I bopped about the usual circuit (Vancity’s downtown/shopping business district) with the usual suspects (Ms. J + friends) and I tried on this dress:
And then this one:
It’s funny, because in the store I felt like I was veering towards the red (I didn’t buy either) – but now that I’m looking at these photos, I’m particularly drawn to the white.
When it was on me, I thought I looked super “Little House on the Prairie”, but now I’m thinking more along the lines of “Pilgrim chic.”
I’m not sure – I’m turning over the issue to the experts.
(aka YOU!)
Either way, it’s always fun when you have someone with whom you can motor, who also is game to play dress up in the middle of your work day.
It’s a great way unwind, albeit briefly.
Plus it gives you the chance to say things like, “does this look like a giant bedazzled compression sock?”
To which the answer is always, yes.
Yes it does.
Tulips.
Spring means many things here in Lotus Land.
It heralds the arrival of the chickadee dee dees – and other bird friends – who have recently returned from their tropical, winter sojourn. You can hear them in the morning as you draw back the blinds, or the moment you step out your front door as you leave for work.
It also means a boat load of rain – but I don’t want to write about.
I want to write about all the amazing tulips that have sprouted everywhere! Their colours are so rich and vibrant, I can practically feel my heart swelling inside my chest every time I see them.
I also have tricky fingers and want to pick all of them, so I have to walk by quickly, for fear of snatching them all to myself.
(And therefore also the police. I fear them too.)
Nail polish.
I don’t paint my fingernails all too often. So when I do, I always feel as though I’ve accomplished something pretty cool.
In fact, I’m always a little startled that no one presents me with a plaque to mark the occasion.
The other night, as M and I sat in front of the fire (yes! A fire at the beginning of May! I am just as appalled as you are!) I painted my nails a sort of aubergine-maroon colour.
And I like it!
A lot.
(Way more than I do the idea of a fire in May that’s for darned sure.)
Tina Fey.
I just finished reading Bossypants and boy did I ever enjoy it. The lovely Emily of Well Fed, Flat Broke lent me her copy and I pretty much hovered it up over the last two days.
Ms. Fey is hilarious.
There were pages that just kept me laughing non-stop. It was also nice to read about a woman with whom I really identify.
We’re not the same person by any stretch of the imagination, but so much of what she writes about, I found myself nodding along, feeling like I could relate to much of what she was talking about.
(Except of course working at a bleak-as-hell YMCA in Chicago during the early 1990s. Of that I have little knowledge or experience.)
I also have a massive crush on her and Amy Poehler’s friendship. Is that possible? Can you covet a best friendship?
Memo to all my real-life friends: Get cooler. And fast.
(I kid, I kid. If you were any cooler, you’d all be ice cold.*)
*In my mind I sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger when I say that.
Yikes! I must get back on track. SO – if you’re thinking of picking up the book, do it, do it!
You won’t regret it.
Unless of course your name rhymes with Parah Salin. Then, maybe, stay away.
…
So there you have it, you wacko beauty cats! Five things that bring me the lolz and smiles.
I hope they could bring you some too.
Hi friends!
Have you ever been in a position where something really embarrassing is happening to you, but there is nothing that you can really do about it, because, who are we kidding, no one can just shower for hours and hours in the hopes that hair dye no longer dots the length of their hairline?
No?
Huh. Just me then.
Oh well, it’s all one.
But to get back to what I was saying – although I had (on the whole) an absolutely fabulous weekend, because I did have hair dye smattered all across my hairline, and because I didn’t have one bloody thing on the dye removal list given to me by the lovely Kacy, I spent the majority of my time outside wearing this on my head:
And while I really love my Forever XXI headband, on the one day that Vancouver finally cracked fifteen degrees centigrade, I was a little hot around the ears.
(Especially as M and I walked up the library to return our books, and to purchase our goodies for dinner.)
We thought the perfect dinner for such a sunny Saturday night would be spicy shrimp fajitas.
When I was first learning how to cook, as well as coming to understand that food was my friend, and not my sworn enemy, fajitas were one of the first things that I began to make on a regular basis.
What I’ve come to love so much about them is the myriad of colours and textures and flavours that all come to play, wrapped up tightly in those tasty, toasty tortillas.
You’ve got the crunch from the peppers, the spice from the seasoning, the sharpness of the cheese, the tang of the salsa, all dancing up a storm, to a perfectly timed beat.
And they are a fabulous meal to cap off a sun dripped, tuliped, early spring day.
Check it:
Like I always like to do, I laid out the goods before getting down to business.
And then I chopped it, chopped it.
Then I had sizzling sizzlers straight out of sizzledom. (Not to be confused of course with Jerry Sizzler, sister of Jerry Sizzler, the lounge singers and not two clearly insane people. See end video for more, and for proof that I am not the one clearly insane.)
Then we laid out a buffet of brilliance.
For an end result of:
What are your easy peasy meal choices that serve as the perfect topper to a smashing day?
And just remember, I’m not Roy Orbison. I work in colourization!
Rant and Roll 