Humor – Page 14 – Rant and Roll

Professed love

So to continue the grand tradition of writing about all the amazing people in my life, today I am in the mood to celebrate my insane, bad-ass, genius of a husband.

You see folks, today Mr. M is graduating from Simon Fraser University with his Bachelor of Education.

Oh, and did I mention that he’s graduating at the top of his class?

IMG_1001 - Copy — Chocolate apple and a card with an graduation owl on it!

That’s right! Today he will be honoured as the top graduate out of all the newly minted secondary school teachers.

If this were a mid-90s teen comedy, as he crossed the stage to collect his degree and medal, myself and my pack of gelled-hair, frosted tipped, mini-backpack wearing friends would simultaneously jump up and start yelling, “He’s number one! He’s number one!”

(I might yell out something different though – perhaps along the lines of, “I love you baby!” Before clasping my hands together underneath my chin, and letting my tears flow freely down my face.)

At this point EVERYBODY would start cheering, and the slightly disheveled, but ultimately cool dean standing on the stage next to M would just shake their head good naturedly (maybe even roll their eyes and laugh), and M would point to me in the crowd, shouting out something like, “We did it!” before throwing his cap into the air.

And then Smash Mouth would come out of nowhere and play us into the credits.

The dance party to end all dance parties would ensue.

End Scene.

…

Okay, so that’s probably not how it’s going to go down. But the sentiment is the same none the less.

I cannot really begin to explain how insanely proud and happy I am for M.

He is a phenomenal student.

He is a tremendous teacher.

His students love him.

(In fact, some of then are even in love with him.)

And at the base of it all, he is an amazing, hilarious, driven, beautiful, bonkers, inspiring individual who makes my life, and all the lives of the people he touches better.

He makes life glow.

So please, let this serve as a brief introduction to his brilliant man.

Here are some other interesting facts about this Swiss-Indian man to whom I have pledge my troth:

1.) He completed his undergraduate degree in Classical and Medieval Studies. (Or simply put – he is one gigantic nerdo.)

2.) After graduating he earned his journeyman carpentry ticket, and helped build the Olympic ski-jump for the Vancouver/Whistler 2010 games.

3.) He has read more books that probably everybody I know, combined. Dude is well read.

4.) And boy is he ever ticklish.

5.) He has horrifyingly dextrous toes. And I fear them. You should too.

6.) One of the first things I noticed about him were his calf muscles. Ooer, mama.

7.) My heart practically melts out of my feet whenever I watch him concentrating like a mad man as he plays Dead Souls. It is adorable and a half.

8.) Sometimes when he is late getting ready and I am (desperately) trying to get him out of the house, he’ll sit on the bed with his underwear on his head, because he knows it drives me up the bloody wall (but also makes me laugh.)

9. The man doesn’t know a correct song lyric for the life of him.

10.) He will change the world. He’s already doing it.

So there you have it!

And now we are off to celebrate this tremendous achievement of his, in style, with grace, and of course – great humour.

But no Smash Mouth. We’ll have none of that.

Come on baby light my fire

Hey all you crazy cats!

It’s time for another installment of the Friday Fry-Up. But first, before we get into the meat of the matter, I need to ask you all one question:

What fresh hell is going on around these here parts temperature-wise?

It is ruddy freezing!

I mean, here I am, it’s June, and I am sitting in front of my fireplace, and it has a bloody fire in it.

A fire!

In JUNE!

What. The. Eff.

Anywho, strange things are a-brewing, and until the wind changes I suppose we’re continuing on course for more madness and foul weather.

So let’s solider on!

First on the docket:

Awful doughnuts.

Yesterday, after eating a super healthy lunch, I went and bought five timbits from ye old church of Canadiana (aka Tim Hortons) – because noting tastes better after a cracking salad like those sweet little glazed balls of heaven.

I got in line with the six hundred and ninety-two other crazed patrons and waited to have my order taken. After waiting roughly twelve years, I reached the front of the cue and placed my bets.

Er.

Placed my order.

I asked for two honey cruller, two sour cream glazed, and one chocolate glazed.

(Urg, I never know why I bother ordering that solitary chocolate timbit because it is never, ever tastes all that great. Slightly stale and just…missing something.)

The first two however are far and away the two top offerings available at ole’ Timmy Hos – seriously, take my word for it, I am a card-carrying timbit connoisseur.

