WARM BEER AND COLD WOMEN

Last post here (seriously)

2008-09-18T22:34:00.000-07:00

How fast am I going?

2008-09-17T18:27:00.000-07:00

One blog per year.
www.imnotrunninganymore.blogspot.com

I've never been one for short blog names.

This has gotta stop

2008-09-16T04:44:00.000-07:00

Been in the throes of a panic attack since 2am.
I feel like I can't get it together. I know this is mostly to do with a lack of sleep and I'll feel better whenever it is that I get some, but in the interim I'm a mess.
My life isn't what I wanted it to be right now. Some of this is my fault, some of it is uncontrollable.
I'm not being the person that I know I can be.
I think the next chapter of my life is starting (it has to: something has to change) so I'll be closing down this blog shortly.

I slept quite well, actually

2008-09-15T08:58:00.001-07:00

One of the best sleeps I have had in many, many nights. Was rewarded with a panic attack en route to work whereby I delved into such topics as:

Why am I (after 8 years) with someone who doesn't view a future together as positively as I do?
I am my father's daughter. What am I doing in an small office, in a tall building, downtown Vancouver, pushing paper around?

And then I thought, "Because I'm terrified of everything". Change is scary. Take risks? Are you shitting me? That's for people in movies.
Yeah. I drink, run and bury myself in books. It's Psych 101, isn't it?
I just want to grab myself and shake me.
But then what?

I can see into the future!

2008-09-14T23:06:00.000-07:00

I'm not going to sleep tonight.

I like Sapporo beer

2008-09-14T22:20:00.000-07:00

I, however, do not like running 17 miles. Slept like a rock last night (finally) and then went down to Michael's to go for a run. We ran (only) two bridges and I had a really hard time. I don't think I had fully recovered from last week's 19 miler, and Michael felt the same way. My body felt like it was shutting down over the last four or five miles and I walked a lot. Whatever. I just hope I recover by next Sunday because we have a 22 or 23 miler which takes us over the three bridges and then into West Vancouver before doubling back for North Van and running up Keith Road. Have I mentioned how much I hate Keith? All runs end with that frickin' two kilometre uphill battle which is NOT what you want to end with if you are running more that 13 or 14 miles. I think I crawled up it during the last clinic.
Then Michael and I showered and sat on his deck and watched mud wasps and I tried to keep my eyes open. Then we napped, but this wasn't sufficient so Michael had a cold water bath and I was like, "Try not to wake me: I'm really tired" and then he came back to bed and put his freezing, damp legs on my hot bod.
Lastly, we had Chinese food and watched a new movie with Helen Hunt, Colin Firth and Bette Davis which was pretty good.
Then we got into some pretty heavy conversation and now I'm feeling kind of depressed and my dishwasher appears to be leaking.
These instances are independent of one another.

A marathon (day)

2008-09-13T23:57:00.000-07:00

Left my place at noon. Met up with L at 1pm in Kerrisdale and we had a really great chat. I am so fortunate to have come across such amazing, intuitive and interesting people as L in my travels. I always come away from our coffees invigorated and thinking outside the box.
Wandered around Kerrisdale a bit. Wasn't too keen on all the beeping. I always knew that 41st Avenue was a gong show, but man, people laying on the horn at 2.30 on a sunny Saturday afternoon? Who needs it?
Hopped back in my car and headed out to UBC to see my nana and her husband. It was a great visit. I am so fortunate to have a grandmother who is self-sufficient, witty, and able-bodied. Her husband, Ed, is 90 (!!) and is in fantastic shape. He looks ten years younger. They have such a great life together. They invited me for dinner to the Mexican restaurant that they go to every Saturday night, but I had to pass as I was meeting up with C. I love the stories my nana and Ed have and I am so happy that they found each other in their august years and already have so many wonderful memories together.
Back into the car to Arbutus Walk to meet up with C after his 26 kilometre run. C is an attractive guy, but I must say he looked a little peaked today. He didn't have a good race and wasn't too thrilled with his time, but it was great that he pushed through to finish it. He was very zen-like and positive about the whole thing; viewing it as a learning experience and a gauge against which to compare subsequent runs. Very cool. I was really happy to see him as it had been many weeks, and I know how hard it can be to drag one's ass off the couch after a race of any magnitude. I have never seen someone eat a pulled-pork sandwich as fast as C did.
Back home to North Van to see Michael and we watched two episodes of Frasier that we hadn't seen before (please keep in mind that I haven't had cable for over a year). I love Frasier. I laughed out loud. I ate Fig Newtons. I got many foot rubs and a neck and shoulder massage. Love the rubbing. Michael always says, "How much rubbing can you take?" like there is a limit that I might someday reach. Not. Bloody. Likely.
Now I am home. With sex hair. Drinking the best Tempranillo - Penascal? The bottle is too far away and I'm too lazy to get up and check.
Michael's on call so he's thinking 21 miles might be too long a run in case he gets a call while we're out so I was like, oh, twist my rubber arm, maybe we can do an abbreviated three bridges which is only about 17 miles.
I am the laziest runner I know.
Holy crap. I am praying to the running gods that Michael makes the Boston cut off in a month, cause if he doesn't it means that I have to re-qualify as well and, um, I really don't want to cause it's hard. And I like Tempranillo. And not running.
To sum up? Super great day. I am surrounded by such phenomenal people.
How did this happen?

Hello

2008-09-13T11:01:00.000-07:00

Slept alright. More weird dreams (what else is new).
Feeling particularly solitary lately. I used to utterly hate that feeling and had to be surrounded by someone or doing something all the time. Last night, taking the seabus home, I was just so happy to be listening to my tunes and watching the beautiful Vancouver skyline shrink as we powered away. And I was happy to think that I was going home to be by myself and do things that I wanted to do. Like throwing rocks at wasps nests, watching BBC and smoking pot. I'm a complex girl.
It's a beautiful day out there. I am meeting up with L for coffee in a couple of hours and then visiting my grandmother and step-grandfather. And then, perhaps, if C isn't totally knackered from his 26 kilometre trail race today, we may get together for a beer.
And then I will go home. And start hyperventilating about the 21 miles that I want (well not really want, but need rather) to run tomorrow. Five miles short of a full.
Yowsa.

Meh

2008-09-12T22:42:00.000-07:00

I feel like I'm being pulled in a million different directions today.
Went in to work late so stayed late. Met up with Po for a really great chat and some nice wine at Sip. Love that place.
Watched a pride of lions take down an elephant on BBC. Grim.
Am mulling over many different things tonight. Feeling restless. Hope I sleep tonight. It's been so many nights without a good sleep and so many weird dreams.

Fedexing things is hard/I'm dumb

2008-09-12T12:29:00.001-07:00

The secretary has been off for three days and I was really hoping that she would be in today because I needed to FedEx something. I can do most things on my own (I’ve learned to scan and can successfully transfer 30% of phone calls), but there’s something about me and FedEx.
I’ve never FedExed, actually. I’ve been able to avoid it quite adeptly for 13 years. It scares me. There are so many variables. What envelope am I supposed to use? What service do I want? What do “express” and “priority” mean? They both seem urgent. How many days does it take? Do weekends count? Will they try and deliver it on Saturday?
So I went to the FedEx place and it quickly became evident that it as a miracle that I had managed to feed and clothe myself for so many years. They showed me how to affix stickers and waybills and to put it in the bin for 4pm. Why 4pm? It’s a mystery. If our UK and Toronto offices get their respective packages on Monday it’ll be a huge accomplishment for me.
Right.
Just another day in the life.

I still have both my nuts

2008-09-11T20:44:00.000-07:00

Just wrote the sappiest fucking blog. Deleted it. No one must know the depths of my overall sappiness: it disgusts even me.
I feel enveloped by happy, warm, friendly kindness and love right now.
Or maybe it's the Fume Blanc.
One never really knows.
Michael hates having his picture taken (the last one was taken as I pretended to get a horizon shot while we were on Salt Spring Island, and then instead I whipped the camera over my shoulder and took a blind, backwards shot, catching him by surprise). I've never fully understood his aversion to me taking his picture. He's the reason that I got home at 7am this morning.
Sly grin.
Sooooooooooooooo much.

Unh

2008-09-11T17:23:00.000-07:00

I'd give my left nut not to have to do speedwork tonight.

Random things

2008-09-09T22:57:00.000-07:00

My legs really fucking hurt today. I went to the clinic. Haven't been in... I don't even remember. I think I went once after my dad died. I need to keep going. I'm having a weird sense of deja vu as I write this, so likely the one time that I blogged after going after August 6th I had similar feelings.
We were supposed to do five hills, but it hurt so much that I thought I would make do with four, but the guy I was running with kept pushing me and so I did five. It was cool. It was just what I needed. I jogged back to the clinic feeling that I had accomplished something instead of that crap feeling that comes with having bailed (though really, I did run 30 kilometres yesterday).
So here's a random thing that comes up from time to time. I would love for people to comment on this to know if I'm insane, or if other people experience this too. I will interject here that I'm not stoned or drunk, just tired and contemplative.
Okay, the thing is this: do you ever have dreams about someone that you know that are so real and so moving that you almost feel as though they must have gone through it as well? Is this making any sense? It's like having an experience with a person in real life, except you dreamed the whole thing, and then for the whole day you ponder that experience, that connection, and it's affected you, but it's not real. And then sometimes I think, "Am I supposed to tell the person about this?". I feel bad having emotionally charged dreams about people that I know and not letting them know that they were a part of it.
Raise your hands if I've lost you and you think I'm insane.
I thought as much.

Where was I?

