Life – Page 42 – Rant and Roll

A real stand up kind of gal

Hey you crazy cats!

Phew.

Let me catch my breath here.

So much has been happening on this side of the cosmic kitchen that I am having a hard time keeping my head on straight.

I mean, where exactly has October gone?

This weekend was a blur of magic and marvel – my mother in-law’s birthday, dogsitting, a fashionista charity event, a Cory Doctorow reading, runs in the rain, hang outs with friends – I am exhausted and giddy, and wistful just thinking of it all.

Meanwhile, the outside world’s bonkerdom continues apace.

Seriously, the news these days is pretty much at crisis saturation point and so every time I read the newspaper or fire up ye ole’ internets, I start to feel much the same way.

It order to keep the information-based malaise at bay, and a smile firmly etched on my face, my mother has been phoning me regularly, regaling me with all the east coast gossip I so dearly miss whilst keeping hearth and home 6,000 kilometers away on the western seaboard.

Whilst she has me on the blower, she also updates me on Halifax’s on-going mayoral race, and the continued success of this year’s dark horse (erm, dark cat) candidate – one Tuxedo Stan.

With his recent endorsement by Ellen DeGeneres, Mr. Stan’s candidacy (catdidacy?) is looking strong indeed. I don’t want to say that he’s a shoe-in, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he manages to pounce on a large percentage of the vote.

I mean, say what you want, but that cat doesn’t spin any yarns. He just plays with them.

(I promise I’m done.)

But T.S. certainly is a cutie pie. Plus he’s always, always dressed for the occasion.

Anywho, all of this activity of late – both on the phone, and off – has left me feeling pretty darn knackered.

No word of a lie, this morning when the alarm went off it took a heck of a long time for my brain shift gears from “ZZZZZZZ” to “ACHIEVER” and doubly long for my limbs to make their way out of the warm and cozy mess of blankets that M and I call a bed.

I always say that on mornings such as these, I feel as though I have to steam my eyelids open in the shower – as if the day is a secret message I was never meant to see.

Can you tell that I can get very poetic and philosophical whilst I wash my hair?

Side note: do you cats take the exact same shower every day?

I do.

Anytime my routine is mucked up it drives me absolutely batty.

As I’ve said before, showering is very, very important to me. I do some of my best thinking behind that curtain.

First – I wash my hair. Then I put in the conditioner, but don’t wash it out right away. While my hair is “conditioning” I scrub my dermis within an inch of its life.

Then I wash my face with my magical NO ACNE 4 U cleanser.

Once this is finished, I rinse the conditioner from my hair and skedaddle like a maniac. One towel for the bod, one for the head.

I like the Queen of Sheba look.

In short, I love quick, hot, organized showers.

NO MESSING AROUND ALLOWED.

Anywho, back to what I was saying before that insane sidebar – just looking into the next month, my ride on the barmy train will continue chugging along, as besides work, I have at least six more talks with the United Way, a radio gig, my regular big sisters work, a romantic cabin getaway, a visit from the pater familias, and I’m still trying to figure out if I’m going to run the Fall Classic 10k.

I’ve also been reading all of the Mordecai Richler.

I cannot stop. It’s just too good.

Oh, and the piece de resistance?

I signed up for stand-up comedy classes!

YES.

This is the most exciting thing ever.

I have wanted to try stand-up for pretty much the last bagillion or so years. Having done a ton of improv and acting in years past, I always thought of this – in the parlance of Picard and Kirk – the final frontier.

I am still too chicken to just sign-up for an amateur night cold turkey, so I figure if I take a few classes (which has a live show as our final project!) I will be much closer to racking up the required courage.

Wish me luck (or wish that I break my leg).

I will keep you posted as it goes.

But first sleep.

I have a pile of blankets with my name on it.

Smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss

* All names have been changed to protect the innocent and nerdy.

The watery moon winked overhead.

The December winds played with Samantha’s loose, brown braids. Letting out a long sigh, she watched as her warm breath hung suspended in the cool sea-salt air.

