And finally...

I forgot that today was Hallowe'en until a couple of people walked past me in costume on Granville Street this morning. Props to people that were dressed up in downtown Vancouver at 8:30am.
Had a fun day at work. One of my coworkers wrote "The devil rocks. Satan #1" on a name tag and affixed it to my shirt. He then told me I was the "devil's advocate". I thought it was funny, but had to explain it about 10 times and a lot of people were perplexed.
Came home (which shall only be home for seventeen more days!) and was happy to see some kids wandering around the neighbourhood dressed up. I think Hallowe'en is for kids. I think if I had kids I would be significantly more excited about the day itself, but when you're an adult it's just an excuse to have a party, drink too much and dress up like a French maid. Which I have never done. I was Little Bo Peep once, including a staff to herd my sheep upon which I dangled a little stuffed lamb. It was a cool costume, except my bosom was not sufficiently adequate to fill out the bodice. And it had a giant hoop skirt and when I would sit down it would sort of flip up so, you know, Paris Hilton has nothing on me.
And as I walked home I wondered: would my super nice neighbours with the little toddler leave something on my door as they seem to on various holidays. And yes, they did. And yes, I am a bad and unfriendly neighbour. In fact, it was a bigger Hallowe'en haul than last year: and this year I don't have to share it! To attempt to even out this grotesque karmic imbalance I think I will ask them if they want some of my old toys to give to their little girl. It would make me happy to give them as much as they would like.
And finally. Getting off POF. No, there was no weirdness with the guy at work, although I must say I did strenuously avoid eye contact with him. What I want isn't on POF.
Plus, there was the guy who viewed my profile and had this written on his: "And all the while you're just really wondering, are we gonna get hopped up enough to make some bad decisions? Perhaps play a little game called "just the tip". Just for a second, just to see how it feels. Or, ouch, ouch you're on my hair."
Wow. Just, you know, wow.

But then...

Ashamed and mortified, I went to delete my profile. Realized it is a succinct work of art. I shall leave it up momentarily. If someone out there can deal with my abrupt, terse manner and my demanding need for pancakes, then they they are worth a second look. Maybe I can sucker them into helping me move.
That would be fucking funny.
In other news: put on a goddamn shirt; I don't care about your crotch rocket; please learn how to spell; and if you live in Burnaby it's just too goddamn far.

Oh sweet Jesus

Now I remember why I got off Plenty of Fish. Yeah. Viewed the profile of one of my coworkers by accident (before I changed the option that allows people to know that I've viewed them). That's gonna be a whole big ball of fun tomorrow. To boot? He's um, kind of odd. I'm super happy that he now knows about my predilection for pancakes and the Globe and Mail. Jesus Christ. Why am I doing this again? Oh right: alcohol and overwhelming loneliness. I need someone to play My Little Ponies with me.
Will delete aforementioned profile tomorrow. Now how to broach my creepy coworker when I see him on Wednesday. Furtively avert my gaze and, if pushed, scream "It wasn't me! I don't know what you're talking about!". Sweet.

Unhealthy

Look. I need to fixate on something. Boston appears to be down the tubes, so I will fixate on the couch. I emailed my realtor to give me more exacting measurements of the doorframe. Hey: I know you tuned out two postings ago, but this is what is causing major consternation in my life, alright? I'll let you know when the excitement level in my life jumps up a notch. Like say, if someone accidentally brushes against me on the bus, or a guy smiles at me (though he's really smiling at the girl - or, more likely, guy - standing behind me). So shut up. Back to my realtor. She's like "fuck off, I'm going to Phoenix. If your couch doesn't fit, put it in your parking stall and sell it on Craigslist". Thank you, so much. I'll have a $1,600 thing to ram my car into when I come back from... wherever it is I will be driving to in North Van.
So I call my mom. I will interject here that I haven't been sleeping nights, for a plethora of reasons, none of which involve anything good (otherwise I wouldn't be blogging about couch dimensions). I'm a little cranky. A little irritable. But overall, having a good hair day. My mom's like, "do you have the number of anyone on the strata?" and oh! lo and behold, the VP of the council had given me his number. So I wring my hands and lament about calling him because the thought of making someone do any sort of work for me makes me cringe (see above conversation with my realtor). Then I call him. And he was so nice! And so helpful. My mom had said to me, scant minutes before, "a lot of people are nice, and are willing to do things to make your life easier". And he did. He measured the height and width of the door, advised me to take it off its hinges and, because he knows the layout of my suite, told me which way the couch should be angled to get around the corner into the living room. And that he had moved a sofa bed into his place and it's tight, but it can be done. Also? The dimensions were more generous than those that Shecky lobbed at me last night. I knew they would be. So I think it'll take some doing but I think, providing my movers have you know, moved couches many times before, that with a little squeezing and maneuvering and with me dancing around, writhing and whingeing (I hear that helps in all matters of importance), the couch should fit.
If it does not, my coworker M is going to help me winch it up to my 10th floor balcony under the cover of darkness. I think it's a well thought out plan with very little risk.

Obsession... for couches

I am obsessing about the size of my couch. Will it, or will it not fit? Stayed tuned for the critical climax, coming this November 16th.
Oh couch, I barely knew ye...
In other news: cheesies. Surprisingly good, despite their brilliant orange coloring and twisting, curd like looks. Our office is currently resplendent with junk food and the smell of carved pumpkins.
Going for drinks with my good friend L tonight. Haven't seen her forever. I doubt we'll have more than one token glass of wine. Ha!

Or...

The doorjamb is 33" because the door is 32". I thought things were bigger and better 24 years ago! It will fit. It will fit.

F. Uck. Fuck.

I asked Shecky the home inspector to kindly measure the width of the door frame for little ol' me whilst I was there today. He said 33". Now, I know that, when it comes to measurements, men tend to be less than truthful. As I am 28 and weigh 115 pounds. Nevertheless. This means that my new $1,500 couch will not fit. After a contemplative (to be read as: angry) glass of Cabernet-Shiraz, I called Michael to ask if he would like to use my beautific and sassy couch should it not fit into my new condo. He asked me why I thought it wouldn't fit. I said it was because the home inspector measured the door and I measured my couch and the two just weren't compatible. We continued on with our conversation for a while and eventually it came about that Shecky had said 33". And Michael started laughing. Apparently doors come in sizes like 32" and 34", so the doorjamb would've had to have been slightly larger than 34". Which bodes well (or slightly better, at least). Again: why did I just pay this guy $300?
The. Couch. Will. Fit. The sweaty, brawny men that I hire for this particular task will just have to push harder and angle it just so and keep at it until it's in and I'm totally satisfied.

