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.


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

III. My masked self:


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:


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:



Just blowin’ in the wind


I never sleep well going into a Monday.

Nutmeg and cardamom are two excellent spices that pair quite poorly with shrimp.

New shoes!


Even when I think I am sitting up straight, I’m probably still slouching.

My hair is so long that sometimes when I work out my ponytail gets stuck in my armpits.

Sometimes I imagine Brian Mulroney looking at his son, and then looking at Justin Trudeau, and then thinking, “HOW THE HELL DID THIS HAPPEN?”

I really must remember to let my bras air dry. I don’t want to give away all my hard earned cash dollars to BIG BRASSIERE.

Donuts are really great.

So is a cup of milky, hot, sugary coffee.

(But never together.)

Dance parties are always worth it, even if it’s only with one other person.

Sometimes it rains sideways, and this makes training runs very uncomfortable.

Richard Ayoade is a stone cold fox.

TopShop is currently trolling us all, but –

Put a bird on it!


Yesterday Mr. M and I bought our tickets for the Big Apple and I am SO EXCITED.

I cannot speak, or write “cleaning out my closet” without pretending that I am Eminem.

I like peanut butter M&Ms best.

Also this:


Today, the sun is shining and the sky is a light daisy blue – a treat the likes of which we have not seen for many, many moons.

It is mindboggling to think that we are already into March. Indeed – minutes, days, weeks (and months!) seem to be careening by in the blink of an eye.

I just signed up to run the ScotiaBank Half-Marathon with Team Big Sisters. I’m hoping to raise $1000.00 (the same amount as 2011, the last year that I fundraised with the organization.)

After taking some time off to rest my little bones, I am back to full-on training mode. I ran 16km this weekend, and am looking to slowly amp up the mileage as the seconds kick down to my first race of the season: The Sunshine Coast Half on April 7th.

My darlings, do you ever feel as though you are standing the precipice of something huge, but you don’t know yet what it is?


I feel as though I am balancing precariously over a large, life-changing expanse, and I want so badly to jump into the void, only I cannot see what I will be getting myself into.

All my nerve endings seem to be extra-sensitive – and the winds of change are making my arm hairs stand on edge.

Maybe I will just have to Alice it – take a deep breath and crawl down the hole.

And if I catch a glimpse of a sign-post (pointing in any which direction), I will be sure to let you know.

And now for something completely different

[Disclaimer: I am feeling particularly bonkers this afternoon.]

So I was motoring about the downtown core, playing my usual, much loved lunch-time game (you know, the one called “Try on all the clothes and photograph yourself like a total weirdo”) when I espied the below sandwich board:

It was the weirdest moment because upon reading this I actually felt like I needed to prove to the sign that I could actually, you know, speak English – like I had to show the (strangely) threatening advertisement that this was something I had already mastered.

But then I kind of went completely nuts.

In my mind I was all: HAHAHAHAHAHA! I already CAN speak English! English, English, English! Bet you weren’t exactly expecting THAT, were you, you sandwich board you! Not only that, but I can also speak French and have a highly unstable grasp of Russian and German!




What’s wrong with me?

Also, on a slightly less bizarre note, shouldn’t the sign read “Learn English now!” and not “Speak English now”?

I mean, anyone can speak a language – I could probably speak Korean or Portuguese as the day is long – I just wouldn’t know what the bloody heck it was that I was saying.

And at the risk of sounding like the Old Spice Man, or Lady Gaga penning her obituary via Madlibs, it’s definitely always best to know the meaning of the words coming out of your mouth.

I mean, if someone actually came up to me and told me they wanted my leather studded kiss in the sand I would think they were totes mcgotes cray-cray.

But then I’d be all “SPEAK ENGLISH MAN!” not “LEARN ENGLISH MAN!”

And then I’d remember this day and concede defeat to the language school sandwich board.

And then I’d make a sandwich.