As she unlocked her front door, she traced the top of her lips, remembering the kitten’s paw touch of Dave’s hand against hers.

Her first real first date.

Idling outside of her house, they had taken off their seat belts and held hands, making silent, but short lived eye contact.

Samantha hadn’t known if she was going to throw up or start crying.

When Dave placed his arm around her shoulders, she too shifted, nestling into the smooth groove of his upper chest, stealing glances at their reflection in the rear view mirror.

Samantha liked the way the olive tones of Dave’s skin stood in contrast to her own. She had smiled when she felt him fiddle with the frayed pompom on the top of her toque.

Unfortunately, in an awkward attempt to turn up the heat, but not dislodge Samantha from her nook, Dave accidentally poked Samantha in the eye, hard, and with his elbow.

“Owww…” moaned Samantha.

Dave had shot ramrod in his seat, appalled.

“I’m sorry! Samantha, are you okay? I’m – are you okay?” Inching to the edge of his seat, Dave had paused, and then gingerly, reached out to try and stroke the right side of her cheek.

Samantha, trying her best to smile it off, wanted desperately to pretend that she wasn’t hurt, but instinctively shied away from his touch.

Slowly, slowly, she opened her eye.

“It’s…it’s fine. Really.” She said.

Dave shifted a little closer. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Samantha wiped away at her tears. “Yes.”

“I cannot believe I did that.” Dave rubbed at his furrow brow.

Samantha let out a timid laugh. “It’s totally okay.”

Turning to face her, this time Dave did place his hand on her cheek.

Samantha felt herself turn to stone.

For a second their faces seemed to hover next to one another.

Samantha’s cheeks burned hot, two glowing coals in the light of the dash.

Her heartbeat in her ears.

Dave inched closer.

Her breath paused, lips parted.

And then, as the car stalled, their teeth clattered together – a crack like that of a stack of pencils knocked onto a freshly swept floor.

Panicked, Samantha had quickly tried to kiss him again, but only got the peak of his nose and then the side of his chin.

“I’m sorry! I’m not very good at – ” She blurted out.

But before she could finish, Dave had placed his soft, shaking hands on either side of her face and pulling her closer, pressed his lips against hers.

Samantha pressed back.

Thinking back, as she tiptoed to the top of her staircase, Samantha realized with just a twinge of disappointment that she had completely forgotten to close her eyes.

Next time, she thought to herself.

Next time.

Beautiful British Columbia: Welcome to Octogust

My favourite term for an extended summer is Babye Leto (Бабье лето) – a Russian turn of phrase that translates to “Old Ladies’ Summer.”

How amazing is that? It just conjures up the bloody best imagery.

I can see it now: a gaggle of giggling grandmas, sunning their legs, sipping mimosas, adjusting their sunglasses, remarking every so often on the heat, or, you know, KIDS THESE DAYS.

And believe me when I say that out here on the West Coast of Canada the elderly babushkas have been having an absolute field day weather-wise.

Today for instance, the mercury is hovering around 20 degrees centigrade, the sky burns a deep, cerulean blue, and the trees either glow soft reds, oranges, and yellows or simmer deep purples, greens, and browns.

It is autumn perfection.

M and I have been bopping about the lower mainland, spending as much time outside as possible – going for runs, playing tennis (in shorts and t-shirts!), taking long walks down by the water, and venturing out for late night dinner dates.

Oooer.

I cannot think of a better way of spending a long weekend.

Here are some snaps from our adventures of late:

Into the woods.

Gifts.

Red head.

Date.

Down by the bay.

Sun cat.

Meditation.

I hope you all had a stunningly beautiful weekend, filled with sun, love, and laughter.

And if not, I recommend moving to BC.

It’s pretty rad round these parts.

And pretty pretty too.

Don’t forget. I’ve got bionic hearing.

Hey you beauty cats.

Well, another day, another dollar. I’m not sure about you folks, but I am absolutely knackered. Thank goodness it’s Friday. And a long weekend at that!