Mortgage me

Going ahead with the condo. I will be moving in in mid-November. It was a bit bizarre showing up for the home inspection today. By the way: I want to be a home inspector. What the hell do these guys actually do? I can turn taps on and off. I can check if the elements on the oven work. I can locate the breaker panel. Why do I have to pay someone $300 to do this? When I arrived this little old lady appeared to be leaving "my" condo and she said something like, "are you the new owner" to which I said something like "what are you, some kind of hobbit?". No wait... that's what went through my head. Instead I said "maybe, providing this place isn't leaking like a sieve". Then she mumbled a few things and I looked at her, perplexed, and left her knitting a tea cozy in the hallway. Chatted with the home inspector, my realtor and the selling realtor (mental note: three people in the apartment is a lot, make sure to encourage guests to use the gigantic balcony often) and then there's a knock on the door. The question is: whose door is it? It is my door? Am I supposed to answer it? I did. It was the VP of the strata council. Him and his wife wanted to "see the renovations" that were done. And apparently the lady that I bumped into earlier was the wife of the president of the council. Nice to know everyone has been traipsing through my place to see what's what! They were probably all gossipping about the "young whippersnapper" that might be buying the suite while being distracted by the gleam of the stainless steel appliances. But I played nice and pretended to be a straight laced, upstanding citizen that they would love for their grandson to marry. It was really hard. I bet I was the only one of the group that would use the mirrored closet doors in the bedroom for anything other than checking out my ensemble... I digress.
So that's where I'm at. It'll likely sink in on moving day. And then it will hit me, when I'm all unpacked in my shiny new apartment: I'm no longer one of the creme de la creme. I have to build up a new repoire with the one hot guy at the Central Lonsdale Rogers. I'll have to say good morning to a new bus driver. On the flip side? I have an elevator and a dishwasher. Water has yet to spout from the light fixture in the new kitchen (touch wood). I have two thermostats. Not one, but two.

Yowsa

Sunday was fun. Stumbled into the shower, lamenting that I had insufficient time to play with my My Little Ponies since I had to meet L for coffee. Launched myself out of my apartment. It was raining a little. Had a great chat with her about all manner of things, as I usually do.
Then to N’s place in the west end. Parking there is always fun. Trudged along Jervis with my pumpkin firmly in tow. It was an awesome afternoon with Po, S, Skyhammer and R who, after a few very blatant conversations, I realized is pregnant. Oh my god people I graduated highschool with are having babies. Oh my god, some of the babies can walk and talk. I am so not an adult. Carved a shit pumpkin. My rationale was: simplicity equals less missing digits. Plus it didn’t really matter what I carved, since Po’s an artist and her pumpkin was going to trounce (and did trounce) everyone else’s. Had mulled wine which was quite flavorful. It was fun watching N dump bags of sugar into it. I like sugar. We had some good discussions about pyromania, counterfitting and how the meaning of life is in N’s bathroom. Seriously!
Then to North Van to see Michael and to use his office to fax stuff to my realtor. He gave me an illuminating tour that was like, “These are the plants I rescued. This is the cup you gave me. This is our fax machine”. He should be a realtor.
Yes. The condo purchase now appears imminent.
I will have to move in a little over two weeks.
Yowsa.

Teddy

And for all the expensive and elaborate toys that I received growing up, the most precious is Teddy. My nana made one for each of the grandchildren when they were born, so Teddy is as old as I am. I am so glad that he is back with me: he is priceless.
I can't believe my brother has a house in Abbotsford. I can't believe that I'm 30. I am immeasurably saddened that the developers are going to kill our monkey tree and our blue spruce. What about the plum tree that was so laden with plums every summer that my mom couldn't make jam fast enough? Or the cherry tree that, annually, became infested with tent caterpillars and between them and the crows we were lucky to get a couple of hand fulls of juicy, red goodness? The basketball net where I would play 21 with my brother? The creek where we caught frogs and salamanders?
And the house. Man. There's still a dent in the drywall where I threw a screwdriver at my brother's head as he booked it down the stairs. The door frame to the playroom is still askew from the time that I tried to throw him through it. You might say we fought a little. As I was having dinner with my mom tonight I looked out, past the pool, to the garden around it and all the fencing has fallen down and is rotting: returning to the land. I don't have a problem with that. I have a problem with the fact that in a couple of months someone on a bulldozer is going to come and raze the past 25 years of my life. There's a Walmart and a Home Depot up the street that me and my brother used to sled down in the winter.
I wax poetic. The cogs of overcrowding and developers' greed push us onward.
Teddy: what now?

My Christmases did not suck

Went to visit my mom for dinner and to pick through the remnants of my childhood. My remnants take up a lot of space: I think me and my brother had the most privileged upbringing ever. We have toys spilling out of everywhere. There are rooms and closets dedicating to housing our crap. He had M.A.S.K., Matchbox cars, Transformers and MicroMachines. I had Gem dolls, Rainbow Bright dolls, My Little Ponies and figurines from the She-Ra days. I also had Teila and Evelyn from He-Man. So I am giving away most of my stuff, but I couldn't part with Tickle Me Elmo. He laughs and it melts my shriveled, blackened heart. Plus, the She-Ra characters are freaking rad... and, with their fierce Amazon warrior ways it goes a long way to explain my aggressiveness, and my fondness for staffs and shields. Plus? Their thighs are kind of substantial like mine. We are women, hear us roar! Rainbow Bright is just plain cute, no?
So, when I get a boyfriend, shall I haul this stuff out on the third or fourth date?

My October checkup

Back from dinner with Big D. We went to the Red Door on Granville. It was a good thing that he is a thoughtful and considerate person, because he (thankfully) made reservations in what turned out to be a pretty hopping joint. I think we both would give it 1.5 to 2 thumbs up (and no, I'm not reactivating my Facebook account to rate this on Zoykes: I did my duty). The food was good and reasonably priced, the ambiance was good (perhaps a little loud: I couldn't hear the music) and our service was, well, good too. So not great, but good.
Anyways. Good, as always to check in with Big D. Sometimes when I'm getting a little off course in my quest to be a Zen-like, well adjusted and happy individual that does not judge others and is accepting and is always looking for the silver lining, it takes a brief respite with Big D to put me back on track. See, seemingly I am a source of encouragement for him. That I encourage anyone to do anything is ceaselessly amazing to me. I should encourage that hot guy on the #16 that reads Japanese books and has a sort of rumpled way about him to take off his pants. See, there I go getting off track again. He sat beside me on the ride in this morning. I was so happy that I totally immersed myself in "Tess of the D'Ubervilles" and refused to once make eye contact with him, even though the opportunity for conversation presented itself when we almost killed or hit something at Arubutus and Kingsway.
Where was I? Right. Checking in with Big D. So we both seem to rely on each other for support and encouragement. Who knew that's what friends were for. Good food, great, illuminating conversation and I even got walked to my car! I am very thankful to have him as a friend. It's very easy to get caught up in the mundane whirlwind that is life and to think of social obligations as just that: obligations. But taking a couple of hours out to spend time with someone as great as him is akin to a mini mental vacation. Which isn't to say that I mentally checked out, and sat there, drooling, into my calamari for two hours, but rather... well, I think you get the gist.
Came home and pulled off my toenail. That was great. It was so much fun I thought I'd share it with you. Don't like the pics or the content? Get your own goddamn blog. This is what I do on Friday nights apparently: I exhibit signs of leprosy.
Anyways. Big D and I both have resolved not to do the online dating thing, which means I have to attempt to be more sociable and do things like: make eye contact; smile; and not hit people that come within three feet of me. That'll take some doing. He regaled me with something he'd heard on the radio, about how some men are lax to approach women now because they're perceived as being creepy, and how the men would like it if women approached them if they're interested. No! No! No! This does not bode well for me.
And on that happy note, I shall contemplate bed. This girl is tired. Big weekend ahead. Gotta sort through all my My Little Ponies at my mom's place tomorrow night. I have a rich, rich life.

