You’ll listen to it twice, on the radio

Hi kids.

Do you ever get the overwhelming urge to just shout out: “What do you mean constantly talking about it isn’t going to make me any less tired!?”

It’s been but a four day work week and I’m totally ready to pack it in for the next seven.

Good grief.

However, fab happenings this weekend include running the Fall Classic 10k on Sunday, and then later that night hosting the Storytelling Show on Vancouver Co-op Radio.

If you cool cats wish to tune in as yours truly burns up the airwaves, please fix your dials to 100.5 fm (if you live in Beautiful BC) or else surf on over here to catch an earful.

Nine p.m. sharp!

Also, tomorrow I have two talks with the United Way, and then later that night, the man with whom I share my home (but so rarely see outside the hours of 11pm-6am – if you wish to equate “drooling quietly while asleep beside his comatose body” with “seeing”) are going on a date.

Meep!

We are finally going to check out Skyfall and see what all the fuss is about.

I actually really like James Bond flicks – whether they’re old-school cheese-fests or Jason-Bourne-only-in-a-tux (as I like to say about the Daniel Craig iterations) – so I’m looking forward to watching Mr. Broccoli’s latest release.

In the interim, Fry-up time!

If you think I’m sexy.

So in my post this past Monday, I published a photo of just some of the sweet records M and I listen to whilst up on the Sunshine Coast.

One of the singers highlighted was Rod Stewart, and as I mentioned to one of my lovely commenters, my love for Mr. Footloose and Fancy Free pretty much knows no bounds.

I bloody well adore him.

Just last night, I was driving home from my weekly meet up with my Little, and this song came on the radio:

OMG this tune absolutely slays me.

For instance, I can remember the exact moment I heard it for the first time.

Summer.

I am dancing to this song at my grandparent’s fiftieth wedding anniversary.

I am twelve years old.

At one point everyone – all of the aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, my grandparents – join hands and start dancing as one big group, moving to the centre of the circle and then back out again, whooping it up, laughing, smiling; just having an absolute blast.

The love I feel in that moment is so overwhelming I feel as though my heart is either going to burst from my chest and or leak out of my shoes. I so badly don’t want to cry, so instead I smile so wide that my cheeks ache and I swear I can feel a softball wedging its way halfway down my throat.

So even though they are good tears, I don’t want to make a scene, as I am sure no one would be able to understand the myriad of emotions that are running rabid about my body.

In the end, I actually have to go to the bathroom to gather up my wits, as eventually no amount of nutty smiling could keep my tears inside of me any longer.

My body is wracked by deep, guttural sobs, and I desperately blot at my eyes with scratchy paper towel.

It’s a strange (sense) memory, I know, but I will always, always long this song.

And Rod.

I will definitely always adore him.

You talk to a log?

So.

Twin Peaks.

Erm.

I just watched the first episode on Netflix last night.

M kept explaining how he thinks the show is a blend of a Kids in the Hall sketch and how he wishes he life could be.

I don’t know how to take this. Like, at all.

Anyways, I know that the people who love this show, love it like I love a Rod Stewart song, so I definitely don’t want to alienate any rabid David Lynch fans out there.

Suffice to say that I haven’t watched nearly enough of the show to formulate a decent opinion, so I will hold my tongue until I have the chance to immerse myself further in the program.

The one thing I will say is that so far is – V.V. WEIRD.

(But, again, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing.)

Just a v. v. weird thing.

Onwards!

Sweet, sweet charity.

If one of you could please purchase this and send it to me, boy would I ever be thankful:

(I don’t even need the hat.)

Also, I can repay you in excellent shrimp fajitas and apple-blueberry crisp.

I have references.

What are you mad hatters up to for the weekend? Are you Twin Peaks fans? Also, let me know if you need my mailing address.

Finally, please pray for mojo that the downpour stays away and I’m not washed down the drain on the course come Sunday.

Because if I’m not running like the wind, I’ll be streaming by like the rain.