Life – Page 36 – Rant and Roll

I have an issue to ‘a dress’

Remember ladies –

NOTHING IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN YOUR WEDDING.

Seriously.

You can work hard at your job, your academics, your athletic endeavours; you can scale mountains, or travel all across the globe; you can learn foreign languages, form amazing friendships, hide out in the woods, or start a billion dollar company; you can cook brilliant meals, and read all the books, watch all the movies, or write all the plays.

But none of that matters.

Nor do any of these things even come close to the importance of finding a man who will eventually ask you to marry him.

Because if a man doesn’t ask you to spend the rest of your life with him, that means you will never be able to make YOUR MOST IMPORTANT FASHION PURCHASE OF YOUR LIFE.

Which, of course, is your WEDDING DRESS.

Not that amazing suit you scrimped and saved up for, in the lead up to your biggest and most important job interview.

Not that amazing pair of shoes you waited forever to go on sale and snatched them the moment you could afford them, because they make you feel like a superhero when you wear them.

Not that concert t-shirt you bought in grade nine and then proceeded to wear every day for a year, because that event, up until that point, was the most seminal music experience of your life.

Not the dress you bought for your grandfather’s funeral, or the pair of runners you bought for your first big road race, or those yoga pants that make you feel invincible, or those sunglasses that make you look like an international spy.

Not that amazing sports bra that you adamantly wash by hand because you fear it wearing out, or that ten dollar sundress you wore all last summer because you will never find anything so cute and comfortable for the rest of your days.

None of these things matter.

What a second –

*looks around*

IS THIS 2013 OR WHAT?

How are we still dealing with this crazy bullshit?

A woman’s wedding dress is not the most important fashion purchase of her life.

Not unless a masked killer is actually holding a gun to her head yelling “IMMA MURDER YOU UNLESS YOU PURCHASE A WEDDING DRESS!!!!”

Then, I am willing to agree that it was a pretty important buy.

But only then!

And this is coming from a married woman. Who loved both her dress, and her wedding.

Not to mention that I LOVE love. Like, a lot.

And I am all for people coming together to support, celebrate, and embrace this part of life.

But this whole conceit, this long-standing mythology that a wedding is somehow day NUMERO UNO for all the LAIDEEZ makes me want to rip all the hair from my head.

What kind of message do you think this is sending to little girls? And little boys?

Could you imagine a piece on a man’s “most important fashion purchase”?

The idea is so far-fetched I am having a hard time even imaging what it could possibly be.

But goodness knows, it sure is easy to promote the age old trope of the overarching, MEGA HUGE importance of a wedding dress. I mean, if it wasn’t, why the heck would we still be publishing utter crap, like the above photographed article?

Which is basically can be summed up in the following equation: WOMAN+WEDDING = LIFE GOAL – ACHIEVED!

Urg.

Of course, this is not me saying that women should not love their wedding dresses.

Oh no.

I’m just saying that it’s imperative for us to remember that: ALL WOMEN = so much more than an “I DO.”

Ya know what I mean?

Or should I be saying –

Do you?

The more you know

*First things first – the show on Friday was amazing, and I couldn’t be happier with how it went. The headliner was brilliant and very complimentary after I performed, encouraging me to continue comedy and he let me know he was impressed that I had only been doing stand-up for a short time. I was also invited to perform at a local venue by another performer, which is rad.

Right after the show, M and I drove to our friends’ house as we had to dog sit for them all weekend, and only now have arrived home after a bonkers weekend of animals and activity.

So in lieu of anything even remotely sane, I present to you dear readers:

TWENTY QUESTIONS.

Did you know that a Boston terrier can snore louder than a steam powered locomotive?

Did you know that three nights of little to no sleep due to said snoring can leave a person positively knackered?

Did you know that sometimes a run in the pea-soup mist can do wonders to revive your spirits?

Did you know that doing the exact same run two days later can tire you like no other, which is strange, so you imagine that the second day’s mist was the residual spittle from a dementor’s kiss?

Did you know that stand-up comedy is pretty much crack, only healthier for you?

Did you know that all I want to do is continue to make people laugh for the rest of my life?

Did you know that mint-green dresses are in?

Did you know that I’ve just been told that it’s just “mint-green” that’s in?