Hallowe'en

What's the deal with Hallowe'en? Some people are so into it. I mean, I kind of get New Year's and Valentine's Day (my two most hated days of the year), but this whole dressing up thing? A coworker said, "It's the one day of the year when women can legitimately dress up like skanks" and then he encouraged me to do so. I said, "Yeah, that's definitely the way to win friends and influence people".
I am, however, looking forward to seeing N and the gang at her place on Sunday. She says we can drink wine and play with knives. We're carving pumpkins, you see. Given that I have absolutely no artistic ability I need to figure out what the pumpkin carved equivalent of a stick man is, and then I will do that. Maybe I will just carve a stick man. It would be funny. To me.
Well, I am off for dinner with Big D. Maybe I'll not wear panties and tell everyone I'm Paris Hilton. I guess it's not quite as titillating given that I'm wearing jeans.

Uh oh

I can't seem to find anything disastrous in my most recent (potential) condo's financials or strata minutes. I might just have to buy the damn thing. I guess that means I'll have to move. In THREE WEEKS. I was kidding! I don't want to be an adult or a homeowner. I was teasing. Granite counter tops? Tumbled marble? Brand new plumbing? What will I do with myself? I've got the speech explaining why one of the walls in my current residence hasn't been sanded or painted down pat. I've perfected the wan, apologetic smile while I say, "Well, the rent is very reasonable" as a way of explaining why I'm sweating profusely (having no control over the heat, you see) in October.
Eep.
Will you visit me in Central Lonsdale? Will you admire the designer color palette and the floating laminate flooring? I will be so lonely on my 6' by 24' balcony on the 10th floor...
More importantly: who wants to help me move?

Go go Gadget arms!

I need sleep.
Found my pants, though. I'll teach them to try and escape...

The pursuit of happiness

Had an interesting chat with a couple of coworkers this afternoon. I asked one of them how he was doing and he said, “Fantastic”. I confess I was taken aback. Who is ever ‘fantastic’? That’s quite the nomenclature. My other coworker professed to be apathetic, and asked if I was agnostic and we then went off on a brief religious bent, before circling around and having him settle with ‘content’. I came up with ‘tired’. Then Mr. Fantastic said that being simply ‘fantastic’ was actually a step down for him, he is normally ‘excellent’. This led to fervent debate as to whether we ought to live each day as an excellent ten out of ten day (because where can one go from there?), or whether it was better to be complacent with brief respites of happiness.
I must confess that I did have two rather illuminating moments of beautiful happiness in the past couple of days: the first was when I didn’t wake up dead this morning; and the last was when I discovered someone had made coffee this afternoon. Kidding! I am nowhere near that morose. No, last night whilst I was out for my jog I came home and the sky was this amazing lavender color tinged with pink and I felt awed and appreciative. And then this morning as I walked to the bus stop all the colors seemed very vivid and lush (probably due to light and reflections and low clouds or something technical), and even though rain was imminent, my world was a very visually stimulating place at 7:55am. Also? The myriad of fall leaves slowly disintegrating on the damp sidewalks create a rather beautiful patina, though it has me staring at the ground as I stroll to and from my bus stop these days.
As for the happiness conundrum, I think complacency is lame. Mr. Fantastic hit the nail on the head when he said it’s a way of thinking. I know I tend to lean towards the pessimistic though I have been working diligently to be more of an optimist (you should have seen how Zen I was when I had to wait through three lights to make a left off 4th Avenue onto Arbutus over the weekend: I was one step away from Buddha, folks). I don’t think I will ever be at a point where I can say that I am fantastic or excellent on a daily basis, but I don’t think I ever want to be there. Day in and day out it would be agreeable if I could say that I am content, bemused, amused and eager. Interspersed with shots of ecstasy, uncontrollable laughter and the occasional reason to sport a Cheshire cat grin, of course.

Duder is...

off Facebook.

I need a statistician!

Okay, I need a lot of things, but right now I need someone to calculate the odds of this: as I was perusing my rent increase I noticed that the property management company has the same address as the x-ray clinic that I went to today.
Come on! That's too weird, right?
Stop. Laughing.

I didn't have to take my pants off

Went for my allotted x-rays on my lunch hour. I left the office at 12:10, walked to the clinic at Hornby and Robson, had my x-rays taken and was back by 12:50. How efficient was that? And I didn't even have to take my pants off. I was running a little late this morning and knew that I should shave my legs because every time I go to see any kind of medical practitioner they always ask me to remove my culottes ("Sore throat? Drop 'em", "Ear infection? Please change into this gown"), but I did the old shave-from-the-ankle-to-knee thing. I then knew that the x-ray technician would be some hot young guy that has a golden retriever, volunteers in Africa for three weeks a year and is just wild about Margaret Atwood... and who would be totally repelled by my hairy upper legs. That's how it works, right? But no, not only did I not have to take off my pants - I got to leave my boots on too! Sweet. And then the obligatory, "Is there any possibility that you might be pregnant" which was responded to thusly: "Yes, if you believe in immaculate conception". Just kidding. I simply bit my lip and cried a little.
Then I got back to the office and my doctor's office called to say that I have an appointment at the Allen McGavin sports clinic at UBC, which made me thing of McGavin's bread and then I wanted a peanut butter and jam sandwich. I told the CFO that I would have to miss some time at work to go to the clinic and he's like, "The sports clinic at UBC?" and I said, "Yes" and he's like, "The Allen McGavin clinic?" and I'm thinking, "Is there an echo in here?" and then he says that it's really hard to get into this clinic and that's where elite athletes go and I say, "Soooo... you don't think I'm an elite athlete?". That was pretty funny. Well, for me anyways.
Ah. Just got a rent increase. I have not had one since April 1999. My rent has been jacked to $763. I took the increase and said, "Um... remember the hole that you smashed into my wall and then drywalled back in June? Well it's never been sanded or painted, so maybe you can get on that". Okay, I was actually a lot nicer than that, but really. I should've showed her my Facebook photo album of the destruction. That was a fun time. If my life was like a sitcom (stop laughing), that episode would've been "The Kitchen Shower: How Duder Never Got Dinner From Her Upstairs Neighbour".
My life is totally not like a sitcom.
I said stop laughing!