2008-09-08T21:32:00.000-07:00

Yes. Unable to pull myself together and wondering how I would be able to get through a wedding with a smile on my face.
I picked Michael up Saturday morning and we headed over to Salt Spring Island. I love the BC Ferries. Not really. It's not a short jaunt to get to SSI, but I won't bore you with the logistics. Okay, maybe I will, but later.
Neither of us had been there before. In fact, the only Gulf Island I've ever been on is Lasqueti, so the whole "electricity" and "paved roads" thing really blew my mind. At one point the speed limit was 80 km/hr and I was like, "Holy shit. That just blew my mind". Drove around Ganges a bit, and then checked into the B&B to clean up before the wedding.
It was a beautiful day, Salt Spring is a gorgeous island and as I was futzing about in our room I looked out the window and thought, "That looks an awful lot like JupiterGirl". And it was! She was lamenting about how hot her dress was, but she looked radiant. Such a beautiful dress. She looked absolutely natural and beautiful and beautific on her wedding day. Salt Spring Boy looked great as well, in his flashy Perry Ellis suit (even if the cuffs of his pants were still pinned up). I was totally amazed at how calm they were, especially when the resident golden retriever, fresh from a romp in the water, came trotting by and threatening to shake himself dry on JupiterGirl's dress. At one point JupiterGirl noticed that I am reading "The Time Traveller's Wife" and said what a great book it was and we discussed it a bit and then another couple started discussing it and I'm like, "Yeah, it's a super great book. But, um, you have to go get married now and shouldn't you be worried about something?". But no, JupiterGirl was zen and so was Salt Spring Boy and island life is a good life to lead. Especially when you get to go 80 kilometres an hour!
We showed up for the wedding and it was an intimate affair of around 35 people at SSB's parents' place. The garden was lovely, with a little bridge over the creek which naturally lent itself to many shots of many couples (in reviewing the photos I realize I have my frickin' Ironman Timex on, which is dead sexy and looks really good with my dress).
I've been to a lot of weddings in my day and they've all seemed the same. I'm not a big stickler on tradition and in a lot of cases it has appeared to me that the wedding wasn't even that enjoyable an event, but it's supposed to be one of the happiest days of your life. This wedding was fantastic. It was relaxed and casual in a naturous environment. The food was fantastic. There were no stupid, rambling, drunken speeches. You could sit where you wanted. There was a fire twirler. Yep, not even making that up. JupiterGirl got changed into some jeans and Salt Spring Boy had rigged up a laptop with music to some speakers so people danced and drank wine and I got to see the stars because it's so dark because there's no light pollution. The people were fantastic, everyone had a great sense of humour and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. And there were cupcakes.
It was a perfect wedding and I feel privileged to have been invited and to share such a spectacular night with such a wonderful couple. Sniff.
Drank a ridiculous amount of wine. Sat on Michael's lap and we played the "Tipping Game", whereby he continually pretends that he he's going to tip me onto my head. It's a fun game. Have 9 glasses of wine and try it some time.
The B&B we stayed at put on a great spread for breakfast. Michael managed to pat every animal that ventured his way and ended up sneezing a lot due to allergies. We bid our farewells and then headed back into Ganges to check the area out a bit better. I was pretty hungover, but I do hold that if you do the crime you gotta do the time. No, we didn't hike the local mountain, but we did wander about the town, bump into JupiterGirl's father and step mother, browse used books, sit on a rocky outcrop in the harbour and look at starfish and watch seaplanes come and go, and then go to the Treehouse Cafe upon JGirl's recommendation where we had some really good eats and contemplated moving to SSI.
Too soon it was time to go. We tried to catch a direct ferry from Long Harbour but, because I was too stupid to make a reservation, we couldn't get on. So we drove to Fulford which worked well because I bought the most rad hat which I have been wearing all weekend, plus a hemp purse and Michael, bored with my materialistic endeavours, had some coffee that smelled like jet fuel from a distance, and bought me a cookie.
The ferry from Fulford brought us to Victoria at which point we had half an hour to pull a u-turn and try to get on another ferry to Tswassen. With thirty years of BC Ferries experience under my belt I said, "No fucking way are we going to make this ferry. If we make this ferry I will buy you dinner, because-" glancing at my watch, "it's scheduled to leave in 26 minutes". We made it. I introduced him to the concept of sleeping in your car on deck, because the ferry was packed and I had accidentally grabbed seats near a contingent of Japanese or Korean gentleman who were drinking whiskey and eating Pringles. And they didn't seem to want to share.
Eventually, we landed back in North Van and I bought Michael pizza and we watched "Seraphim Falls" which was really good. Then I slept at his place and we went for a big run today. I ran 19 miles (30 kilometres): gasp.
Michael ran a full marathon!!!!! He is currently my (super) hero and I can't believe he ran 42 kilometres today. I bailed at the 30k mark, walked into a convenience store and bought all things liquid. The man at the till took one look at my salt-covered face and my overall look of exhaustion and let me polish off half a bottle of Gatorade before I had to settle my bill. Holy shit, my friends. We ran over the Iron Workers, Burrard and Lionsgate, and half way around the goddamn Stanley Park Seawall. I was out for 3 hours 8 minutes and Michael continued on for another fifty-odd minutes.
Anyways. Long, rambling story short: what a fantastic weekend. I am so pleased to have been able to spend such intimate time with JGirl and SSB. I wish them a long, happy and joy-filled to life together and I hope to see them often(er) in the future!
And, perhaps feeding off the positive weekend vibes, Michael and I had a really great (long) weekend together as well. I am truly blessed to be surrounded by such fantastic people. It was one of the best weekends that I have had in a long, long time.
Much love to JupiterGirl and Salt Spring Boy: thank you for inviting us to share such a cherished moment with you guys.

Yep

2008-09-06T00:24:00.001-07:00

I'm a fucking mess.
Someone adopted my dad's cats. I want my dad's cats, but I have an apartment.
I don't know what I'm doing.
I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. Or saying. Or how I'm supposed to act.
I have a wedding to go to tomorrow (well, I guess it's today now) and I'm going to look like a bag of shit.
What's real?
What's important?
I should likely talk to someone, but who do I talk to? Who wants to see me sit there and cry for hours? Cause, you know, that would be fun.
Fundamentally, I'm having a hard time getting my shit together.
I guess I want someone to help me through this, but who can do that? Is someone going to come and babysit me every goddamn day? Hold my hand when I start to get weepy and nostalgic?
Right. So then.
Really. No fucking idea.

Why I fantasized about smashing someone's face in with the butt of a gun today

2008-09-05T20:51:00.000-07:00

My mom told me today that the people who have been checking in on our house at Lasqueti found that someone broke into it. Yes, they came in on the second floor, broke the lock, helped themselves to some food and it looks like they slept the night there.
I knew this would happen.
And I'm sure it will happen again.
I went for a 13.5 mile run today to try and quell my rage. I kept thinking what I would have done had I been there and happened upon these motherfuckers. They know whose house it is. These fucking bastards, traipsing through the rooms, looking at my dad's things, staring at photos of me and Jay. What crossed their minds when they saw the three kites that my dad had hung up in the living room? His model bulldozer? The collection of bottles in the window sill? Did they take some of his clothes? Did they sleep in his bed? Were Garfield and Twiggy there and did they wonder who this strange person/these strange people were?
Things were already missing when my mom, Jay and I went up in August. Who are these people?
I'm going back up in October. I hope I see someone with my dad's pellet gun, or my fibreglass kayak paddle. Maybe, when I'm towering over them and they're lying on the ground, trying to protect their kidneys they'll look up and recognize me from my grad photo on my dad's mantle.

Minor loss of fidelity

2008-09-05T09:27:00.000-07:00

I'm stuck on one of my Sudoku puzzles.
The plight of the polar bear is a sad one. Damn you, BBC.
I got upgraded to MS Office 2007 at work, and I'm not sure how comfortable I am with that. It keeps telling me there is a minor somethingorother when I save my Excel spreadsheets and that, by pressing "OK" it will go into my email account and send naked pictures of me to everyone. Which is, you know, weird, because I'm thinking, "What naked pictures?".

I'm also a liar

2008-09-04T21:43:00.001-07:00

Had a bad day. I tried to be all jokey about stuff today, but last night I didn't get a good night's sleep and I cried until about 12:30 or so. I was just right out of it today. Absolutely exhausted. I had a hard time putting one foot in front of the other. I'm stressed on a lot of fronts and I need a couple of days to relax and calm down, but it's not going to be this weekend, unfortunately.
It's weird, how it's all just waiting there, right under the surface. I'm welling up as I write this stupid blog. I just cannot, cannot believe my father is dead. There's a really LARGE DISCONNECT between him handing me a tuna sandwich on the porch at Lasqueti in June and debating with me about the situation in Afghanistan before hopping back on the ride on and mowing the lawn, and him not being here. It's really, really fucking hard to take. It's really unfair. There was no segue way. There was no lead time. There was no languishing or being ill or being unwell, there was just boom! your dad died.
So what do you do? You just don't think about it. I was making dinner last night and I wasn't sure if I was supposed to leave the oven door open when I was broiling the meat and I couldn't get through to my mom so I thought, "I'll call dad: he'll know".
The day Michael and his mom told me that my dad had passed away I kept praying it was a nightmare. I have so many nightmares that I wake from thinking "oh thank Jesus - that was just a dream: it was so real" that I put a lot of weight on thinking that maybe this was just a bad, bad dream.
It's been a month and I just want to wake the fuck up.

Here's why I am bad.

2008-09-04T13:53:00.000-07:00

I just totally convinced myself that it's okay to skip tonight's clinic (again) and go shopping at American Eagle after work. Yep. That's commitment to marathoning, right there folks.
In my defence: I plan to run between 15 and 19 miles after work tomorrow, and I plan to run at least 20 miles on Monday.
Plus the pants that I want to buy make my ass look fantastic.
I can talk my way out of anything.
God, I'm bad.

Alexander Supertramp

2008-09-03T23:13:00.000-07:00

Just finished watching "Into the Wild" with Michael. I had read the book many years ago. It is a great movie: I highly recommend it (and the book).
At one point, when an retired ex-army guy is asking why McCandless has abandoned his old life, why he isn't getting an education, why he isn't working at a job he replies essentially that this world isn't one he created and he doesn't subscribe to it.
I feel like that a lot, and I kind of laugh when people talk about "freedom". Freedom? I've been in school since I was five. I have to have a job and pay taxes and wear shoes and not burp loudly when in public places. Freedom. It's funny. This whole world, this whole rigid structure was created long, long before I came along and then I was deposited into it and told I could do anything that I wanted, be whatever I wanted to be. Not really.
I realize that if I truly wanted to be free I could shrug on a backpack and squat on a Gulf Island or traverse into the bowels of the woods and eke out an existence there, but to what end and for how long?
The counter to this is that, if we all fucked off and hiked into the woods then no one would be around to make the kayaks that McCandless travelled in, or the backpack he carried over thousands of miles. If we all fucked off and hiked into the woods, the woods would be pretty crowded. To each their own.
No money = freedom. I'm not willing to do the "no money" route, though (cause I'm too much of a wimp, and because I won't have grand kids to take care of me when I'm old and incontinent... assuming of course that I even make it that long).
Alternatively: money = freedom. I never saw my parents working at a conventional job. Since I was a babe they were both around. So I will try that route: save; think outside the box; don't spend money on material crap. More money gives you more choices. The more choices you have the more free you are. The more free I am, the happier I am.
If you don't think that money brings happiness, let me know: I'll give you my bank account number and you can unburden yourself.
Lastly? Let's say that I do throw in the towel and go to Lasqueti, or travel Europe. I have to agree with McCandless when he wrote "happiness is only real when it is shared".
I try to share my happiness with the guys at work quite often, but I've been written up twice now, so I figure I'll stop.

I. Am. Being. Good.

2008-09-03T15:25:00.000-07:00

The Robot Liberator just came and to tell me how, upon shaking someone's hand, they sometimes comment on the softness of his hands.
Sigh.
In other news. Like how soft? I wanted to say, "Can I touch them?" and he probably would've been like, "Sure!".
That totally wasn't other news, was it.
In other news (for real this time), if you're going to make a disparaging comment about a homeless person, first ask yourself, "Would I employ this man?". If the answer is no, you wouldn't, then shut the fuck up.

Doing it.

2008-09-02T22:14:00.000-07:00

Getting back on solid ground. It's been a while.

Yeah. I really don't have much to say. Thought of some witty things while I was riding the bike today but I forget them all. Okay, in all reality I probably thought of one witty thing and it probably wasn't even all that bright so... yeah.

In weird you-should-buy-a-lottery-ticket news, I am just finishing off "Crime and Punishment" and it mentions Vauxhall, which was also mentioned in "Vanity Fair". One hundred points to anyone that gets any of this paragraph.

My period leaked onto my pants at work, which was really enjoyable. Oh, I guess I should have warned male readers (mail readers) before I just blurted that out. There are two menstruation related quotes that I often ponder. The first is the saying, "Would you trust something that bleeds for seven days and doesn't die?". The second is Michael telling me that Martina Hingis won Wimbledon (?) while having her period (ergo, what am I complaining about?).

So, you know, I'm really rockin' it. Coffee with work husband. The Robot Liberator said he felt the urge to mess up my hair (cause it was a bit disheveled today) and - it was really effing hard - but I kept my libidinous comments to myself. Continue to not attend the clinic (apparently people have stopped asking where I am). Maybe next week. Ate dinner. Cuddled with my new running shoes. Another marathon phone call from Michael, his first words were, "Why didn't you call me?". I love him. He is so, so good to me.

Hm. Just wrote a bunch of gushy stuff about him and deleted it. I have a reputation to maintain.

Chowdah!

2008-09-02T14:27:00.000-07:00

Registration for 113th Boston Marathon to Open on September 3

Six new organizations added to official Boston Marathon Charity Program

Boston, Mass. -- Online registration for the 113th Boston Marathon, scheduled for April 20, 2009, will begin at 9:00 a.m. eastern time on Wednesday, September 3. Held on Patriots' Day, a Massachusetts holiday, Boston is the world's oldest annual marathon. Since 1986, the principal sponsor of the Boston Marathon has been John Hancock Financial Services.

For the second consecutive year, the field will be limited to 25,000 entrants. In 2008 the field filled by late February and race organizers expect the 2009 race to each its limit even faster.

