Pop – Rant and Roll

Sunday Night Confessions

1. It’s completely ridiculous how much I love this music video.

Which has me a little worried.

Because it seems as though the older I get, the more my musical tastes regress.

Now, I’m no scientist, but I feel like I used to have some pretty some solid street cred when it came to my everyday jams, and then I turned twenty-five and everything started to go to pot, and now I use terms like “my everyday jams.”

And now, with every passing year, I find myself more and more, drawn to manufactured, heavily-produced sugary schlock.

And by schlock I mean SOLID GOLD.

God I love this stuff so much it feels criminal.

(I probably listened to this song thirty times on loop this morning. Half the time lip-synching like a fiend, and the other half dancing about like a madwoman.)

At least when it comes to Tom Hanks, my love for him will never die, nor shall I ever be ashamed to proclaim this affection.

It doesn’t matter how many terrible movies he makes, or how many times he doesn’t get the hilarious jokes in a Tina Fey and Amy Poehler Golden Globes opening monologue – the power of A League of Their Own, The Burbs, That Thing you Do, and Forrest Gump will live on, ad infinitum.

At least, scientifically speaking.

2. One of my first major celebrity crushes was on Jeremy Taggart, the drummer from Our Lady Peace.

This probably means little to most of you reading this blog, but those Canadians who remember our country’s late nineties music scene, or at the very least spent some portion of their lives watching Much Music, are all probably thinking, “Really!? Him?”

Yes, yes, we all know that Mr. Rain Maida was the sulky, skulking sexy frontman (of what had to be one of the best representations of what we now think of as a “90s band”) but even as a fourteen year-old I was always one to buck aesthetic trends, and go for the outliers.

I mean what can I say? The guy had one set of rocking nerd glasses!

My teenage hormones never stood a fighting chance.

3. I always weirdly hoped that Britney Spears and Kevin Federline would make it.

And that’s all I have to say about that.

4. I was quite sick last weekend and couldn’t run for about a week. The first time out after being laid-up by illness, I always concoct insane survival scenarios, and pretend that I’m in an Armageddon action movie, wherein I have to run as fast as I can to the secret CIA bunker because I am the last remaining top-secret operative trained in nuclear bomb disarmament.

The survival of the entire western seaboard is contingent on my success!

Normally this leads to me running so hard I feel as though my lungs are on fire and the only way I can put out the flames is by ralphing them right up.

(My lungs that is.)

But goodness knows I always make it to that bomb.

Just in the nick of time.

5. Spring is in the air.

I can feel it in my heart.

…

See more snaps of my madcap adventures on my new Instagram! Follow me @Vanessaisrunning.

I’m just a girl in the world

Of late, I’ve been listening to a lot of Taylor Swift.

Well, only one song really, but let’s not mince words. Blank Space is a bloody pop masterpiece of the highest order, and no one will ever be able to convince me otherwise.

Don’t even try it, ya jerks!

Because you all might as well resign yourself to the fact that, inevitably, we all must bow down to T. Swift, bubble gum goddess that she is.

So get your shin pads out.

The future is here.

I’m not sure about any of you, but I just listen to this stuff and immediately I am once again eighteen years old, filled to the brim with cusp-of-adulthood angst, heart-wrenching love, and mind-boggling lust.

The compulsion to jump in a car and just drive as far and as fast as I can is almost too difficult to control. So mostly I dance about the house in the most ridiculous and flamboyant of fashions, with Marc and Nymeria taking up the rear.

They’re good partners in my insanity.

I’ll tell you, another thing that makes me feel like a confused, silly teenager is having the brilliant luck of finding my diary from grade 10, 11, 12, and my first year of undergrad.

Holy hell was I one heck of a kid.

I spent about an hour yesterday reading excerpts aloud to Marc and just generally laughing my face off.

Marc too got a huge kick out of my daily captures of what it mean to be Vanessa Woznow, seventeen years of age.

