Life – Page 34 – Rant and Roll

A lot of ins, a lot of outs

Hi kids!

A little while ago the lovely Runningwithoutsocks made me all shirty and blushy by letting me know that she dug my blog.

And what do you know? The feeling is completely mutual.

Her blog is terrifically awesome sauce, and I really encourage you to go and check out her stuff.

She was also fab enough to pass along some questions that I was encouraged to answer if I should wish.

And I do. I do so wish.

So as my knackered little bones sink down into the recesses of our big comfy couch, I present to you, dear readers, my answers:

If you could have any super power, what would it be and why?

Oof. This questions has (and will continue to) plague me for years. Because on one hand, it HAS to be the ability to fly, doesn’t it? I mean, I’ve been having flight dreams since as far back as I can remember, and it has always been soul-crushing to wake up and realize that I don’t have this ability in real life.

But on the other hand, invisibility would be AMAZING. As would the ability to read minds.

AND SHAPESHIFT.

Urg.

You see? This is why I totally suck at this game.

Can I just wish for more wishes?

Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

This is another hard one. It’s hard to paint a concrete picture, because in all honesty, I have no idea what the next six months, let alone five years has in store.

So I will say this: I will be with the love of my life, and we will most likely have produced a little human being. I will be a world-famous stand-up comedian, and M will be an internationally renowned curriculum developer.

It’s either that or shacked up in an chalet somewhere high up in the Pennine Alps, raising large families of St. Bernards and eating a crap ton of Gruyere cheese.

Chocolate or vanilla?

I once ate a Mars bar covered in ants.

I was two years old at the time, but I’d like to think that little girl still lives somewhere inside of me.

So…NEXT!

Favorite movie?

Ooer. Also a hard one. I have many favourites: A Fish Called Wanda, Love Actually, The Bourne Trilogy, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Three Colours (though White is my favourite), Amelie, Never Let Me Go, La Femme Nikita, The Fifth Element…

I COULD GO ON.

But, if I was told that I was going to be sent to a deserted island and I could only bring one movie with me, then no question, it would be The Big Lebowski.

I love this movie more than I can properly communicate. Nothing will ever be more brilliant, or as funny as this film.

EVER.

Summer or winter?

Summer. No contest.

Sundresses, hiking, biking, patios, cold drinks, warm nights, barbeques, beach days, sunglasses, the smell of sunscreen and sand, running in the early morning…

GET HERE NOW DAMN YOU!

What’s your fondest childhood memory?

Yowza. This is a toughie.

I have a million and a half memories that all could easily qualify for top billing.

I’ll share just one: driving around with my two sisters in our old brown van, singing out hearts out to The Beatles’ “Drive My Car.” It’s nearing the end of the school years, so the weather is warm and sunny. I’m in grade six, Jess is in grade four, and Kate is in grade eleven. Kate has just bought us slurpees and my cheeks hurt from smiling.

Remembering everything about this scene just feels like pure happiness.

Favorite band?

Ack! Also too many. Franz Ferdinand, Hot Chip, Kaiser Chiefs, Queen, Pink Floyd, Simon and Garfunkel, Peter, Bjorn, and John, Matt Anderson, The Rolling Stones.

This question is impossible!

But to pull out the desert island reference again, I’ll have to go with The Beatles.

Because THE BEATLES.

If you could live in any city in the world, which one would you choose and why?

Probably Edinburgh. I loved living in the UK and this was my favourite city that we visited. I would go back in a heartbeat.

What do you dream about?

My dreams are CRACKED. I don’t want to scare anyone off so I’m pleading the fifth on this one.

Your most distinguished trait (could be physical or character trait – or both!)

Distinguished, eh?

I feel like I should leave this one up to the judgement of someone else.

Character trait(s) – my passion, dedication, and drive.

Psysical – my long hair and even longer legs (which allow me to tower over people.)

Why did you start blogging?

Because of said passion. And because if I didn’t find a way of communicating all the thoughts running around my head on a daily basis I would have run off to the woods never to be seen from again.

(Until, that is, Werner Herzog decided to make a documentary about my life.)

…

So there you have it you fab chaps!

In lieu of the regular Friday Fry-Up, a little insight into my mad self.

We’ll be back to our regular scheduled program next week.

In the meantime, drop me a line highlighting your answers.

I will read and relish them, as I rest awhile.

I love to laugh, long and loud and clear

O HAI THERE.

Guess what guys?

Last night I competed in a stand-up comedy competition, AND I WON!!!

Meep.

Which means not only did I win $100 (COLD HARD CASH DOLLARS!) but I also get entered into the next round of the tournament, which may just end with me winning $500.

FIVE HUNDRED BONES!

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

You might not be able to see it, but I am doing a bit of a dance.

So join in!

DANCE!

Is it worth it, let me work it

I have worked a number of crazy jobs in my relatively short time here on planet earth.

