Love – Page 39 – Rant and Roll

I’ve found a driver and that’s a start

Happy Wednesday you winsome and wonderful weirdos! I don’t know what I’d do without you.

So here are five things that make my little heart smile:

Lunch dates with my rad mates.

On Tuesday Ms. A, Ms J. (good grief, do I sound like Tyra Banks?), and I had lunch at one of Vancouver’s newer food carts – Mom’s Grilled Cheese.

These roaming food wagons are getting more and more prevalent – especially around the downtown core where we work – and offer a huge amount of choice in terms of menu options.

It’s not just chili cheese dogs and cans of coke anymore, folks.

You can get Vietnamese subs, shawarma, Asian-fusion, Ukrainian pierogies (who knew that spell check doesn’t know what a pierogi is!?), pulled-pork sandwiches, BBQ – seriously the list, like Rip van Winkle’s beard, grows ever long.

(Man, I can’t believe that the most hip facial hair reference I could think of is a make-believe dude who slept a lot!)

Yeesh.

Anywho, grilled cheese was eaten; grilled cheese was loved.

IMG-20120501-00066 — SO blinkin’ good! And they give you a pickle!

By all three us.

I ordered Swiss with tomato on multi-grain.

Cor. Absolutely delicious that was. If you ever visit the truck, and you’re wracked by indecision – give that a go.

You won’t be disappointed.

Trying on pretty pretties.

Today at lunch I bopped about the usual circuit (Vancity’s downtown/shopping business district) with the usual suspects (Ms. J + friends) and I tried on this dress:

IMG-20120502-00073 — This dress made me feel like the queen of hearts.

And then this one:

IMG-20120502-00071 — All aboard the covered wagon dears!

It’s funny, because in the store I felt like I was veering towards the red (I didn’t buy either) – but now that I’m looking at these photos, I’m particularly drawn to the white.

When it was on me, I thought I looked super “Little House on the Prairie”, but now I’m thinking more along the lines of “Pilgrim chic.”

I’m not sure – I’m turning over the issue to the experts.

(aka YOU!)

Either way, it’s always fun when you have someone with whom you can motor, who also is game to play dress up in the middle of your work day.

It’s a great way unwind, albeit briefly.

Plus it gives you the chance to say things like, “does this look like a giant bedazzled compression sock?”

IMG-20120502-00070 — Just. Not good…plus the jeans made me look like a headbanger-carney!

To which the answer is always, yes.

Yes it does.

Tulips.

Spring means many things here in Lotus Land.

It heralds the arrival of the chickadee dee dees – and other bird friends – who have recently returned from their tropical, winter sojourn. You can hear them in the morning as you draw back the blinds, or the moment you step out your front door as you leave for work.

It also means a boat load of rain – but I don’t want to write about.

I want to write about all the amazing tulips that have sprouted everywhere! Their colours are so rich and vibrant, I can practically feel my heart swelling inside my chest every time I see them.

IMG-20120426-00058 — Tulips make my two lips SMILE!

I also have tricky fingers and want to pick all of them, so I have to walk by quickly, for fear of snatching them all to myself.

(And therefore also the police. I fear them too.)

Nail polish.

I don’t paint my fingernails all too often. So when I do, I always feel as though I’ve accomplished something pretty cool.

In fact, I’m always a little startled that no one presents me with a plaque to mark the occasion.

The other night, as M and I sat in front of the fire (yes! A fire at the beginning of May! I am just as appalled as you are!) I painted my nails a sort of aubergine-maroon colour.

It was Professor Plum, in the car, with M’s camera.

And I like it!

A lot.

(Way more than I do the idea of a fire in May that’s for darned sure.)

Tina Fey.

I just finished reading Bossypants and boy did I ever enjoy it. The lovely Emily of Well Fed, Flat Broke lent me her copy and I pretty much hovered it up over the last two days.

Ms. Fey is hilarious.

There were pages that just kept me laughing non-stop. It was also nice to read about a woman with whom I really identify.

We’re not the same person by any stretch of the imagination, but so much of what she writes about, I found myself nodding along, feeling like I could relate to much of what she was talking about.

(Except of course working at a bleak-as-hell YMCA in Chicago during the early 1990s. Of that I have little knowledge or experience.)

I also have a massive crush on her and Amy Poehler’s friendship. Is that possible? Can you covet a best friendship?

Memo to all my real-life friends: Get cooler. And fast.

(I kid, I kid. If you were any cooler, you’d all be ice cold.*)

*In my mind I sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger when I say that.

Yikes! I must get back on track. SO – if you’re thinking of picking up the book, do it, do it!

You won’t regret it.

Unless of course your name rhymes with Parah Salin. Then, maybe, stay away.