This is why I don't get pedicures

Did a little trimming of the horned toenails tonight. There is a reason that runners don't get pedicures. The baby toenail on my right foot looked a little peculiar. Upon closer inspection it appears to be dead and I shall lose it. On the one hand yay! I am officially a hardcore runner now. I haven't lost a toenail since my soccer playing days in elementary school. On the other hand? I think I just threw up in my mouth a little.

My eldest (couch) has left the nest

Today at work I received the Year End preparation package from our payroll provider. I was like, "What the eff is this?". Year end? T4s? Can it possibly be that time again? Wasn't I just looking forward to summer a couple of days ago? Holy crap. Which means Christmas is on its way. And my birthday. Sweet. I don't just have a birthday I have a birthday week. Oh, I know how to milk it. And don't even try the Christmas/birthday gift combo: I will rip you a new one.
My dad and brother came to pick up my old couch today. Apparently the living room in my brother's new house is so big that he can easily fit two couches in there. Whatever, mom. Not everyone wants to live at the furthest reaches of Abbotsford. And, up until this evening, I was able to fit two couches in my living room too. It just made yoga and pilates a little tight.
It was kind of weird: my dad coming out and moving this huge couch and taking my apartment door (which weighs a ton) off its hinges at 62 years old. I felt bad. I mean, he's 62. He should be enjoying the paper and sipping a scotch in front of a fire or something, instead of sweltering up and down the stairs of my apartment complex in which they've recently ratcheted the heat up to near unbearable levels. And then I start to panic about my dad's age. How long is going to be able to do all the things that he does for me and with me? How many more kayaks and bike rides and long walks do I have with him? Though I can't say I'll miss some of the things that we've done together, namely putting me in the back of an unlicensed pickup truck to try and steady a 300 pound wood burning stove contraption as we fly down the unpaved, gravel road at hair raising speeds to make the 1 o'clock Lasqueti ferry. I tried to explain the reason that my presence in the back of the truck was unnecessary: the stove weighed close to three times my weight, so if it wanted to fly over the side of the truck there would be relatively little that I could do to change its mind. Yeah, that was a fun day.
And then the three of us hung out and chatted for a bit, which was cool because I rarely see either of them and, combined, they've both been in my apartment less than a dozen times.
My mom gave them some bags of "stuff" to bring to me, so I was happy to see that she had returned some of my favourite books (so that I might lend them to other interested parties - anyone want to read "High Fidelity" or sign one of my yearbooks?). Plus, she gave me games! I now have Trivial Pursuit, Boggle and... wait for it... Battleships! I love Battleships. It would have been more fun to play on opposite couches, but I guess I can't have it all.
Ah. My new couch looks so great under the nice batik painting that Michael's sister did. That I was supposed to return during the Great Division of Assets in 2006. Yeah, he's totally not getting it back.
Or maybe we can play Battleships for it.
I feel kind of lonely now. Perhaps it's because my living room, once rife with the youthful exuberance of unbridled couches has since been quelled. My brother said that I would be allowed to sit on it if I came to his house. But then he tells me to sit on it a lot...

Put this on your fridge

I shall call it "View of Downtown from Lower Lonsdale".

Ode to brunch in Kits

The drizzled downpour does nothing to diminish the shining gold curls of the shiny girls,
some of whom are wearing highheels,
My current level of dress does not fit in: it is not Lululemon, nor is it Holt Renfrew.
The third category is: what one was wearing the previous night.
Over the din and clatter of the restaurant I strain to hear my friend.
The braying of the woman next to me grates on my nerves.
Likely her date failed to pick up on this last night, and now he has to entertain her for brunch,
while mulling over excuses as to why he can't see her again.
He's still in love with his ex. He's really busy with work. He's not ready for a relationship.
They leave. She looks smitten. I continue to enjoy my fruit and english muffin.

Awesome

I'm missing a pair of jeans. How does that happen?

Seriously. I am going to bed now.

Why the hell did I download "Sister Hazel"? Their music pisses me off every time it comes on rotation on my iTunes.
And? I fucking hate Facebook. It's on the docket until the end of the month and then? And then? I will close 'er back down again. Wanna get an update from me? Come and talk to me. Want to see what I've been up to? Come and see my photos. Irrelevant technology enrages me. So do: silverfish; food poisoning; idiot drivers; daily newspapers; Conservatives; SUV drivers; and the fact that Michael ate all my peanutbutter. I really wanted to enjoy that nutty goodness.

Have Jeeves bring the car around

Today was okay. Except for what I am assuming was food poisoning picked up from last night's dinner. That's okay. Initially I needed to lose five pounds, but now I only need to lose three. Ugh.
Went to my step-grandfather's 90th birthday at the Marine Drive Golf Club (coincidentally on Marine Drive!). It was actually a really great time. Ed's grandson's all took turns dressing up as him during a different period during his life, and Ed's side of the family made a great effort to include my side (or my nana's side) of the family in the festivities. It must have been hard to celebrate their father's 90th birthday without thinking of their mother, since deceased. The dinner was superb, as was the location. There's a million jokes that I could make about spending my Saturday night at a members-only golf club in Kerrisdale but I've had a couple of conversations with people in recent days that prohibits that.
A lot of people work very hard in their lives and they don't get a break. They have no "lucky bounce". In my profile I mention that "it has been medically proven that I was born with a horseshoe up my ass", and I stand by that. I know people that have significantly more education than I do, that work harder and longer hours than I do and that have sacrificed more than I ever have and they still haven't gotten ahead. Me? I've never really had to want for anything. Sure, I put myself through school and, after moving out over 10 years ago, I've never had to rely on my parents for anything. But I've also had some really lucky breaks in my life and those breaks are as responsible for me being where I am right now as my work ethic and my academic endeavors. I don't agree with the concept of "keeping up with the Jones's and I believe that as long as you are doing the best that you can, that is good enough. I also believe that if you are lucky enough to have ended up on the other end of the spectrum (i.e. being rather wealthy) you shouldn't feel bad or guilty about that either. And that's one of the things that stuck out in Ed's speech tonight. He's had a brilliant, colorful and interesting life. And, like Warren Buffet, he attributed a lot of it to luck. I respect that. Luck can make or break you. I appreciate that he didn't take credit for things that occurred to him in his life that could conceivably not have happened if his luck was off that day. I think that he is genuinely grateful and happy to be where he is today, at 90, and to be able to share his remaining years with my grandmother.
I don't know what tonight's little soiree cost them. And maybe a year ago I would've written a different blog about the cost of the vehicles in the parking lot, the attentiveness of the wait staff, and the idea of simply having dinner in a private golf club where the creme de la creme pay big bucks for their memberships. Instead I enjoyed it and felt immeasurably lucky and privileged to be able to share it with my family and with Ed's.
And goddamn. I hope I am as lucid, happy and spry as Ed when I'm 90.
Now I shall go eat chips and watch SouthPark. I'm pretty sure that's what most of the guest of tonight's gathering will be doing once they get home. What?! I'm entitled to one jibe, no??

