Shopping – Page 2 – Rant and Roll

Ready to rock, ready to roll

Hi Kids!

Happy, happy Friday! I am so excited I could just dance.

(I know this because I have been dancing most of the morning.)

I have been a busy little bee for the last couple of weeks, getting all my big projects and articles completed, so today is mostly just housekeeping – the little odds and ends.

And thank goodness, as there is nothing I want more for my Christmas hols than to be blissfully unplugged, and oh-so relaxed.

I will be a zen master, extraordinaire.

So let’s get the meditation train rolling with a festive and fun Friday Fry-up!

Do it, do it.

Dressed to impress.

So last night I performed at a local pro-am stand-up night, and I got to wear a brand-spanking new outfit.

It. Was. Awesome.

Ch-ch-check it:

I always like to wear fun outfits whenever I am on stage, and boy was I ever excited to debut this little number.

I had spent my lunch break shopping and bopping about the downtown core with my partner in crime Ms. Jen, and when I espied these two pieces my brain near exploded out of the top of my head.

(In a good way – not in a Zeus birthing Athena kind of way, as bad-ass as that was.)

I purchased the shirt from Joe Fresh (fashion mecca #2) and look, look!

Check out the back:

Isn’t it lovely? I can going to wear the absolute heck out of it over the course of the winter break.

The skirt I procured from Club Monaco (my would-be-fashion go-to if I had more disposable cash dollars) and I was completely chuffed to find out that it was majorly marked down, because goodness knows I couldn’t resist its colour or its whimsical cut.

What can I say, I’m a sucker for anything that was meant for twirling.

And this skirt makes you want to twirl forever.

And you know what?

Me and my brilliant get-up totally rocked the house down – talking about crappy Christmas carols, humble-braggers, and beard shampoo.

You know, the works.

Next!

Marshmallow madness.

So it was during our shopping adventure that Jen and I came across this monstrosity:

WHAT IN THE BLOODY HECK IS THIS!?

H&M, I love ya, but seriously, you’ve got some major explaining to do.

Is this what our snuggy culture has come too?

I mean, I’m all for comfort, but I have never, ever driven past a Michelin Tire Store and thought to myself, “Man, I would totally dress like their mascot, it’s just too bad that there’s nothing out there that could help me fulfill this wish!”

Oh!

And another thing!

THIS IS VANCOUVER.

The coldest it ever gets here is maybe minus ten.

Even if it were to get that cold – and it most likely won’t – the city would probably just shut down, so no one would need ever leave their house, let alone struggle their way into a mobile sleeping bag.

Where’s the blinking majesty I ask?

YEESH.

Sing, sing, sing it!

I won’t bore you to death with the Christmas songs I love to loathe (or just plain loathe) – as suffice to say there are many.

(Plus I don’t want to piss anyone off, as I know that there are many out there that hold dear the tunes that make me want to scrap my eyeballs out of their sockets with a rusty socket wrench.)

So I instead, I thought I would share a few of my favourites with you all, in the hope that they too might take up place in your holiday-themed hearts.

First – At Last I’m Ready for Christmas, by Stan Rogers.

I LOVE THIS SONG. It is basically the theme of my life around this time of year.

Second – O Holy Night, by the Barra MacNeils.

Lucy MacNeil will never not bring tears to my eyes.

Third – Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, by Brenda Lee.

CLASSIC. Nuff said.

…

So there you have it my darlings!

I am bouncing off the walls, and I can only hope that you are too.

Wishing you a weekend of laugher, love, and light!

You all sure do brighten up my life.

Gifts that keeps on giving

For my birthday, I received a number of fabitty fab birthday presents (from a number of fabitty fab individuals.)

In preparation for my first marathon, I was gifted a belt to store gel packs, and a beautiful, (but more important breathable) zip-up running shirt. Mr. M gave me a pair of lovely earrings that have little cameos of ravens on them (because this way I can pretend that I’m Odin, and that my little feathered friends are whispering the world’s secrets into my ears as I go about my daily business.)

I also received another Murakami book from my good friend A that I devoured on my way home from her house on skytrain.

An absolutely scrumptious lunch Ms. A treated me to, at Cafe Medina. GO THERE.

Such a strange sensation to be reading a book about a very early Tokyo morning, when you yourself feel as though you are operating out of a parallel, late-night dreamland. I was so tired that I could hardly keep my eyes open, and yet at the same time, too engrossed in Murkami’s prose to actually allow my body to let go, and crumple under the weight of my end-of-week exhaustion and post-hang out daze.