…

So there you have it, you wacko beauty cats! Five things that bring me the lolz and smiles.

I hope they could bring you some too.

There was a star danced, and under that was I born

Hey kids,

I’m going to apologize right off the bat for a post that is going to be a ridiculous mishmash of thoughts, ideas, pictures, and song.

It’s like a “we need to eat these leftovers before they go bad” casserole, over here.

I’m throwing anything and everything into this dish. So just let me know if you need some ketchup, or BBQ sauce, or what have you.

I’ll be on it.

It is Monday after all.

And, do you know how I know dear readers, that today was in fact a Monday?

I’ll tell you.

You see, this was my breakfast:

And this was my lunch:

Not exactly the healthiest of choices, heavens no, but certainly one of the tastiest. I know I’ve written about these apple fritters before, and I just need to reiterate one more time just how fricken stellar they truly are.

And because they are the size of a small cat, they pretty much count as two meals in one.

I know, I know – NOT HEALTHY!

But oh, so delicious.

Because I’m running around at work like a running around working thing, today at lunch I made an effort to pry myself away from my desk and go for a walk.

When I’m not laughing myself into six pack abs trying on the absolute barmiest outfit combinations I can find, I like to torture myself by modelling all the beautiful pieces of clothing I will never be able to afford.

Sometimes I stroll through Holt Renfrew at a snail’s pace, staring into the Prada showroom, devouring all the couture gowns that hang off of the mannequins, or are draped over banquettes and loveseats (or the arms of a wealthy patron.)

I tell you, it’s a pretty interesting sensation to ride the escalator behind someone whose bloody SUNGLASSES are worth more than your entire ensemble.

It’s also a little scary.

Today I tried on this skirt from Club Monaco.

IMG-20120423-00044 — Sparkles! Pleats! LOVE!

I must say that I kind of really loved it.

AND, it was sixty percent off – though by no means cheap (even still after the discount), it had pleats and sparkles, which are pretty much my favourite things ever when it comes to clothing accoutrements, so I think I will have to go back tomorrow and purchase it.

As long as I don’t find something even more sparkly and pleated in the interim.

(I’m a bit like a hummingbird in that way. My attention span can be quickly taken over by -Ooerrr…SHINEY THINGS!)

Speaking of moving from one thing to the next without absolutely zero transition, please, PLEASE, listen to this song by Sarah Slean, about which I currently cannot get enough of:

I have been a dancing woman since getting home today, listening to it on repeat.

(I don’t even know how many times I’ve listened to it while writing this post. I’ve completely lost count.)

If I was currently using my ipod at the gym, this would be the only thing on my running playlist.

It actually makes me so happy I feel like crying.

And I know that’s pretty cheesy and all, and sometimes I feel like I oscillate wildly from one emotion to the next, and I do regularly find myself so overcome by events that transpire all over the world (pretty much to the point of paralysis), but I am also aware of how much beauty I have in my life, and how fortunate I am in so many ways.

Despite of course, having two-toned hair from my (continually craptastic) dye job.

2012-04-21 15.30.15 — The seal is for marksmanship and the gorilla is for sand racing.

Seriously guys, what is wrong with me? How am I so, SO bad at this?

Yikes.

In the meantime, however, let’s just keep dancing.

And eating apple fritters.

And sparkling. Like stars.

Until the day we supernova; fade away.

No promises, no demands

Hey Kids,

This week I’ve been feeling a little burnt out. Seriously, I’m starting to feel like the kid in Jumanji as he’s being sucked into the board game.

Stretched too thin and unsure of what the heck is going to happen next.

Also, if I wake up tomorrow morning looking like Robin Williams, there is going to be hell to pay.

It’ll be a drive by fruiting!

Ahem.

Even though I thoroughly enjoy my work, and all my volunteer commitments, my training sessions (I take the good with the bad, and even the ugly), and my creative pursuits (nay, passions), I kind of feel like I have too many fingers, in too many pies, and they are all being burned to a crisp by a blisteringly hot blueberry filling.

And I bloody well LOVE blueberry filling!

Can someone pass me some vanilla ice cream, stat?

For the past five days, each time my alarm has gone off, the first thought to immediately to pop into my head has been: “NO. I REFUSE.”

The second has been: “What the frick am I going to wear to work today?”

Followed by the third and last: “I better not have a zit to contend with, or I’m going to lose it!”

Yeesh. Forget Robin Williams, I’m slowly morphing into George Costanza.