Choice entries include:

June 2002

Holy shit Friday is just never going to come. I seriously am going to go completely insane (I am already halfway there, I can feel it!) Soon I will be sitting outside in a lawnchair and throwing spoons at all of the people who pass by, cursing them for their new fangled ways. EDADS. I talk like Mr. Lodge in the Archie comics. Call the medics I tell you!!! I miss Mark [ed. note: high school boyfriend], and I just want to get my damn vacation started with. [Redacted] gave me a ride to my socials exam. Made me feel bad about never phoning him. I really hate that. I got 90% on my math final, so I ended up with 88% in the course, which isn’t too bad. My socials final was so funny, some of the questions really killed me. I laughed really hard and was so tempted to put down that sexism was one of the causes of WWI.

There were some questions on the test that I was just like WHAT THE FUCK!? How are we supposed to know THAT? I even asked Ms. [Redacted] whether or not she had taught that subject in the class and she just looked at me said “No.” before smiling and walking away. That killed me too. That’s classy as hell. I am really going to miss having [Redacted] as an English teacher. She’s really hilarious! I think I might buy her Chicken Soup for the Teacher soul. I think she might like it.

I’ve realized that sometimes my writing really reflects that of Holden’s in Catcher in the Rye. LOVE that book. Old Holden gets my goat, he is just damn hilarious.

JUST DECIDED. Going into writing when I graduate!!!

p.s. What to do for six month anniversary??

I also used the journal quite a bit as a scrapbook, for all of the ticket stubs and play bills of either the shows I went to, or acted in myself.

There is also a lot of BAD poetry.

(I can’t actually bring myself to publish a large photo of this gut-busting rubbish.)

However, I did kind of dig this little ode:

I actually remember writing this ditty in my grade 12 math class. For a laugh, I used to always write poems for one of my best friends. Rosy was (and still is, to this day) one of the most beautiful, caring souls I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and I always wanted to either make her laugh, or make her smile, and as such, was compelled to write her stuff like this.

A large portion of the book is dedicated to my falling in love with Marc, and the early days of our courtship:

I can tell you, I absolutely loved that sweater. I actually get the goofiest smile just thinking about it, and I swear that my heart is beating just the littlest bit faster.

Unfortunately, there is also a large (VERY large in fact) portion of the book dedicated to chronically my eating disorder. In no uncertain terms do I take any pains to disguise this reality. Many pages are just lists of what I ate, how much I exercised, and how much of what I ate ended up in the bottom of a toilet bowl.

Scintillating reading it may be not, but still, it serves as a salient reminder of what it meant to live with this illness, and how far removed my present-day life is from these very real, and very hard struggles.

My heart too beats a little faster seeing these pages, for of course, incredibly different reasons.

Still, it’s all one. This is the girl who I was.

If she hadn’t existed, I wouldn’t be the person (girl, woman, epic pop-loving running champion of life) that I am today.

And I wouldn’t trade this for the world.

And if I had to put a wager on it, I bet Taylor would feel exactly the same way.

I’m finishing my coffee. Enjoying my coffee.

Hello you fab chaps!

Well, here we are, looking back on another week lived, facing the beautiful blank slate (oh how I wish!) of the approaching weekend.

I love Fridays because I truly believe they have life re-generating powers.

And what, might you ask, are other (real-life) things that share those same invigorating powers?

For the answer to this question, please look no further than THIS:

OKAY.

I drink coffee every day. I wouldn’t say that I drink a TON of the stuff – for instance, between Monday and Friday I drink a vanilla latte every morning, and come the weekend, I drink at least one cup of java (but never more than two), upon rising from my bed of rest.

In my humble opinion, there is no better way to herald the breaking dawn than with a piping hot mug of milky, sweet espresso.

(Urg, I feel weird just using the term “breaking dawn.” DAMN YOU TWILIGHT!)

Weekend coffees have become even more deluxe of late, what with the addition of a Nespresso milk steamer/frother to our kitchen gadget repertoire.

(Full disclosure: other than our raclette machine and a decrepit old blender, said repertoire is pretty darn bleak.)

Anyway, now that I have purchased the above pictured vanilla syrup, I really feel like our adventures into the world of joe are just going to EXPLODE.