What a strange tug-of-war we mortals can play, between need and desire, consciousness and sleep.

Two other gifts that provide me with a huge amount of happiness (on a daily basis at that) are the gorgeous prints my sister in-law V made for me.

They are currently hanging in my office and I cannot even begin to describe what a difference they have made in my day-to-day work regime.

The power of art is strong, my friends – very strong.

Is your office green with ivy? I mean, envy?

Plus, the prints, combined with a few other touches of beauty and comfort (I also have nice black and white photo of SFU hanging on the opposite wall, and I finally managed to finagle someone to come in and mount my “to-do” cork board) ensure my office no longer looks like the place you go where you find out that you have a terminal illness.

Because that folks, is pretty darn bleak.

Just looking at this photo puts a smile on my face!

Seriously.

Today the sky is blue, and the trees are sun-drenched (and not rain-drenched) for the first time in what seems like ages.

Over my lunch break I hopped, skipped, and jumped my way out of the office, and around my downtown neighbourhood in an effort to procure everything that was populating my (ever-growing) “NEED TO GET” list.

It is always so pleasant doing these kinds of things in the glorious sunshine, rather than scurrying about like a drowned rat, trying to stay one step ahead of the looming fog and drizzle.

Is it springtime yet, Ms. Nature?

I picked up the usual suspect at Shoppers Drug Mart: make-up remover, cotton pads (to be used with said remover), body wash, and face cleanser.

I had a mild flashback to high school when I approached one of the clerks to ask if she knew where the Neutrogena products were, and she briskly responded:

You mean the acne products?

Umm, I wasn’t sure, actually. “It’s very orange and has a pump on the top?” I said, a little nervous all of a sudden.

Yes. You want the acne face washes, upstairs in the acne solutions section – aisle four.

I know this might seem a little silly, but I totally felt as though I was being shamed. Like I was in a one of those horrible sitcoms playing the nerdy high school kid who tries to purchase condoms, or tampons – or the young girl stuck buying Vagisil, or Imodium, or Exlax or whatever.

(Also, super hilarious that the spell check wants to change Vagisil to valise. That would require a majorly daft pharmacist to make that mix-up.)

Now, I’m sure the only reason I actually felt this way is because in high school I actually did have bad acne, and I spent so much time, energy and money trying not to have bad acne. Now that I’m finally living a life of clear skin (as an easy, breezy, covergirl – or, you know, whatever) it’s hard for me not to get my back up in those kind of situations.

It’s like the horribly embarrassed fourteen year-old girl inside starts yelling: “I’m beautiful now! Why can’t you just leave me alone!”

LEAVE ETHEL ALONE!

Okay, so I’m over dramatizing this for the sake of humour and readability, but the sentiment is the same. Even though I was over the whole thing in about 2.7 seconds, I guess it’s true what they say:

Some (acne) scars just take longer to heal.

To speed up the process I bought (and thoroughly enjoyed) a large package of peanut butter M&M’s (seriously I’d fight to the death to prove, and/or, to defend my stance that they are in fact, the best M&M product – or at least to a missing handful of hair) and an ice cold diet Pepsi.

I also managed to get a hold of a pair of sweatpants that I can wear on my way home from the gym for only sixteen dollars!

You have no idea how happy this makes me. Seriously.

Money-wise aside, this is also fantastic news because I normally go to the gym straight after work, and I really don’t like walking home in my workout clothes with just my big winter coat as my only over layer.

It kind of makes me feel like a super-harlot, because my shorts are shorter than my (rather long) coat, and this may or may not contribute to the illusion that makes it look as though I’m not wearing anything underneath my jacket.

And that’s not a look I’m ever striving for.

EVER.

My final purchase was a new pair of work shoes (nine dollars! Thank you bargain barrel pricing and size ten feet!) and two lipsticks (two for twelve bucks! I’m almost, almost afraid to know what they’re made out of, because they’re so cheap. Probably the other bargain barrel size tens that were never sold.)

It’s easy to forget about that though, because they’re so, so pretty.

Sparkly toes and red lips. Watch out world!

With all this talk of TREAT YOU SELF and the weather being as fabulous and fine, it was the perfect day to go out and do something nice for myself.

(It is also heart warming to know that I will once again be able to properly remove my mascara, and not wake up with crazy black muck that has sealed my eyelids shut whilst I slept. Side note: I was going to write “sleep-cum-makeup muck” but thought it might give some people the wrong idea.)

