Say Cheese!

On Monday night Marc and I walked up to London Drugs to get some photos developed.

Can you believe this is actually still a thing?

I barely remember life before digital cameras – a time where you had “rolls” of film, that, once processed, were delivered in an envelope with a set of “negatives.”

How utterly quaint!

Now that we live in the age of the duck-faced selfie, you might be hard pressed to find someone under the age of fifteen (maybe even twenty) who would even know the definition of “negative,” let alone what one looks like.

Excluding, of course, hardcore hipsters, who walk around with their clunky Polaroid cameras, not-so-secretly wishing that real life itself could be viewed through a sepia tone filter.

I am, of course, just waiting for that one enterprising hipster who will start carting around a Rand Collins (you know, the cameras with the curtain, and the post-shot plumes of smoke), and who will always be yelling at their bored-looking girlfriend to “WATCH THE BIRDY!”

Because that will be great.

Anyways, to get back to my original story, on our way back home we walked past this hair salon:

IMG_20130603_194100This has got to be the most fun place to work, in the history of places to work.

If I wasn’t so suspicious of what actually consititutes LIVE DJs, I would probably have to go in one day and scope out the joint myself.

Although, any attempt at reconnaissance on my part would probably end poorly. I’d be there, waiting on an eyebrow waxing, all IF THIS ISN’T THE NEW DAFT PUNK I’M OUTTA HERE!

And they’d be all – WHO IS THIS CHICK?

And then I would end up having this done to me:




If any of you peeps out there are esthetically inclined, please, I beg of you, explain this “special effects” phenomenon!

Oh, and speaking of complete confusion –

The other day I was out on a lunch walk-about with my terrific friend Katie (she being in hot pursuit of a fab dress to wear to the many weddings she will be going to this upcoming summer) when we came across this outside of Forever XXI:

IMG_20130603_125027Now, individuals who have been reading this here blog for many moons will know that I have a long-standing love/WTF relationship with this store.

I have procured a number of lovely pieces from its many sales racks, but more often than not I am overwhelmingly mystified by the majority of the vestments on display within the store.


I mean, just look at this poster.


This woman is literally wearing animal-print diaper pants.

If someone asked me to name this garment, I would answer, “Depends.”

They are crazy and I don’t understand why anyone would want to walk around outside, in the daylight, looking like they had freshly filled their drawers.


I have no hard feelings either way towards this whole “bralet” trend, suffice to say that it’s not really my cup of tea, but heck if I will trample on someone’s rights to sport a seven dollar, studded bra top.

Unless, of course, it’s sags all the way down to their ankles.

Then we’ll need to talk.

Big things, little things, everywhere a thing thing

Things! Things! Things!

There are so many things of which we must speak!

So let’s get cracking…

Bad McDonald’s ads.

These just squick me right out.

IMG_20130527_154253I know much of this is due to the fact that I am (at the base of it all) an immature degenerate (seriously dudes, whatever veneer of sensibility and maturity I manage to project is shellacked on with a trowel EVERY MORNING) BUT –

I cannot be the only one who thinks this, right?

I mean, who chose these descriptors? Yes, sex sells BLAHBLAHBLAH, but when I am eating your crappy fast food, the last, LAST thing on my mind is getting down and funky.

In fact, I’m pretty sure my feelings are literally the EXACT OPPOSITE of that.

And if it isn’t when I started eating said foodstuffs, it certainly is by the time I’ve finished. The end of a McDonald’s meal is always defined by the mild, yet lingering aftertaste of self-loathing, and the enduring curiosity as to whether anyone will ever again find me attractive.

(At least in the non-ironic sense.)

Don’t worry – I make my own bed. I know what I’m getting myself into, and yet, I NEVER STOP DOING IT.)

The long and short of it is – these ads are terrible and they make me uncomfortable for the thirty seconds or so I have to wait for my train to take me home.


Why would you buy that?

People who live in Vancouver are officially insane.

IMG_20130529_073536I mean, who in their right mind would pay THAT MUCH MONEY for zero square footage? And what is even four hundred square feet?

Is there a place for you to hang your hammock, or does that cost more?

I can only assume that this arrangement has people peeing off of their (miniscule) balconies, and showering solely on days that it rains.

(Luckily this is Vancouver, so that averages out to quite a few cleaning days per year.)

Plus –


My head hurts.

Someone get me something TENDER and RIPE.

Just kidding!

Watch it.

After seeing this watch on Jubilant Sea’s blog there was nothing in my power that I could do to stop myself from buying it.


It has a map!

A wonky map of the world!

I could wear the saddest, least colourful outfit in the world, and as long as I was wearing this watch, I would feel like a main stage player at Paris fashion week.

