Some kind of madness is swallowing me whole


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:


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.


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.

You’ll have to excuse me, I’m not at my best

Hey friends!

Today M and I are off to the Sunshine Coast with my vater, Sir R-J esquire, the IV.

(Or if you’re into the whole brevity thing – my Dad.)

We’ll be meeting up with M’s parents at the cabin for a day, and then it’s off to Hardy Island where we’ll hike, maybe swim, and (hopefully) see lots and lots of deer (and their babies!)

But in the interim, it’s time for the latest edition of the Friday Fry-up.

So let’s heat up that skillet and get cookin.

Do I have something on my face?

Full disclosure: sometimes I am a HOT MESS. It’s like I have zero control over this fact, and no matter what effort I put in to combat this problem, the worse it just seems to get.

Do I have something on my face?

For instance, it’s almost impossible for me to eat pastries (particularly if they are chocolate pastries) and not get half of the thing all over my face.

Don’t even get my started on gooey foodstuffs. Those are just a recipe a and half for disaster.

The worst of it?

I don’t even realize it when these crumbs are stuck and strewn about my skin – like the little evil edible freckles that they are. 

Imagine this: the other day at work J was like, “Oh my goodness, what happened to your face?” and I was all “what do you mean?”

So then she motioned toward my face (with an exceptionally pained look on her face), which worried me so I quickly touched my cheek – only to realize that my affliction was nothing more than the remnants of my breakfast: a piece of the sweet, flaky goodness from the Danish I had eaten earlier.

I’m not too sure which emotion won out in the end – relief or embarrassment. (Actually, definitely relief, because goodness knows I don’t embarrass as easily as I probably should, especially when you look at the high level of madness I operate on every single day of my life.)

Good grief.

Last night M and I were at London Drugs picking up some supplies for our trip. At the check-out the cashier asked us, “Do you need any tissues or Tictacs tonight?” and my immediate reaction was, “Why? Do we look like we need tissues and Tictacs?”

I mean, why else would she ask that?

M kindly assured me that she was obviously trying to either up-sell or just get rid of the umpteen million tins of Tictacs and single pack Kleenex that littered her till like some strange toiletry-inspired collage.

This is probably true, but nevertheless I remained suspicious.

This whole part of my life was only further hit home two nights ago.

We were out at the Commodore Ballroom to take in Franz Ferdinand (MY FAV BAND EVVVEEERRR) and it came to my attention pretty early into their set that I had made some pretty poor decisions outfit-wise.

Concert wise though – top notch.

1.)    I should have worn my hair up (or at the very least braided it down my back) because at it’s present length (v. v. long) it kept getting stuck in my armspits as I danced.


It was pretty difficult to stop this from happening, because a.) I was having a mad dance party b.) was sweating and c.) was wearing a tank top. It was like a perfect storm of head-hair in armpit entrapment.

Not fun.

2.)    I kept dancing out of my shoes. The flats that I had chosen to wear had already been beat to crap so I figured I wouldn’t care in they got ruined in the jigging-for-your-life melee. Unfortunately, because the shoes were operating at such a low capacity at the concert’s outset, it was all downhill from there – and quickly at that. I had to be careful, because with all the other bonkers dancers out there I didn’t want my toes to get turned into carpaccio, nor did I want to step on that slick, sticky beer soaked floor. Because, well, ewwwwww.

3.)    I didn’t realize that the skirt I was wearing had so much swing and elasticity to it. Seriously, I spent the entire time worrying about dancing too hard, lest I continue to flash my undies to all the other folks on the dance floor. It was a very real fear that if I jumped too high I’d end up hoola-hooping my skirt around my neck.


Next time – I’ll stick to simple cotton. Because if I’m going to be part of the show, I better-well be getting paid for my part.


Do you, do you wanna, wanna go?

Okay, I definitely want to continue riffing on the Franz Ferdinand theme for a bit.

Seriously dudes, I love this band.

And they are absolutely AMAZING live. They put on incredibly tight shows, and are always entertaining as all get out.

I saw them for the first time in September 2009 at Malkin Bowl – a great outdoor concert venue in Vancouver – and boy did it ever pour with rain all throughout their set.

And it didn’t matter one bit – it was still the most fun I have ever had at a concert.

I have this amazing memory of just dancing my face off (I had picked well in terms of my dance-related garb that night! Plus no chocolate on my face to speak of – BONUS) completely soaked, watching the rain just come down in sheets, lit up by the brilliance of the many stage lights.

This time there was no rain, but it was the same outrageous energy, the same quirky and strange Scottish blokes rocking about the stage, singing songs that no matter how often I listen to them on loop (over and over again) I don’t ever tire of them.

In fact, they are one of those bands (for me) that the more I listen to their tunes, the more I love them.

They are like the Big Lebowski of music – the more I listen/watch them/it, the more I discover new things to love.

And then when you get the chance to go see it live, well, holy Toledo – it just reinforces all of that magic, ten-fold.

I definitely recommend them to every single one of you. Take a listen:

And when you do, I promise, I’ll take you out.