Okay, I definitely don’t need any more proof about how immature I can be, because just writing that out has given a case of the giggles I just may never get over.

Heeheeheeheehee.

Sunny days! Chasing the - clouds away! On my way...

OKAY.

Enough now.

I hope every single one of you had a beautiful day, were fortunate to feel the warmth of the sun on your face, and did something lovely in celebration of you, and just you.

Or at the very least, had a good giggle.

A golden oldie, for a golden oldie

Well, friends, it’s finally happened.

Yesterday, at approximately 1:30 pm, January 10, 2012, I officially became AN OLD.

Red wine is totes an old people drink, right?

And just what exactly is AN OLD, you may ask?

AN OLD is basically the personification of the following situation:

[scene: Old codger (of indeterminate sex) stands on a creaky, wooden porch. They raise their cane and shake their fists.

Old codger: GET OFF MY LAWN YOU DAGNABBIT KIDS!!!

Fade to black.]

And how exactly have I reached this conclusion, you, dear reader, might deign to ask?

Well, it was a three pronged process.

Yesterday on my lunch break, I took a long walk around the downtown core in an attempt to stretch my legs (and breathe life into my computer-screened eyeballs and mousy wrists), but more importantly to procure a birthday present for a fellow OLD.

(Although, it should be clarified that at the time that I set out, I did not realize that we were fellow OLDs (or peers if you will) as this connection had not yet been cemented by the following three events.)

Now, for the sake of full disclosure, I’m not one to really begrudge the aging process – at least not anymore. (I had my first age related panic attack on the eve of my eighteenth birthday when I realized that unlike Mary Shelley I would not be publishing my first book before exiting high school.)

But now I’ve pretty much chilled the crap out about those kinds of things. Plus, I’m also happy to report that also unlike Mary Shelley I didn’t turn into some crazy sexual deviant who hangs out with Byron-esque characters and does a ton of hallucinogenic drugs.

(At least not yet.)

(KIDDING!)

Anywho, as I was saying, the first event that solidified my transition from HIP CAT to OLD (now, it seems I will need to start worrying about my hips) was when I was paying for said before mentioned birthday gift. As I gazed at the young woman who was ringing me up, I actually remarked on the following (albeit in my mind, thank goodness):

Lady – don’t you know that NO ONE IS GOING TO TAKE YOU SERIOUSLY WITH THAT MUCH METAL IN YOUR FACE?

Umm, Mom? Is that you?

Holy crap.

The second event took place as I was browsing through another store. The music pumping its way through the shop’s stereo system was, to put it mildly, utter shite. I actually thought to myself:

This isn’t music! This is just noise!

Ahem.

…

(This one actually cracks me the heck up, because I can actually hear it so clearly in my mom’s voice that I actually heard it as such when it played out in my head. Seriously hilarious. Also, I actually get a kick out of the LMFAO song, but it makes M’s hairs stand on edge.)

Finally, as I was walking back to work, I paused and stared a large window display, and asked myself (again, with my inside, mother voice):

Who the flipping heck would wear THAT? For serious!?

And BAM! It hit me – Oldsville, BC – Population 1. ME.

So bring on the miserhood! I have ordered pants that go up to my collarbone, orthotics, dentures and bifocals.

The thing that bugs me the most about all of this is that should I actually procure all that clothing, I’ll just end up looking like another idiot hipster, whom, it should be noted, are the usual recipients of my get of my lawns ire.

I’ll work on it.

But speaking of hipsterdom, I returned today to the store of said before mentioned horror-show window display, in hopes of conducting a very important sociological (or, you know, plain old fashioned-based) experiment.

I sought out three mannequins and then proceeded to try on the outfits showcased by each model, in hopes of validating my previous claim that no one should be wearing these clothes, lest they wish to be labelled unhinged, or you know, batshit insane.

Onwards to outfit #1!

You have to pay more for the bedpan purse and ice chips.

This can be summed up in three simple words: HOSPITAL. GOWN. CHIC.

Next!

Outfit #2 is a bit tricky – due to my craptastic camera it’s a little hard to discern what the fresh hell is going on here. I am wearing some pretty snazzy corduroy shorts, made to look like a skirt, but with a neat pleat right up the middle. The shirt itself isn’t half bad, but the cardigan is STRAIGHT OUT OF DYNASTY.

Blanche called. She wants her sweater back.

Shoulder pads? DO NOT WANT.

SUIVANT!

Outfit #3 is probably my favourite because it made me feel like one of those really amped up shopping channel hosts, or you know, the guy who used to yell “COME ON DOWN!” on The Price is Right.