(I don’t really know what that means, but I’m sticking with it.)

Wedding dresses.

So I am in quite a few weddings this summer because all the people that I know and love are getting married which is SO EXCITING.

And as such, I need to procure some vestments that I may wear while I witness these many exchanges of rings and vows, etcetera etcetra.

Today on my lunch break I managed to wrangle TWO dresses – one for my sister in-law’s wedding in August, and one for my sister’s wedding that is coming up SO SOON at the beginning of July.

The latter dress is one with which I have been enamored for many moons, after walking by Club Monaco a bagillion times and swooning every time I saw it in the window display.


I tried to hold out as long as I could, but today I caved and tried it on and I LOVE IT SO MUCH GUYS.

Seriously, I just love it.


In other news, for the first time since 1994 I have a weekend with absolutely nothing planned, which THANK GOODNESS, because I have my half-marathon in three very short weeks, and if I’ve going to run a sub-1:30 I better get back on the training path AND QUICK.


In other great, GREAT news (concerning the run), I have already raised $1,035 for Big Sisters, and counting! I am running for the organization, and all the proceeds raised go directly to helping match new Bigs with the current waitlist of Littles.
If you are interested in learning more about our efforts, you can do so here.

Otherwise, I plan on doing nothing but eating a lot of Nutella  and watching an entire season of MI5.

Is it just me, or does Lukas North get hotter the second time around?

Just me?


Happy Friday you beauty cats!

I wish for you nothing but greatness, and awe.

Something to sink my teeth into

Have you ever been in a situation where you know that you should leave well enough alone, but then you just go ahead and make it worse anyway?

I have.

For instance –

Yesterday I was at the dentist for my six month check-up.

I hadn’t had a chance to eat much for lunch that day, so I ate a GIANT cheese bun on my way over to the clinic.

(I knew that I wouldn’t be able to eat for half an hour after my cleaning, and as such I knew that if I didn’t eat I would be absolutely ravenous by the time I got home, and as such, one grumpy, grumpy girl.)

So there I was, chomping away for all of Canada, getting both cheese and bun stuck in my teeth.

Now, I’m not one for showing up to the dentist with food mashed between my molars (I just figure that’s poor form) so I thought it would also be best to stop in at the dollar store and procure an inexpensive toothbrush, toothpaste, and flossing set.

I tell ya, you can always count on Dollar-ama.

Anywho, I got my gear, and make it to the dentist with plenty of time to spare to rid my mouth of any offending food particles.

I set up shop in the bathroom and got down to business.

Right away it started off wrong.

All the bits that I was flossing out of my teeth kept splattering all over the bathroom mirror.

It was like food fireworks.

I even tried to stop myself, and yet it didn’t matter.

When I was finished, the bathroom (but especially the mirror) was just littered with cheese bun detritus.

I stood there debating whether or not I should try to clean it up, wondering if taking a paper towel to the glass would just make it worse.

In the end, I gave it a shot and low and behold –


I tried to take a photo just to show how awful the mirror looked by the time I had finished, but unfortunately it didn’t come out all that well.


You’ll just have to take my word for it – I left that bathroom in quite the state.

Good grief.

At least my teeth received an A+?

Elsewhere –

Here is my polka dot dress!


And here is what Marc and I are just about to sit down to:


I cannot wait to floss it all out of my teeth.

Happy Friday to you all!

I’m finishing my coffee. Enjoying my coffee.

Hello you fab chaps!

Well, here we are, looking back on another week lived, facing the beautiful blank slate (oh how I wish!) of the approaching weekend.

I love Fridays because I truly believe they have life re-generating powers.

And what, might you ask, are other (real-life) things that share those same invigorating powers?

For the answer to this question, please look no further than THIS:



I drink coffee every day. I wouldn’t say that I drink a TON of the stuff – for instance, between Monday and Friday I drink a vanilla latte every morning, and come the weekend, I drink at least one cup of java (but never more than two), upon rising from my bed of rest.

In my humble opinion, there is no better way to herald the breaking dawn than with a piping hot mug of milky, sweet espresso.

(Urg, I feel weird just using the term “breaking dawn.” DAMN YOU TWILIGHT!)

Weekend coffees have become even more deluxe of late, what with the addition of a Nespresso milk steamer/frother to our kitchen gadget repertoire.

(Full disclosure: other than our raclette machine and a decrepit old blender, said repertoire is pretty darn bleak.)

Anyway, now that I have purchased the above pictured vanilla syrup, I really feel like our adventures into the world of joe are just going to EXPLODE.

Think of the possibilities!

Vanilla steamed milk for nights when I’m feeling eight hundred years old!

London fogs for mornings when I’m feeling particularly Dickensian!

