A late night’s pictures and dreams

Some things of note (if you will) –

I. The funniest Kids in the Hall sketch:

II. If you read John Cleese’s book “So, Anyway…”, and are even a modest fan of the man and his works, you’ll have the pleasant bonus of finding yourself reading the entire thing in his voice. It’s like having Basil Fawlty as your personal narrator (although to be fair, I am more of an Archie Leech woman, myself.) I finished reading this book approximately twenty minutes ago and found it incredibly enjoyable. I laughed out loud on many, many occasions, and found myself giggling so hard on public transit that a women standing just off to my right turned to me, tapped my shoulder, and told me that I was an “absolute delight”, before confiding that she couldn’t wait to dive into her copy the minute she returned home.

I told her to piss off and mind her own business.

KIDDING.

I blushed like a mad thing and told her that I was just excited for her as she.

III. My masked self:

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IV. Disclaimer: This next point will resonate solely with individuals who either live in British Columbia’s Lower Mainland, or have spent enough time in Vancouver and its surrounding environs to know of which I write.

Chiefly, the utter madness that is Kingsway, and how lucky I feel whenever I manage to navigate this utterly insane stretch of road and emerge (relatively) unscathed – neither crumpled up inside my severely mangled automobile, nor having run over a rogue, clueless pedestrian (nay, pedestrians), nor having witnessed any sort of monumental crash-cum-pile-up due to another driver’s last minute decision to make a left turn on a red light an run ramrod straight into on-coming traffic.

That road is a bloody death trap.

And five hours later, my nerves are still shot.

V. Fashionable pantaloons:

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I recently bought these sweet running pants from Mountain Equipment Co-op. I love them because they make me feel as though I am wearing a patchwork of old movie stills, even though the pattern is actually beautiful abstract black and white shapes.

For the uninitiated, MEC is the outdoor gear MECca (har har) of every pseudo-mountain person (and to be fair, every hardcore survivor man/woman) this town has to offer.

The place is basically Whole Foods for purveyors of hatchets, kayaks, and tents. Everything is fair trade and organic (including your rage when you realize that you could have purchased the exact same sleeping bag for thirty percent cheaper at one of the other stores just down the road had you exercised one iota of free will and not succumbed to the tractor beam pull of this ridiculous outdoor monolith. But I digress.)

The reason that I was able to purchase these amazing pants in the first place was because my sister and brother in-law bought me another sweet pair at Christmas that were very unfortunately too big and needed to be exchanged. With the store credit I was able to procure these cool duds and now I feel like a right superstar every time I put them on.

(A real 1930’s dynamo, as you please.)

VI. Sun cat:

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FIN.

A little ditty, sitting pretty

I am beginning to think that we will henceforth refer to time as “BTR” and “ATR” (Before the Rain/After the Rain), what with how hard it has been storming for the past few days.

There really is something to be said for a warm, dry autumn season.

I am looking at retiring to Portugal ASAP.

In the interim, here is a story:

There once was a girl who absolutely adored her to-do lists.

She made them each and every day.

At her job and at her home; for her work and for her play.

There wasn’t anything that she did – be it cleaning, writing, running, or shopping –  that she didn’t enjoy ten-times more when it was written down in pen, and then crossed out with that same pen after it was complete.

Sometimes on a Friday night, her and her Swiss-Indian life-mate would sit down and think of all the magical and mayhem-inspired things they wanted to achieve over the next few days.

Their excited and over-confident scribbling often took the shape of something like this:

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Nothing was ever left off of the list. Even if they thought the task too daunting – it was added along with the rest of the items, and treated with the same respect as any old regular, mundane activity.

One weekend, it just so happened to be that both the girl and her Swiss-Indian life-mate managed to accomplish the majority of things on their to-do list, despite the fact that it was very long, and very involved.

They did crazy things like jack up the floor joists under the extension of their one hundred and seven year old house, and bake two dozen pumpkin chocolate chip muffins and four dozen Halloween sugar cookies.