It’s Thanksgiving up here in the Great White North (GWN) which means that over the next three days there will be an extra serving of turkey on dinner plates across the country.

For us (quasi) veggiephiles, Thanksgiving is the perfect excuse to go double duty (or just completely bonkers) on the multitude of multi-coloured tubers and gourmet gourds, so readily available around this time of year.

And goodness knows I plan on eating myself into a sweet potato stupor come Monday, mid-afternoon. Airing on the side of caution, if one of you could check in sometime Tuesday morning just to make sure my glucose levels have returned to normal I would really, really appreciate it.

(If I don’t respond, please contact that appropriate authorities.)

One million thank yous!

In the meantime, let’s get started on this Friday’s Fry-Up.

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Guess what I did?

Check out MAH NEW HAIR!

As a treat to myself for my success at the half-marathon last weekend I got it cut and dyed professionally.

Professionally! For the first time ever!

I’VE MADE IT TO THE BIG TIME MOM!

Meep.

As you may remember from my post last March, all previous attempts at colouring my hair had been self-initiated (with varying levels of success.)

The lows were, erm, very low.

So, I vowed I would never again colour it again with dye from box. I’ve done my time wearing Dexter gloves and ruining M’s t-shirts.

And may I just say, I LOVE the results.

I’m digging the bangs, I’m digging the colour, and my ends no longer look like I stuck my finger into wall socket.

I also totally cracked up when why stylist told me, “You look like Jesse Pinkman’s dead girlfriend.”

Oh I certainly do.

Only, you know, less addicted to heroin and making much better life choices.

I am, after all, a role model.

Next!

Weirdos, weirdos, everywhere

I recently started watching Freaks and Geeks on Netflix. It’s pretty freaking awesome (no pun intended.)

Bill is hands down my favourite character. I just know that if I was fourteen years old I would be head over heels in love with him.

Check out his fancy moves:

I have to say I like the “Geeks” story-line much more than I like that of the “Freaks”. There is only so much James Franco I can take. And I just not that big a fan of Lindsay and her freak-chic slumming ways.

Is that harsh?

Eh, whatevs.

On the other hand, the trio of Neal, Bill, and Sam is just perfection.

I certainly wasn’t the coolest ice cube in the high school tray (my penchant for the musings of long dead Russian communists and nihilistic German misogynists didn’t exactly ingratiate me to a ton of suitors) but even though I wasn’t exactly on the same level as these three nerdos, I sympathize with them entirely.

The brilliance of their friendship warms my heart like mad.

It almost, almost makes me yearn for the days of braces and topical acne gel.

ALMOST.

Onwards!

Bradbury, you evil genius

Given that I’ve been keeping up an intense reading regimen, I’ve been reading a ton of Bradbury.

Just today I finished The Illustrated Man.

All I can say is: HOW CAN SOMEONE WRITE SO WELL ALL THE TIME!? HOW?

How could this man describe things in such unimaginably beautiful ways – describe all things in such heart-stoppingly fantastical language – in a manner that never, ever gets tiring.

In a manner that is never, ever trite.

It is never too flowery, it is never overkill.

It is always perfect.

His words tie my stomach in knots, they bring tears to my eyes; they make me think. They make me fear. They make me nervous for – I don’t know what.

They make me question my life, question my writing; they make me want to be a better writer.

They make me want.

“They moved down the echoing throats of the castle, level after dim green level, down into mustiness and decay and spiders and dreamlike webbing.”

And so I dream.

I dream of this webbing.

I dream of the stars.

I just felt like running (a half marathon)

Yesterday I ran the best race of my life.

I took part in the Surrey International Music (Half) Marathon and finished the course in 1:32:40. Not quite the sub-1:30 I had originally hoped for, but a solid six minutes off of my previous fastest time.

To say that I was (and continue to be) super stoked is an understatement.

This is something that I am really, very proud of. I trained hard, rested up, ate well (look Ma, no junk food!), and watched Chariots of Fire the night before running (CLASSIC).

