M and I have just arrived home from four days spent out and about, bopping along the BC coast.
Here are some snaps from our travels:
Sunflowers.
Woods.
Ferry.
Docks.
Sunset.
Pond.
JUMP.
So there you have it kidlets, a brief look at the last four days spent running, hiking, boating, cooking, and building (woodsheds!).
I got some pretty serious sun on my face (M told me that I should probably stop wearing those sunglasses for the next while because it’s starting to look like I have a wicked goggle tan!), watched the meteor shower – so amazingly beautiful, and learned that a cow has six teats and that the UN General Secretary during the Cuban Missile Crisis was was U Thant (oh Trivial Pursuit…)
Now we’re watching Star Wars and eating blizzards after a simple, delicious dinner of garden grown beans, squash, and local Island gruyere cheese.
Sublime.
What did you cats get up to for the weekend? I want to hear all about it.
Today M and I are off to the Sunshine Coast with my vater, Sir R-J esquire, the IV.
(Or if you’re into the whole brevity thing – my Dad.)
We’ll be meeting up with M’s parents at the cabin for a day, and then it’s off to Hardy Island where we’ll hike, maybe swim, and (hopefully) see lots and lots of deer (and their babies!)
But in the interim, it’s time for the latest edition of the Friday Fry-up.
So let’s heat up that skillet and get cookin.
Do I have something on my face?
Full disclosure: sometimes I am a HOT MESS. It’s like I have zero control over this fact, and no matter what effort I put in to combat this problem, the worse it just seems to get.
Do I have something on my face?
For instance, it’s almost impossible for me to eat pastries (particularly if they are chocolate pastries) and not get half of the thing all over my face.
Don’t even get my started on gooey foodstuffs. Those are just a recipe a and half for disaster.
The worst of it?
I don’t even realize it when these crumbs are stuck and strewn about my skin – like the little evil edible freckles that they are.
Imagine this: the other day at work J was like, “Oh my goodness, what happened to your face?” and I was all “what do you mean?”
So then she motioned toward my face (with an exceptionally pained look on her face), which worried me so I quickly touched my cheek – only to realize that my affliction was nothing more than the remnants of my breakfast: a piece of the sweet, flaky goodness from the Danish I had eaten earlier.
I’m not too sure which emotion won out in the end – relief or embarrassment. (Actually, definitely relief, because goodness knows I don’t embarrass as easily as I probably should, especially when you look at the high level of madness I operate on every single day of my life.)
Good grief.
Last night M and I were at London Drugs picking up some supplies for our trip. At the check-out the cashier asked us, “Do you need any tissues or Tictacs tonight?” and my immediate reaction was, “Why? Do we look like we need tissues and Tictacs?”
I mean, why else would she ask that?
M kindly assured me that she was obviously trying to either up-sell or just get rid of the umpteen million tins of Tictacs and single pack Kleenex that littered her till like some strange toiletry-inspired collage.
This is probably true, but nevertheless I remained suspicious.
This whole part of my life was only further hit home two nights ago.
We were out at the Commodore Ballroom to take in Franz Ferdinand (MY FAV BAND EVVVEEERRR) and it came to my attention pretty early into their set that I had made some pretty poor decisions outfit-wise.
Concert wise though – top notch.
1.) I should have worn my hair up (or at the very least braided it down my back) because at it’s present length (v. v. long) it kept getting stuck in my armspits as I danced.
Urg.
It was pretty difficult to stop this from happening, because a.) I was having a mad dance party b.) was sweating and c.) was wearing a tank top. It was like a perfect storm of head-hair in armpit entrapment.
Not fun.
2.) I kept dancing out of my shoes. The flats that I had chosen to wear had already been beat to crap so I figured I wouldn’t care in they got ruined in the jigging-for-your-life melee. Unfortunately, because the shoes were operating at such a low capacity at the concert’s outset, it was all downhill from there – and quickly at that. I had to be careful, because with all the other bonkers dancers out there I didn’t want my toes to get turned into carpaccio, nor did I want to step on that slick, sticky beer soaked floor. Because, well, ewwwwww.
