Sometimes fabricated, always real

For almost two straight years I wrote faithfully here at Rant and Roll.

Without exception, I published posts on Monday, Wednesday and Friday (and often Tuesdays and Saturdays, depending on when extra inspiration would strike.)

Nowadays, it’s less that I am uninspired to write (in fact I find myself reaching for my laptop more often than not – what with the unending stream of ideas percolating away inside of my brain. Sometimes I actually imagine these conceptions as small nuggets of gold, and my mind as one giant, ever swirl-swirl-swirling miner’s pan.)

It’s just that, I just can’t seem to keep track of days, hours, space, and time – let alone said nuggets.

Flip open my computer on any given day and you will find three or four half-finished posts (as well as three or four half-read Grantland, Jezebel, and Deadspin articles.)

There may even be a Youtube video or two for your viewing pleasure.

So where does that leave me? Where does that leave us?

Pretty much at the same place where I have been treading water for the last six or so odd months.

You see, I just don’t ever remember life being quite this bonkers – always barmy yes, but never to the extent where I feel as though days are simply slipping between the crooks of my fingers and the dips of my toes.

But the crazy thing is (and the big difference from six months ago), is that I don’t feel scared or upset by this.

(At least not anymore.)

Because these days, the warm weather, and fantastic runs, and fabulous friends, and fantastical reads – and all the other magical magic that make up this incandescent, resplendent, and transcendent life of mine – make me want to cut each day up into one million of the finest fragments and carefully sew each one into a soft and sinuous blanket that I may wrap myself in for all of the ages.

And they make me want to share it all with you.

Whenever,wherever the time may be.

Some things.

Sugar (da da da da da daaaaa)

I haven’t eaten junk food in six days.

That is six more days than my previous longest record.

Prior to this almost-week, I am fairly confident that had I ever been the subject of a medical autopsy (as opposed to all of those recreational autopsies), the corner performing the operation (always Dana Scully in my imaginaiton) would have found my corpse to be comprised of 1/3 Rogers product.

However, in a bid to curb my anxiety, up my health-quotient, improve my running (just in case I ever decided to full-on try that competitive racing thing), decrease my chance of familial-susceptible diseases, and just in general TRY SOMETHING NEW – here I am.

The ex-chocolate bar queen.

And you know what?

It’s been the absolute best six days of life.

(It would seem as though in a bid to replace my discarded crown, I am now the queen of excessive use of hyperbole.)

Marc and I have been cooking amazing dinners, eating the delicious produce grown from our very own backyard, and taking the time to sit outside and enjoy our meals.

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I cannot quite explain to you how nice it is to bide my time and prepare a delicious and nutritious dish, instead of eating seven oreos and then complaining about how much my stomach hurts, and then dreading the task of forcing a few bites of a meal down my throat (only to be starving three hours later and repeat the first step which would then ensure a redux of the hurt tummy blahs.)

I think this renaissance (can it be a renaissance if you never remember living the process a first time around?) will be one I stick with.

She was looking pretty beat.

A post-Tough Mudder snap:

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On the plus side, I carried my 180 lbs partner 100 meters and was the fifth woman to finish the course.

On the downside:

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and

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Old friends.

Revisiting this genius:

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So if Bradbury is my all-time favourite author of life, Heinlein is definitely in my top-20. The dude can not only write, but sweet mother of pearl does he ever make you think.

He may not make me quake, and cry, and shake, an die like ol’ Ray, but Bobby A too has a few tricks and treats up his sleeve.

Dance break.

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About a boy.

Look at this dude.

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HE IS SO CUTE I CANNOT EVEN.

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This August will mark eleven years that I have had this brilliant, bonkers man in my life.

That is like – more than one third of my life.

(That is like, MORE THAN A LONG TIME OF MY LIFE.)

How do you even spend that much time with someone and now bludgeon them to death with a pineapple one morning over brunch?

I have no idea.

Good thing we never eat brunch.

Anywho, he’s just such a marvellous person who makes my silly little heart smile all the time, and sometimes I feel like a broken record just waxing eloquent all the live-long day about all of the full-stop brilliant things he is doing with his life, but I don’t care because he is a difference maker and world builder and all of his energy and brilliance shines light into the lives of his many students, and his words, and deeds, and thoughts and passions impact so, so many who come up to him and say “thank you thank you” and those who may not even know it, but who will wake up one morning, on a sun-drenched Thursday morn, and just think to themselves, “wow.”

Because that is what I do.

Everyday.

When I was young, I never needed anyone

Things I love to do by myself:

1. Eat dinner. Whether at home, or at a restaurant, sometimes it’s nice to just grab a bite solo. This can mean anything from yam fries and a glass of prosecco while reading the latest Esquire, to snacking on sushi whilst sitting on a sun-drenched patio.

Tonight it was the latter, and it was glorious.

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Just delicious.

2. Watch a movie. I never really get why people get so shirty about the idea of going to see a film on their own. I mean, movies are not inherently social outings, AM I RIGHT? And if they are, well, that just means you are doing it wrong.

DON’T PRETEND THIS ISN’T THE TRUTH.

People who talk in movies must face the wrath of humanity. It is a fact that they will eventually contract the bubonic plague, or have all their toenails fall off solely due to the fact that they don’t obey the rules of the movie going experience.

Now, I actually don’t watch movies in the theatre anymore (seriously, I cannot remember the last flick I saw at a multiplex), but once upon a time I relished the opportunity to walk past a famous players and decide on a whim to catch a show.

That was nice.

3. Run. I cannot run with others. When I try, I get all weirdly competitive and passive aggressive, and I am just the worst. And for this I apologize.

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Alone. Again.

4. Shop. I should begin by qualifying that I actually really, really love shopping with other people. Friends, family, husbands – I’ll take ’em all, and we’ll have a great time trying stuff on. But when it comes down to brass tacks, and I know that there is a specific “it” I need to procure – be it a gift, or a dress, or a pair of shoes?

Well then I need to venture out into the retail wilds on my own.

Because I go rogue baby.

ROGUE!

5. Cook. It drives me crazy when people don’t clean as they cook. WHY WOULD ANYONE WANT TO LIVE THAT WAY?

Clean and cook or die.

(Or just don’t cook with me. That seems easier, doesn’t it?)

What about you dudes? What activities do you like to partake in, all alone and on your own?

I will sit here by myself, and read about them.

I just felt like dying

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:

Why, heeelllooooo there.

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:

Nomnom. NOM.

Like I always like to do, I laid out the goods before getting down to business.

And then I chopped it, chopped it.

Do 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.)

Jerry. JERRY!

Then we laid out a buffet of brilliance.

All the colours of the rainbow!

For an end result of:

Happiness. And cider. One and the same?

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!