Life – Page 38 – Rant and Roll

Looking forward with a turn of phrase

Dear world:

Can we please bring back “heavens to murgatroyd!”?

BECAUSE THIS IS THE BEST TURN OF PHRASE IN THE HISTORY OF TURNS OF PHRASES.

Please also see: “really cleaned his clock!” and “you’ll end up in the drink!” and “egads!”

(Also “gadzooks!”, “rats!”, and “what a way to run a railroad!”)

Because, for serious, my life is infinitely better anytime I either manage to fit them into a regular conversation, or overhear someone use them while out and about on regular business.

Please picture me wearing a really fab hat while out on said business.

419230_10152088280125179_1372221209_n (1) — Wash it with borax? Gee whiz, I’ll have to ask…

I’m pretty partial to old timey language as is, and I would really appreciate that instead of just recycling HORRIBLE FASHION FROM THE 80s and 90s, we could start using some of the awesome slang that came about during roaring twenties, or better yet, the dirty thirties.

What do you say?

I’d like to see this trend take hold like a duck to water.

(Is this too much? I’ll stop if it’s too much.)

EXCEPT FOR THE FACT THAT I CANNOT STOP.

I mean, I’m just too big a fan.

Take for instance, the “we got on like [insert verb/noun combo here]” descriptors.

Ie.) Gangbusters, house on fire, a barrel of monkeys, etc.

I mean, how can you not love these? Although I’m not even sure that any of them even remotely make sense.

Also, is a barrel of monkeys a good thing? That just sounds violent and deafening to me.

And do I even want to know the etymology behind these sayings?

Kind of yes, but mostly no.

I’ll just end up finding out that everything I’ve written about has some bloody awful origin and is completely offensive to ninety-nine per cent of the earth’s inhabitants.

On second thought, I should probably bite the bullet and make sure I am in fact riding the PC train straight to onsideville every time I break out my oldisms.

Right?

Right.

Okay, so you might have guessed it already, but I’m a little tired. The past couple of weeks have been so incredibly jam packed that I’m feeling a tad run down (aka completely exhaustified.)

I’m sitting here on our couch, wrapped in many blankets and the ends of my eyelids are starting to feel as though they’ve been weighted down by miniscule sacks filled with what I’m apt to believe is magic sleep dust.

(I was going to write flour at first, but then what the heck would flour sacks be doing balancing precariously at the ends of my eyelashes?)

I think I might just call it an early night and head upstairs to hit the hay.

Bedtime before ten o’clock on a school night?

Zounds!

But to bed I must, so zoiks and away!

It’s clear as day

Okay people.

Today I want to talk zits.

Pimples.

Acne.

THE WORKS.

Between grades seven to ten I had a pretty bad case of the pizza face (to use the most unappealing and totally grotesque descriptor that could possibly come to mind). To make matters worse, when I started grade nine, I realized that my blemishes had also begun to migrate to other areas of my body, such as my shoulders, back, and chest.

Being the tank-top connoisseur that I was, not to mention a girl already tormented with braces and glasses, this dispersion, to me, was pushing the boundary of general decency.

I mean, with how much dermatological baggage should a fourteen year old girl be saddled?

Good grief.

So I tried a number of different brands and products in a bid to rid myself from this dastardly affliction, with most of my efforts being, of course, in vein.

I spent my a large percentage of my (minimal) disposable income on topical acne gels, Biore facial strips, and medicated face and body washes just to try and keep those little (and sometimes not so little) red dots at bay.

But nothing ever really worked and I was miserable.

What little else remained of my money was spent on heavy duty foundation and thick translucent powder (powder that I used to “set” said foundation.)

[Ed. note to any teenage readers: THIS IS NEVER A GOOD THING TO DO.]

Waking up every morning and counting the number of zits on my face, hoping against hope that there would be less than the day before, I, like any good overdramatic fifteen year old, was at the point where I began to believe that this would be my life FOREVER.

That was until November of grade ten rolled around and my mother set me up with a prescription for Acutane.