Volver sucked

I should've got the movie with Don Cheadle and Adam Sandler. Damn my inclination towards foreign films. And what's with Penelope Cruz anyways? Who looks like that? Who looks like that and has an asshole husband? Who looks like that and has to work hard at anything, ever?
But really, didn't enjoy "Volver". Can understand why the male persuasion did, however.
Gotta go. Pancake time!

Karma, my ass

I’ve got good karma. In fact, I think I have more good karma than most. I used to be a lot crankier and angrier and I complained about a myriad of things but then, for the most part, I managed to get my head out of my ass. As I’ve mentioned numerous times on my blog: I am really happy with my life. I have no major complaints. I have more than most people could ever hope for vis a vis my loving (though slightly neurotic) family, my brilliant friends, my health, a good job, a great apartment and… lots of couches. My life is rich with couches. Why should I be blessed with so many, when others have so few? The next time a homeless person asks me for a cigarette I shall give him a couch.
Right. Back to the karma thing. How does it work? Can you expedite it? If I go out and engage in a series of selfless acts over the weekend how long will it take for something great to happen to me? And what is the barter system? Say I compliment a friend on a shirt that I find ugly, but it makes her happy: what is that worth from a karmic perspective? And if I donate a pint of blood? That’s got to be worth a meal at Bin 942 or a massage. I’m giving up my Saturday night to attend my step-grandfather’s 90th birthday, so that’s worth a sunny Sunday afternoon at Granville Island, isn’t it? Okay, okay, I get it. That’s not how karma works. It’s not a selfless act if you expect to be rewarded for it. My reward is that my nana and her husband will be happy that I attended and their happiness makes me happy. Let’s all have a group hug now.
I suppose it’s just human nature to want it all. And immediately. There’s a Buddhist saying about that, something like ‘the desire for things makes us unhappy’. Thou shalt not covet thy neighbour’s ass. I guess I should just be happy with my own ass.
I totally didn’t get enough sleep last night.

No one told me

Huh. I didn't know that today was National Retarded Drivers Day. Yeah. When I got up this morning I didn't see it noted on the calendar. No. I really had no inkling that we were celebrating that particular holiday today. If I had known, then maybe I would've STAYED HOME instead of almost being killed 16 times in 45 minutes.
Anyways, happy NRDD.

We want the funk

The weather sucks today, however my new hat is working well. It helps to prevent my hair from going curly during my commute in. Our CEO said, as I walked by, “Hey, look at you: you’re stylin’,” which, of course, made everyone in the vicinity stop and look at me to discern if, in fact, I was stylin’. Hey. If I want a lot of attention I’ll knock a glass of water over at a nice restaurant! Then another coworker said, “Funky hat” and I said, “I’m a funky girl”. But then I started to mull over the word “funky” in my elevator ride down to the lobby. If something smells “funky” it’s not often a good thing. It usually means that the Kung Pao chicken from four days ago really needs to hit the garbage. And sometimes “funky” can be applied to certain types of people that, say, don’t comb their hair and have a plethora of piercings (not all of which you can see!) and like to remain somewhat unwashed and try to mask (enhance?) the musk of their B.O. with patchouli oil. So I hope that my self-assessed “funky” translated as: slightly alternative and a little groovy, cause that’s what I was going for.
Watched “Idiocracy” last night and really enjoyed it. It’s about life in 2505 when the concept of “survival of the fittest” has failed and all the stupid people have procreated and wiped those with an admirable IQ out of the gene pool. There’s definitely a joke here about tornadoes and trailer parks, and I’m sure I could work Britney Spears and the Republican Party into it somehow, but I’ll save my scathing elitism for another day. And yes I know: I’m going to hell. So in the movie they have done away with water and replaced it with Gatorade because it “has electrolytes” and they water their crops with it (which subsequently don’t grow and creates a dustbowl effect). The top show (on Fox, cause it’s still around of course) is “Ow! My Balls!” and is about a guy that gets hit in the balls a lot. Our hero (and my future husband) Luke Wilson ends up in the future and because speech has degenerated into a mongrel patois of slang and idiocy, he is described as “talking like a fag”. It’s awesome and I recommend it, though some of the realisms throughout the movie made me grit my teeth as I pondered how far off Mike Judge’s interpretation of the year 2505 will be. Go Dubya!
That’s all I got, really. A blog about my hat and a movie. This is my life, people. Oh, and my hamstrings really hurt so, you know, there’s that too.

What the?

The mystery item from my freezer was too mysterious, even for me. Plus there wasn't enough of it. I mean, if you're going to eat some random thing that you found in your freezer you may as well make sure you won't be hungry later. I love my logic. I'm having hummus and pita for dinner. Whatever. I do what I want. Maybe I'll eat my organic knee corn.

I don't think the real rain is going to start until later

Man! The last time it rained this hard was during the Scotiabank half. It is pissing out there. I love running in the rain. No, I'm not being facetious. I love when I come back totally soaked, clothes plastered to my body, hair sopping wet, rain beading off the brim of my hat after splashing through puddles as I careen around people decked out in rain slickers walking their dogs... who are also wearing rain slickers. It is Kerrisdale afterall.
Went to see my doctor and I have to get an x-ray and then go to the sports injury clinic at UBC. Meh. Will I be going to Boston or to the glue factory? And because my doctor didn't specifically tell me not to run, I went for the aforementioned run and I actually didn't have any pain (though it was only 7k). I'm thinking yesterday's yoga/pilates/stretching extravaganza may have helped. I think I will go insane if I have to stop running, so I will try and do all the exercises that they may recommend. And I will ice my knee with frozen corn. It's organic and I bet that will make all the difference in the world.
In other news, I am hungry. I have decided to defrost one of the mystery items in my freezer. I may become ill. Hey, I lead a life of edgy adventure and non-stop danger! Yeah. I may also open my club soda too fast and it could possibly fizz all over the counter. How ya like me now? It's a madhouse over here.

In the cold light of day

Awwww, woe is me. Could I make a bigger mountain out of a molehill? This is my problem? I'm such a defeatist. I love re-reading my self pitying blogs.
People spill things in restaurants. I did that. People say dumb things sometimes. I did that. People get on with their lives. I'm doing that now.

