Worth one thousand words

Well, another day, another dollar.

How are all you fab chaps doing of late?

It’s a bit bonkers to think that we’ll knocking down December’s door in but two days.

TWO DAYS!

Where is the time going?

Let’s take a breather and assess what’s been going round the cosmic kitchen over the past few weeks:

Soccer matches.

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Canada v. Mexico

Family fun.

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We are not awkward only incredibly good looking.
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DA LADEEZ.
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Do we look fourteen?
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Mustachio. Pistachio.

AMAZING SIGNS.

Sign
Looks painful!
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The remedy for a beter sex life? Thank goodness!

My love!

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Le chat.

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The BIGGEST eyes!
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Politician cat and bodyguard.

Selfie fun.

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Snow day.
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International spy.

Skyfall.

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IMG_20131124_095119Cookie monster.

Cookies
I will eat these until I die.

New friends.

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I told him to act natural.

PHEW!

There ya go. My brilliant little bonkers life on film.

And I, as always, encourage all you cool cats to share a snap or two.

Or two.

I saw the sign and it opened up my eyes

So I originally wrote on Friday that M and I were planning on hiking Mt. Seymour on Saturday – a fab hike for an early August day. However, as it is wont to happen in life, our plans changed and we ended up taking on another venture – running from our house in New Westminster to M’s parents’ house in Surrey (which according to “Google map my run” is a distance of 16.45 kilometers).

They recently had their carpets redone and needed help moving a boatload of furniture back to its original positioning, so we were happy to (literally) run over and help out.

Now, Vancity is enjoying its first real heat wave of the summer, and to say that this run was stinkin’ hot might be a bit of an understatement.

We left at 9:40 am and even then the sun was a-blazzing. The one section of the route that afforded us some shade was the part when we ran up King George Highway under the skytrain; after that we were cooking.

I’ll just come out and say it: this was not the best of runs.

In fact, a lot of it was pretty miserable.

It became obvious pretty quickly that M and I were interested in running our own runs, and were not all that interested in running each other’s runs.

This made for some pretty heated commentary along our path (and quite a few sprints, stops, and starts at that.)

We are both highly competitive, highly focused people – and as such, sometimes we start out so fixated on what we want to get out of somethings that we forget how important it is to work together as a team and be open to blending (or at the very least bending) our expectations.

Because seriously, hashing that stuff out on under the blinding hot sun, halfway through an almost 17 kilometer run is not only frustrating, but also exhausting.

Expending that much energy on emotions leaves you with much less juice to finish off those final clicks – it’s pretty darn mentally draining, and as any runner will tell you, that’s a huge component of finishing your race.

Or, to paraphrase Yogi Berra, “Running is 90 per cent mental, and the other half is physical.”

By the time we arrived at M’s parents’ place the two of us were completely done.

We were KNACKERED.

Please see exhibit A for confirmation:

However, communication wise we were a-okay, tip top, lindy hop.

And the crazy thing is, we still ran that stupid run in less than an hour and fifteen minutes. I can’t help but wonder what we would have done it in if we had actually liked each other during the run!

Alas, that is another question for another day.

After cooling down and drinking litres and litres of water, we changed into some non-sweat soaked duds and moved some bloody-giant wooden furniture around (or how I like to think of it – playing real-life doll house.)

Then it was time to return home, shower up, put on a cute sundress (only I did this – M donned a sweet t-shirt/short combo) and hit the downtown waterfront.

 

Once there we found a lovely spot for some NYT crossword, patio and Caesar action (I’m pretty sure that M and I are the only nerds out there brining crosswords to bars, but whatever, I’ll take it.)

ALSO DUDES. LOOK AT THIS SIGN:

GOODNESS GRACIOUS GREAT BALLS OF FIRE.

This, two days after writing about how I have a strange penchant for mispronouncing Coke, and here we are: VINDICATION.

Also, whoever wrote this should probably spend more time proofreading their work.

But seriously, I almost died when I saw this. Maybe they read this blog and were hoping I’d read this as I walked down Columbia Street?

I can only hope.

I can only imagine.

In final news we have been watching the everliving heck out of the Olympics. As I sit here typing this we are getting ready to watch France and Japan square off in the women’s soccer semi-finals, and we are of course looking forward to Canada taking on the USA later this afternoon.

Seeing Usain Bolt win yesterday was epic, I don’t even understand how gymnastics works, and I want the abdominal muscles of every single heptathlete in the competition.

I believe the question I asked M last night before we went to bed was:

“Do you think if I exercised six days a week and only ate one dessert a day I could have abs like that?”

I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.

What about you cats? What’s been shaking in your neck of the woods?

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!

I AM THE MICHAEL PHELPS OF LANGUAGES.

BOOYAKASHA.

Erm.

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.