Tag: Humor

Things I think about when I run

Do you talk to yourself when you exercise?

Because goodness knows I do.

These are the things I thought about over the course of my 6km training run:

Holy frick, I FEEL AMAZING.

My strides are suuuuper. Suuuuper strides.

Hmmm. If I have a particularly saucy dream about someone, could they possibly be having the same dream? URG, stop thinking about this at once.

Okay. How do people go down staircases two steps at a time and not kill themselves?

I don’t actually like pesto as much as I think I do. It’s just SO oily.

I wonder why I also put that extra “s” into obsessive. It’s rather an obsession. OMG I AM SO WITTY.

Stop that.

I am going to cook the crap out of dinner tonight.

Man, what is UP with Canadian politics at the moment? And is Justin Trudeau really going to run for Liberal leadership? He could call his campaign “Just In Time.” And play that album by Justin Timberlake.

Actually, that will probably guarantee his total defeat at the polls.

Don’t do that Justin.

This route is so beautiful and the weather is pretty much perfect. Even if it’s getting cooler every day. The sunrise this morning was so striking it took my breath away.

Not enough people take the time to pause and just let this beauty pour over them. Through them.

Okay Hallmark, get a grip.

Good grief – that lady is just out smoking her joint! And she’s totally, totally a proper OLD. Between her and the dude outside of Douglas College, my day has been chock-a-block full of smoker sightings.

So, like, do people just smoke weed out in the open these days? Is this a thing now?

If I was forced to take a drug test at the end of this run I would have to claim a Ross Rebagliati .

What ever happened to that guy?

Also, someone really needs to bankroll my entirely new wardrobe from Club Monaco.

Jeeze, does anyone even like Banana Republic? AND SERIOUSLY I HATE THEIR NAME SO MUCH – WHY DOESN’T ANYONE EVER TALK ABOUT THIS? I am going to open a competitor clothier and call it “Uneven economic development and social stratification R US”

That may require an acronym.

Oh yeah baby, not even breaking a sweat! Do it do it do it.

That outhouse should probably be cleaned.

Darn it. M has strata tonight which means an empty house for most of the evening.

On the plus side ALL THE DROP DEAD DIVA IS BELONG TO ME.

I own quite a few dresses. I really am going to do that project where I wear all of them and take photos in the exact same post with the exact same backdrop because of course everyone wants to see that.

Mostly I just want to wear all the pretty dresses.

I will call the project “Playing Dress-Up” OR OR OR “Dressing on the Side.”

Hah, I AM witty.

Get out of here.

NO I’M WISE.

Looklooklook that that dog it is wearing a sweater! With little ears on the hood! CUTECUTECUTE. Thooouuggghh…he probably hates his life.

Yep, in total agony fo sho.

K, that driver totally didn’t stop for me at the crosswalk. I hope he gets crabs in the bath.

Too much?

Either way – HOME.

Should I stretch?

Do you ever?

Touché, good lady. Touché. 

Fin.

We get those tongues wagging

Here are two conversations M and I had this weekend:

(P.S. I am still laughing)

[Scene One: Earls restaurant, patio. Saturday night, drinks and date night]

Me: You are a very good looking man.

M: [unintelligible gibberish]

Me: [laughing]

M/Me: [both continue laughing/trying to make each other laugh by making crazy faces]

Me: I’m trying to figure out what race you would belong to in Lord of the Rings. I used to always go with human – you’re a good shoe-in for Aragorn. But you also have quite a bit of hobbit in you. And elf. And dwarf.

M: What about orc?

Me. Yes, definitely orc. And uruk-hai.

M: Goblin?

Me: [thinking] Nah. Never goblin.

M: [nodding, playing with his wedding ring. Then, thinking to himself] Preeeeecccciiiooouussss….

Me: Oh goodness, of course. I have no idea how I didn’t think of that. You definitely, definitely have some Gollum in you too.

M: Hmmm…

[pause]

Me: [pretending to be all nonchalant] So, um, what race do you think I belong to?

