Jurassic Park – Rant and Roll

Anybody hear that? I’m fairly alarmed here

Hey dudes!

I don’t know about where you live, but it’s raining like a raining thing out here on the west coast of BC.

Normally this isn’t something to really gripe about (what with it being my choice to live smack dab in the middle of a temperate rainforest an all) but come this Sunday I will be running 21.1 kilometers (13.1 miles for all you lovely Yanks/Brits out there) and I would prefer to do so sans soaked running shoes.

(Sans soaked shoes and/or any garment really.)

It’s not that I don’t like running in the rain, I just always imagine it being so much more romantic than it actually proves to be.

And for that, I blame Four Weddings and a Funeral.

“Is it raining? … I hadn’t noticed…”

NO ONE BELIEVES YOU ANDIE MACDOWELL.

NO ONE.

Okay, let’s get back on track.

And what better way to do this than with one of my favourite blog posts:

THE FRIDAY FRY-UP.

Hold on to your butts.

YOU GUYS.

Jurassic Park is back in theatres!

HECK YES.

Let’s take a quick walk down memory lane shall we?

1993. Age 8. Summer. Vacationing in Calgary. Staying with my mum’s friend Claire. She has twin girls who are 10, and a boy who is 12.

We all get along like gangbusters.

Are we going to go see this movie?

OF COURSE WE ARE.

If I remember correctly, I talked my way into permission by telling Claire that this film would be easypeasy compared to some of the other flicks I had previously sat through (despite my, well, extreme youth.)

Her eyes got pretty wide after I told her that on Easter we had rented The Fugitive for some festive post-egg hunt family bonding.

But I mean, c’mon lady, if I could handle Han Solo jumping off of a dam and the terrifying one-armed bandit, I could definitely hack a bloodthirsty T-Rex and a shirtless Jeff Goldblum.

AM I RITE DUDEZ OR WUT?

The other thing that really sticks out in my memory about this day (other than how much I loved this movie, despite it scaring the absolute crappola out of me) is that it was also the day I first heard the term “Jeeze Louise.”

This, to my 8 year-old self, was pretty much THE FUNNIEST THING OF LIFE, so in order to calm myself throughout the scariest parts of the film, I just repeated it over, and over again.

OH HAI NEWMAN BEING SPRAYED AND KILLED BY DISARMINGLY CUTE BUT ACTUALLY TERRIFYING DILOPHOSAURUSjeezelouisejeezelouisejeezelouise…

(And so on.)

Anywho, as you may imagine, going to this re-release is very high on my TO-DO list (as it too should be on yours), but in the meantime if you want the very best ever summation of the movie, please read this.

You will laugh.

I promise.

I am very famous.

Just saying.

And because I am very famous, I eat things like this:

And take family portraits like this:

Help.

Goodbye, my friend.

So come Monday, my best friend at work (the amazing, brilliant, and beautiful Jen) is moving on to a new job, and despite the fact that I am SO HAPPY FOR HER, my little heart is pretty sad knowing that I won’t be working with her for the REST OF MY LIFE.

Veteran readers of this blog will know that she has been a top partner in crime for the past two years as we’ve kicked butt and taken names, skulked about local shopping haunts, and tried out delicious cuisine in and around the downtown core.

(She is also a formidable gym partner, professional Ticket to Ride competitor, and the official Rant and Roll fairy god-mother.)

So Jen, if you’re reading this (and I know you are), let me say this-

GTFO.

YOLO!

Also:

Yeah. That’s pretty darn cheesey.

And I love it.

…

So there you have it folks.

What are you up to for the weekend? Any there any runs, films, fame, or friends on your radar? Do tell me all about it.

Happy Friday to you all!

I am so smart. S-M-R-T.

Hey you beauty cats.

Today the sky is filled with sunshine, and it is glorious.

I have been a bit knackered as of late, as for most of the week I have been staying up way past my bedtime and knocking about the place like a social butterfly with vertigo.

On Monday Mr. M and I kicked some serious general knowledge butt with our friend A’s pub quiz team (otherwise known as Taking Care of Quizness. And hey! Don’t hate. With a team jam packed full of physics PhD’s, literature masters, classics keeners, and poli-sci pros, our nerd quota was so high that Steve Urkel actually showed up and put in an application to join the group.)

We ended up winning the top prize (and fifty bucks!), much to the chagrin of the Philoso-rapters, and the Sandy Vaginas.

(What a name. Doesn’t really make you want to head to the beach anytime soon, does it?)

Also, I couldn’t help but wonder if every time the former team answered a question correctly they would look at each other and say, “Clever giiiiiiiirl.”