The hills are alive! With the sound of Plinko!

The jacket reminds me of something that Maria Rainer would put together if she was interviewing for a job at a Palm Springs retirement resort and not au pair to the von Trapps.

All in all, pretty weird stuff, and definitely not something an OLD should by sporting on a regular basis. Plus, I’m one to readily admit that I always give myself the creeps, skulking around change rooms and taking photos of myself (in outfits I know I will never purchase no less).

But don’t take that as an admission that I’m about to stop anytime soon.

It’s just that as I mature, I have to become more aware of my surroundings.

How else will I know if someone’s fooling around on my lawn?

Please shine down on me

Hi friends!

I am writing to you from balmy and beautiful Palm Desert. Here the sun dances across the sky, all day everyday, the lemons taste like candy, and the cacti will jump up and bite you (if you don’t take care to treat them nicely.)

CIMG8829 — Palm trees at night, Ethel's delight!

It’s been a pretty excellent experience so far, and since we’ve only been here for a day, I am apt to believe that the trip is just going to keep getting better and better.

This morning we hiked the three-mile “Randall Hendersen Trail”, marvelling at all the different vegetation that was on display (so very different from that of our temperate West Coast rainforests) and giggling at all the little critters that would scurry about, looking for a rest stop, or perhaps shelter, from the strong, relentless sun.

The sky here is so blue, it is difficult to describe. It has an almost thickness to it – a blue that shouldn’t actually exist, save for in crayon packages, or on Caribbean beach fronts.

After our hike, M and I walked to the pool, where we swan the early afternoon away, alternating between the tepid waters of the pool and the searing warmth of the hot tub. Then we stretched out on the deck chairs and read our books until our skin began to blush pink and our eyelids grew heavy.

CIMG8833 - Copy — Orange you glad I didn't say banana?

Walking back to the house I picked some oranges off of one of the many fruit trees that populate the golf course. It was a pretty surreal experience. I don’t think that I have ever imagined a day when I would just reach up and grab an orange right off a branch, simply at my own pleasure.

I will need to see, but I think I can wager a guess that there might not be anything quite like looking out your window, only to see grapefruits hanging low off of a tree so close, you could probably reach and out touch it if you really tried.

I will have let you know.

…

One strange thing that I have to say about Palm Desert is that I don’t think that anyone here walks, you know, to a destination, therefore making it an extremely rare, and perhaps perplexing sight, to actually see two individuals who are going somewhere on foot.

M and I decided to stroll (who am I kidding – we don’t stroll anywhere – in fact we motor places. Seriously, we have Barney and Fred feet here.) over to the Westfield’s to try to find him some shoes and maybe a treat or two.

We received a few confused stares along the way.

Luckily, we managed to make it there in one piece and found both treats, shoes, and SO MUCH more.

M scooped up a sweet pair of Steve Madden’s for a great deal, drank some Jamba Juice and I got to eat my fill of Tutti Frutti.

(All I have to say about that is we NEED serve-yourself frozen yogurt in Canada and we NEED IT NOW. SERIOUSLY HARPER, GET ON THAT SHIT.)

After shoes and treats we stumbled upon one of the craziest things I have ever seen. Seriously folks, let me introduce you to the magic that is: Lipo Illusion!

Holy frick.

CIMG8835 — WHO WOULD WEAR THIS!? This is why humanity is in a decline. NO ONE needs this. PERIOD.

Well, if you thought that the 19th century girdle would never make its long-awaited triumphant return, heck, you thought wrong!
I can imagine the advertisement now, voice over and all:

Have you never wanted to be your natural shape and are desperate to try to mold yourself into a new person? Spanx not working? Actual Lipo too expensive? We thought as much! Come to Lipo Illusion where we will outfit you with industrial strength spandex, that will not only make sure all your fat pools in your shoes, but ensure a streamlined, thinner you! Because remember folks, while everyone likes you – they’ll like a thinner you EVEN MORE.

Yeesh.

There is good news however, because after seeing that grim fandango of a display, we encountered a Forever XXI and I learned that

CIMG8836 — To keep the homesickness at bay...

they use the same models as the one at Metrotown.

Excellent show you crazy bastards!

Man, I need to find out where they purchase these mannequins and get a couple for our house. I can only imagine what the neighbors will think once I start to outfit them with my wackiest clothing and display them in rotation from our guest bedroom window.

Instead of a PhD, THIS will be my next project.

Oh, and one more thing.

