Underneath it all

Well, is January 18th.

JANUARY 18th!

What the what.

It’s January 18th and I am here to talk about underwear.

Yes, underwear.

UNDIES.

The whites.

Bras.

Panties.

(I actually shudder at the word “panty.” Whoever coined that term should have been exiled immediately and fined all of their underwear, sentenced to roam the netherworlds (hehe) forevermore without the comfort of a protective layer of cloth to separate their genitals from their clothing.)

Just imagine the chaffing!

AHEM.

Back to the task at hand.

As a young, nubile woman I find the whole “underwear/lingerie” thing absolutely confounding.

Now don’t get me wrong here – I find nothing wrong with the concept of a beautiful undergarment, nor do I begrudge absolutely anyone who chooses to spend their hard-earned cash dollars on fancy, frilly brassieres and garter belts (or the what-have-you.)

It’s just for me – I cannot even.

I’ve believe you me, I’ve tried.

This past Christmas, I walked head-on into the new Victoria’s Secret megastore (the twinkling, garish purple and pink disco – cum – bordello that now takes up real estate on Robson and Granville) with the express intention of purchasing some new duds.

The problem being that I lasted approximately thirty seconds inside of the store.

I just couldn’t handle it all – the entire building seemed to be grotesquely pulsating: the too-loud pop “music” remixes blaring from every speaker; the raucous crowds of women careening about the “2 for 40” bins; the scattered detritus of disinterested boyfriends and husbands glued to their smartphones or desperately looking for a quiet corner in which to sit; the too-interested boyfriends and husbands, hovering about the change rooms with “their choice” bras clenched tightly in their fists –

IT WAS JUST TOO MUCH.

(Also, I’ve got to say – having some non-descript teenage boy wail on about how much he will love me no matter what while I peruse racks and racks of padded bras is a very strange experience indeed. I would recommended all lingerie stores employ string quartets to entertain their patrons whilst they shop.)

But I also have the tendencies and tastes of an eighty-year old, so they should also take my suggestions with a grain of salt.

Or Werther’s Original.

Okay, once again I am all over the road here.

What I’m trying to say is: underwear, for me, serves a function, and as long as that function is served, I am happy.

There are too many things I would rather do with my money then spend gobs of it on fancy-schmancy undies.

Because at the root of it all – I feel totally hot, (and awesome! and strong! and gorgeous!) without them.

I know I look great in my fruit of the loom, unpadded, unadorned plain underwear.

Also – if you’re using that stuff to present yourself as a sexy minx/naughty schoolgirl/lion tamer/etc. – all of that stuff just comes off anyway, doesn’t it?

(Doesn’t it?)

The dollar to time spent wearing the garment ratio is totally off!

Now, I’m sure there are many people out there who would (and probably will) tell me that if I ever gave lingerie its fair shake, I would feel completely different (and yes, I concede that they are probably correct).

But until that day – until I properly gird my loins (harhar) and make it into a store unaffected by all the glittery pomp and sexy circumstance, I will continue on as I do.

Wearing my whites.

Polar Bear Swim
Polar Bear Swim – 2014. In the whites.

Plainly.

These are not the droids you are looking for

Hey chickadees.

Another Friday, another Fry-Up.

The weeks have just been zooming by, and I find it practically impossible to wrap my head around the fact that we are but one sleep away from the first day of Christmas (or the beginning of December, if you will).

Wouldn’t it be lovely to wake up tomorrow to a partridge in a pear tree?

Five golden rings wouldn’t be so bad either.

This week I had my last talk with the United Way Speakers Bureau Series. I spoke at fifteen events over the last month and a half, and overall it was a tremendous experience to present for such a varied group of businesses and organizations.

I truly hope I get to do it again next year.

Meanwhile, we are but six days away (SIX!!!) from stand-up comedy fest 2012. Next Thursday is liftoff (laughter wise) and I am SO EXCITED.

ZOMG.

Dudes.

I’ve been practicing my material like a practicing thing, and in the most random of places too – in the shower, whilst out running, on skytrain – people must think I’m bloody bonkers.

(More so than usual, and that’s definitely saying something.)

My teacher told me that she’s never before met a young lady who talks as much about murder in her set as I do.

Murder and noses and yogurt. (Oh my!)

At least I’m original, right?

Now let’s get cracking.

First on the docket:

A hairy situation.

So remember when I was all: I’M NEVER GOING TO DYE MY HAIR MYSELF EVER AGAIN BECAUSE I ALWAYS END UP LOOKING LIKE I HAVE VITILIGO BLAH BLAH BLAH?

Weeeeell.

It would seem as though someone can never leave well enough alone (or learn her damn lesson.)

You see, recently I noticed that my roots were starting to grow in (grow out?), and I decided that instead of paying someone to touch up what was definitely less than an inch of new hair growth, it would be much easier to just purchase some dye-in-a-box and do it myself.

I went to Shoppers and purchased “Midnight Sky” thinking it would be a great match for my now mostly raven locks.

IMG_2646

It’s too bad no one told me that after getting your tresses dyed professionally, your hair can undergo some pretty whacky chemical changes. (Ie. don’t use the box stuff because it won’t change your hair to the colour that you think it will.)

SO NOW I HAVE THESE ROOTS:

IMG_2645 - Copy

Good grief.

I can’t win.

So I’m out coach.

For real this time.

Laugh it up fuzzball.

Look at this computer repair shop!

IMG-20121129-00213

It’s called Jawa Computers!

This makes me happier than you can ever know.

Santa Baby.

I told Marc that I was going to buy one of these outfits as one of his Christmas presents:

IMG-20121127-00212

And then I laughed and laughed.

(I’m definitely still laughing.)

My apologies to all the La Senza Christmas-ware aficionados out there, but for me, these getups are just so ridiculous that I have a hard time understanding how they actually exist in real life.

I mean, come on – in what world is this sexy (and not just amazingly hilarious?)

And don’t get me wrong, if laughter really IS the thing that totally lights your fire, than undoubtedly this sexy Santa (sexy Mrs. Claus?) lingerie is a perfect ensemble for you and yours to enjoy.

But for me, if I somehow came into ownership of such a costume, I would just constantly pretend I was in a Billy Mack music video, while walking around making ludicrous and exceptionally tacky puns about quasi-phallic holiday items.

Your candy cane is so big! Come fill up my stocking… (etc. etc.)

And I would laugh and laugh.

What about you folks?

What’s going down in your neck of the woods these days?

I want to hear all about it. Happy Friday to you all!