(Number three on that list is a throw back from high school. I used to have pretty awful skin, and even though I’ve had a clear complexion for quite a while now, I can’t shake this compulsion. Especially since every once in a while I’ll get a major doozy of a zit. Case in point, yesterday as I left an after-work function completely destroyed from exhaustion, I could practically feel my heart beating in what can only be described as the monster pimple from hell. Amazingly, in the span of only two hours, this thing had sprouted from nothing, to wrecking havoc with the earth’s gravitational pull.)

I’ll live, I’m sure, but trauma was endured.

So this morning as I rode the metro to work I was feeling a little down.

I was late leaving my house, so I didn’t have the option of waiting for a train that had available seats, so I hopped on the first car that stopped at the station. Leaning back on the glass partition that separates a five-seat bench from the train doors, I nonchalantly skimmed through the free newspaper I had been handed at the station’s entrance, and watched the scenery zip by.

As I marveled at the beautiful cherry blossom trees that line the skytrain route, I also drank in the different coloured blues, pinks, and greens that made up the early morning sky.

Just the simple act of meditating on nature’s beauty made my heart feel a little lighter.

And then BAM!

I saw it.

IMG-20120419-00035 — No, not the mullet. Though I did notice that too.

Written right in front of me.

A little piece of graffiti, scribbled in pencil on the carriage’s door. An adolescent’s script:

Amor Vincit Omnia.

Love conquers all.

Just out there, for the world to see.

And as the train bopped along, and the cherry blossoms cherried, and the blue sky blued itself (there’s an arrested development joke somewhere in there), I thought to myself:

HELL YES LOVE CONQUERS ALL! LET’S GET THIS DAY STARTED!

Just reading those three words was like getting kicked in the butt by a big boot filled with awesome sauce.

In a split second I was ready to rock.

And rant.

AND ROLL.

Because folks, at the base of it all, I am a love warrior. I will fight tooth and nail for the individuals in my life who live inside my heart.

I just need to remember once in a while that that I should be included in that list of people.

That I should fight for, and love, and revel in myself, Godzilla pimple and all.

And so I too encourage all of you to do the same for yourselves.

(I can even provide the boot, complete with sauce, if needed.)

Choco milk is one ingredient of the awesome sauce.

Though I may be sleeping soundly when you place your order.

Because hot damn, warrioring can be hard work.

And I’m still pretty tired.

A day for the ducks

This weekend Mr. M and I trekked out to the Reifel Bird Sanctuary, for an afternoon of water fowl and barnyard owls.

(Unfortunately, sightings of our flexible-necked friends were few and far between.)

We did however, espy a few swallows, a couple of herons, many, MANY ducks (mallards and otherwise), and a crap load of other birds I don’t know the names of, because who the heck do I look like people?

Ranger Rick?

Yeesh.

(I kid, I kid. Except not at all about knowing anything about the different species of birds I encountered. About that I seriously do know squat.)

It was a truly gorgeous afternoon – blue skies, brilliant sunshine – although the wind was a little snappish; I could feel each gust of cold sea air nibbling at my ear lobes, nose, my fingertips, and toes.

I was super thankful for my last minute decision to bring my winter coat, but even with the extra layer, I walked around with my arms speckled with gooseflesh (how appropriate for the venue, no?) for the majority of the time we were there.

However, when you’re strolling around a nature reserve, surrounded by hilarious, chirping, feathered creatures, your “problems” are put into perspective pretty darn quickly.

I sometimes have a really hard time visiting places like this because I get so over wrought with need to SAVE ALL THE BIRDS the world over.

(This reaction is much the same to the one I wrote about last week. See: Ethel v. SPCA adoption website.)

It’s also intrinsically tied to the paralysis I undergo every time I take out my recycling and see, once again, that the tone deaf dirt bags that live in my complex have once again placed their recyclables in the bin, in a bloody plastic bag.

For serious, one day someone is going to find my body, dead, splayed about on the ground in front of the blue boxes, empty cans in hand. I will have passed over to the other side from a complete and utter rage out (combined with a complete lack of understanding) over why someone would do this.

I mean – HOW LAZY CAN YOU POSSIBLY BE THAT YOU CANNOT JUST EMPTY THE CANS OR BOTTLES FROM THE PLASTIC BAG INTO THE BLUE BOX?

Good grief.

Yesterday Mr. M found a broken toaster in the recycle bin.

A TOASTER! AND IT WAS IN A PLASTIC BAG!

Okay, I need to take it easy. My heart probably shouldn’t be pumping this fast.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Seriously though, what the heck is the point of “recycling” if you’re not going to do it right? Wouldn’t it actually be better if they just threw everything into the trash, because at least that way they wouldn’t be buggering it up for the rest of us that actually, you know, care?

I thought about these indolent bastards as I walked about the park (but just for a little while – I didn’t want to give them too much airtime, or the satisfaction of ruining my entire afternoon.)