(Before, you know, ripping that person apart, and eating their dismembered corpse.)

Erm, just in case you don’t know what I’m talking about, please see exhibit A:

Onwards!

Today I had an amazing lunch – a calamari sub from the absolutely dee-lish travelling wagon of culinary delights know as “Slingers.” It’s a food truck that specializes in gourmet sandwiches, and this offering near but knocked my socks off.

If any of you folks are kicking about Vancity in the next little bit (Ms. Audrey I am looking at you my darling) do yourselves a favour and tickle those tastes buds of yours at this here joint.

I promise that you won’t regret it.

Speaking of which, I was skulking around the hallowed halls of H&M yesterday, trying on far too many sundresses for my own good, when I came across a little blue and white number, with a fitted bodice and a hem line that wasn’t completely scandalous.

I tried it on, but wasn’t feeling it one hundred percent, so I ended up leaving the store empty handed.

Well, I woke up this morning unable to get it out of my mind. So as I threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed I exclaimed (just like General MacArthur before me), “I SHALL RETURN!”

Okay. So that didn’t happen at all. (Wouldn’t that have scared the crap-ola out of poor, unassuming Mr. M.)

But I did return, and I did buy the dress.

I plan on wearing it all weekend long, paired with this fabulous grey cardigan I picked up at Zara earlier in the week.

It has elbow patches guys. ELBOW PATHCES!

Meep.

The only ever fly in the ointment about going away (for any length of time really) is that I always hate saying goodbye to our little gal.

This is how I found her this morning before heading out to work:

Good grief, she is so adorable, I actually sometimes feel as though I grow drunk on her cuteness.

It’s a liability man! She could rule the world if only she could 1.) speak and 2.) sleep less than fifteen hours a day.

Cor. What a life.

I gave her as many chin scratches and belly rubs as I possibly could, before my elaborate love-in made me late for the train.

There will be extra snuggles when we arrive home on Sunday night.

What are you fabulous folks up to for the weekend?

I wish you nothing but love and laughter, always.

Hold on to your butts

So a couple of weeks ago I wrote about an ad in the women’s change room of my gym – an ad that was giving me so much grief that every so often I felt as though I was going to have a panic attack on the treadmill.

A few days after I published that post, I finally reached my breaking point – the time for action was nigh.

In the parlance of our times: it was do or die.

I’m proud to say that instead of taking a sharpie and writing “HEY GROSSO! YOUR STRETCHMARKS MAKE YOU SUBHUMAN, SO GIVE UP AND JUST EAT THAT BURGER WE ALL KNOW YOU SO DESPERATELY WANT!” in an attempt to force them to take down the ad (due to my subversive measures) I decided to take the high road and speak with the young lady who works at the front desk.

In all honesty, I was actually pretty nervous as I approached the counter-cum-smoothie bar. I knew that I wasn’t being unreasonable bringing up the ad, but I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I was going to come off as unreasonable.

However the thing that I am most ashamed to admit, is that more than anything, I was afraid. I was afraid that she was going to judge me as an overly sensitive and insecure about my body.

I was afraid that she would tell me that the ads themselves weren’t the problem – I was.

Which definitely made me pause and question whether or not these fears had any merit – not in so far as I actually believed that this young lady would resent me, or formulate conclusions on my self-esteems based on a two-minute interaction, but rather if this fear of a perceived lack of confidence existed outside of this made-up scenario.

Simply put: did these ads make me insecure about my body? Or do I feel insecure about my body whether or not these ads exist?

I don’t have a simple, clear-cut answer. It’s something that I’ve given a great deal of thought to, and will continue to do so over the next little while.

I can tell you that my conversation with the girl at the front desk was short and extremely positive. She seemed surprised that I was bringing up the ad, letting me know that she had never really given them much of a glance herself. I don’t know if this is true or not, but she readily agreed that a more body/self-positive message would probably better fit the whole gym ethos.

Overall, it was a darn positive experience.

And the best part? The next time I went in the ad had been changed! Now I get to stare at this as I change into my gym strip:

E to the D is making the world a better place – one step at a time!

…

As an addendum to this post, can we all agree on the overall greatness that is Jurassic Park – both the book and film?

This evening my husband and I were waxing eloquent on the impact these two works had on us as young things in the early 90’s, and seriously, I think I’m going to find a used copy of the book so I may relive the memories.

But let’s just get one thing straight – no one is EVER going to survive 10,000 volts. Right? I mean, come on. Dinosaurs from mosquito DNA I can handle, but human BBQ from a T-Rex enclosure? Not. A. Chance.

Also, anybody hear that? It’s a, um… It’s an impact tremor, that’s what it is. I’m fairly alarmed here.