M: [not taking a beat] Sauron.

Me: Hahahahahahahahahaha…ohhhh noooooo….

M: Not what you were looking for?

Me: You know I wanted you to say elf.

M: I know.

Me: I KNOW I’M LITHE AND BEAUTIFUL.

M/Me: [continuous laughing]

END SCENE.

[Scene Two: Driving home from restaurant. I cannot stop taking photos of the sky – the sky which I have been yammering on about all day long.]

Me: [taking a photo] ZOMG THE SKY IS SO BEAUTIFUL.

M: I know.

Me: The sun is SO huge, and the way the clouds are clustered that way is just magical. It seriously looks like the gateway to heaven.

M: It does look like heaven.

Me: I know I’ve been talking about it all day, but I honestly can’t get over how amazingly phenomenal this is. It literally takes my breath away. Even just looking at it is making me choke up…I really feel like I’m going to cry.

M: I have a feeling your period may be on its way.

Me: Hahahahahahahahahaha. [pause] That’s true.

…

Hope you all had a great weekend!

Get out there and just give ‘er

Happy labour day friends!

I am currently working down (or around?) my to-do list. Also, I cannot stop listening to Corb Lund and the Hurtin’ Albertans.

Because, THEY BE AWESOME.

I never really listened to much country growing up. Our family had a pretty eclectic taste in music, and it was a total free-for-all anytime we embarked on a long road trip, or family vacation.

But there was never any country.

It was no country for old country. Or new country at that.

I mean, when I wasn’t running around with my dad’s tai chi swords, dressed up in my highland dancing clothes pretending I was Sailor Moon, I was choreographing elaborate dance routines to such musical greats as The Rankin Family or Enya or Bruce Springsteen.

If I wanted to get really crazy I would break out the soundtrack to The Commitments and boogie down.

Of course I wasn’t just a-moving and a-shaking to these rad tunes – I was either lip-synching or belting out the words with everything that I had. Much depended on whether or not there were other people in the house, and if so, how close they were to my bedroom at that given time.

So having recognized my propensity for taking on the musical works of others and making it my own at such an early age, you can imagine just how much I loathe karaoke.

HAH.

Karaoke is one of those things that I very rarely do, but love anyways.

It’s also an activity that is strictly familial – I cannot remember the last time I sang into some broke microphone in front of a bunch of semi-drunk strangers without the support of my wacko sisters at my side.

I used to sing a mean Cher’s “If I Could Turn Back Time” (doing the low voice and everything) but I just haven’t had the heart to sing it much since my friend Brent told me that I didn’t actually sound anything like Cher, and instead was just singing like a depressed man with a potato stuck in his throat.

He might as well have told me that I was a virgin who couldn’t drive. WAY HARSH TAI.

Anyway, as much as this was disheartening to hear, I still think of it as one of my all time favourite karaoke picks. Check-it:

How can you not want to sign along to that? Effin’ rights.

My other two top picks are very much in the vein of Mr. Corb and his hurtin’ band. Because no joke, nothing works quite as well as a sweet, sweet country tune when you’re up there embarrassing yourself for all of Canada.

If you want to get a ton of people on your side right away, I would recommend singing Tracy Byrd’ s The Drinking Bone:

People totally go nuts over this song because it scores absolutely off the chart in terms of ridiculousity and hilariousity.

Plus the lyrics are simple in the extreme.

Do. Seriously. DO IT.

Finally, (and while you may think that this would best for the ladies in the crowd, I’d bet a silver dollar that a dude could bring the whole house down with a solid rendition of this song) – I recommend Shania Twain’s Any Man of Mine.

Goodness do I ever love this tune.

It also scores highly on the outrageous and funny scale plus you have a whole pantheon of amazing lyrics to chose from, including:

“And when I cook him dinner and I burn it black, he better say, mmm, I like it like that.”

GENIUS.

Bonus – at the end of the song Ms. Twain talks you through a sort of mini dance that you can do on stage for all of your cheering fans.