To qualify for the 113th Boston Marathon, runners must meet the designated time standard for their age group. Qualifying times must be run on or after September 29, 2007 at a certified marathon. Qualifying standards may be viewed at www.baa.org/BostonMarathon/Qualifying.asp. Seeding of the race is based on qualifying times, which are subject to review and verification. In 2008, runners with a qualifying time faster than 3:35:00 began in Wave One of the race, while all others began in Wave Two.

I still don't know what I'm doing...

2008-08-31T23:26:00.000-07:00

...but I had fun today. I think there may be pictures which I'm too lazy to upload, currently.
I feel very disconnected from almost everyone in my life.
I need to start introducing more structure and normalcy into it. By engaging in the routine I may become accustomed to the routine.
Cause fuck, do I ever love routine.
Ah.

Wow, I look like crap

2008-08-31T12:38:00.000-07:00

Let's have some fun today, kiddies, shall we?

I saw a seal today

2008-08-30T23:55:00.000-07:00

What's with the tapioca in bubbletea?
I hate powerboats: they're for assholes.
Met a woman from Korea today. I was tired and she caught me off guard and I was friendly to her. As a rule I try not to encourage tourists.
Spent the day with Michael. We tried to analyze the new Batman movie, but instead spent a lot of time talking like Christian Bale and making inane comments.
I don't know what I'm doing.
Once, me and my dad put out crab traps in the bay and we kayaked out to haul them up and we had caught a lot of crabs and as my dad was pulling them out he said, "You know how you cook these, right?" and I said yes, so we pulled all the crustaceans out and dropped them back into the ocean.

Surreality (fiction)

2008-08-29T13:06:00.000-07:00

I read about this woman, once, that hated phones. She didn’t have a phone and had to resort to using payphones if she wanted to call anyone. This was because she had twice received phone calls which delivered the news to her that a loved family member had passed away. It would make me leery of phones too, but I’m leery about a lot of things.

I’m leery about the news. It’s all rather irrelevant and blown out of proportion. Wars are being fought, people are being murdered and tornadoes are mowing down trailer parks. That’s always happened throughout history, except trailer parks are a relatively new addition.

Sometimes, when I’m driving down the highway at 100 or 110 or 120 km/hr I think “Why don’t people just steer their cars into incoming traffic?”. The only thing between us and instantaneous death is a line painted down the middle of the road. I find that amazing. Why aren’t more people pushed in front of trains? How come more people don’t scream at the top of their lungs when they’re in shopping malls? And yet we say “Sorry!” when someone steps on our feet.

We all have our realities, and our realities are real only to ourselves. I cannot perceive your reality, though I may be able – through concentration and a lot of surmising – to come close. Your reality isn’t really of any importance to me, anyways. It only affects me to the extent that it infringes upon my reality, at which point I will be motivated to do something about it. Perhaps, then, I will push you in front of a bus or start pulling clothing off the racks of some upscale clothing store and flinging it about haphazardly while stunned onlookers try to discern how this affects them.

* * *

“How are you doing today?” he asks.

“Fine,” she shrugs.

A brief moment of clarity

2008-08-27T22:03:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I went for a run. I'm sure there are several instances on this blog whereby I'm in a horrid mood, I go for a run, and I magically work through some issues. I was able to work through at least one issue yesterday (though I still woke up and had a gigantic panic attack at 3am this morning).
I am not moving to Lasqueti (at least, not now). Here is why:

Lasqueti was my father's dream, and though I love him and I love Lasqueti, it's not my dream to live there.

Moving to Lasqueti would be a move based on emotion, not on logic. I would lose a job that pays very well and treats me very well and I would not come out ahead at Lasqueti. It needs to be fully renovated and that would take many months and over $100,000: I have neither. If I really wanted to write a book I would write it. What's stopping me? My 35 hour work week or my laziness? It's just like the marathon that I just dropped out of: if I really wanted to run Victoria I would find a way to do it. I would get up at 5am. I would stop getting baked and eating ice cream at 11pm. I would actually show up at the clinic. I would run home from work (remember when I used to do that?). I would make. up. the. mileage.

It's really, really hard to live there. The last two days that we were there we didn't have power because it wasn't sunny and there wasn't enough water to switch over to the peltin wheel. The electrical system is daunting. It's a big house, and it would be scary and isolated at night. I have already had one nightmare about the woodstove which is hooked up to the hot water tank and the pressure gauge above it that redlines at 160 pounds psi (or whatever it is) and though there is a safety valve on it, I don't really want to test it because if it fails to work you will find little bits of me scattered in the bay.

Again, Lasqueti was my father's dream and it was something that he worked all of his life to achieve. He (and my mom) have given my brother and I a tremendous leg up in life: more than he ever had. It would be too easy to simply to ingratiate myself into my father's dream because of my desire to hold on to him and his memory and everything that he held dear. I know that, if Lasqueti were my dream too, my dad would want me to be there. But it's not, so he would want me to define my own goals and to work hard to achieve them, all the while knowing he's already placed me halfway there.

The thing that I admire most about my dad is that he blazed his own trail and found his own happiness. I would be a fraud to take his money and then try to live his dream: I have to find my own. I need to create my own legend, to blaze my own trail, to find my own contented happiness.
And this begs the question: what is my dream?

Well, that was... yeah.

2008-08-26T10:44:00.000-07:00

After five days at Lasqueti I have no closure, no more clarity. I have no answers. I have never been more indecisive or unsettled in my life. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. And I don't know what the point of anything is.
That said, I will echo what my brother wrote in a letter to my dad, which he brought up to Lasqueti and shared with us. My dad (and mom) have prepared us for our lives ahead. We had awesome childhoods. We know who we are, and that we're on the right path; and neither my brother nor I would ever wish to be anyone else.
So. Excuse me while I sputter and pause for some days, weeks, maybe months. I don't believe anyone can ever be adequately prepared for the death of a loved one. The concept of closure is absolute garbage: the love and the nostalgia and the memories go on and on.
I am who I am, and right now I am bereft.

Bye

2008-08-19T22:56:00.000-07:00

Will be here in less than 48 hours.

Would prefer not to come back.

I don't know what I'm doing.

This is (potentially) a two man job. I'm only one and a half men.

Ha.

Something

2008-08-18T22:36:00.000-07:00

I'm having a really hard time sitting still. I want to move. I want to be out of here doing other things that are different and exciting and meaningful. I alternate between staring off into space and forgetting what in the hell I was just doing. Why am I in the kitchen? What was I needing to do in the kitchen? I interrupted myself three times while putting away laundry. Apparently I really needed to reconcile my bank account, freshen up the flower arrangement and eat an apple.
Then, sometimes, things are very beautiful and peaceful. I saw my bedroom like I had never seen it before. It was so calm and serene and quiet and welcoming. So I fell asleep at 6pm.
This is insane, putting off grieving until fucking Thursday. At that point it will be over two weeks since my dad died. It's not normal. I just need to get through two days of work with some appearance of normalcy.
I want to move to Lasqueti and just... live there. I want to cut the lawn and re-roof the house and split firewood and reno the interior and plant a vegetable garden. One of the steps on the front staircase is loose and needs to be fixed. The house needs to be painted. I could learn carpentry and re-do the stairs by the side of the house. I'm not so bold as to pretend to be able to operate the backhoe. I probably wouldn't ride the Honda step-through, but I will ride his bicycle. The cats would be happy that I was there. There a lot of movies to watch.
Should I do it? What's important? Two months ago I had a conversation with my parents about moving up there to try and write a book.
I could do it. I can't stand the thought of the house being idle this soon. It's like abandoning my father or something. I regret not taking more interest in learning how everything works up there. I know that, at some point, my dad gave up showing me how to run things because I didn't show enough enthusiasm and because I only came up once a year. Christ, I thought I had a lot more years to learn how everything worked. I can do it though. I've been able to do everything I've ever set out to do.
I don't know what I'm doing. I wish I had more money and time and then I could go up there and make my peace with everything and take the time to make Lasqueti as beautiful as it could be. I wish someone could go up there with me for a year to set everything straight, cause I don't think I can do it all alone.
My mom and I went through some of my dad's mementos today and I came away with some things, but it was kind of empty. My dad didn't live in South Surrey, he lived at Lasqueti. There are a million things there that he used daily that are so much more meaningful. His clothes in Surrey don't really smell like him.

The thunderous crashing

2008-08-17T22:19:00.000-07:00

Spent the morning hanging pictures of my father while my brother shored up the steps on the back porch, before we went to pick up the food for today's Celebration of Life for my father.
Let me back it up a bit: I woke up around 8am to the sound of crashing thunder. Call me weird, but I think it was my dad. It was his day today and he probably wanted me to get out of bed. When I lived here (I'm currently in South Surrey) he used to turn on the intercom and loudly announce that he was cooking breakfast so me and Jay would get out of bed. He would then proceed to (seemingly) take every goddamn pot and pan out, making as much noise as possible, while yawning loudly, singing, and making cappuccinos (just in case we had slept through the initial onslaught).
Anyways. Several trays of food later people started arriving. So many people came that my step-grandfather had to direct them as to where to park their cars. I'm not sure how many people I thought might come out, but we're thinking maybe 90 showed up. Everyone was so good. Somehow the food was laid out, people were fed and watered, everything was cleaned up and then everyone disappeared. Everyone had kind words about my father. It was so wonderful to see people that I hadn't seen for years show up to pay their respects and throw in a story or two.
A few things happened which bear mentioning. My aunt (my dad's sister) came. I believe I wrote on my alter-blog that, because she lives near me, I would definitely make the effort to see her, but I haven't. That's lame. She sat next to me and, though it was her little brother that had passed away, told me that she was worried about how I and my mom and Jay were doing. She told me that she had spoken to my father once and he told her that she was the kindest person that he knew. And she is. She was just so bereft, so heartfelt in her grief, so kind in her compassion and though we are somewhat estranged from that side of the family it just re-instituted that desire to re-connect with her and her son - my cousin - who all live a stone's throw from me and would be happy to see me for coffee any day of the week. I will make that happen. My aunt is an incredibly kind person and she is one of the last connections that I have to my father.
The other connection is my uncle, who looks a lot like my dad which makes things pretty difficult. He regaled me and Jay and some other family members with stories that I had never heard. My dad taking him out on his motorcycle and hitting 100 miles an hour on the road out to UBC. How they created "UFOs" out of laundry bags, balsa wood, and candles. How their dog fell down into the towers of the Burrard Street bridge (only to be rescued, of course, and to make the paper yet once again). Inadvertently almost burning down a section of Kits beach. It was hard to see my uncle because he looks like my dad and because they were estranged and because it is so evident in the way that my uncle talks about my dad that he loved him very much and that some of the best times of his life were with my dad.
The photos were everywhere. Photos of my dad on his travels. Posing with the huge cod that he caught that had actually been hunting him. Newspaper clippings of the rescue from the raft when he was a little kid. Write-ups about his time as a lifeguard. Articles about us moving the house to Lasqueti.
My dad lived, man. It is surreal beyond belief to be sitting here writing this. I thought I had more time. I guess that's what everyone says. His sister said, "It's a little like having a dad that was a celebrity" and I said "Yeah, it kind of is".
I remember walking into elementary school with a motorcycle helmet tucked under my arm.
I remember my parents taking me and Jay out of school for a month to go to Mexico.
I remember my dad doing jacknifes off our diving board.
Listening to the mariachi bands in Yelapa. Buying mile-high pies from Dot's Diner on Vancouver Island. Playing pool with him in Puerto Vallarta. Body surfing in Hawaii. Kayaking to Jedidiah Island. Drywalling and kicking carpet at Lasqueti. Him kicking my ass at chess. How he had a cappuccino ready for me when I came downstairs while up at Lasqueti because he must have heard me roll out of bed in the morning. Cleaning out the carburetor of my 1980 Corolla with a toothbrush with him. When he made us tea with lots of milk and sugar which we'd drink with a straw when we were little. The checkout girl that was flirting with him at Thrifty Foods. His penchant for rye bread. His love of the Sally Ann.
Trying to wrap it up. What's my point here?
My point is that I'm just so goddamn mad that my dad wasn't wearing a helmet when he jumped on his motorcycle that day and that I don't remember what my last words were to him, but that I'm grateful I spent a week with him in June and that I'm sorry I never understood him the way he deserved to be understood, but I understand him now. And I understand how easy it is to accept and take for granted certain things every day but how, in a flash those things can be gone.
I understand that no words can adequately convey the experience that was my last 31 years with him.