3.) I didn’t realize that the skirt I was wearing had so much swing and elasticity to it. Seriously, I spent the entire time worrying about dancing too hard, lest I continue to flash my undies to all the other folks on the dance floor. It was a very real fear that if I jumped too high I’d end up hoola-hooping my skirt around my neck.
Yikes-a-rooney.
Next time – I’ll stick to simple cotton. Because if I’m going to be part of the show, I better-well be getting paid for my part.
Onwards!
Do you, do you wanna, wanna go?
Okay, I definitely want to continue riffing on the Franz Ferdinand theme for a bit.
Seriously dudes, I love this band.
And they are absolutely AMAZING live. They put on incredibly tight shows, and are always entertaining as all get out.
I saw them for the first time in September 2009 at Malkin Bowl – a great outdoor concert venue in Vancouver – and boy did it ever pour with rain all throughout their set.
And it didn’t matter one bit – it was still the most fun I have ever had at a concert.
I have this amazing memory of just dancing my face off (I had picked well in terms of my dance-related garb that night! Plus no chocolate on my face to speak of – BONUS) completely soaked, watching the rain just come down in sheets, lit up by the brilliance of the many stage lights.
This time there was no rain, but it was the same outrageous energy, the same quirky and strange Scottish blokes rocking about the stage, singing songs that no matter how often I listen to them on loop (over and over again) I don’t ever tire of them.
In fact, they are one of those bands (for me) that the more I listen to their tunes, the more I love them.
They are like the Big Lebowski of music – the more I listen/watch them/it, the more I discover new things to love.
And then when you get the chance to go see it live, well, holy Toledo – it just reinforces all of that magic, ten-fold.
I definitely recommend them to every single one of you. Take a listen:
So I originally wrote on Friday that M and I were planning on hiking Mt. Seymour on Saturday – a fab hike for an early August day. However, as it is wont to happen in life, our plans changed and we ended up taking on another venture – running from our house in New Westminster to M’s parents’ house in Surrey (which according to “Google map my run” is a distance of 16.45 kilometers).
They recently had their carpets redone and needed help moving a boatload of furniture back to its original positioning, so we were happy to (literally) run over and help out.
Now, Vancity is enjoying its first real heat wave of the summer, and to say that this run was stinkin’ hot might be a bit of an understatement.
We left at 9:40 am and even then the sun was a-blazzing. The one section of the route that afforded us some shade was the part when we ran up King George Highway under the skytrain; after that we were cooking.
I’ll just come out and say it: this was not the best of runs.
In fact, a lot of it was pretty miserable.
It became obvious pretty quickly that M and I were interested in running our own runs, and were not all that interested in running each other’s runs.
This made for some pretty heated commentary along our path (and quite a few sprints, stops, and starts at that.)
We are both highly competitive, highly focused people – and as such, sometimes we start out so fixated on what we want to get out of somethings that we forget how important it is to work together as a team and be open to blending (or at the very least bending) our expectations.
Because seriously, hashing that stuff out on under the blinding hot sun, halfway through an almost 17 kilometer run is not only frustrating, but also exhausting.
Expending that much energy on emotions leaves you with much less juice to finish off those final clicks – it’s pretty darn mentally draining, and as any runner will tell you, that’s a huge component of finishing your race.
Or, to paraphrase Yogi Berra, “Running is 90 per cent mental, and the other half is physical.”
By the time we arrived at M’s parents’ place the two of us were completely done.
We were KNACKERED.
Please see exhibit A for confirmation:
However, communication wise we were a-okay, tip top, lindy hop.
And the crazy thing is, we still ran that stupid run in less than an hour and fifteen minutes. I can’t help but wonder what we would have done it in if we had actually liked each other during the run!
Alas, that is another question for another day.
After cooling down and drinking litres and litres of water, we changed into some non-sweat soaked duds and moved some bloody-giant wooden furniture around (or how I like to think of it – playing real-life doll house.)