Here is the honey cruller:

It was dee-lish.

However, I was pretty disappointed when I bit into the other donut hole because low and behold it was not my beloved sour cream but old fashioned glazed.

YUCKAMUNDO.

That crap tastes like bread soaked in expired dish soap.

DO NOT WANT.

(Full disclosure – obviously I’ve never eaten a Sunlight saturated baguette before – so don’t get any ideas! It’s a simile you smug bastards.)

And it was a bummer!

So all in all, out of five treats, I had three, but only enjoyed two. This is not exactly world-destroying events here, but like I said, I feel as though the universe is subtly letting me know that things aren’t exactly in balance these days.

Second on the docket:

Joe Fresh Fashion.

Now normally I am a pretty big proponent of Mr. Fresh and the clothing for sale at his establishments. I’ve bought some terrific stuff that I continue to enjoy, both for work and pleasure. However, if you visit one of his stores at the moment you might be surprised to see an overabundance of bat-shit weird, weird stuff.

Like this Finnish flag inspired shirt:

Or this “Is it clothing, or a walking magic eye puzzle?” dress:

IMG-20120607-00105 — It’s always some stupid sailboat.

Or this neon orange disco suit:

IMG-20120607-00106 — I – I just don’t know anymore.

(I also think that they were implying that you would wear the suit with the paisley green collared shirt.)

Seriously, at what LSD binge were these pieces not only designed, but then sewed together as utterly wacko separates!?

Also, can we mayhaps make an effort to stick to one decade to “bring back” at a time? I was one to believe that we are currently experiencing a resurgence of 90s nostalgia, so let’s keep the 70s and 80s at bay for the next little while – at the very least (we don’t need to bring them back at all, if that option is still available.)

Speaking of which – PEPLUM.

Guys.

No.

Just no.

They are hip flaps.

They are Malibu Barbie.

They are winged menstrual pads, designed as a dress.

They are no.

Just yell no like you mean it, and then just run away!

NO!

Moving on.

Third on the docket.

The Cranberries.

Speaking of flashbacks, the other day I was getting ready for work, listening to CBC radio 2 as I am often wont to do in the am. As I stepped out of the shower, I caught the very tail end of the song “Dreams” and I had a very affecting flashback to the day I finished grade five and I heard the group’s song “Zombie” for the ever first time.

Man, I loved that song.

(Is it just me, or did music – for the most part – mean a hell of a lot more in the 90s than it does now?)

I remember taping (!!!) that song off of the radio and listening to it on repeat for hours and hours and hours.

I always laugh to think of myself as the crazy tall, gangly awkward nerd who would half walk, half dance around singing Soundgarden, and Pink Floyd around the school hallways.

I remember discovering Smashing Pumpking in grade four. I heard “Today” being played from my sister’s bedroom while practicing highland dancing in my basement.

In grade six I saw the music video for Beck’s Loser. Kind of weirded out, but also really intrigued, I asked my friends if they would buy me the CD for my upcoming birthday. They did, and it was AWESOME.

In grade seven, sitting in Mr. Bell’s English class, Simon Eisler played Weezer’s Buddy Holly for our “Song as Poem” class project. I rushed home, found my sister’s Weezer CD and listened to the song on repeat for probably the next three years.

Maybe music didn’t necessary mean more in the 90s on the whole – perhaps it just meant more to me. Individually.

Hmmm.

Stuff to ponder as we head into a rain soaked weekend!

What are you favourite doughnut flavours? Do you like Joe Fresh? And what are your strongest music memories?

I’d love to hear about it as I stoke my fire.

On a hot tin roof

Hello humans.

This is Nymeria writing to you today. My servant, or “Ethel” as she asks you to call her, is otherwise indisposed this afternoon, and as such is unable to write her usual Monday post.

Are any of you familiar with the term brain melt?

Symptoms associated with this affliction often include stress, loss of sleep, fits of unstoppable laughter, and a much hindered ability to just roll with life’s little punches. I’m sure she is exhibiting a myriad of other signs, but my vocabulary is limited, and my aggressive cuddling regime has already calmed many of them.

So don’t fret too much.

I’ve seen her like get like this many times before in the time that we’ve shared a home together, and I’m happy to report that she has always managed to recover – and quickly at that.

(Also, let’s hope that she remembers to feed me on time tonight. Last night she was late by at least six minutes! It if hadn’t been for my continuous, obnoxious mewling at the food cupboard door, I’m not sure if it would have ever happened.)