Things not to forget

2008-08-12T22:26:00.000-07:00

Michael said it's inevitable that you start to forget things about someone that's passed away; their voice; what they looked like; specific details. I had a voicemail from my dad that I deleted before he died and I think man, if I had kept that then I would always have with me the sound of his voice.

Here are some things that I remember now that I don't want to forget. The buzzing of the inverter in the background when he called me. When he made me a sandwich for lunch when I was there in June and I had already eaten and he had been out working, but came in and made lunch for both of us and I wasn't hungry but I ate it anyways because he made it for me. The trip to John(Peter?) Lindsay's to drop off the wood to be milled for the countertops he was going to put in the kitchen and how I had to direct the dumptruck and the insane border collie that kept on trying to herd his truck. Having dinner with him at the blue roof and the way he was sort of pleased at the way curious people drifted over to our table to see who the infamous Gordie was having dinner with. Him trying to beat the horsefly in the cab of the truck to death in the most violent manner and then turning to me and saying, "Those are the ones that'll take a chunk outta ya" and me looking at him quizzically before he hopped out of the trunk and I subsequently grabbed the glove and hammered it to death and informed him of this when he got back in the truck. Watering all of his trees and plants. Being amazed by the beautiful things he had grown. Sitting on the cement table and chairs that he had single-handedly moved up from South Surrey. The dried rose that was next to my bed in my bedroom that had been placed there long ago (maybe my last trip there) because, when he had time, he would do special little things like that. The electrical cord to the electric barbeque that was too hot to touch so he had to unplug it because it was either the wrong cord or because it was broken. Kayaking out to the Finnerties and seeing a huge group of seals bathing in the sun who all lumped off the warmed rocks into the ocean and then followed us, snorting, at a curious distance. Looking back to see him crack open a beer in his kayak on a stellar evening in the Strait of Georgia with million dollar views. Trying to sell him on the modernist cabin we saw on the way home. Garfield singing to him at the top of the stairwell. Chasing a deer out of his garden. Going for a run and being passed by him in his dumptruck and then catching up to him because it broke down, but he was fixing it and asking if I could throw my hoodie into the cab and he said sure, so I did and continued on. Him telling me that I "walked funny" when he saw me doing lunges after my run. Being agitated that he had shut the water off before I came back from my run, so ultimately I had to rinse the salt off from the water that had been warmed by the sun in the hose out front. Spraying ether (?) into the stack of the backhoe while balanced on some part of that mammoth machine while he tried to get it up and running. Being excited that I had discovered some long extinct bug from when dinosaurs had once ruled the earth, to which he shook his had no, and looked at me like the city girl that I have become. Watching "Trailer Park Boys" with him. The great meals he cooked. Getting vaguely irritated with him when he didn't take the turnoff that I had suggested when we were en route to Supermommy's house. Hugging him at Supermommy's house.

That was the last time I saw him.

I don't remember what we talked about the last time I spoke to him.

I said to Michael and the Newfie today that I was amazed by the way life just keeps on going on around you. It's like I'm in this pit of confusion and despair and everyone should stop and heed what I'm going through, but things keep on moving. I keep on getting up and catching the bus and eating and running and smiling and doing dishes and bam! tomorrow will be the one week anniversary of my dad's death and I'm stunned.

Someone called my mom to tell her that the islanders are leaving flowers at the site of the accident and the island is pretty upset and they may have their own service for him which is really nice to hear.

So yeah. I really miss my dad. I miss the pitch-stained front stairs and the warped and antiquated windows. I smelled his jacket (that was mine once, but he commandeered from me, not unlike the way I stole his belt from him a few years ago) when I was in South Surrey a few days ago.

I am my father's daughter.

Your independence shall bring you bold adventure

2008-08-08T22:51:00.000-07:00

I love my dad. It is beyond my current realm of understanding that I won't be getting phone calls from him anymore. He won't be there next time I go to Lasqueti. Every time I close my eyes there are a million memories and details emblazoned there. Sometimes I think that I can't get through this, and then sometimes I look at how much my dad lived his life and I know that that's what I have to do.

There are a lot of things I regret about our relationship and our history together, and there are going to be a lot of unknowns that I'm going to dwell on for the rest of my days, but I don't think that regrets or unknowns are the point. I know my dad loved me and I know that he knew I loved him. I think that probably, somewhere in the cosmos, in the atmosphere, in the air around me he's there and he's saying, "Hey girlie..." and willing me to stop crying. It's just hard, though. It's hard for my mom and my brother and I.

My family and I talked about my dad a lot today. I asked my brother if he could have imagined our father "old" or in a hospital bed and he said no way. My uncle said he had been thinking about all the adventures that he and my dad went on when they were young and shaking his head thinking about the zaniness and the riskiness of some of their exploits. My mom told the story about him running aground on some rocks near Sisters Lighthouse and having to swim to the lighthouse, stay the night with the lighthouse keeper and wait for the next high tide in order to free his barge from the rocks. I brought up the story about he and I racing to catch the ferry in his Cressida that had a propensity to overheat and how, to mitigate this problem, he carried with him an oven-mitt. When the car started to overheat he pulled into a mall parking lot, put on the oven mitt and took the cap of the radiator, allowing steam and boiling water to spew everywhere (mortified, I had walked over to some shoe shop and pretended to be interested in sandals) before refilling the radiator with fresh water kept in the car for just this purpose.

I have a lot of stories about my dad. The scorpion incident in Yelapa. Crossing the Strait of Georgia in a fishing boat with him, Jay and a couple of our friends in really bad winter weather. The way he loved Twiggy and Garfield and how they followed him around the yard, more like loyal dogs than cats. Having Jay and I pick cherries from the tree in the front yard from the bucket of the backhoe which he had extended up into the tree (and then shook just a little, making me and Jay scream in terror). The way he would rub the bottom of my feet on his beard when I was about four years old which would drive me insane because it tickled so much. Seeing him ski down the mountain as I was taking the chairlift up and being proud of his athleticism when I was in elementary school. His extraordinary green thumb. His contentedness at Lasqueti. Building the rental house on the property there with materials that he had scavenged and squirreled away over the years. The time he left a note on my car that said, "Who loves ya? Your daddy does" on the windshield of my car when I was at work and he had been in the neighbourhood (I never told him I kept it and that it's in my photo album). Moving a house from Marine Drive in Vancouver to Lasqueti Island. Accidentally almost burning down the Finnerties (event recreated on film for posterity further in the blog showing how I doused the flames). The parrot that bit his finger in Puerto Vallarta. His tugboat. Letting me drive the Sea Ray when I was a little kid. Kayaking with him when the water was filled with phosophorous so it lit up every time we put our paddle into it.

These are just things that are in my periphery. He had been around for a long time before I arrived on the scene. He had an amazing life. He travelled, he took risks, he lived a lot, he didn't like working 9 to 5 so he didn't. He did things his own way. I don't like cliches, but he really did: I was the only kid in my school that had a swing set that was about thirty feet high, made out of poles that my dad had driven into the ground somehow with his bulldozer and backhoe. Oh yeah, my dad had a bulldozer, backhoe, dump truck, boats, cars, trucks, solar panels, a peltin wheel and an electric golf cart.

Talking with my mom and Michael today it became apparent that my dad just did what he wanted to do in life. My mom said that he had had a lot of adventures. Rehashing some of the stories it became somewhat apparent that he sometimes lived life like some invincible twenty year old, not contemplating the risks: just doing.

In my June trip up to Lasqueti we did some pretty funny things. He had been waiting for someone to come up and help him clean the chimney. I thought this meant that I would literally help him clean the chimney in some fashion, but my job was to dial 911 when something went wrong. And so I watched my father in his early sixties climb the ladder that was tied to the chimney, and then watched as he dropped the weighted brush into it to try and get some of the creosote off the walls, peering in, dangling precariously into the chimney. After which, we almost lit the house on fire accidentally when things went horribly awry with one of those hand held torches. Then, my dad managed to reposition the wrought iron wood burning stove by lying on the ground and forcing it with his legs (you may remember that this was the stove that I had to "steady" while bashing around in the back of his truck while we hauled ass to catch the ferry off Lasqueti one day which is probably three or four hundred pounds and if it had decided to fly out of the back of the truck there would be relatively little that I could do to stop it). All of this was in the span of one day.

There's still a lot that I don't know about my dad which my mom said she would share with Jay and I went we go up to Lasqueti shortly. What I did learn to appreciate today is that he is the most non-conventional and adventurous person that I have ever known. He seemingly found alternative ways to do most things in life: proof that it can be done. He lived the life that he wanted to live. He took risks and chances and had enough adventures to last a lifetime (most of my adventurous stories involve him). I said to Michael over dinner tonight that I hoped my life, and that of my mom and brother don't become more mundane now. I hope that this is what rallies us to embrace life a little more, to take more chances, think outside the box and to be more adventurous.

When I opened my fortune cookie it said "Your independence shall bring you bold adventure".

I hope so. I've got the rest of my life to make my dad proud.

I love you, Dad.

Too much

2008-08-06T23:04:00.000-07:00

Was so hot today. So, of course, we went for an eighty minute run during the heat of the day (it was 91 today). Um, stupid. Then lay around the pool today and got too much sun. Went out for dinner with the in-laws and ate too much.

Sat next to my favourite niece at dinner tonight and we kept texting each other because I have the mind of a thirteen year old girl. She's so much fun and I don't even like kids, but she's not really a kid, she's like a young adult that gets my humor and is fun to pal around with. Sigh. Little sister I never had...

Hot enough for ya?

2008-08-05T22:02:00.000-07:00

Frick! It was approximately 9 million degrees today. We went for breakfast, flaked out on the beach with three of Michael's sisters and their kids and and then hung around the pool (you're allowed alcohol as long as it's in a plastic cup -yay!) before heading up for an excellent dinner at Michael's mom's.
I had shaved ice. Yummy. Am currently drinking wine out of plastic cup. Yummy. Bonded with one of my nieces (she's one of my favourites, though I know I'm not supposed to have favorites). I think she and I get along because she's older than the boys but younger than the girls and I'm older than all the grandchildren, but younger than all the children: we're both "in between".
Anyways, not to wax poetic about thirteen year old girls what I always do, but she's a super great girl and I love her to death and if she didn't live in Ontario I'd be bugging the hell out of her all the time.
And in dramatic news, because I'm always retarded and dramatic: can't get this stupid marriage thing sussed. It's bothering me and that fact that it's bothering me is bothering me and I hate the whole fucking thing and it's this circular argument that I know that I'm better than, but I keep coming back to it. Like, I'm having a really great vacation so far but it's been eight years that I've been coming here and it's getting a bit weird (though likely only in my head) and I feel stupid. It's hard not to feel like the reason that someone isn't marrying you is because it's not simply the institutution, but that it's you as a person.
That's what wine is for!

Yes, I'm wearing the same shirt

2008-08-04T22:22:00.000-07:00

Stopped off at a municipal park on the way up here. Then checked into the Motel de Violence (details later) before heading to Michael's mom's. Three of his sisters were there with their kids, who aren't really kids anymore given that one of them just returned from Europe, another is taking science classes in Cozumel, another was approached to be a contestant in a bikini contest. I hadn't seen the boys since my trip to Toronto when I had an animated argument with that CTV exec because he didn't like my super-cool CBC shirt. Effer.

The trip up was long, but it always is. It hurt my ass. I drove for some strange reason. The municipal park wasn't that great, but it sure was nice to get out and stretch our legs and have a bite to eat in Princeton before the final leg to Penticton.

Michael's sister and his nieces are staying at the same hotel as us and advised us that there was some kind of altercation at the motel last night and that the police had to be called. Suh-weet. And as I write this, some dumb fucking wankers are loitering outside the door of our room smoking and talking (WHO STILL SMOKES?).