Did you want some water? On your pants?

Here's a fun thing to do on a Tuesday night: go out with your ex boyfriend. Have a nice conversation and a couple of drinks and some appetizers at Sandbar. Then, apropos of nothing, spill a glass of water across the table so the waitress has to scurry over and clean it up and pretend that you are something other than the idiot that you know you are. Apologize profusely. Wave at the incredibly big breasted woman and her boyfriend at the table behind you. Try and forget that: a) they were there when you arrived and have appeared smitten with each other for close to two hours now; b) they were sitting side by side to increase the amount of public display of affection they could showcase for you while you tried to choke down your flatbreat; c) they are waving at you more out of pity and embarrassment than out of a shared sense of good humour.
Oh, but don't stop there. Totally put your foot in your mouth at the end of the evening so you look like some kind of deranged stalker. Try and shake it off and make it seem like you're apathetic - nay, happy! - that yet another ex boyfriend has moved on to another relationship while you get to look forward to sitting on the #16 every morning and looking at the flags on the Granville bridge that are advertising some outdated art show at the Vancouver Art Gallery (which you've already seen) while you lament that no one (with a penis) wants to go see the new Georgia O'Keefe exhibit with you. Recall what you said when he asked if you were happy: "Yes. I have a good job, I'm in good shape, I have a really active social life. I'd say I'm like 90%. I just want someone to share it with". And, yes, I do have all those things. But when do I get the other 10%. Oh! Don't answer that. Just replay tonight. That is the reason that I am blogging this goddamn debacle while listening to "Crowded House" (live, in Sydney of course) instead of, oh, I don't know, spending time with someone that has something intelligent to say.
It's cool. Tomorrow I will put my cool new hat on, board the bus, ignore everyone that attempts to look at me, be sardonic towards my coworkers, be increasingly sarcastic towards my friends, continue to dig this particular rut in which I currently find myself (instead of being proactive and trying to do something to alleviate it), and bitch about my knee.
Right. So feel free to skip tomorrow's blog: it'll suck. Like me.

Facebook

Yes, I am back on Facebook. Now I remember why I left. Why did I spend twenty minutes uploading photos onto my site? I would really rather have my friends over, see them, enjoy their company and tell them the story behind each photo. Even though the stories would be pretty much the same: “So in this one I’m in a lot of pain”. “In this one I’m a bit drunk”. “Here? Yeah, I’m having trouble walking because of my knee”. “And here I’m having trouble walking because of the Pinot Blanc”. And so on and so forth.
I digress. The reason that I did bring my Facebook account back from the dead was to help my company flog its latest application: Zoykes. You’ll see it on my profile and so far a couple of you have already started to use it, so thanks! I do think it is useful: why do I care what a bunch of anonymous people say about a movie, book or restaurant? I’d rather know what my friends think about it because I know my friends, and I know what they like. Mostly. TMI. I like to get a little kinky with a goalie mask, a whiffle bat and chocolate syrup from time to time, but it doesn’t render my review of “Oryx and Crake” useless, does it?
In other news, I believe I have runners knee. It’s a fun scenario whereby you run, encounter excruciating pain and see your hopes of running the Boston marathon flee swiftly and nimbly over the horizon. Apparently the recovery time is long and involves a lengthy period of no running. Apparently I am going to get fat and be very cranky in short order. Ah well. To the doctors tomorrow to get a more professional opinion. They’ll probably want to amputate.
Lastly, my realtor called yesterday evening. And so it begins anew. Again. The resurgence of Facebook (I will take it down again, I swear). The re-entry into the real estate market. The hemming and hawing as to whether I should use up my remaining Lavalife credits, or if I should get a nice Calico.
My knee hurts. I’m having salad for lunch. Let the crankiness commence.

I still feel I should be on vacation

At least the pileup of work isn't too bad and I should be able to get caught up in the next couple of days. I will also attempt to run after work tonight (after I purchase some food because I have none). The running part should be interesting after being totally physically immobile for the last week (though my biceps are significantly bigger due to all the food and wine I hefted up to shovel into my cake hole).
That's really about it. I'm not sure what to do with myself now that I don't have to run five times a week and look at condos every other day.
Yeah. So... yeah.

Ha ha. But not in the funny way.

I love waking up in the morning, checking my blog, thinking "that cannot stand" and deleting my drunken ramblings. Drunk blogging is the new drunk dialing.
In other news, I am hungover. Well done! Big D just called and told me how he's been eating healthy and has gone to the gym four times this week. I was like, "shhhhh, my head hurts".
Met up with Po, N, S and Skyhammer at Lola's last night. I had never been there before. It wasn't that great, but one of the bartenders was hot. Skyhammer said, "so what are you going to do about it?". Um, hello? Nothing? Have you met me? The girl that perpetually whines about her single status and does absolutely nothing to mitigate it? Talking to boys is scary.
God. My head really does hurt. Should shower now. Big D is going to be so kind as to drive me down to Broadway to find my car.
Okay. The diet and good behaviour starts today. Chowdah. That bartender was hot. And he gave me a free drink and said, "this one's on me". I said, "if you like I can be on you". Ah.... right. I said, "thanks" and trundled back to my table. I'm such a wanker.
I want McDonald's for breakfast.

Cool photos

The statue of the naked guy was originally installed in downtown Penticton but was being vandalized because we are surrounded by philistines. Red Rooster bought the statue and have it situated on their property. I love Red Rooster.

The wine barrels were at the Soaring Eagle winery, which was previously owned by Michael's sister's ex-boyfriend who I once debated fiercely regarding the fuel consumption of his Jaguar. And the limited clothing showcased by the female crew on "Star Trek: Enterprise". It is possible that the increased verbosity and curiousness of my battles can be likened to my wine consumption on that particular night.

Lastly, the wine mosaic is part of a larger mosaic showcased at Hillside Estates where, ironically, I dropped $35 on their Mosaic wine, which was absolutely stellar and made me want to immediately put on my new Fiest album, break out some Gouda, sourdough bread and chutney and party. I am such a hedonist. I. Enjoy. Nice. Things.

I suppose this blog would not be complete without me admitting to seeing an indie movie, which I did. It was called "Year of the Dog" and it was really enjoyable. Most likely because the main character reminds me a bit of myself and my time at the SPCA. I shall leave it at that. It wasn't the best movie I ever saw (I re-watched "Stranger than Fiction" and cried: again), but it was enjoyable and different.

Right. Totally, totally bagged. As well as stuffed. And a little drunk. Going to bed and will not emerge until noon. I have the best life.