Then it was time to return home, shower up, put on a cute sundress (only I did this – M donned a sweet t-shirt/short combo) and hit the downtown waterfront.
Once there we found a lovely spot for some NYT crossword, patio and Caesar action (I’m pretty sure that M and I are the only nerds out there brining crosswords to bars, but whatever, I’ll take it.)
ALSO DUDES. LOOK AT THIS SIGN:
GOODNESS GRACIOUS GREAT BALLS OF FIRE.
This, two days after writing about how I have a strange penchant for mispronouncing Coke, and here we are: VINDICATION.
Also, whoever wrote this should probably spend more time proofreading their work.
But seriously, I almost died when I saw this. Maybe they read this blog and were hoping I’d read this as I walked down Columbia Street?
I can only hope.
I can only imagine.
In final news we have been watching the everliving heck out of the Olympics. As I sit here typing this we are getting ready to watch France and Japan square off in the women’s soccer semi-finals, and we are of course looking forward to Canada taking on the USA later this afternoon.
Seeing Usain Bolt win yesterday was epic, I don’t even understand how gymnastics works, and I want the abdominal muscles of every single heptathlete in the competition.
I believe the question I asked M last night before we went to bed was:
“Do you think if I exercised six days a week and only ate one dessert a day I could have abs like that?”
I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.
What about you cats? What’s been shaking in your neck of the woods?
It’s once again time for another Friday Fry-up. So let’s not waste time mixing metaphors and just get this show on the road.
First on the docket?
Awesome reasons to eat cheese.
Glücklich (wenn auch spät) Schweizer Bundesfeie meine Freunde!
Yes, that’s right. Happy belated Swiss National Day.
Over here at chez-madhouse, we look forward to celebrating this holiday every year on August 1. It’s a chance to hang out with other Swiss nuts (aka M’s family), eat a ton of amazing cheese, drink sparkling wine, and make merry as the night is long.
So this past Wednesday we tuned up our alpen horns, practiced our Roger Federer one-handed backhands, and drove over for a feast of feasts with the rest of the gang.
Abso-frickin-marvelous.
Number two?
I think I’ve seen this all before.
So it’s not that I get déjà vu a lot, it’s more that the déjà vu that I do end up getting really knocks me for a loop – it is out-of-this-world BONKERS. I am literally struck silent (one might even say immobilized) by the feeling that everything that I am experiencing has already happened to me before.
And when I’m not living through this strange, quasi-out-of-body sensation, I’m just doing really silly things on repeat – over, and over, and over again.
(See: Hot Chip)
For instance, did you know that in Russian, the work for juice is cok? You see, c = s and k = c/k.
The confusion and embarrassment comes into play when even though you are THINKING in Russian, your brain is READING in English, and you end up saying “cok“ (and who are we kidding, if you say cok, nobody is thinking “oh, like Russian juice only mispronounced!“ and everybody is just thinking “THAT GIRL JUST SAID WANG!!! BAHAHAHAHA!!!“.)
Which is bloody awkward as all get out.
Seriously, all throughout Russian 100 I’m fairly certain that I told 90% of my classmates that on the weekends I liked to drink vodka and cock.
Which is silly because I don’t EVER drink vodka, and the prospect of a vodka penis just makes the whole venture one hundred fold more unappealing.
BLARGH.
Why are you telling this story lady? I bet many of you are thinking at this very moment.
I HAVE A POINT I PROMISE.
Yesterday I was with my colleague J, and I asked her to accompany me to the kitchen so I could get a drink.
Unfortunately, I wavered between pop and coke, and so it came out: “I just want to grab a cock.“
And so it continues.
Seriously, how this is still happening to me, I will never know.
I can only blame it on the Russians.
ONWARDS!
Amazing YA fiction.
Have any of you cats read this book?
I just started it yesterday morning and I am about halfway through. It is absolutely awesome!
It’s driving me batty trying to figure out what exactly is going on – the plot is slowly unfolding but I feel as though I cannot trust any of the narration.
I am hooked. I implore you – ch-ch-ch-check it out.