Anyway, that’s neither here nor there.

Things should be back to their regularly scheduled program soon enough.

Now if you excuse me, there is a chair I need fur up.

The sight of hair-free upholstery unnerves me.

It’s all okay in the UK

To round out a week full of travel-centric blog posts, I would like to share with you all a brief snap shot of Mr. M’s and my first few days in the magical city of Brum.

We lived in Birmingham for four months in 2009. I was on research leave for my MA, and M, being a Swiss citizen, was working as a language teacher at a community school, teaching ESL to young Afghani asylum seekers.

Here is a journal entry I wrote at 12:55 am because I couldn’t sleep due to my excitement yes, but also because I had an irrational fear that my landlady’s estranged husband (who also lived in the house) would murder us in our sleep:

I cannot even begin to communicate the hilarity that is M’s and my life here in Birmingham. We are enamoured with the city and its many eccentric but loveable inhabitants, impressed with its Balti and other culinary delights, frustrated with our “washing machine”, flabbergasted at the extremely cheap grocery prices, and proud of the fact that we turned an absolute dive into something that vaguely resembles a home.

CIMG5378 - Copy — Home sweet Brummy home!

Our travel to the city was a gong show and a half, what with the airline deciding to add stops in both Calgary and Dublin at the last minute, and then charging most passengers between four and nine hundred dollars at check-in because their luggage was overweight.

There was more than a little anger brewing at the Fly Globe Span counters (worst airline in the world – copyright 2009) let me tell you. Luckily, I am a neurotic and anxiety-ridden individual and had already checked the allowances online, so we were in the clear.

Once we arrived in London we decided to take the bus to B town (or Brum, or Birmingham if you’re not into the whole Brevity thing) and not the train, which was a HUGE mistake, albeit much cheaper than the alternative.

The ride ended up taking about four and a half bloody hours.

I spent the time dozing under a pile of jackets because the air conditioning was set to arctic chill MAX, and I apparently have ZERO ability to cope with the cold, while M befriended a six hundred year old man who somehow didn’t succumb to the drop in temperature and die in his seat.

(I should have asked what his secret was.)

Anywho, we managed to finally get to our hotel (the glorious Etap Hotel, that may or may not moonlight as an elderly homosexual pick up joint) and fall into bed.

The next day we set out in search of a place to live and a cell phone plan. Once this (the plan) was procured, we needed to get our Canadian phone unlocked, which led to our first introduction to the Birmingham market, which we LOVE. We’re sure it’s the place where we’ll get most of our fruit and veg and any odd bits that we need.

CIMG5415 - Copy — Market! Well, just down the hill at least.

We then set off for the library in hopes of getting internet access to only learn that THERE IS ABSOLUTELY ZERO FREE WIRELESS IN ENGLAND SERIOUSLY THE INTERNET IS NO WHERE TO BE FOUND.

Why no internet UK?

Eventually we managed to find a connection and slowly began to contact potential landlords.

M was a bit flabbergasted when it came to actually talking to people on the phone and he kept telling me (while the person was still on the line, yammering away), “I can’t understand anything these people are saying!”

The Brummy accent folks, is truly something to behold.

When one woman asked him if he was a student he responded with “okay” to which she just said “okay?”

Believe me when I say the laugh attack that I had been suppressing since our arrival in the city was unleashed with full force.

The first guy we met was a complete jerk. He showed up twenty-five minutes late, did not say hello, and then mumbled that it was “six months minimum” before just walking back up to his car!

What an arsehole.

After this encounter, we were lucky enough to meet Sue – our now landlord. (Though we did have to walk over 10km in order to get to her place.)

No word of a lie though, the place was a total crap box when we arrived. However, we’ve cleaned like maniacs, and M has put up a ton of paintings that Sue gave us, a coat and towel rack, the bed has new bedding ,and we’ve been given a small tv with tons of vhs tapes.

After a day committed to making our home, well, livable, we bussed to Moseley – a very radtastic area of the city – for dinner and drinks. Once again I was reminded about how much I still hate beer, but seriously the chips here are MAGNIFICENT.

Also, this is completely off topic, but if one more person calls me “love” I am seriously going to have to have a sit down, because it DESTROYS me.