Um, still tubby

Michael is complaining about the amount of food I'm eating. I took half of his pie last night. In the past seven years my food consumption hasn't been an issue: I eat half of my meal, he eats all of his and then starts on mine. The tables have turned. He learned the necessity of eating quickly this week, after I started a new trend whereby I ate all my food... and then I start on his. He doesn't like the new Duder.
In all seriousness: I have to say thanks to Michael because he is the reason that I ended up with a 3:39 first marathon (which was nine minutes slower than him). I tried so hard to keep up with him, and if he hadn't kept such a great pace for the first 22 kilometres I wouldn't be going to Boston. So thanks Michael! Are you going to eat that chowdah?
What a great week. Touring wineries. Dinner at the Hooded Merganser. Sleeping in. Have I mentioned "Robot Chicken"? Shopping. Not working. Eating. A lot. Eating more. We had fantastic weather every day but one. We even had a pretty smooth commute back into town (with the exception of the woman that gave me the bird on the #1). Thanks, lady. And we saw a raven at Manning Park which was really cool. They are really large birds and I do believe they have beaks strong enough to peck your eyes out. I may have to add them on to my list of feared things, which is so far comprised of: bears; sharks; running out of wine; being trapped, underwater, in a car with automatic windows; and trying to explain an entirely outlandish (but utterly true) theory to a gaggle of non-believers in order to save all of mankind.

I'm chubby

I hope you all like the new and improved Duder. By 'new and improved' I mean tubby. I've been eating, drinking, sleeping, watching movies, wine touring, shopping and oh yeah - not running or engaging in any form of excerise whatsoever. Robot Chicken is the shit. So is Hillside Estates Mosiac at $35 a bottle. Whatever. I'm worth it. I'm apparently also worth the CASE of wine I have in my trunk, and my new shoes that were like $70. Um, yeah, I think I'm relaxed now. I may not return.
Registered for the Boston Marathon which takes place on April 21st. Need to find someone to accompany me because I am far too much of a baby to go by myself. Anyone want to be my own personal waterboy/girl? We could have fun! Eat chowder! You can rub my legs for an hour after I finish the marathon and dump ice into the tub for me. Come on, when else are you going to see me naked, wet and writhing in pain? A good time will be had by all.
So we are heading back tomorrow. I DO NOT WANT TO RETURN. I love vacations. Will get in around dinner tomorrow. I'm looking forward to printing off some of the many photos I've taken (will definitely upload the PG ones onto my blog). I think some of them may even be frame-worthy. Saturday night appears to be shaping up to be a bit of a drunken fiasco: meeting up with some of my running cohorts earlier in the evening, and then Po and N later on. My car will definitely be left on some Kits bus route. Like I haven't had enough wine this week.
I love my life. I love my Buddha belly. Our Coast hotel had both a bible and Buddha book in the bedside table: how cool was that?
Alright. So that's all I have. If I don't return this weekend then it's because I've bought a winery and am never coming back. In which case, you should totally come up and try my new Gewurztraminer: it's fantastic.
Sigh. See you guys soon. And don't make fun of my belly. It's my fuel reserve for Boston, baby!

Owwwwww

That was the most physically painful experience of my life. I anticipated that I would hurt after the run, but I didn't realize that, say, I wouldn't be able to walk for a couple of days. Or that I would have to descend stairs one at a time like a small child. The four blocks from the end of the marathon to the car? Absolutely the longest four blocks I've ever had to walk. If a bear had been at the end of the race, salivating and intent on eating me I would've just acquiesced because I had nothing left. What would I have said to the bear? I would've said "eat me". But I say that to a lot of people at the best of times.
The low points of the race would have been: seeing the 3 hour 30 minute pace bunny get further and further away from me; a knee injury; having to stop and sit down, remove my shoe and re-bandage my toe after a gigantic blister burst (and then having to run another 10k); knowing I had to hustle to get in by the 3:40 time to qualify for Boston, but being unable to move at more than a fast-paced shuffle.
The high points would have been: catching the 3:45 pace bunny and passing her; running a PB 10k; being able to keep up with Michael for the first 22k; realizing that - injuries aside - there was a good chance I could qualify for Boston; crossing the finish line and being able to put all the pain and training behind me. Or so I thought. Then we had the fun experience of being really pained and exhausted but not being able to sit down (you have to keep moving), so we joined the ranks of other marathoners that were dazedly wandering about the grass field trying to disperse the build up of lactic acid everywhere. We basically would amble in the direction of whatever gentle slope existed since any uphill movement was entirely out of the question.
But it is done. We did it. Michael finished with a 3:30 time which was absolutely fantastic. I finished 9 minutes behind him and have the opportunity to go to Boston now.
Anyone feel like some chowdah?

Let the freak out commence

Alright. Welcome to Duder’s “let’s sleep in a different city each night” extravaganza. If you’re following the tour it goes: Vancouver; North Vancouver; Penticton; Kelowna and then Penticton again. I AM TIRED. I don’t think the marathon handbook recommends sleeping in as many unfamiliar beds as possible before a race. It does however recommend sleeping with unfamiliar men though, and I’m totally making that up.
I have a feeling that I’ve forgotten something, but I checked my running gear at least twice, and I have my pajamas (I always forget my pajamas) so it must be something else. Ah well. As long as I have my running shoes I can buy everything else.
Yesterday was kind of exciting. They had a birthday cake for all the September birthdays (little delayed there, but better late than never), then the CEO made an announcement commemorating some of the people that had reached their 5 year mark with the company. Then he brought out a huge gift bag and: spotlight on Duder. Yes, she’s running her first marathon. I had to field a few questions. I was surprised that a lot of people don’t even know how far it is. One guy was like, “so have you run half marathons before?” and I said I’d run a few and he’s like, “so they’re what, 10k?” and I’m like, “um, no, they’re 21.1k” and he goes, “no, no, how far is a half marathon”. Yep. Another coworker didn’t think I looked tough enough. She’s obviously never seen a waiter try to take my plate away before I’m done eating. But it was so nice. In the gift bag was a picture frame, Advil, Band-Aids (good ones!), power bars, Gatorade and some gag gifts. Plus my boss and the receptionist bought me a nice bottle of wine. I was really surprised and touched. And a bit mad because know everyone knows and so I really have to run it for sure because they’ll all be asking when I return.
And lastly: got to take the seabus to work today. And here I thought that you could only find crazies on the buses. No: there was the guy that kept touching his hair and talking to himself while standing by the door and looking out the window (I was just waiting for the bomb in his knapsack to detonate). Then there was the guy next to me that kept bouncing his legs around like a four year old does when they have to go pee so… maybe he really needed to go pee. Finally there was the woman that kept doing what I can only subscribe as Lamaze breathing techniques, though she wasn’t pregnant. Oh yeah, and there was this one other lady that just sat, ramrod straight in her seat, eyes straight ahead with her hands clenched on her purse just waiting for someone to try and attack or mug her. It was a lot more entertaining than the #16, plus there was the added excitement of possibly drowning.
Well my friends, I likely will not blog again until I return, though I will certainly try. I hope everyone has a great, relaxing, sunny and happy Thanksgiving weekend. I would really love to see you all when I return (Friday) so keep me in your thoughts when scribbling on your social calendars.