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(The girl did concede, however, that she desperately needed to purchase some new cookie cutters, as dogs and hands – HANDS! – don’t make for the best scary pastry cut-outs.)

She ran 14 kilometers on Saturday and 7.5 kilometers on Sunday, and he mowed the lawn (front and back!) and together they cleaned out their fridge and tidied the house (which included four loads of laundry, folded and put away.)

It was an incredibly productive time – and one that also included an inordinate amount of laughter and friendly ribbing.

Because according to both of these characters, there really is nothing like spending a couple of hours scuttling about the underside of a house to bring a couple together.

The girl felt so happy to have been able to spend this time with her Swiss-Indian life-mate.

Especially on a late-afternoon Sunday walk, in the beautiful soul-warming sun.

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(ATR, as it were.)

Looking down on these bright blue city lights.

Sunday nights are for:

Dostoevskian musings.

Tank tops and comfortable shorts.

Fresh cut lavender and dark roast coffee beans.

Sunday nights are for:

Finding all the hair elastics I’ve scattered about the house.

Half-drunk water glasses, reflecting a sleepy, satisfied sunset.

Placing my shirt, shorts, and running shoes at the front door.

Finding the good athletic socks.

Sunday nights are for:

Watching the final stage of the Tour de France, mesmerized.

Post-Tour living room workouts.

Sunday nights are for:

Monday work-meals. (Peanut butter and jam sandwich; salad with homemade dressing; cucumber slices and cherry tomatoes.)

The Lumineers

Sunday nights are for:

Scribbling and scribing.

Dreams and delighting.

Sunday nights are for:

A subtle breeze cooling the heat of my cheeks.

Kitten kisses.

Sweeping up the fallen rose petals.

Painting the nails on my hands, but not on my feet.

Sunday nights are for:

Washing the weekend’s campfire from my long, blond locks.

Long walks, and whispered talks.

Sunday nights are for:

Memories

Sunday nights are for:

You and Me.

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Love Actually, is, all around (can we move the Japanese Ambassador to 4pm tomorrow?)

Well, it seems as though the Christmas season has officially arrived here on the West Coast of Canada.

Which means, it’s only a matter of time before I watch my three favourite holiday movies:

Muppets Christmas Carol

Home Alone

Love Actually

It’s actually the third film on this list that was the impetus for me writing this post.

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I was thinking about when would be an appropriate time to sit down for our yearly viewing of this masterpiece, before asking myself (for maybe the millionth time) – DID ALAN RICKMAN REALLY CHEAT ON EMMA THOMPSON?

This questions has been plaguing me for the past ten years.

Common consensus would say, yes, Harry and Mia did in fact engage in coitus (hence why we see her putting the necklace on in her undies, with an unmade bed in the background – I HAVE SEEN THIS MOVIE MANY TIMES) but I have such a hard time accepting this reality.

But most likely this is because of my all-consuming, and always growing love for Ms. Thompson.

Ya know?

EXACTLY.

Anyway, even though to me, this movie is perfect (to paraphrase Rick Grimes and all), here are a few other problems that always arise upon every viewing.

*holds up sign of mummified human being*

Too much?

ONWARDS!

1. I don’t believe that Colin Firth’s (Jamie’s) wife would cheat on him with his brother. I mean, THAT GUY? Really? HIM? Could they not have cast some crazy, smoking hot dude (a real Carl if you will!) to play this part?

And why is everyone so disappointed that Uncle Jamie isn’t staying with the family for Christmas? HIS BROTHER WAS SEXING HIS WIFE BEHIND HIS BACK! The fact that his entire brood of blood relatives is willing to excuse that horrible behaviour, but is insanely upset that Jamie won’t carve the bloody turkey is WAY COLD. And I’m not buying it!

Although “I HATE Uncle Jamie!” has become one of Marc’s and my most favourite sayings to date, so – not all bad I suppose.