This is a terrific song to do with a partner, or even as a threesome. Results may vary of course, but I’ve never known it to go down with nothing less than raucous, rousing approval.

So get out there and go for it.

But! Always remember to give it your all – nobody wants to see anything half-baked up on that neon lit stage.

Because if you don’t, Cher won’t be the only one waxing poetic about turning back time.

The good, the bad, and the ugly

Yesterday I saw a real live cowboy.

This was awesome.

Yesterday I ate mesquite bbq, and black pepper and balsamic vinegar potato chips before heading out on my training run.

This was a mistake.

Thank goodness it was only a six km route, because there’s nothing quite like feeling as though you’re going to ralph at any minute from overdoing it on the heavily seasoned deep friend tubers.

Urg.

I even know how bad I am wrecking myself as I sit there, munching away, but being the classic masochist that I am – I just keep on keeping on.

And it’s not like this is some kind of rare occurrence (although thank goodness it is (slowly) becoming less of a regular thing in my life as I am making more of an effort to regulate my diet leading up to my next long race.)

Irrespective of all this though is the fact that I’ve been knowingly ingesting ticking time-bombs since I started running at the age of eleven.

Someday I’m going to learn my lesson – and but good (and believe me, after the tight spots I’ve found myself over the years, I am terrified to find out what exactly it’s going to take to get me to finally smarten up. ACK.)

In the meantime, I keep calm and carry on.

FRY-UP TIME!

First on the docket:

Individuals who run downtown on their lunch break.

OKAY.

Seriously?

You are actually doing this? You are actually going to let this happen? I mean, I will (barely) give you a pass if you choose to jog along the seawall, but on the sidewalk on Hastings Street? In the bike lane on Horby?

Get out of here.

Running in place at red lights; weaving in and out of the mass of walkers (many of whom are just trying to get back to their office with their take-out fish tacos in peace – or at the very least, in one piece); and stretching in your spandex in your building’s courtyard?

NO.

Look, I get it.

I like running. In fact, I LOVE running. Plus, I understand that it takes a firm commitment to keep in shape, especially if you are a busy professional. It can be a tricky balancing act.

But it is possible to do this without acting like a total arse betwixt the hours of twelve and two.

And look at it this way:

Who wants to be breathing in that kind of exhaust when they are exercising? Who wants to be stopping every thirty seconds waiting for the red light to change?

Also, and these are legitimate questions for those who do work out at lunch: how do you manage to work up a sweat, but not work out that hard so that you’re sweating for the next two hours once you’re back at work? And what about showering? How does that factor in? And when the bloody hell are you actually eating?

Either way, just don’t do it.

Work through your lunch, leave an hour early, and hit the pavement somewhere where you’re not tripping others up, or traipsing from Cactus Club to Cactus Club in your sweatbands, sweatpants, and lululemons.

Check-it.

Next!

2. This is not an amusement park ride.

What is up with people and escalators?

I don’t understand those who refuse to walk (when it’s a single capacity escalator) and those who choose to walk on those that are double capacity and then stop once the track reaches either the top or the bottom of the ramp.

WHY SIR/MADAME? WHY DO YOU DO THIS?

Because, you see, I’m still walking – because that’s the commitment I’ve made as an escalator walker – and as such, I will knock into you (and maybe even step on the back of your shoe.)

Because, you see, I expected that you too, would, AS A WALKER, you know, keep moving.

And then, should they get all snippy and grouchy at me, muttering about how, “I should watch where I’m going!” I will have to bite my tongue from bellowing: “You chose to walk! YOU MUST LIVE WITH YOUR CHOICE!”

Seriously, it’s a good thing that my cheery disposition overrides all of my murderous rage, because if it didn’t, I would be dextering peeps left right and centre. DAILY.

NEXT!

3. Long lost reunions.

Today I am having lunch with my grade eleven English teacher and I am SO EXCITED.