Did you know that I purchased a mint-green dress, but because of it’s dodgy length I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to wear it sans-tights?

Did you know that the best yogurt is lemon yogurt?

Did you know that after two days away from my cat I can never figure out who is more excited to see whom?

Did you know that if I had to eat only one kind of food for the rest of my life it would be south-Asian hands down, no contest?

Did you know that my amazing husband bought be a new laptop for my birthday because my current computer sounds like there is a hot tub bubbling away inside its processor?

Did you know that he also bought me The One Hundred Year Old Man Who Climbed Out the Window and I will be reading nothing else this week?

Did you know that I’m also reading the Lost City of Z WHICH IS ABSOLUTELY CRAZY?

Did you know that Victorian adventurers were probably the nuttiest (and sometimes most appallingly racist) people of all time?

Did you know that sometimes I drink chocolate milk by the litre?

Did you know that there is a tumblr called Les Mean Girls, which is a mash up for Mean Girls and Les Mis? And that it is amazing?

Did you know that I adore you all and that as I fall asleep as I type this I want to know random, crazy things about your life and loves?

Did you know – zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

You can’t handle the truth!

Everybody lies.

At least so quoth the ever enigmatic, and exceptionally surly Dr. Gregory House who both angered and titillated thirty million North American television viewers at the height of the program’s popularity.

And he was right. Most people, as much as they would like to admit otherwise, distort the truth in one way or another (sometimes even on a daily basis.)

Why, it’s bloody hard not to. Take the classic example:

A: “Hi!”

B: “Hi!”

A: “How are you?”

B: “Good! How are you?”

A: “Good!”

This exchange is the absolute worst. Not only is it shallow and formulaic, but it actually makes me think that we are preconditioned to not tell the truth.

I mean, when talking about fleeting exchanges (picture you and the other person as two ships in the night), I can pretty much guarantee that neither of you actually wants to know how the other is doing when you ask. It is but a mere formality – an extension of the actual greeting.

In fact, hihowareyoudoing is one pretty much one word, the opener, which is expected under normal greeting circumstances, while finegreatgoodokay is the expected answer, the closer.

End of story.

Both parties may walk away satisfied.

I can totally understand why in some cultures you don’t even bother asking this question unless you are prepared to really find out how that person is – because, really, otherwise what’s the point?

Now, I am willing to concede that there is probably at least one of you out there, shaking your head, thinking to yourself, “I always tell the truth no matter how I’m feeling!”

So dear reader, if you manage to actually (sincerely) articulate how you are doing every time someone asks you, I bow down to you and your amazing resolve.

I would also like to meet you.

And your friends.

(KIDDING!)

As for me?

I’ve been known to tell a few porky pies. And not just about how I was feeling.

I’ve told my husband that I have eaten breakfast when I haven’t, just because he likes to eat right away in the morning and I don’t, and I once told the mother of one of the kids I tutored that I got migraines instead of just outright quitting the job.

(That was one strange kid, believe you me.)

I would watch as these little white lies fluttered out of my mouth, like ivory-winged moths escaping the dark, searching for a light. They would burn up, the farther up they fly, and I wondered, as I watched them disappear, what purpose did they serve?

To answer this question, I once spent a ~~week~~ day trying not to lie.

Which I found to be hard. Very hard.

I was unsuccessful on many fronts. But mostly I was incapable of getting over the hihowareyou hurdle. No matter how hard I tried, goodgood seemed to get away from me without my noticing.

Every time I would have to take back my words and try again. But even then I couldn’t successfully complete the task.

What can I say? I’ve been programmed.

And I’m okay with that.

Because otherwise I like to believe that I lead a fairly transparent, truthful life.

And let me tell you this: when I ask you how all you beauty cats are doing, I mean so with the most sincerity.

63194_10150362839625179_6369553_n — This is me asking you, “HOW ARE YA DOING CHAP?”

And that, I promise, is no lie.

It’s just a cake. It’s just a birthday cake.

Hey kids.

It’s my birthday in two days, and as such I’ve been gifted with some pretty sweet swag from Sephora:

Seriously, all you need to do is purchase one expensive blush there ONE TIME, and two years later they’re still giving you free stuff!

Now that is the kind of relationship I can get behind.