Vanilla café au laits for every other time other than the two I’ve mentioned above!



Do you know what is the actual exact opposite of what I have just described above?




Who decided to make diet Crush cream soda happen?

They should be publicly shamed, and then sent to Baffin Island for twenty-years of hard labour.

Talk about toxic waste in a can.

Yeah, yeah, I realize that pop of any kind isn’t exactly a staple of a healthy, organic (blahblahblah) lifestyle, but JEEZE LOUISE.

Somethings are sacred!

And by somethings, I mean CRUSH CREAM SODA.

Won’t somebody please think of my childhood?

In other news…

What the heck is going on here:


Do people have hundreds (or thousands) of loonies and toonies just lying about, clogging up their living space?

Is this a worry that people have?

“Oh sorry Jim, I would totally have you over, but my place is just over-run with coinage. Thank goodness Metro News has provided me with the tools I need to combat this problem head on!”

Good grief.

I never, ever have cash, let alone enough change to fill out an entire bank roll.

But a girl can dream, can she not?

And if I’m going to spend my life dreaming, I am going to do it dressed like THIS:


Fifteen dollar pants?


Paddington Bear coat?


A date with a microphone, stage, and comedy-hungry audience?


So what’s on the docket for all you beauty cats this weekend?

And what drink will you be having?

Do be sure to tell me, because I’m taking orders.

The best things in life are free


I’ve been trying to save up my sweet cash dollars for a while now, what with the upcoming summer months being chock-a-block full of fun and fancy things (like trips to NY, and Ashland; weddings galore, and my five-year wedding anniversary, to just name a few.)

Now, stashing all my hard earned moolah under my mattress hasn’t really been all that hard – what with how unbelievable busy I have been since the birth of the new year, and me not being an overly extravagant person (outside of my personality, of course).

But yesterday I was in London Drugs, hemming and hawing over two brands of nail polish – practically having a conniption fit over which one I should purchase – when my lovely husband turned to me and said, “Vanessa – they are $4.99 each. I think you can maybe splurge and get both.”

My response was rather short.

“Huh,” I said.

Huh indeed.

So I did. I purchased them both.


And I am (kind of?) proud to say that I only spent about five minutes worrying about whether or not I had gone overboard.

But that’s when it hit me –


For real dudes.

I am Scrooge McDuck, incarnate.

(The fear that this strikes in me is only partially quelled by my long-standing desire to go swimming in a giant vault filled with nothing but gold coins.)

Side bar: As a child, I used to think about the logistics of what exactly doing the front crawl in a pool of coins would entail. I thought about this  A LOT. I mean, if you just dove right in (off of a diving board and everything) wouldn’t you just concuss yourself on the massive pile of coinage? And if you DID manage to break through, wouldn’t you just DROWN in the literal manifestation of your ridiculous wealth? For reals, that idea – of drowning in a giant pile of metallic (I know it’s gold, but I just think of how terrible pennies feel and smell) awfulness is enough to bring on a panic attack.


Must. Think. About. Other. Things.

Okay, back my curmudgeonly ways.

This isn’t to say that I’m scrimping on the bare necessities (nor Mother Nature’s recipes). I like to think that I still exit the house looking swell, and I’m definitely eating foods filled with enough nutrients to stave off the scurvy and the rickets.

I’m just stopping myself from buying anything that I don’t absolutely NEED, even though there are tons of things out there that my little, silly heart so very much WANTS.

I mean, I think it’s normal to get to a point where you look at your clothes (in particular your work clothes) and think to yourself: I CANNOT EVER WEAR ANY OF THIS STUFF EVER AGAIN.

I think I’m also thinking this stuff because the weather REFUSES to cooperate and I’m still wearing much of my winter wardrobe despite the fact that we are almost at the end of April.

Let me break out the bare legs and dresses damnit!

And I really think there is something to be said for learning to really understand where it is your money is going, and how you can optimize your saving potential BLAH BLAH BLAH.

But then the other part of me is all: I’M TWENTY-EIGHT! LET’S PAAAAAARRTY!

*Eats peanut butter M&Ms and cupcakes for dinner*

So in an effort to find some middle ground, I went out the other day and purchased these amazeballs (YES I SAID IT) pants:


I mean, how epically fantastic are they OR WHAT?


(Or clams, or bones, or whatever the cool kids are calling them these days.)

Meanwhile Marc, being the HUGEST anti-fan of patterned pants is totally thinking, “She could have just bought three more bottles of nail polish!”

Alas, he will just have to walk two steps in front/behind of me whilst I’m out rocking these pantaloons.

And they will be rocked, oh yes.

I mean, I’ve got to look good when I’m out not buying anything, right?

There’s no other way I’d rather be.