Think of the possibilities!

Vanilla steamed milk for nights when I’m feeling eight hundred years old!

London fogs for mornings when I’m feeling particularly Dickensian!

Vanilla café au laits for every other time other than the two I’ve mentioned above!

ALL RIGHT.

Also.

Do you know what is the actual exact opposite of what I have just described above?

THIS:

BLECH.

Who decided to make diet Crush cream soda happen?

They should be publicly shamed, and then sent to Baffin Island for twenty-years of hard labour.

Talk about toxic waste in a can.

Yeah, yeah, I realize that pop of any kind isn’t exactly a staple of a healthy, organic (blahblahblah) lifestyle, but JEEZE LOUISE.

Somethings are sacred!

And by somethings, I mean CRUSH CREAM SODA.

Won’t somebody please think of my childhood?

In other news…

What the heck is going on here:

Do people have hundreds (or thousands) of loonies and toonies just lying about, clogging up their living space?

Is this a worry that people have?

“Oh sorry Jim, I would totally have you over, but my place is just over-run with coinage. Thank goodness Metro News has provided me with the tools I need to combat this problem head on!”

Good grief.

I never, ever have cash, let alone enough change to fill out an entire bank roll.

But a girl can dream, can she not?

And if I’m going to spend my life dreaming, I am going to do it dressed like THIS:

Fifteen dollar pants?

CHECK.

Paddington Bear coat?

CHECK.

A date with a microphone, stage, and comedy-hungry audience?

Checkcheckcheck.

…

So what’s on the docket for all you beauty cats this weekend?

And what drink will you be having?

Do be sure to tell me, because I’m taking orders.

I came to the training house looking for a fight

Three things of which I am not ashamed.

1.) I am a recovering anorexic and bulimic.

Sometimes – although very rarely now – after I finish eating a meal, a little voice inside my head tells me to throw everything up.

Sometimes – although very rarely now – after a week of rest, a little voice inside my head tells me that my inactivity has rendered me ugly and powerless.

Sometimes – although very rarely now – I feel as though my skin is itself crawling the length of my body, and that none of my clothes fit my frame.

Sometimes – although very rarely now – I’m afraid to leave the house for fear of others looking at me.

Sometimes it’s hard.

Every day it’s getting better.

2.) I firmly believe in the importance of first impressions.

Don’t get me wrong, I also believe in second chances, but nothing leaves a mark like an awkward or obnoxious round one in, shall we say, the boxing ring of life.

And in the end, after the bell has run twice, if I still don’t warm to you, I’m probably not going to stick around and try to play-act nice.

I’ll probably just punch your lights out.

(I kid, I kid.)

I mean, I’m not going to treat you like a right-arse, or anything to that effect – I will be polite, or professional, or formal (or a combination of all three), but then I’ll get the heck out.

CIMG7179 — My cat is also incredibly picky about the individuals with whom she associates.

Plus, if I don’t dig your style, you probably don’t dig mine. It’s a mutual thing, right? It’s not me, it’s you – and vice versa.

I fight tooth and nail for those that I love (in said boxing ring of life), and I put a ton of energy into championing them and their causes. As such, I would prefer to invest my time and resources into helping those individuals.

I am finally at a place in my life where I have stopped completely wrecking myself over what others think of me (I am now known to only marginally wreck myself.)

And I’d like to keep going down this path.

3.) I love, LOVE pop music.

I sing along to Carly Rae Jepsen ALL THE DAMN TIME. On repeat.

I like Robyn.

I like Lady Gaga.

I like LMFAO.

(Seriously, everyday I’m shuffling.)

I love cheesey, dance-crazy, pump-up-the-radio-and-SING music.

(I like other music too, but come summertime? GIVE ME BEATS THAT MAKE MY FEET TAPA-TAP-TAP AND TEETH ACHE FROM A SUGARY SYRUP OVERLOAD.)

And if you ever pull up next to me in your car, at some random stoplight, betwixt the months of June and August?

You’ll see.

There’s no power in the ‘verse can stop me.