Best sign ever

Above the coffee pot in the kitchen: "Every time you refill the coffee pot, an angel gets its wings".

I can't believe it's not butter!

No, that’s not right. Rather, I can’t believe it’s not Friday. Could this week drag any slower?
We have swipe cards to get into our office. I joined a couple of my coworkers for coffee this morning (yes, a $2 latte!) and, upon returning to the office, one of my coworkers backed up in the general direction of the scanning device, since he obviously keeps his card in his wallet in his back pocket. I kind of laughed and said that I had forgotten my security card the other day. I normally have mine clipped to my pants, but the one I had borrowed did not have a clip so I too put it in my back pocket. And I guess I’m not quite tall enough to activate the mechanism with my ass unless I kind of back up to it and wiggle my bum around. And so I promptly did a demonstration for my two, attractive, male coworkers who looked on appreciatively. Just then a member of the QA team walked past, saw me wriggling my derriere about and immediately commenced concentrating on her coffee.
This is definitely how you win friends and influence people. One of the gentleman indicated that I had made his morning. That’s good. One of the members of my running clinic made my morning today, by showing up in my dream last night and having a rather saucy make out session with me. I should be worried that he’s probably 24 years old, but I will take what I can get.

And we're done

That's it. The last time I shall see my fellow runners at the clinic. Ran with J and K and the term "qualifying for Boston" was bandied about. I hate that. It's my first marathon. I just want to finish it first off. If I can finish with a sub-four time that's great. If, by some wicked chance I can qualify for Boston then that's truly stupendous, but come on! Let's not count our proverbial chickens.
Driving home from the clinic I discovered two things: the liquor store on Dunbar is open until 9 every night. Who knew? And they have the best wine selection of any liquor store I have been to ever. It's like they have different wings for the wine. So to celebrate I picked up a bottle. Got home, did laundry, talked to my dad, made my lunch. And just as I'm halfway done my dinner (okay, so it was a sandwich, big frickin' deal: when you are a bachelorette you can do whatever the hell you want and you know, I totally do. I go to bed at nine. That rocks. I read. Like, a lot. Just try and keep up with my literary abilities. I am so alone) I get an email from my friend C. It's like he knew I was holding (wine). His text was like, "Got wine? Need company?" and I was like "Yes and no". Kidding. I texted that yes, surely he could come over but that my place was a mess and I needed 30 minutes. I mean, I hadn't showered after my run today and though the age old adage is that "horses sweat, men perspire and ladies glisten" I can honestly say that I worked up a good sweat today. You have to sweat to get to Boston. KIDDING. He said I had fifteen minutes and that he would see me shortly. It's amazing how presentable I can look after fifteen minutes. My apartment on the other hand...
So no "Watership Down" for me tonight. I had to be "social" and "entertain". I was like "which of my numerous couches would you like to sit on, because I have many?". That's okay. Friends are friendly. Playing is for pleasure (best Aqua Teen quote ever). And it's nice to be accepted sans make up, wearing Kwantlen sweatpants and a $10 shirt from the GAP. Like he had a choice.
I wonder if I can sleep in til 7:30 tomorrow given my new found abilities to become miraculously presentable in a very short period of time. I need to apply that kind of elbow grease to the marathon...

I like banana chips

Plus they're relatively good for you, right? Potassium and all that? Helps prevent the horrific muscle cramps in the calves after a particularly long run. But just how dehydrated are they? I mean, how many banana chips are in a banana? What if it's like, six? And if I have 18 chips then that's like eating three bananas. You seem where I'm going with this? Is it possible to get banana poisoning?
This is what happens when I don't have sex or cable. I worry about my potassium levels. Okay. Going to go get changed for my last mid-week clinic now. Yep. Channel that frustration. Channel it....

T-minus... I dunno. I can't count.

Four days? Ahhhhh! My coworker (who has run two marathons) gave me a nice card wishing me luck and saying that she'll be thinking of me on Sunday morning. She is so nice. I like nice people.
I went to bed at 9:30 last night. Going to bed early is awesome.
I have nothing exciting to report. This has been the most low key week ever: I didn't realize how much time and stress surrounded the whole condo debacle and I'm glad it's on hiatus.
I believe there is a 10k with my running clinic tonight. My heels are healing (ha ha) nicely. Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. Bimini's burned to the ground. I didn't do it. "Watership Down" is unnerving and I wonder if I will become a vegetarian by the time I get to the end of it. And I'm having a good hair day.

BEEP!

The thing about digital watches is that, first of all, they’re ugly. I do not like, nor have I ever liked digital watches. I don’t think that until today I’ve ever owned one. Now I have a Timex Ironman type deal and I can’t figure out how the timer works. It counts to one second and then starts emitting shrill beeps. This is going to be a trying marathon. Oh well, I have a five hour car ride up to Penticton on Friday night. I’m sure Michael won’t mind the incessant chirping as I try and master the watch on the way up. Yeah right: expect a phone call from me Friday night saying I’ve been kicked out of my own car at Manning Park and could you please come get me.
I’ve been running three years without a watch. My rationale is this: if I’m running as fast as I feel I can, what difference does it make if I have a watch on? If anything it will stress me out as try to calculate the per kilometer speed I would need to accomplish on the last two kilometers of some run in order to get a sub-50 10k. That’s just plain competitive. I’m a lazy athlete. Why stress out about it? I’m already worried about the weather, getting hungry, being inappropriately dressed, blisters and being led astray by rogue, roving wineries. Now this. The beeping. I’m going to be one of the hordes that set their watches when the gun goes off. BEEP!
And what the hell does CHRONO mean? Can I program it so beep and display “Nap time, Duder!”. That would be good. Especially if it did that after one second.

I heart Take Five Cafe

I am greatly enjoying the two dollar lattes at Take Five Café. And I bring my environmentally friendly mug so they fill ‘er up. Today they made a heart on mine, which makes me feel special. I am special. I have special, redeeming features such as: an abnormally tiny cranium which nearly reduced me to tears when I was trying on hats at Winners; bloody heels which almost caused me to faint at the sight of them whilst clambering up the stairs to cross back over the Burrard Street bridge; the ability to turn a brilliant shade of red the moment someone comes remotely close to paying me a compliment; and my alluring total lack of directional ability which, though humorous to my friends, is quite terrifying to me. Who wouldn’t want to date me? I mean, come on! I have it all, plus a heart made of gold. Scratch that. A heart made of sugar free, vanilla latte.