Life – Page 40 – Rant and Roll

My Christmas wish(es)

So.

First things first.

Look what happened this morning!

Talk about magic.

Now, on to the important stuff.

The brilliant Ms. J from Ambling and Rambling (the big sister blog to ye olde Rant and Roll) has asked me to pen my 2012 Christmas wishes, as, interestingly enough, one of her Christmas wishes.

How very meta.

So it’s got me thinking (literally, I’ve put on my pondering cap and everything) as to what is it that I want most, for not necessarily myself, but for the entire world as we head into the holidays and New Year.

So let’s just dive right in, shall we?

It’s going to be a doozy.

First, I wish that a fitting punishment be doled out to all these offenders listed below:

– escalator standers

– sidewalk shufflers

– gym grunters

– movie talkers

– chair kickers

– mouth breathers

– staff meeting monologuers

– perpetual cell phone checkers

– non-signalling drivers

– mansplainers

ESPECIALLY MANSPLAINERS.

They are the absolute worst.

Don’t know a mansplainer?

They are those dudes who, because they’re a dude, like to corner women at parties, or bars, or their offices, or the bus stop, and explain to them what it’s like to be a woman, and what, as a woman, they should be doing with their life.

As a woman.

Yeah.

My reaction to this phenomenon is always the same:

THANKS TIPS BUT I’M DOING JUST FINE.

Yeesh.

As punishment, these individuals will have to complete a minimum sentence of twenty years of hard labour, to be served on Baffin Island, carrying rocks from one coastline to the other.

And back again.

However, in a bid to seem lenient, it will be their choice as to whether the rocks are carried North-South or East-West .

(I want to see fair, after all.)

Next!

My second wish is that anyone thinking about getting a pet next year, first looks at adoption options, before purchasing their little one.

There are so just many animals out there that need our help. And if you don’t believe me, just watch that awful Sarah McLachlan SPCA commercial.

(You know, the one that destroys viewers with all those clips of abused and sick puppies and kittens.)

ACK.

I get choked up just thinking about it.

(Seriously, if your heart doesn’t break into ten thousand pieces by the 2.7 second mark of that ad, congratulations, you are officially a psychopath.)

Anyways, what I’m trying to say here is that it would make such a difference if more people looked into their local shelters before buying, because there are so many awesome little gals and guys currently available for adoption who need a warm and loving place to call home.

It was actually at our neighbourhood SPCA that we found Ms. Nymeria, and as you may have guessed, we couldn’t (and wouldn’t want to) imagine our life now without her.

(Even when she’s limbering up her killing paw.)

Phew. Where did all this rain falling on my face come from?

Onwards!

Third on the docket is my wish that Hot Chip returns to Vancouver ASAP, so that I can once again dance my mad face off to them in concert.

(HOW SELFISH CAN I GET, RIGHT?)

But seriously, looking back on the past three hundred and fifty-odd days, this concert was a major musical highlight (in a year already defined by many, many boughts of tonal awesomeness.)

So Alexis Taylor, et. al., – I implore you. Get your groovetastic selves back to Vancity, and STAT.

Over, and over, and over, again.

Side note: I kind of feel like I’m writing a Friday Fry-up here. But on a Wednesday. MIND BLOWN.

Finally, my Christmas wish (my real one) is for the whole world to just take a moment, and CHILL OUT.

Just stop.

Stop fighting.

Stop shooting.

Stop bombing.

Stop spending.

Stop talktalktalking.

Instead –

Start listening.

Start learning.

Start dialogue.

Start change.

Make change.

Make time.

Make beauty.

See beauty.

Love.

See love.

Be love.

Reflect.

Revise.

Breathe.

Believe.

Take one moment, and believe.

Because I believe our world can be better – little by little, person by person.

I believe we can make it better.

And so that is my wish.

I wish for all others to believe.

Dressed in holiday style

Hi Chickadees,

T’is the last week before the lovely Mr. M and I begin our Christmas hols in earnest. I am so very ready to hang up my hat and to celebrate the end of 2012 in style.

My husband has been sleeping on average three hours a night, and working eighteen hours a day, so I can only imagine how ready he is for a vacation.

I am also trying to figure out how much I can possibly stuff in my carry-on suitcase, because the last thing that I want to do when flying clear across this massive country is check my luggage, as there are just too many ways for it to be lost betwixt here and YHZ.

Canada is great for many things (ex. maple syrup, universal healthcare, Rick Mercer), however there are times when I think living someplace – Switzerland, say – would be so much easier, particularly whilst making travel plans.