Anyways. Ate and drank too much already on the first day. I should pretty much retire from marathoning since I have ceased to be an athlete and have become a huge hedonist.

Right. So after the South Park movie is over, I'm totally going to be drunk and tell those people to shut up and then get into an altercation and be arrested.

We're here

2008-08-04T14:10:00.000-07:00

Free wireless. Well, I guess it's not free since it's costing us $120 a night to stay here. Michael is currently playing with the air conditioner. There is a pool in the centre of the parking lot.
Must off to freshen up and then go visit the in-laws!

Here we go again

2008-08-03T23:25:00.000-07:00

"Taj Mahal" by Sam Roberts is awesome. Love the piano. Not in bed but should be. Have to be up at 7am tomorrow (I was actually pushing to leave by seven, but Michael talked me out of it by feeding me pulled pork).
My old Running Room leader posted some new photos today. They run out of the RR at 4th and Alma and did the two bridges today: a major run and huge accomplishment. I slept until noon. Looking at the pics I felt no small amount of nostalgia; recognized a few people. There is no possible way I could have run today given the pain quotient, but not running since Thursday is making me goddamn batty and the fact that I had a most unhealthy dinner is agitating.
I'm running like hell in Penticton. The Trans Canada trail goes through there and there is a fantastic trail that goes through people's backyards and farms and heads up towards the wineries that I will absolutely be doing that (have already packed my Sauconys, two pairs of shorts and shirts - one of which is emblazoned with our clinic logo). This will be the first vacation that I've taken where I've packed a fuel belt. Man, times have changed! The drop in fee at the good gym in Penticton is like $8, but I don't care: I'm going there once while I'm up. Have you seen my arms? They're effing pathetic. I can't even do boy push ups and that chaps my ass.
Must go to bed. I made the most awesome playlist on iTunes though, and it's hard to log off. A little Morcheeba, some Dido, Sam Roberts, Joni... sigh.

Scary!

2008-08-03T22:52:00.000-07:00

Leaving tomorrow, bright and early!
Today. Well, thanks to my endometriosis I spent a lot of time on the couch. Then I went to the park and Michael came over and we talked about "13 Conversations About One Thing". I love watching movies with Michael because we always have in depth conversations about them afterwards (unless they're shit).
Then we went to Memphis Blues for dinner. So not my choice, but I'm trying to be the new, easy-going Duder. But yeah. Don't understand the allure. A lot of men seem to like this place, but I'm just not a huge carnivore and I know Michael wanted me to love the pulled pork sandwich but no, I will take my spicy tuna rolls any day. Plus? I am becoming more rotund and am worried about the upcoming week because it's hard to eat sensibly when on vacation. DAMN. Damn damn damn. Hate the gut. Why does it go to my waist anyways? Why can't it go to my breasts? Stupid fat.
Guilty confession: re-watched the intro to "The Bank Job" again before returning it. Saucy. I divulged this to Michael and he looked at me as though I was missing a chromosome. Well, I guess I won't invite him to my threesome!

And then

2008-08-03T00:40:00.000-07:00

Woke up with a mild hangover at my mom's place. For some reason I chose to crash in my old bedroom that now sports a twin bed, instead of crashing in the spare room which boasts a double. Oh wait! I remember the reason: I was tired and drunk.
Went out for brunch with my mom to a place she'd not yet checked out. I'm not sure if it passed muster. My mom made a comment, something to the effect that there weren't a lot of meals that struck her as memorable and, even though I eat out a tremendous amount, I would have to concur. I mean, you consistently drop $30 or $50 for meals, but they're not exactly extraordinary for the most part.
This one was pretty good though. To start out, our waiter had the I-am-so-fucking-hungover-from-last-night shakes, which I could sympathize with. God, if I'd had to be up and serving hungover wretches like me brunch with a grin on my face I'd've been right choked. I had a beer with my breakfast, which I think a lot of marathoners do. Shit. I felt bad since it wasn't even noon, but it's intriguing how one gets over things quickly.
Then I got to watch some guy trying to reverse into a parking stall for three or four minutes. It was like watching a lava lamp: an utter waste of time, but I couldn't tear myself away. Let's do the math here: you just spent three minutes of your life exhibiting your shit driving skills to everyone in the restaurant, while making 16 point turns to try and back your effing Chrysler New Yorker or whatever the hell it was into a parking space. What was the goddamn point? If you had just pulled in and parked, you would have saved three minutes, and then I wouldn't have had to write all these words about what a stupid ass you are. I never back into parking spaces. I guess that I, like this guy today, could do it if for some reason it was critical and I wanted to commit a good three or four minutes to it, but I've got significantly better things to do: like drinking beer with breakfast.
So breakfast was okay. I kept hearing what sounded like kissing sounds behind me from time to time, and I thought that some disgustingly amorous couple had been seated behind me but... um... no. It appears to have been a man and has son. Yeah. And the kissing noises? My mom told me she saw the guy eating pasta with his hands at one point. So. Okay. Wow. Plus? The TVs were all turned to CNN and the sound was off. Why. Why??? CNN is for assholes (see CBC shirt donned in prior post), and what is the point of having the news on, if you don't have any sound? Either show me Mike Weir on the back nine or fuck off. God I love Mike Weir.
Then I came home and called Michael and he was on his bike in Burnaby and was like, "I'll meet you for coffee in an hour". Got home. Dropped my bags. Freshened up and headed out again.
Had coffee in Lynn Valley and then picked up some eats and took them to the park. I underestimated the park. The park is nice. We ate and then watched the honeybees for a while. Okay, I watched the honey bees and commented on how their coloring and markings differ from the honeybees on Lasqueti while Michael smiled wanly and thought, "Why am I dating someone that spends five minutes discussing honeybees?".
We wandered over to a different area of the park (after Michael warned me not to step on any bees) and found a playground so I thought, "Hey! This is a perfect opportunity to get some photos of myself that Squishy approves of!". Dude, it's all about the blog.
Then we rented a movie and I got a wicked foot rub and we ate a lot and Michael went home and I spent a long time uploading shit onto Facebook (hate FB) and blogging (love blogging).
Oh, and the fireworks happened again so I got to show Michael the reflections of the fireworks in the windows of the building across from me. Which is just as good as the real thing, right?

Amarula/I don't know my sexual literature

2008-08-02T23:42:00.000-07:00

Still trying to sort out the last two days, they've been an absolute blur and I'm right knackered. I shall start at the beginning.

Caught the bus to White Rock after work. It took me almost 90 minutes to get there, but that was fine since I was already tired so I was able to nod off a bit. Arrived at Coco's place to find her getting ready to put on a spread like nothing I've ever seen before. This woman is incredible. She is a brilliant cook, a witty and sophisticated hostess, and an all around joy just to know. She had crudite ready to go (pronounced "crew-da-tay", you insolent philistines).

In short order Coco's sister and nieces arrived (identical twins), along with Po and Squishy. Oh, and dessert. These twins were a riot. Oh, I guess I should mention that it was a pajama party which is why, at random people, you will see people in their pajamas. Po thought I was already wearing my pajamas cause I looked like a slob. But back to these twins. When they weren't discussing Einstein's theory of relativity and debating about Iran and Israel, they were playing with stuffed animals. Natch. I'm not the most socially adept creature (okay, let's all just admit that I'm totally socially retarded), but these girls made attempts to engage me in conversation. They were like, "What do you think of Ehud Olmert stepping down?" and I thought about it for a bit and replied, "Pass me my wine, shorty".

Then we ate. After the crudite Coco had made prawns wrapped in prosciutto, followed by salmon sandwiches with herbed mayonnaise and roast beef sandwiches with creamed horseradish. I wanted to get to the roast beef sandwiches, but was stuffed after the salmon sandwich. So, so, so damn good. Then we had homemade dessert, which somehow I got roped into dishing up which was quite a debacle because I'm a moron. But we all knew that. Shortly after Coco's sister and her daughters left and we pulled out the game Sexual Pursuit. Yep. I thought it would be kind of easy, with questions like, "Where do babies come from?" but, er, it was exceedingly difficult and made references to a lot of people that I have never heard of that are important philosophically and literature-wise. I would have felt more guilty about my lack of knowledge except that Coco had given me some Amarula, which is now one of my favourite things in the world. Man, some of those questions were hard. I had the least cock-rings when the game ended, and I was pitied extraordinarily. You know, like most Friday nights that I have...

Ah. As usual, it was really fantastic to hang out with such fun, engaging and interesting people. I had been looking forward to this since Coco announced it, and it was one of the most fun nights that I have had in recent memory. I guess I sound like I'm gushing, but it was just that fun. I probably didn't adequately express my gratitude (or maybe I did, the end bit was kind of hazy... I remember thinking that I should go hug people that had already crawled into bed, but I'm not sure if I actually made good on that or not).

Fack. I am so lucky to have such amazing friends. They are so much fun and I can't think of a better group of friends that I'd like to whittle away my time with. They have interesting stories, they're open-minded, non-judgemental, funny, interesting, smart, kind, considerate, honest, and they let me go off on tangents about running and... running.

Yep, absolutely the best night I have had for a long, long time.

I love my life!

2008-08-02T19:47:00.000-07:00

More to come.

Crudite does not rhyme with Luddite

2008-08-02T15:13:00.000-07:00

I just got home in time to turn around and go out again.
I'm just glad I have my pants.
I have many, many stories to tell. Stories of food. Stories of wine. Stories of terrifying children. I have pictures, too.
Later.

Red sky in the morn...

2008-08-01T07:27:00.000-07:00

... sailor be warned.

Took these yesterday morning. Interesting. The irony. Not until you get the irony.

Things are sorted now, so I'm going to change the secret meaning of these pictures from "harbingers of swollen eyes" to "pretty!".

Heading into White Rock tonight.

Happy long weekend, everyone!

I'm a bitch

2008-07-31T23:25:00.000-07:00

The RCMP just called back. The goddamn kids were smoking goddamn Colt cigarettes or something. Why'd they have to look so shifty doing it? They made it look like they were shooting heroine or some effing thing.
I feel bad. It's raining out and they're smoking a legal (though ethically corrupt) substance in a crappy parking garage on a Thursday night. I dunno. What amenities are available to these kids - maybe there's no place for them to go. They weren't hurting anyone.
Maybe they were getting ready to, though. Yeah. They were all like, "Let's go smoke some Colts and then... fuckin'... knock over some garbage cans and light some cars on fire". Phew. I'm glad I called it in. People could've died.
I'm not saying I'm a hero, but if you insist...
The true kicker will come when I get busted for a drunk and disorderly in the near future. "Oh... you're that uptight bitch that rags on kids that aren't doing anything wrong. Sorry. Are those cuffs on too tight? Watch your head getting into the car."

Men are not from Mars

2008-07-31T23:04:00.000-07:00

I don't know where they're from, but I'm pretty sure I could rationalize and use logic on a male Martian.
Fact: men and women communicate differently.
Fact: often, the message that the sender is trying to convey is not received by the receiver, resulting in miscommunication.
Fact: crying doesn't help. Even I got bored of it after two minutes.
Fact: cool down periods are extremely helpful. By the time I actually arrived in order to suss this issue face to face I was tired and it didn't really seem that important anymore.
Fact: Red Burrito makes the world's best burrito.
Last fact: I called the (non-emergency) police because some shifty looking kids were huddled in a stairwell in my underground parking (the unsecured part) when I came home just now.
I lied. One more fact: wasabi peas have a lot of fibre.
I realize that I am getting 'older' because I'm just too tired to fight about stuff anymore, and I'm calling the cops on teenagers and talking about the fibre content in snack foods.

It never fails

2008-07-31T13:50:00.000-07:00

Anticipation: a precursor to a fantastic disappointment.
Hunch shoulders, cast eyes to ground.
Why am I so unlikable?

I may go to the gym before I go to my clinic tonight (must tone arms!)