Now, say what you want about this product (and I know there is a ton of legitimate negative literature out there on the subject) but for me, this medication was a godsend.

Sure, my lips were dryer than the Sahara desert the entire time I took those big white pills, but seeing how well (and how fast) my skin cleared up, I would have agreed to a lifetime of chapped smoochers in exchange for the miracle work it had performed on not only my face – but all my other “problem” areas.

Thinking back, I cannot help but smile when thinking about the summer before entering grade eleven.

I got my braces taken off, got new “cool” specs (and by cool I mean the big, black frames I still wear today. I was rocking my nerd glasses way before anyone thought to make them into a trend!), and my skin had completely cleared up.

I remember going to a party at a boy’s house (a boy that would eventually become my first boyfriend) in August and him telling me how great I looked.

I was on top of the world.

Flash forward over the past ten years, and well, during this time I have had both fantastic skin, and not so fantastic skin.

The short and simple answer as to why this disparity exists is this:

I have (and have had) fantastic skin when I have been healthy.

I had not so fantastic skin when I was sick.

Take me at my word kids: nothing mucks up your skin faster than being bulimic.

After particularly awful episodes I would break out horribly, and in awkward places at that – all along my jaw line, across my hairline, and next to my temples (just to name a few.)

And then what do you know, I was back at the drug store procuring that foundation and powder, contemplating whether or not another round of medication was worth the hassel.

In the end, I am happy to report that in its stead, I took the necessary steps to improve my health, and since this time have been back to a non-caked-on-concealer complexion.

However.

The skin on the rest of my body remains as sensitive as a sensitive thing, and seeing as though my skin is pretty much translucent and easily scarred, I have to be very careful about the kind of body washes and soaps that I use in the cleaning process, and about never buying bras that dig into my skin, and about using lightweight workout clothes.

Because if I don’t I’ll most likely get some sweet skin decoration going on – decoration that will lurk around for quite awhile, due to said aforementioned easy scarring.

But honestly, at this point in my life I don’t really care either way.

I don’t have the energy to waste on these matters.

Sure, sometimes this sensitivity grinds my gears, but when it comes down to it – a zit or two on my shoulder will never, ever be something that stops me from doing anything I actually want to do.

And why should it?

It’s funny.

I can still remember a conversation that I had with one of my best friends when we were but thirteen years old.

She asked me: “Would you rather have perfect skin, or always be skinny, for the rest of your life?”

With my body issues beating my skin issues in the race for most damaging control over my life, I easily answered “Skinny.”

I so badly wish I could go back and help that young girl know that the right answer is neither of those two options.

But the again, hey – she ended up finding her way there eventually.

Sisters are doing it for themselves

I have two sisters with whom I am desperately in love. Most of the time I miss them like a missing thing due to the fact that they both live miles and miles away and make their homes on the Canadian and American eastern seaboards.

But when we’re together it’s magic.

Which was why this past Christmas vacation was so brilliant – we had the chance to spend an extended amount of time together and really get up to some sisterly mischief.

It’s so crazy when I think about how similar we are in so many ways (our strong work ethic and passionate natures are two traits that immediately spring to mind), while at the same time being so, so different.

My older sister is the social justice champion; I am the academic drama queen; and my little sister is the business-minded chef.

And when I say that I am in awe of everything these two brilliant and beautiful women have achieved (and continue to achieve) it is no lie – these ladies are doing incredible, important, and brilliant things.

So whenever I get to witness these things in action, it pretty much blows my mind.

For instance, when we were in Halifax this past December, on Christmas Eve day I got to work in my little sister’s butcher shop and storefront – Highland Drive Storehouse: Butchery and Local Produce (she also runs a catering and cooking lesson business out of the store).

She had given all her staff the day off (what a fab boss!) and in turn, recruited myself, M, my older sister Kate, and her fiancée to help out for the day.

It’s was a pretty bonkers, but brilliant shift, as we had many people coming in to pick up their turkey orders, as well as other last minute planners who were just desperate to procure something to cook for their family and friends, having forgot to request something in advance.

