Tag: Life

Hey, who’s gonna sit by you?

So like ten gagillion other individuals out there, I take public transit to and from work every day.

I may sometimes begrudge this fact (say, on an extraordinarily rainy morning, or anytime some tactless fool lets out an absolute whopper of a fart), but for the most part, I am a-okay with my status as slave to the skytrain gods.

I like to sum it up thusly: I love riding the metro ninety-eight per cent of the time. The other two per cent I’m all THE SKYTRAIN IS BROKE I BLOODY-WELL HATE THIS NONSENSE AND ALL YOU BUMS DULLARDS AND HACKS WHO TAKE MY SEATS AND TALK TOO LOUDLY ON YOUR MOBILE PHONES CAN GET THE HECK OUT.

Ahem.

So, in this vein, (and as a somewhat sequel – or is it prequel? Ridley Scott Promethequel?) to my “Things I think about when I run”), may I present to you – dear readers:

Things I think about when I ride Skytrain.

Pleeeeeeaaaaase let me get a seat.

[Doors open.]

Must…mask…desperation…with…long…strides…and…steely…determination…

SUCCESS!!! Muahahahaha. I AM SITTING! Which means I am soon to be READING!

I get so much reading done on skytrain. I should just ride skytrain all day long.

Reeeeeaaaaaad. Readreadreadreadreadreadreadreadreadreadread.

Shit, we’re here all ready?

Nope. Keep reading.

[Stops.]

[Thinks.]

Ewan MacGregor is SO hot.

What am I going to eat for lunch today?

I should really start eating breakfast.

I like that guy’s suit.

Oh no! Who is listening to Last Christmas? It’ll be in my head for years!! ESCAPE!!!

I probably won’t ever stop pronouncing escape “ess-cap-eh”.

P. Sherman, 42 Wallaby Way, Sydney.

I should re-watch that film. It’s so good.

But seriously though, Last Christmas has got to be an organ donor’s absolute worst nightmare.

Ack. I almost drooled.

I’m only twenty-seven and I drool A LOT. Is this like a thing? Should I get myself checked out? How would one test for drool?

Look at that sunrise. It’s like the most beautiful bruise in the world.

I would know. I get so many bruises I’m like a lava-lamp in human form.

Too weird.

Even for you Ethel.

Eh. Whatevs.

I want to go for a run.

I want to bake mint chocolate chip brownies.

I want to eat mint chocolate chip brownies.

I want that two hundred and fifty dollar Club Monaco dress.

I want to make out with Ewan MacGregor.

I want to watch Daniel Craig make out with Javier Bardem.

You can’t always get what you want Ethel.

But if you try sometime, you just might find – you get what you need.

OH YEAH.

Man, that is such a good song.

Hmmmm. That teenager has been making eyes at me for the last twenty minutes. Better get ready to let him down easy.

Also, the guy sitting next to me has his legs spread so wide you would think his crotch is on fire. I mean, could he take up any more of my space?

[Sniffing.]

Hello cologne!

(We’re not talking the city in Germany here folks…)

Yup.

I am definitely the funniest person in the world.

READ.

Take a deep breath, and jump right in

Home again home again, jiggity jog.

Our short sojourn up the BC mainland has come to an end – much too quickly (as always), but we have many hilarious and brilliant memories to keep us content and warm until our next hop to paradise.

The mercury has dipped like a salsa chip here on the west coast – if I had to wager a guess, I would say that it dropped at least ten degrees Celsius over the past few days, from sitting comfortably in the low-teens on Thursday, to flirting with just above zero this morning.

Something shifts when the weather changes.

Just this morning, out on my run, my interactions with nature seemed both comforting and slightly stilted.

Like my environs were a dense wool sweater – protection against the frost – that I hadn’t yet grown into.

I swear I could hear ever rustle of every leaf, every gust of wind winding its way through every branch of every tree. The piercing call of a steller’s jay, the haunting call of a loon, the unsure bark of a dog – everything somehow magnified and yet muffled, overwhelming but also out of reach.

The rhythm of my breathing, a friendly, reassuring constant, despite the slight discomfort in my little lungs, adjusting to those first big gulps of frigid air.

My favourite route – high hills, blind curves, douglas firs. The sea salt air tickling my (red, running) nose.

Sometimes I run so fast I cry; tears streaming down my face, propelled by the wind, the cold, my speed.

Sometimes I don’t want to blink.

Because if I blink, it will be gone.

Magic:

Ferry.

Morning sunshine.

Afternoon fade.

Work.

Into the woods.

Games.

Dinners.

Music.

Fires.

Fog.