See also: cheese and chocolate selection, tennis players, and bank accounts.

This weekend was a mixed bag of Bollywood comedies, cookie making madness, freezing runs, brief snowfalls, open mics, and new episodes of The Hour on Netflix.

Seriously dudes, if you’re not watching this show START NOW.

It’s some of the best television I’ve seen in quite some time.

In the interim, here are some snaps from life here in the madhouse:

Cookie monsters.

IMG_2693 - Copy — Getting ready to rumble.

And then I was all - — And then I was all –

IMG_2706 - Copy — Pretty much all of these have been eaten.

Early morning beauty.

Bookshelf love.

IMG_2711 - Copy — This is what happiness reads like.

Fire cat.

IMG_2709 - Copy — Wrapping is hard work.

Tonight we are off to deck the halls (with boughs of holly) at M’s parents house, and trim their tree with happiness and care.

(Although when I asked him what he was most excited to put on the tree, the madman just kept repeating “turkey.” We shall see how well that turns out. Also, re-read the sentence about him being massively sleep deprived.)

Happy Monday you beauty cats!

May it be oh so merry and bright.

Understanding the order of things

I, like most people, have some pretty weird day-to-day habits (that may or may not border on compulsions.)

Nothing too severe or debilitating of course – just silly things that sometimes throw a crank in my style, or cause me to write using awkwardly mixed metaphors.

For instance –

I cannot abide nails longer then the ends of my fingers. Even if they come close, I have to cut them down.

When I played piano, I could never start to practice if I hadn’t brushed my teeth.

I’ve written before about how I have to take the same shower every time I step into the bath. At night, I floss, then brush, then wash my face, then moisturize, then put in my mouth guard.

I also have routines for cleaning the bathroom, folding laundry, and making the bed.

I “chew” hot drinks to cool them down.

I had to cut and re-paint my nails to keep from going mad.

There are others, I’m sure, but these are the ones that immediately spring to mind when I think about the routines I employ within my life.

They are processes that make me happy, and that help order and becalm my days (and my nights.)

But!

You’ll never catch me trying to label them.

I just find that too many people (especially of late) like think it’s cool to claim they suffer from some kind of behavioral disorder or condition.

Words like ADHD or OCD are thrown around like baseballs or chakrams.

(Side note: I totally wish that I had a chakram.)

(OKAY FINE – I totally just wanted to use the word chakram.)

(Chakram.)

Enough!

For example, how many times have you ever heard someone say an iteration of the following:

“ZOMG. I’m so ADD!”

“That’s just part of my OCD!”

Or what have you.

I mean, I really wish these people understood that these disorders aren’t sweaters one can casually model one day and then promptly shove to the back of their closets for the next six months.

These are legitimate conditions from which people suffer, and treating them like they’re accessories is a pretty solid way of stripping individuals – who actually spend their lives working through their symptoms (and as such, their consequences) – of the legitimacy they deserve.

And I understand that it’s hard, in particular when 1.) the individual doing the appropriation are likely doing so without malicious intent and therefore don’t fully recognize why what they’re doing could be harmful, because 2.) our society is pretty crap at educating people about these conditions (or really any illness in general.)

I mean, I’d wager a bet that if you typed in “why do I like to wash my hands?” into Google, you’d probably get a giant red banner screaming:

CONGRATULATIONS YOU ARE OUR 1,000,000 VISITOR TO HAVE OCD. CLICK HERE TO CLAIM YOUR PRIZE.

The second search result would most likely be: BECAUSE YOU HAVE CANCER.

(Off topic, but never, ever use the internet as a tool for diagnosis. Stick to cat videos and ermagherd.)

Anywho, what I’m trying to say here is that this lack of knowledge and discussion hurts everybody, and sometimes making silly little statements about our silly little lives can (unwittingly) hurts others.

And goodness knows I’m by no means a perfect example of this – this awareness is something I work on every day.

However, I sure am I’m hoping that one day it will become routine.

Love is all around me

Hi kitty cats!

My lovely man snapped this bonkers photo of me late Saturday night (actually now that I think about it, it was more like early Sunday morning) after returning home from two shindigs with our lovely friends.

I shouted down from upstairs that I needed him to take a photo of my skirt and as I raced downstairs this is what happened:

I kind of love it.

Almost as much as I love this skirt.

Either way, ho hum, pigs bum.