And when the time came to kick some ass?

I KICKED IT HARD.

Oh and even crazier still?

I placed third overall out of all the women competitors and thirty-first overall. Like, out of all the runners!

How nuts is that? I mean, we’re talking mixed, salted, 60% peanuts here.

NUTS.

On Saturday, M and I walked down to the River Market here in New West for a sunshine filled brunch, and also so I could pick up the foods I like to eat the night before I run (butternut squash ravioli with pesto, rye bread, and dessert – vanilla ice cream.)

Later that night, as previously mentioned, Mr. M and I snuggled up in bed and watched Chariots of Fire for some last-minute inspiration.

It’s ridiculous how much I love that movie.

(I also have mad love for – and a bit of a crush on – the character of Lord Lindsay. He’s just such a foppish privileged prick. The scene where he practices hurdling over the hurdles with the champagne? Love it.)

This morning I woke up to an absolutely stunning sunrise.

There is something insanely calming about eating a banana with peanut butter, sipping on a steaming hot mug of coffee, next to your little cat, staring at a creamsicle coloured sky.

Soon enough, it was time to wake up the mister, and get our butts out the door.

We skytrained it to Surrey Central and upon our arrival took in more of the sunrise inside SFU’s main atrium. There were a ton of runners about, stretching, gabbing, just generally getting their game faces on.

You could definitely feel that there was a buzz in the air.

As the minutes ticked down to the start of the race, we wandered over to the start line chatting with a few of the participants, taking some photos, including this one of my race day nails:

Is it weird that I am almost as proud of these as I am the outcome of the race? Because goodness knows I have a hard time painting my nails as it is, and I just love this combination of colours.

With about eight minutes to go, M bid me farewell, wanting to get to a different part of the course in order to take photos and cheer me on.

When the gun went off, I was very close to the start of pack. I wanted to make sure that I didn’t go out too fast, but I was feeling really good so I figured I would push myself from the start, focusing on keeping my strides long and breathing consistent.

There weren’t a ton of spectators lining the route, but M met me at the 7km and 18km markers; my brilliant and beautiful friend Stamata met me at two different stops along the way (the 8km and 10km I believe?), dressed in her amazing-as-all-heck pajama pants, hoodie and chucks (!); and M’s parents met just before the 12km mark.

I cannot begin to say enough about how important it is to have people cheer for you along the course. It really, REALLY pumps you up.

When my hips started to feel it like mad (sometime around the 19km mark) it was the support of the crowd that really helped me solider on.

Speaking of that blasted 19th kilomenter, I finally experienced something similar to what I imagine “the wall” is like (let’s call it a “mini wall”).

It was brutal!

The only thing that kept me going was the thought of just getting myself to the 20km marker. That and a TON of self-talk.

(I should also take this opportunity to stress the importance of shortening your stride during these testing episodes.)

On the whole I knew that I was running a good race, but didn’t know exactly where I was in terms of positioning, especially in relation to other women out on the course.

Having started so close to the start line when the gun went off I knew that my chip time would be very, very close to whatever was going to be displayed on the clock at the finish line.

As I neared the end of the race, I saw 2:01 on the clock (the marathoners having begun thirty minutes before us halfers) and I just gave it everything I had – pumping my arms, lengthening my stride –and WHOOSH!

Before you could say tight hip joints – it was over.

I heard the emcee announce my name, and something about me being the third woman to cross the finish line.

Third!

I was so shocked and exhausted, that when the woman handed me my medal, I automatically went to shake her hand, and she was all “What the eff?”

So I kind of just shook her hand without her shaking mine back.

AWKWARD.

But oh, how I laughed and laughed.

And then I celebrated! I drank some sweet, sweet chocolate milk, got a free massage at the athletes expo, listened to some of the entertainment, and stretched.

Speaking of which, I could probably stand to stretch some more. I’m not going to lie – I’m a little more than stiff.

So there you have it friends – another life milestone achieved.

Until the next time!