As an educator she was darn rad – super engaged, extremely enthusiastic, plus totally committed to her students. I was pretty off the chains that year, and I’m fairly certain there were a couple of weeks where every single morning she asked me if I was okay.

I know that I told her that I was fine (every single morning) – but just knowing that she cared enough to ask was something that I took to heart.

Plus seeing everything that M does to prepare for his classes/make his lessons fantastic gives me a really solid understanding of what goes into being a terrific teacher – insight I definitely didn’t have as the drama queen teenager that I was.

My respect for those who put their heart and soul into education really knows no bounds.

…

Going into this long weekend, it’s so bonkers to think that we are already at the start of September. This summer has absolutely flown by. August turns to autumn, and I’m already on the lookout for crunchy leaves to step on as I fly about town.

I’m just looking for the right wind to carry me away.

Dress me – I’m your mannequin

Well kids – another day, another dollar.

Yesterday I skipped about downtown on my lunch, eager as I was to stretch my legs and prance about in my pretty purple dress.

PURPLE DRESS!

I wandered about Club Monaco for a bit, admiring all the beautiful pieces that have recently arrived in anticipation for autumn’s arrival.

(I also cowered in disbelief to see that the store would still charge forty-nine dollars for a tank-top at that tail end of summer – at sixty percent off at that! I couldn’t help but wonder who was buying them when they were still listed at full price?)

Anyways, as I drifted about the mall, I realized it had been ever so long since I last tried on insane mannequin outfits at H&M – mostly because they have been selling such stellar stuff of late, and I just haven’t had the heart to mock a store that has blessed me with such abominably cute outfits.

Even Mr. M the other day conceded that his views on this clothing conglomerate had changed. And I quote:

“I want to hate H&M so much, but I can’t, because every I like pretty much every single thing you own from the store.”

And they say chivalry is dead!

Anywho, today I WAS in the mood for a good game of grotesque dress-up, so I ventured into the store with the express intention of finding the absolute fugliest pieces I could find and snapping snaps for all of you, dear readers, to see.

This ended up being much harder than I initially expected.

You see I was immediately drawn to this insane mess of a dress:

What the what…!?!?

But you know what? I just didn’t have the heart to try it on. First of all, it felt like a cross between a bathroom shower mat and those thick wool sweaters that are of the express domain of Independent Swedish film makers and skiing instructors from the late 1970s.

Plus, it cost eighty bucks! My whole system went into revolt just thinking about this and there was no way I wanted this dress anywhere near my body.

I did, however, manage to find all the appropriate pieces to scrape this outfit together:

Erm, I have a couple of questions about this.

WHAT IS THIS MADNESS?

And, like, do any chicks out there actually do the shirtless + suit jacket combo? I mean, other than those who are paid extravagant fees to march down a runway looking equal parts pissed off and nihilistic?

And would anyone in their right mind wear this combination with shorts?

If you would and you are out there reading this, please contact me because I want to interview you on my next radio show happening next month. No joke at all, and no mocking either – I want to pick your brain and learn your secrets. E-mail me!

I actually don’t mind either the shorts or the jacket as separates, but together I felt as though I left the house with only a portion of my originally intended outfit on my body. Like I had been told that I only had thirty second to vacate the premises before it was blown to smithereens and this was the best I could do while still keeping myself alive.

The next two ensembles I tried on were what I like to call the “Chatalaine editorials circa 1993 – beach house chic!”

No. 1:

Claaaaaammmm diiiigggeeerrssss

This cardigan would be tolerable if it had a giant fake A (or some other letter) to connote a varsity sports team of which I’m not actually a member but would make me feel collegiate nevertheless.

No. 2:

Caaaabllleee knnniiiittt.

I cannot tell a lie, I kind of want this sweater, but only if it comes with a pipe and a large, red, velvet wing-backed chair.

Although something tells me that I’m not going to be picking all that up for $29.95.

A girl can dream though, can she not?

For afterall, we are the stuff that dreams are made on.

Except that first dress of course.

Because that friends – that is most definitely a nightmare.