And elsewhere in the cosmic kitchen –

Kitten love.

Fondue festivities.

All the noms were enjoyed in this photo. Oh yes.

Also, in cool news on the comedy front, I was invited to perform at an open mic in Surrey on Sunday night (and I did it! HUZZAH!)

This turned out to be excellent fun times. I brought a rad posse of bad-ass friends to keep me company, as I was a little nervous about being the only girl comic there – as I imagine this position to be one with some inherent loneliness.

I can only imagine how nuts it would have been had I showed up and just proceeded to read some Brothers Karamazov while waiting to do my set.

Actually, I kind of want to do that next time just to see the reaction.

Good grief.

I am also going to be performing at a Pro-Am show on December 20th.

Meep.

So things are happening! Funny things are happening!

In the meantime, I am actually dead alive on my feet after a weekend of madcappery and brilliance.

On Friday night I met up with a fab friend for a post-work drink, and goodness gracious was that ever a laugh and a half.

Seriously dudes, when I say that all the laughs were belong to us, THIS IS NO JOKE.

We also might be clinically insane.

As I rode skytrain home I kept trying to read my book but couldn’t because I just kept giggling like a bloody loon. People were looking at me like I was absolutely mad.

(Not a heck of a lot different from my everyday experience, but hey, at least I’m always enjoying myself, right?)

When I got home M had prepared for us an amazing fondue feast and we gorged ourselves on gruyere before retiring to our newly transformed Christmas den (aka living room) to watch Love Actually and drink scotch (him) and tea (me.)

Don’t think I’ll ever be able to do the scotch thing, but it seems as though Mr. M is turning into el suavo extraordinaire.

Such a total, total, stud.

The rest of the weekend was a whirlwind of parties, runs, cleaning sprees, gift shopping, and catch-up brunches (are there any other kind?)

Goodness I hope not.

What did you all get up to this weekend?

I want to hear all about it.

(And that’s no joke.)

These beautiful words

I am beginning to think that I am the only one alive who still writes in cursive.

Talk about your dying art.

And it makes me sad.

You can wax poetic about the information age all you want, but the fact of the matter is so many individuals (of all ages) just cannot hand-write – either for the life of them, or, well, because they just don’t know how.

(I won’t even get into what this means for spelling and grammar because that is a chestnut for another fire, er – time.)

I can remember being a little girl and wanting so badly to learn how to write in cursive.

As a kid, I was always on the move, and when I wasn’t practicing my times tables in the car on the way to piano – no joke, I can remember reciting my sevens over and over again while trying to memorize all of my scales and arpeggios – I was badgering my mother to teach me how to make my g’s look just like hers.

(My mom makes great, GREAT g’s.)

I finally wore her down and she bought me a booklet that taught me the letters, and gave me the means to practice them over, and over, and over again.

I pretty sure I finished all the worksheets in the space of a week, because once I began to get a feel for the English cursive alphabet, I was hooked.

It was like graphology crack, only for an eight year old.

(Graphology Flintstones crack?)

I loved the beautiful lines, and the dramatic loops; the way my letters ran together, and how the ink didn’t.

Because I was also a dancer, I imagined my words to be a series of steps, intricate and dazzling, but outwardly effortless.

Hand writing always made me feel so very posh. Like I somehow wrote myself into a royal lineage every time I signed my name, or marked down the date at the top of my in-class quizzes and essays.

As I grew up, I could never understand how my classmates steadfastly clung to their printing, unwilling to hand-write at any cost.

It seemed archaic.

And wrong.

I was astounded to find out at university that fellow students would actually print during midterms and finals.

Didn’t that take forever? Wouldn’t that cramp your hand twice as fast?

Why oh why would anyone forsake the promised script? Who were these non-disciples of the cursive way?

The job I had whilst in grad school required me to write a final exam (very top secret stuff here folks) and afterwards my examiner approached me to tell me that out of all forty candidates, I had been the only one to hand-write my answers.

I remain to this day, shocked, appalled, and just a little bit smug.

(Just kidding. I remain only two of those things.)

In terms of my relationship with writing these days, well, my favourite letters remain ‘r’ and ‘m’ – I like the way they feel in my hand and the way they glide away from my pen.

I love writing cards for loved ones, signing my name in wedding guest books, and filling out comment cards at conferences.

I like to think that I leave a little piece of myself every time I write, whenever I write.

And I look forward to being an old woman, sitting at her desk.

Smiling, I will put pen to paper.

And I will remember.