In the end we made sure that no one left empty handed, and I kid you not, for the entire day I was just swelling with pride to witness (and be a part of) all of the action.

I mean first – who gets to say that their little sister owns a butcher shop.

This is pretty badass.

And then just to watch how amazing Jessi is with all of her customers; how much time and care she puts into providing a superior shopping experience – one that is equal parts positive, educative, and hilarious – whether it’s her relaxed banter with her regular shoppers (she easily recommends different cuts of meat and then offers up recipes for how to cook or prepare the dish) or the care she takes to speak with every new client who enters the store – she truly goes above and beyond to create a really fabulous atmosphere.

Not to mention the fact that as she’s doing this, she is also making her own bacon and sausages, preparing orders, writing menus for her catering jobs, and coming up with easy, but delicious ideas for upcoming cooking lessons.

What can I say folks? The girl is a champ.

A TOTAL CHAMP.

So if you’re ever in the Halifax area, head over the Hydrostones (a fab historical district of the city) and check out Highland Drive Butchery and Produce.

And when you get there, tell the beautiful proprietress that Ethel the Dean sent you.

And that she couldn’t be a prouder of her little sis.

Not even if she tried.

Phone’s ringing dude

Oomph.

I am jetlagged.

The time change and long distance travel malaise didn’t hit on the way down to Nova Scotia, but coming back to fair British Columbia it certainly has done its best to knock me off my feet.

Waking up on Wednesday morning, my head felt a little foggy, but I just chalked it up to the fact that we hadn’t fallen into bed until close to 2:30am (that day!), after, literally, traversing the whole of North America the night before.

(Well, crossing the east-west divide of the continent, at the very least.)

However, after spending the day cleaning, and running, and grocery shopping, and friend hanging-outing, I literally collapsed into sleep that night (knowing full well that my first day back at work would probably be busy as a busy thing.)

And it was.

But more than that, the next morning my head fog remained (if anything it seemed thicker than before) and all of my limbs felt weighted and stiff. Here we are a day later, and this lethargy remains, and my whole body feels slightly out of whack – almost as though a key ingredient has been overlooked when putting together the recipe for my life back here on the West Coast.

I am sure that this will fade (as most fog does) but in the mean time I am excited that it is already the weekend, and I can relax and get my wits together before tackling my first full week come Monday morning.

In even better news, my older sister is here for the weekend, and tonight we are having a sleepover (which means junk food and Kids in the Hall) and on Sunday there is a big family dinner with Mel’s (her fiancée’s) family.

The excitement kids! It’s palpable!

In the meantime, let’s check what’s frying up on the stove this Friday.

Onwards!

I hear the call.

So, after living for many moons (over two years actually) without a cell phone, I finally caved to social pressure (aka my mother’s desperate pleas) and procured a personal mobile device.

What can I say – I need to keep up with the times.

And the trends.

Plus, carrier pigeons are expensive.

What time is it?

Do you have Netflix or the internet?

Do you love a good television series?

Can you see?

Do you find yourself interested in geek-chic actors, such as Ben Whishaw, or beautiful, brilliant blondes like Romola Garai?

Do you believe that Dominic West can only really play dashing cads because, in all likelihood, he probably is a dashing cad in real life?

If you have answered YES to any of these questions, you must immediately abandon everything that you are doing and start watching The Hour at once.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iP2mIaLsquc

I just finished the second season and am so, so sad that it is done.

If you start watching let me know what you think.

Also, two words more of encouragement: DUCK. FACE.

Separation anxiety.

So I remarked briefly in my last post that Nymeria was really excited to see M and I upon our arrival home.

This was no mere exaggeration folks. Our little gal has been so over the moon to have us back, I’m starting to believe that she actually thought we were long-goners.

Never have I ever heard her purr like this – it’s like she’s got a tiny (but efficient) train operating inside of her, one that is running at all hours of the day.

Every night since we’ve arrived back she has either slept on my legs or feet (or sometimes even tummy) and she talks, talks, talks all the live-long day.