…

So there you have it beauty cats.

Memories, for another day.

We are now back at home, hunkered down. The fire roars and the fat rain drops coat the world a cool, slick, black.

What did you all get up to for the weekend?

Hang up those wet coats, and rest awhile.

Let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic

Short post tonight beauty cats.

I am knackered, and as much as I want to writewritewrite, I just don’t have any energy to put together something grand.

Alas, thus goes everyone to the world but I, and I am sunburnt.

I do, however, have one thing to say.

I have written in the past about the amount of time I have spent in the United States, and how these trips have been for a myriad of reasons – be it sports, school, pleasure, or what have you.

For instance –

I got engaged in Hawaii.

My older sister lives in New York.

My dad lives in Palm Dessert six months of the year.

Seattle always feels a little bit like my home away from home. (A city from another missy?)

In short, I have never had a bad experience in any of the places I have visited.

So while I have no qualms at all about the outcome of last night’s election, (I am in fact elated) I would also be lying if I said that I didn’t find the political and ideological divide that currently exists in America to be incredibly disconcerting.

Versipellusfenris over at Unnecessary Words wrote a great op-ed today, reflecting on this (growing) disconnect and the future (but also the past) of the Republican Party. I urge you to read it, as it is excellent food for thought.

In this vein, I want to leave you all with this quote from Jack Layton, the late leader of the Federal New Democratic Party (and official leader of the opposition) here in Canada.

I feel as though his words are very fitting for not only Americans, but indeed all those struggling to find common ground in our world today.

So how about it?

Let’s change the world.

All of us.

Standing in the shower thinking

Hey you beauty cats.

After a weekend of solid rain this is what we have been gifted on this otherwise ordinary Monday:

Everywhere the trees look like they are fire-kissed, fresh out of the autumn oven.

Leaves litter sidewalks and parking lots, an electric collage of reds, oranges, yellows, purples, and greens.

They are maple shaped, multi-coloured cobblestones that crunch (not clatter) underfoot.

For myself, after two days in a row of running in an absolute deluge I am fit to bursting with excitement to get outside and stretch my legs in the sunshine.

While there is always something to be said for running in the rain, I made the absolute worst mistake on Sunday afternoon.

I wore WAY too many pieces of clothing.

To make matters worse, I not only managed to cook myself alive, but did so despite running in what was, for all intents and purposes, a gigantic, omnipresent shower stall.

(With the water set to FULL BLAST.)

Not even an actual, real-live ice cold shower post-run could sufficiently bring down my core temperature, and for a good portion of the afternoon afterwards I was plagued by residual (and random) heat attacks.

Lest it need repeating – shedding clothing (at the drop of a hat) in public is not the defining character trait I aim to cultivate.

On the bright side, at least I will be a seasoned veteran of these things by the time menopause rolls around.

Little victories.

So how, exactly, did I end up dressed for Siberia (despite encountering Seattle), sweating my little face off?

I made the mistake of assuming that the massive fog bank that had rolled in that morning would be a pretty good indicator of what was happening outside temperature-wise, and as such, was duped into thinking that winter wear was a must.

What can I say? I see fog, I think freezing.

Boy was I wrong.

But as they say, live and learn!

Live and learn.

I’m actually glad I’m making these mistakes now, and not come the 18th – as a hardcore over-heat on race day is pretty much my worst nightmare ever (and definitely much worse than going into a run under-dressed, because when that happens at the very least you can just run faster to warm yourself up.)

Because –

Dudes, I am so excited to run in this race.

MEEP.

First, there is something so delicious knowing that it is only ten kilometers long.

The last three competitions I’ve entered have all been half-marathons (where ten km doesn’t even count for the half-way mark) so I am practically giddy knowing that once I reach the 7km sign I am pretty much at home plate.

And while I do, of course, hope that the rains stay away, I can’t help but wish that come race-day, when the gun goes off, the temperature is on the colder side.

Just enough so that I can wear my sweet, sweet running pants (the ones that keep my legs feeling limber and lithesome, and that trick my limbs into thinking I have swaddled them in feathers and fleece).

(Plus, being the good Canadian girl that I am, I never give up the chance to wear a sweet toque.)

Second, my amazing and hilarious friend Alannah is also racing and THIS WOMAN IS SO FUNNY I HAVE ABS BECAUSE OF HER.

I can only imagine the post-run hijinks that will ensue.

And finally, well, I seem to be on some kind of perpetual runner’s high (hot flashes be damned) and I’m just stoked about competing on a new course, with new people, in a new season.

Variety and spice, and all that, right?

What about you folks?