Do you have a football fanatic in your life? Do they also love blankets, warmth and the word “COMFY”? Are they willing to try anything once? If you have answered yes to all three of these questions (or just have someone you kind of want to screw over in a secret santa), then friends, have I found the buy for you.

Introducing – THE NFL SNUGGIE.

Seriously dudes, DISCUSS.

I want to be a supermodel

So.

_Device Memory_home_user_pictures_IMG00082 — Ch-ch-check it.

I used to be really good at getting all of my holiday to-dos done well before the stress and just general madness of the December month consumed not only me, but all of my loved ones.

I was a planning, shopping, and wrapping force to be reckoned with – my plans were executed with such precision I felt as though I could have established my own holiday-planner guild – apprentices and all.

Mostly I was imagining living in a Terry Pratchett novel, but you know, I’ll take when I can get.

However, for the last few years this once-strength of mine has waned; more and more I leave things- once easily accomplished errands – to the last minute.

I am unsure of what evil force is at play here (perhaps some deranged woman obsessed with her own reflection has sent a metaphorical huntsmen to rid me not of my beauty (HAH!) but of my festive organization skills) – yet somehow I don’t think this tale achieves quite the same level of drama as the original.

Either way, it is a dangerous line to walk, what with the majority of my family living over one thousand miles away and Canada Post being notoriously unreliable, especially anytime after the first of December.

It’s imperative that I get their gifts in the mail – STAT. And with less than three weeks left before the grand opening (of presents) I was starting to feel the anxiety of not having anything prepared.

To combat my ever rising sense of dread, last Friday I decided that it was high time to get my rear in gear, and trekked out after work, armed to the teeth with a razor sharp resolve.

The effort alone nearly destroyed me.

Good grief.

M was supposed to meet me downtown after my two hour head start. He was going to help me fill in any gaps in gifts for people, while at the same time we could enjoy the festive decorations of the downtown core.

(Side note: after spending Christmas in the UK, I cannot help but feel as though our streets are pretty darn bare and wish that our cities would take part in similar spectacular and magical light displays. But like I said, I take what I can get.)

Anyways, I gave him a call and promptly told him not to bother coming all the way downtown but that seeing as though he was already on transit, I would meet him halfway at Metrotown.

And that friends, is where I saw these:

I need a nap. Good thing I have this jaunty cap.

Oh. My. Goodness. Gracious.

Forever Twenty-One is so awesome for so many (facetious) reasons, it actually boggles the mind.

M won’t even go into the store because he says that the combination of the loud, crap music, crowds of overzealous teenage girls and just general gaudiness brings on the mother of all panic attacks.

I don’t doubt it. You should have seen him in Primark.

I thought he was going to pass out.

But seriously, who styled these mannequins? Who got home after the most hard core yoga session of all time as thought, “holy crow, the body can move in the most peculiar of ways! Let’s make sure we highlight this interesting factoid in our next window display – it may even move the attention away from how absolutely insane looking ourclothing is.”

I was in a giggle fit for the rest of the night just thinking about it, but ever more so after M pointed out that two of the mannequins look like they are casually trying to give birth.

“What am I up to you ask? Oh, you know, not much…just heading into my twelfth straight hour of labour, but sheesh – don’t I look stylin?”

No lady. You look stone cold CRAZY.

I also don’t know exactly what to do with these boots:

I mean, how many wookies needed to die to create this abomination?

M has been playing a ton of Skyrim of late and he says that they look like something his character would don before going into battle against a dragon.

Erm. Yeah…

If that doesn’t signal cool, hip and fashion forward, than slap my face and call me T’analia.

(Don’t do that.)

Heck, I know I don’t go anywhere these days without my leather jerkin and long sword. But that’s only because I haven’t yet figured out how to properly style my battle ax.

Anyway, I couldn’t stop myself form posing like this for the next two days, just because the idea of them kept cracking me up.

2011-12-11 21.04.33 — I’m just waiting for Ford Models to phone.

From now on, anytime I am a waiting in a line I am going to stand in this position, because I’m pretty sure people will either think that 1) something is wrong with me, or that 2) I am very, very desperate. Either way, I am sure to guarantee that I am served first.

Or you know, I’ll end up committed.

Is it a price I’m willing to pay? I’m not sure – yet.

Knowing that I may never have to lay eyes on another Forever Twenty-One floral patterned unitard or pair of hotpink hammer pants, may just tip the scales.

We’ll just have to wait and see.

Oh, and all you folks living across Canada, waiting for your Christmas gifts? You now know what what’s heading your way.