2. “Miss Dunkin’ Donuts 2003.”

COME ON RICHARD CURTIS. We all know Aurelia’s Portuguese Dad isn’t using that as his insult of choice when he’s fat-shaming his other daughter.

What the hell man? IF you’re going to go for the cheap weight-related joke, at the very least use your imagination and don’t just go for the lazy laugh!

3. That photo of Harry (Alan Rickman) and Bernard (his son), framed on Karen (Emma Thompson’s) dresser cracks me up every time I see it. Bernard just looks completely nuts, and is making the most bonkers face of life.

I can never NOT see it now.

4. What is UP with the Prime Minister’s Press Secretary (Is that her title?) who likes to make fun of Natalie? Is she in love with the Prime Minister? Why the hell would she make such a crappy comment about the size of Natalie’s bum? I mean, isn’t that crazy unprofessional? I DON’T GET IT.

5. Daniel (Liam Neeson) and his step-son get over his wife’s death way too quickly. Also, no one learns to play the drums in a week. TAKE THAT YA WEE MONGREL!

6. Do we really think that backpack is chock-a-block filled with condoms?

7. What is UP with girls from Wisconsin? Is Christmas Eve and Budweiser some kind of lethal sex combination for these young ladies OR WHAT?

8. Look man, I think Kiera Knightley is as lovely as the next gal, but what the heck is up with that wedding dress? Midriff baring? In the middle of winter? And is she wearing feathers in her hair? I mean, look how effortlessly amazing Peter (Chiwetel Ejiofor) is in his suit. Could we not have at least tried to match this?

9. Also, am I the only one who thought that Mark (Peter’s best friend) was in love with Peter? I still kind of wish that this was, in fact, the case. And that he really did hate Juliet, because she had taken away not only his best friend, but the love of his life.

10. LAURA LINNEY. What are you doing friend!? TAKE CARL AND RAVISH HIM. We all die, over and over again, every time we watch you waste such a magical chance to bed Carl the enigmatic chief designer-cum-underwear model!

So there you have it dudes. My (small!) beefs with one of the best holiday movies of all time.

Do you agree?

Disagree?

Let me know.

But in the meantime, I’ll let Joanna have the last word:

All I want for Christmas is YOU.

(And you.)

(And you!)

Love in the little things

Things that I love.

Marc’s cold hairy knees pressing into the backs of my (warm, hairless) knees, as we spoon together at night.

That first sip of vanilla latte – all sweet steamed milk, espresso and foam.

Finally smelling spring in the air.

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Spring!

The funny way my big sister always says, “Oh hellooooo” at the beginning of our Skype calls.

Short sundresses.

Telling a joke and then pausing, so to let the audience’s laughter wash over me, like a wave made out of happiness.

Managing the trifecta of hair removal – leg shave, armpit shave, brow pluck – ALL IN ONE GO.

When my little sister calls me WAWA.

Finally watching 30Rock.

My poppy-red coat that makes me feel like Paddington Bear.

Kitten kisses.

Kitten snoozes?
Kitten snoozes?

Cleaning the shower REALLY WELL (and then using it right away.)

Eating chocolate covered cinnamon buns.

Sprinting so hard until I feel as though the only way to put out the fire in my lungs is to barf them right up.

My mum’s broken sarcasm detector. (“Oh that’s not true…IS IT!?”)

Looking at myself in the mirror and thinking I look really pretty today.

I think I do today too!
I think I do today too!

Laughing with friends until I think I am going to pee my pants.

Quoting Arrested Development, The Big Lebowski, A Fish Called Wanda, Rushmore, Love Actually, and Mean Girls all the gosh-darned time.

She doesn’t even go here…

Having a mad dance party in my underwear, in a Top Shop change room because the song playing at that very moment was just too good not to.

Boardwalk brunches.

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Nom.

This.

My brilliant friends.

My amazing family.

My beautiful man.

You.

Never forget.

Always, always you.