2008-07-31T10:46:00.001-07:00

One more day and then I’m on vacation! Yippee!!!!!!!! I can’t hardly wait. And I’ll be kicking it off with a super great gathering of super cool people at Coco’s celebrate her birthday. Gonna. Be. Awesome. Must remember camera.
Also bringing the camera to the Okanagan. As well as my laptop because I think I’m going to blog whilst there because I’m that much of a huge dork.
Check out God’s related blog on this topic of… blogging: http://nonosejob.blogspot.com/2008/07/blogging-evil.html

Please, Jebus, don't let my mom read this

2008-07-30T22:55:00.000-07:00

She checks my blogs occasionally (when I've gone too long without calling).
The "happy" people are still on their balconies. Hello! The fireworks ended over an hour ago: don't you have to work in the morning?
I have ravenous desires. Involving skirts being hiked up, being pinned against walls, much tongue and grinding and no small amount of hickeys.
One day. One day I am going to set aside 24 hours for this. We will break for showers and eating and napping.
I wonder, on days like today where I quaff beer, pay down my mortgage, work out hard and am flirted with by random men, why it is that I'm unmarried. Then I think: why do I want to be married?
Oh, the thing I forgot to blog about earlier was that another toenail fell off. Except it was one that recently fell off, so.... I might have leprosy.
Running rocks!
Go. To. Bed. Balcony dwellers.

Those cool things in life I was talking about the other day

2008-07-30T22:26:00.000-07:00

Sitting here, reading blogs because blogs can sometimes be more fun than books, and listening to the roar of the fireworks. Sounds like thunder. I saw flashing out of the corner of my eye and looked to the building kitty-corner to me and at first I thought I was seeing the flashes of many cameras go off. Turns out I was seeing the reflection of tonight's luminary spectacle reflected in their windowpanes. Cool, eh?
I can hear a lot of people (those that are south/south west facing) out on their balconies having fun and enjoying the display. It's nice.
Kind of a funky experience to be involved in, albeit in a solitaire and east-facing way.
I ate too many wasabi peas.

Mania rocks

2008-07-30T20:52:00.000-07:00

Went for dinner and drinks with my ex-boss tonight. The Robot Liberator joined us about halfway in. I hugged him at the end. And then I got a sandwich hug, mashed between him and my ex-boss. I informed them that my therapy has been extended indefinitely thanks to this flagrant bout of touching.
Two beers to the wind I caught the seabus home and decided to multi-task. I'm such an efficient drunk. On the way up Lonsdale I: had a nice conversation with my father; stole a sweetpea from the park because they are my namesake and they smell so damn good; and paid a goodly sum down on my mortgage.
Upon arriving home I thought two things. Damn I'm thirsty. Let's go to the gym.
50 minutes on the bike later, here I am.
It occurs to me, as I contemplate running home from work tomorrow (must be home by 6pm to make tomorrow's clinic at 6:30!), that I'm pushing it pretty hard. One might say I'm turning it up a notch. To eleven.
Not sure where this burst of energy is coming from.
I'm going to go eat wasabi peas now.

Whoa!

2008-07-30T12:38:00.001-07:00

I just re-read last night's blog and I would like to make the following statement: I realize that I was really in my head when I wrote that. I understand that the vast majority of people that read that were probably bored, perplexed or made angry/apathetic by it.
In news that doesn't take place entirely in my pea-head: my new boss cracks his knuckles and it drives me nuts. Also? I think a girl in marketing was just talking to her dog on the phone.
Lunch time!

We have a winner!

2008-07-29T22:12:00.000-07:00

If any of you wonder about my mindset and my view on life, watch "13 Conversations About One Thing". I know you will because you're just dying to understand and analyse and get close to me. You lie awake thinking, "What makes Duder tick?" and "Why is she the way she is? It's clear that she's been dropped on her head... and yet it's more than that".
Why do I not look forward to things? Why am I so hard on myself? Why do I feel it necessary to work out for 80 minutes so that I can appropriately appreciate my dinner? I should revel more, I should be proud more, I should anticipate and be excited about things more often.
Right.
Here's how this works: I am an extremely lucky person. I have always believed this, and then I thought that it wasn't luck and that I'd done something to deserve the things that I have, but I change my mind back: it's luck. It's always been luck and it always will be luck. It was luck that I was born in Vancouver. It's luck that I landed good jobs. It was bad luck that I've been in a couple of car accidents. Luck that I got a condo. Bad luck that I met Typewriter. I couldn't control any of these things.
I do take credit for certain aspects: I didn't qualify for Boston by being lazy. I haven't kept all my jobs for as long as I have because I'm inept. You might say I "manage" my luck pretty well.
But when it comes to being anticipatory, to looking forward to something.... it just doesn't work with me.
Perfect case in point: I finally tracked down a wily and elusive bottle of Baco Noir that didn't cost the moon. I was so excited: I discovered this wine when I was visiting Ontario about four years ago, and was disappointed to discover that the varietal is quite rare here. So tonight, after working out for 80 minutes to earn my dinner I decided to get into the Baco. Hell, I even decanted the goddamn thing. And? Meh. That's what. Anticipation sucks. When I anticipate, I am let down. I anticipated 3:35 for the Vancouver Marathon. I anticipated some other things that I won't wade into at this point, and they didn't materialize either.
But I'm not morose. Quite the contrary. I'm content, and oft times I'm quite happy (though I don't display it like most regular people do: I see a myriad of amazing things that please me and renew my appreciation of life on a daily basis, but it's more fun to appear crabby and pissed off).
What was it about the Baco Noir? It was the anticipation of it. What was the reality of the Baco Noir? The reality was that I was holed up for several days in a hotel in Mississauga, visiting our satellite and head offices, getting trained, meeting people and.... working out and watching cable t.v. I was there over a long weekend (I think Labour Day) and I thought, "Who knows when I'll be back this way" so I hooked up with Pez and his fiance one day, and the other day I took a tour of Niagara Falls which included a wine tasting in the Niagara region. That's where I met the Baco.
So what was the Baco, really? It was bad luck putting me in Mississauga over the long weekend, and me managing it so that I could get out and have a good time. It was the woman I met because we bumped into each other at the gym and at breakfast a few times. It was Michael calling me at midnight because it was only nine o'clock his time and I know he knew this, but he missed me and wanted to hear my voice. It was one of the high-ups in management being impressed by me even though I drank too much wine at dinner and wore dumpy clothes, while another middle management woman was all but taking her top off to make some headway with him (and she totally ignored me at the airport too, which was fine cause I bought some shitty chick flick book and had a couple of glasses of wine at a lounge before boarding, and was hoping to drink more on the flight so that I could hopefully fall asleep but was unable to because a girl came and joined me - even though I had the whole frickin' row to myself! - but that was okay because she was into kayaking so we talked about that for ages). Niagara Falls (the falls themselves, not the shitty tourist trap that presses up against them). Great weather. Friendly people. Beautiful countryside.
I'm not doing a very good job explaining this. It's probably something like this: I'm not big on getting excited about the prospect of things for a few reasons: a) it's never the same the second time; b) the greater the expectation, the greater the scrutiny, and the more biting the disappointment; c) the unexpected things on the day to day are the best; and d) it might not even happen.
And on a really "out there" level (and yes, I do believe this): I think that the more I look forward to something the more it is likely to be taken from me. This is based on 31 years of experience. I understand that this is because I already have an inordinate amount of luck and that it is quite audacious for me to be expectant about anything. I heard the term "every day above ground is a good day" a few years ago and that's my mantra (as dismal as it sounds) a lot of the time.
Ah! See, now that I've unloaded and disbursed all my expectations, this Baco's tasting pretty good.

Mystic Pizza... sigh

2008-07-27T22:07:00.000-07:00

Did anything good come out of the eighties? Jesus Keyrist. If you haven't seen this movie and you don't want me to give away key components of the plot, don't read on.
Where to begin. Okay, the clothes threw me. It's hard to take anyone seriously when they're wearing black nylons and a black cocktail dress with a big white bow on it and freaking patent black leather pumps. I think I saw a banana clip. And what's with all the hair? Oh! How about a t-shirt that fits, and jeans that don't go up to your tits?
Wow. Sorry about that. As I said: the clothes threw me. But I kept thinking, "the stellar acting will carry it". Julia Roberts and Vincent D'Onofrio did a good job (though I will admit that D'Onofrio is on my top ten list), but the rest was really overacted. I don't get it. Like, were these problems that were showcased in the movie quite groundbreaking back in the eighties? Intriguing... as I start to rail against it I'm starting to find a couple of good points. Okay, Julia Roberts' character seeing through her rich boyfriend's facade and calling him on it: that was actually good. And Lili Taylor's relationship with D'Onofrio was a little atypical because he was the one pushing for marriage, whereas she just seemed to be into it for the sex.
The rest was trite! The dinner scene where the serving girl knows Julia Roberts and starts chatting her up? Come on! No serving girl would be like, "hey, how in the hell are ya?" to a guest that she knew. And why did Vincent D'Onofrio have to marry Lili Taylor so badly? Couldn't they just have shacked up, snorted coke and worn really bad clothing for a couple of years like everyone else was doing?
The best part was the other girl who was trying to save money to go to Yale. So, besides slinging slices, she takes a job babysitting. Um, how much does babysitting pay? Take a job slinging drinks and get some tips, honey. Whatever. So she babysits and then oh! fucks the dad and is devastated when the wife returns from her travels in England and the dad doesn't acknowledge her. How did this girl get into Yale? She's stupid! Give me the scholarship: I can figure shit like that out right quick!
Right. It did make me want to have pizza, though. Not sure if that's a good thing.
Here are some good things: Michael, my blessed lover, ran the three bridges today. I say boo-yah for not letting the man keep you down and he is currently my A Number One Hero. He said The Killers' "All These Things That I've Done" came on while he was on the final leg up Keith Road and the song propelled him up the hill. I vaguely knew the song so I downloaded it, played it like five times while dancing around my kitchen. That song rocks. I understand that it rocked like two years ago, but clearly I was saving it for tonight. So I could dance around in my kitchen. By myself. On a Sunday night. Hey! I should get some cats.
I realize I'm blogging too much lately, but it's because I have verbal diarrhea and I'm just that irritating.
I think I might go dance around my kitchen some more.

My running clinic is messing with me

2008-07-27T17:21:00.001-07:00

There was a run a couple of weeks ago that I didn't do (I hadn't yet re-committed to this whole marathon idea - sleep seeming like a better idea at the time), and some of the people that talked about it indicated that there was no way the run was 12 miles as they were under the impression it was, surely it was thirteen.
The same thing happened today. When this run was talked about at the clinic last week the term "fifteen miles" was bandied about. I looked at the route this morning and it said sixteen miles on it. And it turned out to be closer to seventeen miles. I know two miles doesn't seem like a lot, but after you've run fifteen miles and you still have to run along the seawall, over the Burrard Street bridge and back to Kits Beach when you thought you were supposed to done, it is far.
I'm not complaining: I did close to 17 miles today. That kicks ass. It was wet when I woke up, but it didn't rain on our run and we got to run from Kits to Science World, then along the seawall, around Stanley Park and back. Vancouver's a beautiful city and it was great to see so, so many groups of runners out today. I think we saw more runners than walkers! And almost everyone that came out today wore their clinic shirts which was cool (only I did feel a bit bad because I didn't want to infer that we had run from the North Shore, cause we ran from Kits, but then I don't feel too bad about it since in a month or more we will be running the infamous "three bridges" which takes us over the Ironworkers, Burrard and Lionsgate bridges).
Am I boring you with my running talk? Likely. Here's an update: my banana was touching my cookie and so when I ate the cookie it tasted like banana which pissed me off because I don't want my tasty cookies to taste like something healthy.
Now I'm really tired so I'm going to watch "Mystic Pizza" because I've never seen it, while waiting for Michael to call me from a pay phone, asking me to come and pick it up. He worked last night and got to bed at 4am, so he just left for his run about an hour ago. He tried to call me once from a pay phone and because I didn't recognize the number I didn't answer it. I'm still living that one down.
Oh, best ever wine news? Went to the new wine store on Marine called "Everything Wine" and it's basically like a grocery store, but with wine. Anyways, I thought to myself, "if this place can't help me, no one can" and I marched up to a perky employee and said, "Do you have any wines from Ontario?" to which she wrinkled up her nose as to say, "why ever would we have wines from Ontario?" (um, because they're tasty and we should promote Canadian wines, that's why??) and she's like, "I think we have a couple of wineries" and with baited breath I followed her, fingers crossed, hoping against hope to see the thing that I haven't had since I went to Mississauga when I worked for Hudd a million years ago and visited Niagara Falls and then did a wine tasting and fell in love with a certain wine only to find that pretty much one goddamn winery in the Okanagan produces it and it's like $28 a bottle when they're practically giving it away for free in the Niagara Region and there it was! A bottle of Baco Noir for $14.99! Miracles do happen.
I'm so excited I could nap!