So yes, this Sunday I turn twenty-eight years old, which officially vaults me into the “late-twenties” catagory.

This is fabulous, because it means that my actual age is finally catching up to what I feel to be my “inner age” – a number that I imagine hovers somewhere around seventy-two, give or take a few tubes of Polydent.

GET OFF MY LAWN YOU YOUNG WHIPPERSNAPPERS!

Ahem.

Meanwhile, my “outer age” seems to be suffering from a whacked-out case of Benjamin Buttons, as I can’t seem to go anywhere without getting IDed.

Just the other day I was carded at 7-11 while trying to buy a one dollar scratch and win.

(As you can imagine, my life is pretty much a continual stream of glitz and glamour.)

Of course, being me, I didn’t have any ID on me, (because who brings their whole wallet on a late-night jaunt about the neighbourhood?) so I wasn’t able to complete my purchase.

I was all: LOOK LADY – I’LL TAKE IT, BUT NEXT TIME GIVE ME THE DANG GOLD RUSH AND NO ONE GETS HURTS, YA DIG?

Then I took my can of coke and ran out of the joint laughing like a maniac.

(That didn’t actually happen.)

(OR DID IT?)

This weekend, Mr. M and I are going to gussy ourselves up for a fancy-schmancy dinner on Saturday night, and then it’s off to the familial units on Sunday afternoon for more pageantry and more importantly, some sweet, sweet Superbowl action.

(Or as myself and many others have taken to calling it: The SUPERBAUGH.)

To be honest though, I was so super (har har) bummed when Seattle was eliminated (WHY OH WHY DID YOU CALL THAT TIME OUT PETE!?) that I’m a little less than enthused about the two teams competing the finals. However, if I had to pick a team, I’m going for San Fran because I don’t think I have it in my being to actually cheer for Ray Lewis.

I cannot stand that guy.

I’ll have to wait a week to celebrate with friends, as VanComedy Fest is next Friday, but I figure what better time to jam that after some crack-up comedy?

And in the meantime…

Fry-up time!

Sister acts.

So I don’t know if you are all acquainted with the awesome Canadian power due that is Tegan and Sara (they are two sisters from Calgary, Alberta), but if you’re not, you should probably rectify this situation at once.

These gals have been making rad music for years, but their most recent release is much “poppier” than their older records, and being the pop-lover than I am, I really can’t get enough of it.

So if you have a hankering for some mad dancing about your house, please let me recommend the following:

Last weekend I was in full-on cleaning mode and I must have listened to this song well near twenty times.

Plus, this music video is pretty much exactly what I imagined every one of my birthday parties would be, during my years as a permanently love-struck, doe-eyed teenage girl.

(Unfortunately, it never did happen.)

(OR DID IT?)

Next!

Olive garden.

So the other night I returned home from work to a startlingly cold and very much empty house, what with my husband having to work late, and the temperatures hovering just above zero degree centigrade outside.

My whole neighbourhood was socked in with a low-hanging, thick, wet fog, and just walking home from skytrain had left me feeling well-soaked and completely ravenous.

After taking off my boots and putting on the fireplace, I immediately set about preparing a dinner that would both quell my hunger pains and warm-up my frigid little body.

(I may have taken a few minutes to cuddle with my kitten before commencing dinner preparations.)

The end result was a meal of spaghetti with tomatoes, olives, basil and fresh mozzarella, accompanied by crunchy French bread and a massive mug of earl grey tea (not exactly the most traditional drink, I know, but goodness knows if it wasn’t needed to rejig my sluggish circulation.)

And it was absolutely, blooming glorious.

Onwards!

Part two.

So last week I wrote about Guy Ritchie and how much I liked Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

Well, I took many of my brilliant readers’ advice and watched Snatch, the quasi-following up to Lock Stock.

There I sat on the couch, with my spaghetti and tea, and there I laughed like a drain to end all drains.

Which is to be said, A LOT.

So thanks to you, beauty cats! Do keep the film recommendations coming – if there’s more laughing to be had, I WILL HAVE IT.

…

And there you have it you fab chaps! Are any of you celebrating a birthday this weekend?

I will be partying it up with my (day of birth) twin Alexei Kostitsyn.

That Belarusian doesn’t know how lucky he is.