Further, I have also now come to realize that “You okay?” doesn’t mean “Are you damaged?” but is more of an expression of helpfulness. This is very good to know because people say this to me A LOT.

Man. This is going to be quite an adventure.

I cannot wait to see where we’ll end up.

Friday I’m in love

Friends! It’s Friday!

THANK GOODNESS.

IMG-20120518-00087 — Here comes the sun!

Phew, and what a week it has been. Thirteen hour days, volunteer gigs, tears, runs, blisters, beauty cats – and heading into next week, I’m just going to do it all over again.

Do what exactly, you may ask?

The same thing we do every night Pinky…try to take over the world!!!

Because it’s the end of the week, and I am so very excited for the (long!) weekend, I figured it was time to bring back the ol’ Friday Fry-up.

First on the docket:

Street food.

Simply put, I cannot get enough. Although I really try to bring my lunch every day to work, there is only so many days a girl can survive on nutella-almond butter sandwiches (this week was a little bleak in terms of foodstuffs available at the homestead. I am glad to report, however, that to balance this out I ate oatmeal everyday for breakfast, as well as at least two fruits over the course of the work day.)

I wrote earlier about all the great new joints popping up around the downtown core, and it’s nice to try out a different one every now and then.

But there are some days where the only thing I can think about is getting my little mitts on a tofu hotdog, slathered in fried onions, bbq sauce, ketchup, and mustard.

And today, my darlings, was one of those exact days.

I needed to get out of the office, stretch my legs, and spend some time in the sunshine, all alone – on my own.

I walked over to the law courts, purchased my dog, and sat down in my own little sun-soaked spot.

Bliss.

Also, it is weird that as much as I love the hotdog itself, my favourite part of this meal is the two last bites – bites that are nothing save for the bun, the onions, and the condiments (that have all mixed together to form a orangey-yellow super sauce?)

Or is that just me?

Either way, it was fab. And amazingly enough, I didn’t spill a drop on my dress.

Look ma! No dry cleaning bill!

Second on the docket:

These ads from Aldo.

First, let me preface this by saying that I pretty much despise Aldo and never shop there. Their shoes are totally overpriced, and the quality absolute shite.

Plus there is nothing remarkable about the styles they offer. Everything is boring and bland.

So when I see something like this, well, don’t colour me surprised:

Colour me bored and scornful.

Aren’t we over this trope already, or what?

I mean, if we’re going to keep pumping out ridiculous and sexist advertising campaigns, can’t we get something a little original?

For heaven’s sake, just have a vagina wearing the shoes (hell, have a vagina eating a popsicle wearing the shoes, for all I care) and get it over with.

Because the whole banana/iced treat as phallic symbol is old as dirt and twice as stupid.

(Or, you know, if you want to be totally off the charts risqué, just rely on quality products to increase sales, and have your marketing campaign revolve around your merchandise – a radical thought, I know.)

In the meantime, I won’t hold my breath.

Third on the docket:

I CANNOT stop buying clothes.

Okay, that’s a big of an overstatement. I’m not exactly out on a bender, slinking about outlet malls and breaking open my bank account.

However, over the last month I’ve purchased two dresses!

TWO!

Good grief. That’s one less than I purchased all of last year.

Just typing these words, I feel as though I need qualify and explain how cheap the items were, but then another part of me starts shouting WHO CARES STOP IT YOU WORK HARD ENJOY IT LOVE IT.

Today at lunch I ventured to H&M (holy crappola, this place is like my fricken Brokeback Mountain – for serious, WHY CAN’T I QUIT YOU!?) and tried on a couple of dresses.

I feel as though these past few days I’ve been oscillating wildly back and forth between über feminine and über masculine looks. For instance, yesterday I work skinny-legged men’s dress pants, a man’s sweater, collared shirt and tie, and today I wore this:

And then I tried on this:

Which actually has a ridiculously cute bow on the right shoulder:

And then I tried on this:

IMG-20120518-00096 — Love me some spots.

Dudes. It’s a lady-bug dress!!

(Okay, not really. But that’s what it makes me feel like.)

In the end, I wound up purchasing both, but got the first one in black.

(For a very, very low – combined – price.)

STOP IT ETHEL! MOVE ON.

So there you have it folks: Food, fashion, and fallacies (otherwise known as the world of advertising.)

What are your favourite street foods? Have you bought yourself anything nice of late?

Put your feet up, pour yourself a cold drink, and tell me all about it.