Bed now?

2008-07-27T06:58:00.001-07:00

So tempting to go back to bed. It's raining and a bit foggy and I still have to drive out to Kits just to get to my run. Yawn. Don't wanna do it, though once I get there I know everyone will be joking around and happy to see me. It'll be over in between two hours and two hours and fifteen minutes.
Kits. I wonder if we'll go for coffee afterwards in Kits, or if my fellow North Shore residents are like me, and can hardly wait to get over the Lionsgate to the magical 'other side'. When Kits people start moving to Lonsdale, I am moving to Edgemont. Or maybe Deep Cove.

I don't want to run 15 miles tomorrow

2008-07-26T21:49:00.000-07:00

I just want to continue sitting here on my couch, reading Ferroever's blog, drinking wine and listening to KCSM.
I don't like when ambulances pull in to the hospital with sirens on: it means they're in a hurry to get back to the hospital because it's bad news. Bad news sucks.
I appreciate my life very much. I've been having a lot of fun lately. Didn't accomplish much of anything today which, if you know me, is groundbreaking.
Haven't seen Michael since Thursday. The poor guy is currently working (they started at 8pm). He won't be at the run tomorrow morning obviously, so hopefully I will see him later on in the day.
Hope Coco's interview went well today. Can't wait to see her and the gang on Friday.
Love my life!

Watching movies. Er, reading books, I mean.

2008-07-26T15:05:00.000-07:00

I just watched "Vanity Fair". I'm about halfway done the book and, though it's a bit hard to follow, I'm greatly enjoying the trials and travels of Becky Sharp. I do recommend the movie too, though one does get more of the subtleties and nuances from the written word.
Here is the question: do I finish the book? I know how it all ends, so nothing will come as any sort of surprise. Ah, of course I will finish it: it's a good read.
Started Dune a couple of days ago for book club. I realize I've read the book before. And I think that a movie was made of it...

Access

2008-07-26T01:11:00.000-07:00

Here's a blog posting from la old blog. If anyone wants access to the old blog lemme know and I'll ad ya. It was lame, yet bitter.

Grind, grind!
One of the perks (hmm, I may have to revisit the use of the word "perk" in this particular instance) of leaving work at 4pm these days is that I can now make the Wednesday night running clinic. This is the clinic that deals with such running nuances as speed and hills. Both are best avoided. In fact, I strongly discourage everyone from ever running a marathon. The only reason I'm still doing this is because I paid for it, and I'm cheap and I will not back out. Today we did hills. The concept is that you run up a 500 or 600 metre hill as hard as you can, then run down, and then do it four more times. We're working up to ten. I will simply say that the first one was easy. The subsequent ones, not so much. I bought a dorky water belt (since the only thing dorkier is bonking and ending up in the hospital with dehydration) and I was quite glad that I brought it along with me tonight. I tried to look cool as I rapidly depleted two of the little bottles and then stuck my tongue inside them to scrape out the last vestiges of moisture. Some guy gave me his phone number. I said, "Do you work for Canadian Springs?" and he said, "Uh, no" so I said, "Beat it then. And put your goddamn shirt back on: it's not that hot and neither are you".I also got a new cell phone today. It's something new and shiny to entertain me and distract me from the lack of romance, sex and affection in my life. So I'm playing with it on the bus ride home, adjusting the volume and what not and I get a call from work. Of course at this point I had the volume right cranked and no one on the bus is talking so it's like RING RING RING and everyone looks at me as I try to answer it while maintaining some semblance of coolness.And I downloaded the Scissor Sisters' "I Don't Feel Like Dancing" recently, and I totally dance in my apartment and crank it, even though it sounds like the BeeGees and there are handclaps and what sounds like rayguns being fired sporadically. Or what I think rayguns might sound like. I wish I had a raygun. That would distract me. I could shoot my fellow running mates and take their water. Pew pew!

Mean Girls/I'm drunk/Reminiscing

2008-07-25T23:36:00.000-07:00

I just finished watching "Mean Girls". I'm a little late cause Michael called and we talked for almost an hour. Who does that? Allow me a brief tangent: there isn't anyone on this planet that gets me and that accepts me and that (for whatever incorrect reason) loves me as much as Michael. I know my family loves me, but I don't think they get me. Actually, I'm pretty sure no one gets me entirely but Michael's as close as it comes. He's more than a boyfriend or partner or husband or friend or lover. I don't know what he is, but I would be very forlorn if we no longer had random hour long conversations. I've never been so comfortable with someone in my entire life. Are you puking yet? Cause I'm feeling a bit queasy. I may randomly go outside and punch someone on Lonsdale to assert my overall manliness. I'm. Not. Gay.
Okay, back to "Mean Girls". Holy fuck. I hated high school something fierce and I hope to never re-live that whole fucking horrid scenario ever again. So, allow me to drunkenly blog about my adolescence cause I've got nothing better to do and I don't want to go to sleep like my last posting indicated because on a fundamental level sleep equals death or some damn thing. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light... and all that.
I recall being in Grade 1 and taking apart my watch and putting it back together, much to the dismay of my first grade teacher, Mrs. Kraft. I met Supermommy. I have known Supermommy for about 25 years. Ohmygod. I remember Mrs. Buckley playing CCR's "Looking Out My Backdoor" and thinking about it in the most innocent terms because I was only 8 or something. At some point a Commodore 64 was introduced into Mrs. Martin and Mrs. Wang's split class. I was in Grade 3 but I was reading Grade 4 books. I was bullied on more than one occasion: in one instance I lost a loose tooth; in another I was haphazardly beaten up and ended up cowering under a desk, half-crying. I wrote a nasty note to Tom Willie and had to write lines and remit them to the principal. In Grade 6 my teacher was Mr. Strauss and he would say to us, "If I told you you had a nice body would you hold it against me?" and would hug his students. I don't think he was a sexual pervert, but I do think he was mildly retarded. I remember telling my parents about the hugging when I was in my twenties and my dad hit the roof. I guess I just thought it was normal (why would adults want to do anything weird or unkind to kids?), but had I told my parents what the deal was when it was actually happening I'm pretty sure my dad would've knocked Mr. Strauss unconscious, which was fine, because he was a racist, sexist son of a bitch anyways. I saw him a few years ago and I remembered how ex-students used to come in to see him when they went on to high school and I thought that was so cool. When I saw Mr. Strauss at Minter Gardens with Michael I ignored him (he didn't see me). He wasn't cool: he was a narrow-minded bigot that was likely cheating on his wife. But he did encourage my creative writing abilities, so... there's that.
Let's see. Grade 8. High school. I wish I had a scanner so I could upload some of the heinous photos of me at that time. A boy asked me out in French Class in Grade 9 and I thought that he was teasing me, becuse I couldn't understand why anyone would want to date me. I fought back against a couple of girls that were chapping my ass. I was caught badmouthing another girl in our class and she marched resolutely into my Western Civilization class and backhanded me (I think Supermommy was there). I was totally stunned (I think everyone was). My parents were utterly perplexed and were like, "Uh... do you want to press charges?". No. I had badmouthed this girl and I deserved what I got. Don't badmouth people: it's pathetic and lame and I am sorry for it, to this day.
Nothing else of any great import happened in high school except that I developed an eating disorder (the remnants of which are still with me). I used to chew the food that I liked to eat (mainly Costco muffins) and then spit it out for my dog to eat. Yeah, I'm sure that every fourteen year old girl does that. I stole my parents car and got busted by my parents. I threatened to commit suicide because I was too fat. I graduated with honours. I was a virgin that didn't drink or do drugs (I wasn't corrupted until I was 18).
Um, so I pretty much hated my life in high school. The ironic thing was that I lost a lot of weight and started hanging out with a fast crowd (and I mean fast) when I graduated. One of the gentlemen - let's call him Bubba - told me that he assumed I had been on the cheer leading squad when I was in high school given the change in my physical appearance. And, given the crowd that I was running with, I remember Supermommy (though definitely not a super mom at the time) telling me that she was pretty sure that I had been caught up in the shit because of the crowd I was in with. I wasn't. I was such a fucking newbie. The only drug I've ever done is pot, and I'm really happy about that.
At work I'm quite popular. I seem to have attained the status that I likely always hankered for in high school, but I'm the same goddamn person. It's a bit of a fucking kicker, when you get down to it.
That's why, when I see the person that's out there, that's doing something different, I really try to appreciate what it is that they're trying to do. It's a fucking boring existence if we all look and act the same. I'm fundamentally the same as I was ten years ago, but people like me more now because I'm skinny (even though I weigh myself once a day, sometimes twice) and more ribald. Weird, eh?
This is where you shower me with compliments so I feel worthy enough to eat solid meal at breakfast tomorrow. THANK YOU MAINSTREAM MEDIA: this shit did not come from my parents.
Ah fuck, look at me whinging. Best life ever, babes. I've a great group of friends, the gents seem inclined to want to see me naked (even though I weight 124lbs today), what else could one want?

Hairdresser, thy name is Sarita

2008-07-25T19:54:00.000-07:00

After being on the North Shore for eight months I have finally found my hairdresser. The other two were but red herrings, our relationships starting out promising, and then being defiled with missed appointments (hey, I showed up) and language barriers a la "Seinfeld" where I was pretty sure I was being spoken about in a foreign language (surely they were discussing my acerbic wit and ethereal beauty).

Today I met Sarita. She has a nose piercing, isn't too much older than me, asked a lot of questions as to what exactly I wanted done to my hair (the little bit that I have), gave me a bit of a head rub, laughed at my jokes, stowed my wine (which, upon purchasing, I was ID'd!!!), did I mention laughed at my jokes? And, because all hairdressers seem to do this, sent me out into the scary world looking like a dazed lesbian. What's with that? Hairdressers need to look at their patrons' hairstyles when they come in - because that's obviously how their clientele wishes to look - and then try and replicate it on their way out. I all but ran home because it was sticking up and I felt like a huge dork, but having been through this scads of times I knew it would be okay once I washed the product out and tried to make myself look like more of a boy, and less like a lot of the women that stroll Commercial Drive.

So, with my cool coif and floating on cloud nine because I was ID'd (though in retrospect I think the guy was hitting on me because he winked at me while I was standing in line) I decided to really live it up by renting 4 videos from Rogers and drinking alone (Prospect Point Pinot Blanc is very good). I. Am. So. Happy.

Well. Must hop to it. These movies aren't going to watch themselves. I am so unbelievably exhausted from this week. I'm secretly hoping that I fall asleep on the couch because for some reason this has become an objective of mine of late: it means that I have pushed it so hard that I can't even make it to bed. Normal people would maybe try not to push it so hard, but I've never indicated that I'm normal and I seem to have inordinate fear of missing something (I know not what) by going to bed.