Hi mum! Hi dad! Don’t ever leave me again, okay? I’ll never scratch the carpet ever again I promise! Or at the very least I’ll try my hardest not to tear it apart! I love you! So glad you’re back!

I am actively destroyed every time I open the front door – whether it’s returning home from work, or coming back from a run, or with an armful of grocery bags.

(Literally too, due to the fact that as she weaves in and out between your legs it is very easy to be tripped up by this dance.)

An animal’s love, phew – it’ll get you.

Good thing we love her tight right back.

Sniff.

…

So there you have it my darlings.

What’s on the docket for you all this weekend?

Phone, text, or e-mail me – I’m rightfully equipped to hear about it all.

On the road, again

1. Fly from Halifax to Philadelphia. For 2.5 hours read Tempest Tost by Roberston Davies and laugh like a drain.

2. Wait in PHL for 45 min for your connecting flight to Seattle. Scarf down a salad with tuna but no dressing. Lament this dearth of dressing. Wait in line for 10 minutes to purchase peanut M&Ms and yogurt covered blueberries, but abandon both when you hear your flight’s boarding has started.

3. Fly from Philly to Seattle. Sleep restlessly for most of the six hour flight. Eat a massive cinnamon bun, a bag of Chex Mix, and a very limited 100 calorie Pepperidge Farm cookie snack pack. Read more Robertson Davies. Doze.

4. Feel like a creeper, because as you try to look out the window – to watch the beautiful night lights as you descend into Seatac – you realize that you are leaning just a little too close to the man sitting to your left.

5. Exit the plane, and head straight for the Park N’ Fly pick-up station. Embrace the cold as it hits your recycled air drained skin. Breathe deeply.

6. Board the Park N’ Fly shuttle. Bounce along the highway until you reach the parking lot. Decide who will drive the first leg of the excursion home.

7. Pay for 9 days worth of car storage.

8. Settle into the passenger seat. Tell your love that even though it’s 11:30 at night, and you have quite a ways to go just to get home, it still feels like a grand adventure. Also let him know that you will switch as soon as he wants a break.

9. Get on the I-5.

10. Relish in the late-night beauty of it all. Talk little. Feel close.

11. Encounter fog. A lot of it.

12. Pull off for gas. Despair about the fact that the closed gas station doesn’t have a bathroom. Pee in the bushes. Fear that someone is either going to come grab you, or, alternatively, take damning photos of you squatting in the bushes.

13. Get back on the freeway.

14. Start to feel drowsy. Will yourself to stay awake for the sake of your husband. Laugh a little when he tells you that he wants to switch because he too is getting tired.

15. Suggest milkshakes. They will, of course, quell hunger pains, and provide a much needed sugar rush.

16. Feel elated by how excited your husband is about the idea of milkshakes.

17. Take the first exit with fast food signs. Pull into the Wendy’s parking lot. Switch positions, and then drive into the drive-thru. Order a chocolate frosty for you, and a caramel frosty shake for your husband. Wonder what’s the difference between a frosty and frosty shake. Pay.

18. Get back on the freeway. Understand quickly that frostys were not meant to be eaten through a straw. Really flex those sucking muscles.

19. Get to the border. Literally pull up to the first (and only) agent because no one else is there. Answer three questions. Keep driving.

20. Try not to speed like a demon now that you are in your home country and so, so close to your home home.

21. Make a left, and then a right. Push the garage door opener and pull into your parking spot. Grab all your luggage and garbage and head to your front door. Wonder if the Christmas lights have been on all week. Insert your key into the door and greet your adorable cat who is prancing about your feet. Drop everything, pick her up and smother her in pats and kisses.

22. Remark that the house is freezing.

23. Ascend the stairs to your bedroom, jump into the nearest pair of pajamas. Floss and brush your teeth. Realize you left your mouth guard back at your mother’s house.

24. Wash your face.

25. Crawl into an absolutely freezing cold bed. Feel your husband’s arms around you. Tell him that your hair smells like an airplane. Feel his whole body laugh. Smile.