Like many other young ladies, I started out as a babysitter, but quickly learned that it wasn’t really my jam. I never cared for the portion of the evening that included the kids being, well, conscious, and it was pretty devastating to learn that most of the families that I worked for had mediocre pantries at best.

If I was going to give up my Friday night, I figured I might as well get a week’s worth of junk food stuffed in my face – AM I RITE OR WHAT LADEEZ?

Anyways, after my failed and relatively short-lived foray into the world of child monitoring, things took a turn for the serious, and I was hired on as a Safeway cashier in the summer after grade ten.

For my then teenage self this was HUGE. I was making eight dollars an hour and I got to nonchalantly creep on all the weirdos who came into the store.

(And by creep I mean epically judge them based on the goods they were purchasing.)

This job was nuts for many reasons, the first being I had the absolute WORST assistant manager of life.

Sanjay* was a young, cocky, sexist jerk who was constantly on one giant power trip. The guy wouldn’t allow me to wear sweaters (so instead I would just wear the massive winter coats that were reserved for the dudes who collected the shopping carts at night) and he once made me cry in the upstairs back room by telling me I had failed a secret shop, despite having no material evidence to back up his claim.

According to him, I hadn’t thanked the secret shopper by their name on the store receipt. For my “punishment” he made me read aloud the names printed on about two hundred receipts, just so he could be sure that, and I quote: “I could, in fact, read.”

I pretty much sobbed through the entire thing, choking out the names, my cheeks burning with shame and embarrassment. Every so often I would squeak out, “This…this isn’t right…”

You can imagine how, for anyone, let alone a fifteen year old girl, this kind of thing can be pretty darn traumatizing.

I ended up filing an informal complaint against him (and by informal I mean I stuttered out my frustration to the actual store manager, letting him know how I thought it was unfair that Sanjay would let other girls wear sweaters but not me, and about how he told me I had a failed a test when I clearly hadn’t.)

And that yes, I could read, thank you very much.

I never expected anything to come from my actions, but amazingly from that day forward Sanjay never spoke to me again. He wouldn’t even make eye contact with me when he would come around to give me more change/bills for my till.

Just remembering those tense, awkward exchanges gives me the heebie jeebies.

Other than that, Safeway was pretty par for the course in terms of high school jobs. Working crappy shifts, bonding with my co-workers, having a laugh when my friends come through my line.

Also, I am strangely proud of how Speedy Gonzalez I was on the till. I had those PLU codes DOWN (I will never forget bananas – 4011), and would often make it a contest to see how quickly I could clear my register.

Sometimes customers would even be nice enough to compliment me on my mad skills.

(Or maybe this was just because I looked a bit like a rapper in my massive, massive winter coat.)

Anyways, my tenure at ye olde Way of Safe came to an end when I received a job a small café the summer after grade twelve.

I literally left a letter in the upstairs office that read: Please accept my resignation effective today.

Looking back, it probably wasn’t my finest hour, both in terms of politeness and leaving on a positive note, but by then I was so worn down by the store’s rampant culture of apathy and soul-sucking awfulness, that I really didn’t care.

After the café (which ended after that summer) I worked a number of jobs throughout my time as a university student, including stints at an international newspaper and magazine store (which also rented international movies and had a massive pornography section).

In the two years I worked there only two dudes came in to rent from the latter category.

I just figured they must be crazy traditionalists.

This job was great because I got to keep a ton of the magazines, which meant my collection of international fashion, nature, political, and photography periodicals grew like (paper) weeds.

I also watched a lot of great foreign flicks.

After that, I was hired as a temp at a chocolate store to help them in their lead up to the Easter rush, worked as a receptionist at a physiotherapy clinic, and then as a barista at a coffee shop down at Granville Island (MY FAVOURITE JOB OF LIFE).

After my stint with BIG ORGANIC FAIRTRADE COFFEE, I tutored and then took on a two-year stint with immigration with the government of Canada.

And now? Well, a girl has to have some secrets, doesn’t she?

Looking back, I wouldn’t trade in any of these jobs.

They introduced me to lifelong friends and provided me with experiences (both good and bad) that have helped shape who am I.

Which is of course, a rapper in a giant winter coat.

AM I RITE LADEEZ?

*Name has been changed, despite rampant douchbaggery

Just blowin’ in the wind

Things:

I never sleep well going into a Monday.

Nutmeg and cardamom are two excellent spices that pair quite poorly with shrimp.

New shoes!

Even when I think I am sitting up straight, I’m probably still slouching.

My hair is so long that sometimes when I work out my ponytail gets stuck in my armpits.

Sometimes I imagine Brian Mulroney looking at his son, and then looking at Justin Trudeau, and then thinking, “HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?”

I really must remember to let my bras air dry. I don’t want to give away all my hard earned cash dollars to BIG BRASSIERE.

Donuts are really great.

So is a cup of milky, hot, sugary coffee.

(But never together.)

Dance parties are always worth it, even if it’s only with one other person.

Sometimes it rains sideways, and this makes training runs very uncomfortable.