…
As for us Canucks, we have a three day weekend to look forward to. Hopefully the sun will be shining like a shining thing. M and I are looking forward to hiking Mt. Seymour, and just spending as much time outside as possible. I have a really, really wicked foot tan shaping up, the likes of which I haven’t seen for a couple of years.
Wishing you all a fab time off, whatever it is you do.
So I received a lovely comment the other day from an equally lovely reader (and one who seems to have fashioned his own form of English – reading his phonetic language is at time akin to deciphering some kind of code) asking me if instead of toiling away in employment obscurity, I am living off of the royalties of a amazing invention or product (seeing as though I don’t talk all that much about my place of work on ye olde Rant and Roll.)
Alas, as much as I wish this were true, it is in fact not the case.
At least, not yet.
I do work, and while my experience with my job doesn’t require me to write long-winded diatribes about the injustice and inhumanity of it all, it certainly isn’t all satsumas, rainbows, and peanut butter chocolate chip cookies (cut out in the shapes of owls and otters.)
Sometimes I stampede about my office, ready to rip out my hair and the vocal chords of whatever poor sap who just happens to be shuffling by with the printer paper refill order.
Sometime I am all rage, all the time.
But honestly, when it comes down to it, I like my job.
I get to research and write policy recommendations to the provincial government. I write news releases, speeches, and editorials, ghost-write and edit for professionals who need help with their pieces, conduct interviews, manage social media, and do some pretty large scale event planning.
And when I say that I bloody-well love some of my co-workers, there isn’t one kernel of untruth in that statement. There are four ladies with whom that I work whom I love dearly, and I can honestly say that if they weren’t there for me day in and day out, I would have packed up my bags (and Mr. 8”X 11”s vocal chords) one heck of a long time ago.
Phew.
But despite all of this, there are times when I feel myself getting restless.
On the surface, everything is a-okay. My head bobbing above the water, I am the spitting image of perfectly calm, perfectly collected.
Just keep swimming…just keep swimming.
However, peer a little closer – down, deeper into the depths of the lake (or whatever body of water it is in which I am swimming) and you’ll see me limbs thrashing about every which way, desperate to propel my body into a new direction. I crave to be constantly on the move – doing new things, making new plans, setting new goals.
Which is why outside of work I take on as many ventures as I possibly can, pushing myself to do as much as possible, driving myself to the brink of sanity and exhaustion.
I have been a Big Sister with Big Sisters of the Lower Mainland for almost four years, and since January have been working as a media ambassador for both their mentorship initiatives and the organization as a whole. I volunteer with Vancouver Co-op radio as a co-host of the Storytelling Show, a program dedicated to the telling and sharing of women’s stories and I’m constantly in the process of training for a new competition – my next race is the Fall Classic Half Marathon taking place November 18, 2012.
My next big goal is to finally, FINALLY give stand-up comedy a go.
And of course I have my blog (my baby!)
Rant and Roll is one of my most favourite projects and because I am so darned in love with it (and even more so with all of you gorgeous jerks) I want to make sure that every time I push ‘publish’ the product I am putting forth is as brilliant as it possibly can be.
Writing so much every week has been such a phenomenal exercise in getting me back into “writer” mode, that I believe when the time is right I will be able to make the full switch from writer-in-training, to Writer (capital W – no training wheels, no manager looking over my shoulder making sure I’ve memorized all the correct produce codes.)
WRITER.
But back to work.
Currently I have been in my position for a little over one year. This is the longest I have ever been in a full-time position.
Going from undergrad, right away to grad school, I never had the time (or attention span?) to stay in one specific place for long.
Grad school grad-u-meation.
I live day to day with a very serious affliction: I have an incurable case of nomad-itis – it’s the way it’s always been, and the way it will always be.
But for the time being, work things are good. And all my extra-curriculars are fabitty fab, brillo pads.
I don’t need to complain here because whenever I start to feel overwhelmed, I take comfort in the absolute brilliance of my love, my family, and my friends.
Because those are the things that I focus on. They are the things that make my heart sing.
Rant and Roll 