Do you prefer to run in the heat or cold? And what pieces of clothing make braving the elements just that little bit easier?

You can tell me all about it, once I get out of the shower.

The sky’s the limit

Hey chickadees.

I cannot believe that it is already Friday. The mind boggles.

I took this snap of the sunrise yesterday morning:

I seem to have developed a rather large obsession with the sky, in all of its variations, which has manifested itself in an insatiable need to take dozens and dozens of photos of everything from mid-day cloud cover, to startlingly brilliant sunsets.

But in all honesty, my favourite will always be the sorbet coloured striations that divide up the early morning, and patch together the early evening skies.

Always.

Fry-Up Time!

Tom Hanks.

So I watched Sleepless in Seattle for the first time the other night and I have to say it wasn’t half bad.

Despite never really warming to Meg Ryan, I’ve always loved Tom Hanks – in particular 1980s/1990s Tom Hanks.

Sure, I haven’t been that a big fan of his work post-Y2K scare, but nothing will ever take away from the majesty of his early stuff.

(Except of course, for Joe vs. the Volcano. What broke acip trip was responsible for that hot mess?)

Erm, right. So what I’m trying to say here is that while I don’t go to see any of his newer stuff, I certainly do love to dip my toes in his more seasoned pool of material.

For instance, I always, always laugh my face off while watching The Burbs. Yes, I understand that this movie is completely daft and terrible, but nothing will ever stop me from falling over during the scene when the weirdo neighbours drive their garbage to the bottom of the driveway and anytime Mr. Hanks goes absolutely bonkers.

(Which is pretty much the entire film. See the below video for details.)

I will never stop laughing at pretty much every scene in Splash, I LOVE That Thing you Do (and still know every single word to that song), and A League of Their Own is, well, in a league of its own.

Remember kids: Avoid the clap.

It’s sound advice!

Anyways, I was thinking about ole’ Tom as the end credits to Sleepless were rolling, and I was trying to figure out what it is about this actor that I like so much.

M put forward the hypothesis that so many women (and dudes too) love Tom Hanks because he’s a normal human being. He’s not stereotypically “hot”; he’s not ripped, or suave, or an Adonis in human form.

He’s attainable.

Women (and men) can actually see themselves with him.

Men (and women) can see themselves being friends with him.

While I’ve never thought about Mr. Hanks this way, I can see his point.

However in my case, what really does it for me, is the fact that Tom is the absolute master of the hilarious angry yell.

Even when he’s pissed off, he’s bloody entertaining as heck. Seriously, check it out:

Ohhhhh, I die.

Next!

Elevated discourse.

So it’s no big surprise around here that I am massively in love with my cat and will pretty much do anything for her because of how nuts I am about her.

However, of late I’ve really started to notice just how barmy I sound when I talk to her.

(And just how barmy I sound even typing out those words.)

But it’s true. I’ll be walking around my house, jabbering on like a monkey in a tree, regaling Nymeria with details of my day, when I’ll just start telling her over and over again how beautiful she is.

Eventually I’ll transition to complimenting her on how good of a job she is doing of cleaning her paws, how awesome that last yawn of hers was, or how impressed I am that she jumped up on the windowsill with such grace and agility.

Sometimes I’ll just pick her up and do nothing save mutter “beauty cat” over and over and over again. (Sometimes for variation, I’ll make those words into some sort of three syllable nursery song.)

I’m seriously waiting for the day when she’ll turn, look at me and say, “Look lady, is it possible for you to stop talking to me like I’m some kind of simpleton?”

But until that day…

Ten kilometers go!

So I made the executive decision to sign up for the Fall Classic 10k race.

It’s on November 19th, so it’s bound to be raining, and freezing – but I think I have managed to coerce a number of my amazing pals to also run, so I am really looking forward to a massive post-race hang-out fest.

(Hopefully somewhere warm, and dry, where people won’t be turned off by our non-stop laughter.)

When I signed up to race, I had to enter my estimated finish time, as the two individuals with the closest guesses will win a New Balance prize pack.

I submitted a conservative forty-two minutes, but I’m hoping to run it faster than that. However, I don’t know how the rain or cold will affect my race, so I figured I would rather be safe than sorry.

My comedic genius of a friend Alannah just entered: I’m done when I’m done.

Brilliant.

Also, I think she may have made herself an automatic shoe-in for the prize!

Humour and brains, folks.

Humour and brains.

(If I was a zombie, this is what I would put as my “ideal match” in the zombie classified ads.

…

So that’s all she wrote folks.

A very merry weekend to all of you fab chaps!

I hope it’s absolutely smashing.