Richard Ayoade is a stone cold fox.

TopShop is currently trolling us all, but –

Put a bird on it!

Yesterday Mr. M and I bought our tickets for the Big Apple and I am SO EXCITED.

I cannot speak, or write “cleaning out my closet” without pretending that I am Eminem.

I like peanut butter M&Ms best.

Also this:

…

Today, the sun is shining and the sky is a light daisy blue – a treat the likes of which we have not seen for many, many moons.

It is mindboggling to think that we are already into March. Indeed – minutes, days, weeks (and months!) seem to be careening by in the blink of an eye.

I just signed up to run the ScotiaBank Half-Marathon with Team Big Sisters. I’m hoping to raise $1000.00 (the same amount as 2011, the last year that I fundraised with the organization.)

After taking some time off to rest my little bones, I am back to full-on training mode. I ran 16km this weekend, and am looking to slowly amp up the mileage as the seconds kick down to my first race of the season: The Sunshine Coast Half on April 7^th.

My darlings, do you ever feel as though you are standing the precipice of something huge, but you don’t know yet what it is?

I feel as though I am balancing precariously over a large, life-changing expanse, and I want so badly to jump into the void, only I cannot see what I will be getting myself into.

All my nerve endings seem to be extra-sensitive – and the winds of change are making my arm hairs stand on edge.

Maybe I will just have to Alice it – take a deep breath and crawl down the hole.

And if I catch a glimpse of a sign-post (pointing in any which direction), I will be sure to let you know.

Lovers to bed, tis almost fairy time.

Dudes.

A couple nights ago, as I was getting ready for bed (WAY, WAY PAST MY PREFERRED BEDTIME), I turned to my husband and said:

“I have a really great idea for what we should do this weekend.”

He paused, mid-floss and said, “Let’s hear it.”

“NOTHING,” I said. “Let’s do absolutely nothing.”

He laughed, and agreed, saying that my plan sounded tip-top, lindy hop.

Now comes the rub: We have to actually STICK TO THIS AGREEMENT.

(As you might imagine, the two of us have a really, really hard time saying no.)

The one event standing in the way of an extreme rest extravaganza is my stand-up gig tonight downtown (off which I am of course incredibly excited about.)

However, if I don’t concentrate on getting a whack-ton of rest post-show, it’ll be bad times in the Maritimes. Sure, the old adage may be I’ll sleep when I’m dead, but I don’t want that to come true next Thursday at approximately five thirty in the evening.

JUST SAYING.

Anywho, in the interim, let’s see what’s cooking in ye olde Cosmic Kitchen of life shall we?

FRY-UP TIME!

Lost in translation.

We received this flyer in our mailbox earlier this week:

Suffice to say that it did a fantastic job of bringing forth all the laughs.

Also, it serves as an excellent example of why individuals should really monitor their use of Google Translation, particularly the importance of not using it for translations longer than one sentence.

Although I do really like the idea of bringing back “trading hours.”

It makes me think that I’m living in the wild, wild west.

Or some turn of the century port town.

Either or really.

Onwards!

An assault on good taste.

I was grooving about the aisles of H&M the other day when I espied this mannequin:

HOLY SMOKES.

I just – I just don’t know anymore.

I was with a friend who was trying on ACTUAL clothing (like, fit to be seen in daylight and everything) so I didn’t really think it would be appropriate if I took off in order to scrounge up all the makings of this offending outfit, just so I could take a photo of myself in the dressing room and then kill myself laughing at my reflection.

(This is also why it is important that I don’t spend more time alone during my lunch hours.)

(Jen I love you!)

But seriously – is this what the cool kids are wearing these days? I mean, I’m all for keeping an open mind (I like to think I’m mellowing in my old age) but this is rather crazy.

Do the kids who wear this dreck even know Johnny Depp pre-Pirates of the Caribbean? I mean, even I’m too young to know Crybaby.

Also, I’m worried that we just aren’t trying to do anything new fashion-wise anymore and that we are just going to recycle everything from the 20th century over and over again, until the day the sun supernovas, and the stars fade away.

So stop making me have all this silly anxiety fashion world! Hop to it with the creativity!

Sheesh.

Sing it loud.

So I haven’t had many chances to curl up in front of the television of late, so unfortunately I have no tv or movie recommendations for you this Friday. Also, since we don’t have cable and netflix’s offerings have been total bollocks of late, I probably wouldn’t have anything even if I had tried.

On the other hand, I have been listening to some excellent tunes of late, courtesy of the ever fab Lumineers.

They hail from Denver, Colorado, and their awesome blend of folk rock has seen me dancing and singing around my house, like and dancing and singing thing.

So check them out:

I hope you like them as much as I do.

…

There you have it, my fab chaps.

I hope that wherever you are, it is much dryer than we have it out West – that your days are filled with laughter and mirth, ridiculous take-out menus, and snappy, happy fashions.

You deserve it all, and more.