But then I started to think about how if the people who already inhabit the earth don’t care, what kind of destruction will the planet oversee when we have an even greater population of (I’m afraid to even imagine) people who care even less?

And then I thought about how many species of birds will be around for my children? Or their children?

Will this amazing bird sanctuary be a moot point because we’ve annihilated everything that would be targeted to live and thrive within the reserve itself?

My heart grew heavier and heavier just thinking about it all.

But then M took my hand, and we say on a bench and ate some grapes, and I slowly started to feel better.

This heaviness I felt was gradually offset by a new set of competing factors and thoughts – indeed it became harder and harder to imagine such a dark world, because everything and everyone I was encountering at the park was the complete antithesis of that humanity and ecological peril I was fearing.

There were so many families out together – parents, children, grandparents, babies – teaching, watching, talking, learning about the different plant life, the insects, and course all the birds – calling out to the chickadees, and marveling at the swooping, circling falcons, feeding the ducks, and laughing at the geese.

There were exchange students with guide books, young couples on early spring dates, long-time husband and wife duos, and bird watching aces with camera lenses the width of my living room.

There were so many people, out enjoying the sun, basking in the beauty of the day, the park, the birds – the earth.

That it gave me hope.

And continues to give me hope.

It gives me hope that the Reifel sanctuary will be here for years to come.

And that out there people actually know how to properly dispose of toasters.

Curiouser and curiouser

Good morning friends!

This is my morning view. Also how do people take photos before eating their treats? It is almost impossible for me.

My cat (who is in stealth mode in the above picture) is currently tearing about our home (which sadly means she is also tearing up our carpet each time she reaches both the top and bottom of our stairs.)

If I wasn’t so madly in love with her, there would be repercussions.

When she gets into these scamp moods of hers we like to say that she’s “riding her little horse” because of the way she gallops about the house (and the way her gait sounds like that of a young steed racing around a track.)

We adopted Ms. Nymeria from the SPCA a little over four years ago.

I had been badgering M forever to let us get a cat.

Being a remarkably patient, and loving man, he withstood this constant bombardment quite well (and with much grace at that.)

Because seriously, anytime he inquired about gifts, I would immediately, without thinking, blurt out: “A CAT.”

Hey Ethel, he’d say. What do you want for Christmas this year?

A CAT, I’d respond.

Hey Ethel, what would you like for your birthday this year?

A CAH! I’d say, not bothering to swallow that bite of my sandwich before taking the time to respond.

Hey Ethel, what do we need to pick up at the grocery store tonight?

A CAT! I’d answer. And milk, bread and cheese. But mostly though, a cat.

(That joke was always a laugh and a half for me, but obnoxious as heck for him. Still, I couldn’t stop myself.)

Come February 2008, M ever so nonchalantly asked me to come over to his computer. He picked me up, sat me in his lap, and together we looking through the pictures of the kittens that were currently available for adoption over at our local SPCA shelter.

Now, I don’t know about you folks, but there is a very limited time frame in which I can stay on one of those websites and remain a functioning, coherent human being.

Just looking at all the little ones that need homes thrusts me into sensory overload, and I become overwhelmed between two very conflicting reactions.

These are: MUST SAVE ALL THE KITTIES – and – OH NO THERE ARE TOO MANY KITTIES TO SAVE I AM POWERLESS IN THIS FIGHT.

It’s like all of my life force swells to epic proportions but is simultaneously sucked out of me. Like I turn into a superhero just before being administered a Dementor’s kiss.

Luckily, it wasn’t before long that we saw Nymeria’s picture and we both fell head over heels in love.

At the time she wasn’t Nymeria. She was Faye, who – “didn’t play well with others.”

We knew immediately that she had a touch of both Rhoyne and direwolf inside her.

The next day we went to the shelter, and along with the help of two stellar friends of ours, adopted the little Miss into our arms, heart and home.

And she’s been there ever since. Snuggling, purring, meowing (she talks, like, all the darn time), furring up furniture, ripping up carpets, going absolutely bat shit crazy when she sees other cats, sleeping on my feet, and sailing 1,000 ships to Dorne (just like her namesake of course.)

IMG_0214 - Copy — The beauty cat. And M's hair pants.

I always joke that Nymeria is my daughter – and while there is a healthy dose of both tongue and cheek in this statement – she is a dear, dear part of my family.

She was with us during our engagement, our marriage, both of our post-grads; she forgave us for going to England without her (that one took a while, let me assure you).

She is with us when we wake up, and when we sleep.

And I love her. (Even if at the moment she is scoping out my lemon bar.)

So what about you dear readers? Who are the furry friends in your life?

Nymeria and I would love to know.