A Rat's Ass for inspiration

2008-07-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

Until 6:30 today I was uninspired.
At 6:30 I ran the fastest one mile repeats I have ever run (clocked in at 7:08 for mile 2). After the run I was inspired by the accomplishments, enthusiasm and genuine friendliness of some of the people I run with. I came home feeling invincible (on the running front).
Then I watched K-PAX. I wanted Kevin Spacey to be a K-PAXian. I believed he was. I am not a Sci-Fi person, and it takes a lot to suspend my belief, but I believed. More importantly, there ought to be more K-PAXians. I will definitely wear sunglasses in on tomorrow's commute.
A few minutes ago I checked to see what was worth a Rat's Ass and I was happy to see that Po had posted something.
I read an article in the paper the other day about the media, and how horrible, disastrous stories sell more than happy ones. That's why I don't read papers or have cable. I want to check out what people give a rat's ass about. One Rat's Ass blog makes me immeasurably happy because that's the nature of the blog, man.
I just wish we didn't have to slog through eight or ten hours of mundane bullshit to get that 7:08 mile, do you know what I mean?
The other two random things that I would like to talk about are likely to be deemed non-sensical and I can't be bothered to come out with a witty segue way to introduce them to the two people that read my blog (hi guys!).
Before heading for my run today, I noticed that one of my neighbours was talking to another guy in the building that was showing her some stamps he had collected or had been given. Both of them were in their seventies, I'm guessing, and I had a range of emotions when waiting for the elevator. First of all, they seemed really happy to see me and said hi, and then the older gentleman went back to explaining the history of the stamps and how he had come upon them and you could sense that he was into it, and wanted to share his story with this woman who was half-interested, but being a polite listener. And I thought about my grandfather because he had collected stamps, and when he passed away I think they ended up with my cousin since no one really wanted them. And I think that's sad, that someone would collect and care for something and take pleasure in it, and then no one else pays it any reverence. But moreover, the stamps were an excuse for communication, for human interaction. For this guy, the stamps were his 7:08 minute mile.
The other thing is more basic. The "rival" apartment across the street has some candles that are flickering. They've been flickering the last couple of nights and I'm too blind to discern if the candles are in or outside. Nonetheless, they are a new addition and I kind of wonder if they're in answer to the candles that I light when Michael and I sit on my balcony after it gets dark. Regardless, I find something utterly kind and human in these wavering beacons of light, as though they are some kind of show of solidarity or attempt at kinship. I understand that this past paragraph is about as groovy and far out as one is wont to get, but whatever. I dig the candles, man.
I hope you all go out and get your 7:08 miles this weekend.

Filing (fiction)

2008-07-21T23:41:00.000-07:00

She arrives at 8:30 as she does every morning. She hangs her purse on the hook on the back of the door, slings her jacket over the back of the chair, checks her email for anything urgent and then heads to the kitchen to become one of the chosen few to tap into the first pot of coffee that the receptionist has so lovingly brewed.
Checking her email this morning there is a message from her boss (who comes in at 9am) that reads, “Can you please pull the PST file for me?” She re-reads the email just in case her eyes are blurry and she’s missed something. She hasn’t. She sits in her chair - the one that has a screw or a staple or some damn thing sticking up on the right, outer-edge of the seat which prevents her from being able to sit cross legged, though she has never mentioned this to anyone because she finds the price of office chairs exorbitant and she doesn’t feel that the mild inconvenience of not being able to sit cross legged from time to time justifies the purchase of a new office chair – for a bit longer than normal, before heading to the kitchen for her first cup of coffee.
As usual she is early and the receptionist, Mikaila, is there and greets her with genuine happiness. She answers Mikaila’s questions haphazardly, her mind somewhat occupied. She catches herself almost dropping a tea bag into her cup which is full of coffee and gives her head a shake. Per ritual, she deposits her coffee cup on the low, black lacquered table near the front door and exits the office to use the washroom shared by everyone on the seventh floor. Though her commute is only half an hour, she finds that her hair gets inordinately messy if it’s windy, and she often arrives with grit (no doubt brake dust) on her face from the reams of traffic that grind past her while she waits for the light to change at the pedestrian crosswalk near her office. And one time she was glad she had used the washroom straightaway because she had her t-shirt on backwards, which had definitely explained the choking sensation she was beleaguered with on the commute in. In the washroom mirror she notes that her posture is already suffering. She’s been at work for ten minutes. Those that know her well know that she is downtrodden by her sloping shoulders. She pulls them back, holds herself erect, smiles confidently at herself in the mirror and notices that the wrinkles around the corners of her eyes seem more pronounced than usual. Whatever. She’s still healthy, fit and good looking and she needs to hold herself with more confidence. This stupid email should not have rattled her, but it did.
She returns to her desk and spends some time deciding how to respond. Her mother has told her that she needs to pick her battles. Granted, this was regarding one of her ex-boyfriends from days past that had raised her ire by his continued dedication to leaving his rank and soiled socks on the bedroom floor as way of showcasing his exhaustion and overall male helplessness, which had – in the short term – resulted in her surveying the sullied room in question before leaving as quickly as she had come, much to the surprise of her boyfriend. What her mother didn’t seem to understand was that this act was the harbinger of something bigger, and she didn’t want to stick around to see what that something was.
She decides to pick this battle. She shares an office with her boss. It’s a small office. It’s smaller than her living room at home. If he wants the PST file, he can roll over (in his chair that doesn’t have something metal and pointy jutting into his flesh) to the cabinet next to her and pull it out all by himself. She writes, “The PST file, along with all the tax files, are at the front of the filing cabinet behind the bank reconciliations”. She presses send and looks at the time: he will be here in twelve minutes.
And he is. She smiles politely and tells him good morning. She can feel her neck tense as she senses him going through his emails. He says nothing to her, nor does he roll over to the cabinet next to her to remove the now-popular PST file. She’s down to the dregs of her coffee and decides she needs a cup of tea, and so heads back to the kitchen.
One of her coworkers (that she is madly infatuated with) is in the kitchen and asks her how she is doing and she gives a mundane reply. He asks her what happened to her leg, as she has a couple of deep scratches there from a somewhat technically challenging hike that she went on with her brother over the weekend. She is suddenly overwhelmingly frustrated by the lack of progress that she has made with Evan over the last few months. Granted, her idea of coming on to him is saying, “I like your shirt” and it typically takes her five minutes to get up the nerve to even say that and when she does she either mumbles it or says it so softly that he can’t even hear her correctly. But she is consistent, and she is attentive and she feels a sudden urge to kick the kitchen door closed, grab fistfuls of today’s attractive shirt in her hands, push him up against the freshly wiped counter and thrust her impudent mouth against his so that he will either rebuff her or become aroused. She instead gives an equally inane explanation as to how she managed to injure herself hiking, while inexpertly fishing her teabag out her cup and slopping tea on the counter.
En route back to her office she sees that her boss is in with his boss, and that the door is shut. She knows they are discussing her. They have been discussing her for some time. Why else would the door be perpetually closed to her in this small office? She is part of a team, is she not? And yet she cannot remember the last time when the three of them met to collaborate on an idea, a project, or simply to check in.
She sits at her desk and glances out the window. The window faces the brickwork of a building immediately next to it. One of the windows – the opaque one – is a bathroom, and she has occasionally seen women getting changed in it, with their forms blurred and distorted. She can’t see the sky or the ground.
She decides they are discussing her lack of respect. It’s true: she is disrespectful, but she’s never bought into the idea of respecting someone because of their position in whatever hierarchy they’re currently situated in. Once, she was with her family downtown when a motorcade procession went by with President Clinton in it. She had gazed down from the overpass at the limousine and the crowds lining the streets and had caught the eye of a security guard who noted her bemused look and he said to her, “Big deal, huh?”. Another time she was at a bar with her boyfriend and was being encouraged to snort Jack Daniels up her nose by a man in a suit that was worth more than the 1980 Toyota Corolla she was driving at the time and she refused, having deigned that nothing was so extravagant in life as to find its way up her nostrils, and her boyfriend was embarrassed and tried to make amends for her non-conformist ways. She reckoned that anyone could buy an expensive suit: she needed something more in order for her to become reverent.
This is not to say that she’s lazy or stupid or that she lacks ambition: on the contrary. She is adept at the things which she enjoys, which do not, predominately, include pulling PST files.
She pulls out her bank book and looks at the balance. She ruminates on the amount she has in her account, in GICs, in RRSPs, in mutual funds. She is pretty sure she can cover her mortgage payments by pumping gas or stocking shelves if she so desires. She desires not to do this anymore.
She places the one photo that hangs above her desk in an empty banking box. Next in is her plant, which she has carried with her from job to job over the past ten years. She ensures that all personal information is wiped from her computer and she scavenges through her desk drawers for any personal effects: there are none. As an act of sabotage, she deletes the file that she had containing all the user IDs and passwords for her various software logins. She has never forgotten the conversation that she had with the CFO (her boss’s boss) whereby he thought that it was mandatory that an employee give two weeks notice to their employer. She had patiently explained that an employee need not give any notice to any employer, ever. It was in that moment that she realized the CFO thought that, in some regard, the employer owned the employee to the extent that they could dictate and manipulate two weeks of that person’s time against their will.
She sees her boss’s arms flailing in the office of the CFO. It’s clearly an animated discussion. She’s surprised but not surprised by the level of animation that the conversation is obviously taking. It’s a PST file. But it’s not a PST file.
Two minutes later her boss comes back into their office and asks if she has a minute. She says of course she does, and swivels around her chair to face him.
He says – with the condescending air of the righteous – that he’s noticed a change in her attitude lately and wonders if anything is happening in her personal life that has perhaps exacerbated this.
She shakes her head resolutely. No, nothing is happening in her personal life to have affected a change in her attitude. But can he give concrete details as to this “change of attitude” of which he speaks?
He rattles off a few issues that he has obviously brainstormed with the CFO in order to get things down in writing. The last of which is the PST file.
She nods her head, attempting to look serious. She asks why, given the litany of strikes against her, it has taken this long for management to address such an issue.
She is rewarded with a blank stare.
She asks why he waits until she is gone to direct his directives at her via email, instead of speaking with her face to face.
He replies that, because she leaves at 4 o’clock, she often isn’t there to answer his questions.
She asks if her leaving at 4 o’clock is problematic for him.
He indicates that it’s not “entirely conducive” to running an efficient department.
She agrees. She extracts her personnel file from the cabinet next to him (without sending him an email first) and shows the document, signed by the CFO, which defines her wage and her working hours. She breaks down her wage to a per hour basis and extrapolates how much it will cost if he wishes her to stay until 5pm every day, and does he wish to make her an offer for this sum?
He does not.
She asks him if there is anything else that he would like to discuss or document with her, and he says there isn’t it. She pulls the PST from the cabinet next to him and hands it to him, along with her resignation letter.
At this moment he looks vaguely panicked: hasn’t expected this. He comments that she has listed her final day of work as today and she says, “You’re a smart guy, I’m sure you’ll figure it out”.
She grabs the banker’s box, only a third full, hefts it against her hip and starts towards the door. The concept of saving face prevents her boss from trailing after her.
As she waits for the elevator she promises herself that she will allow herself at least a week before she concerns herself with what she’ll do next. The elevator dings and the coworker of whom she is so enamored steps out, coffee and bagel in hand. He sees the box of personal possessions resting on her hip and arches an eyebrow.
She gently pushes him back into the elevator.

Mood swings fucking kick ass/I'm still swearing in my blog titles

2008-07-21T22:02:00.000-07:00

I'm so happy today that I'm on the verge of the tears. I'm not even kidding. This is the result of one day off work? Wow. I need to retire.
I don't feel the highs very often, but I'm feeling it today.

ParTAY

2008-07-20T23:44:00.000-07:00

Today. Today. I woke up at 7am which was fantastic, because it was an hour later than I had to wake up yesterday. So, um, I'm totally sleep deprived. Nonetheless, I got up to do the allotted 14 miles which is far. It's 14 miles to be exact. It was pretty hot this morning, so I chose to wear the same gear I wore for yesterday's 10k race, so I smelled really fresh. Got to the clinic and NO ONE FROM THE RED GROUP WAS THERE. What's with that?? Like, not one single person. So, um, do I over-exert myself and go with the faster group, or fall back with the slower group? Michael was hurting from the prior day's trail race and said he was going to take easy. I think he was hoping to run with my 8:30 mile group that failed to materialize, so we ended up running with his group (which, for their long slow runs, do it at an 8 minute mile pace) which was great because we were both a little tired to begin with and it was hot and the route was mostly uphill and, um, this was the most physically challenging weekend that I've had to endure for a long, long time. I actually beat Michael back to the store which never happens.
Then we started to nod off on my balcony. Then we went to Winners where I tried on hooker shoes and tried to walk around I inadvertently turned on half the men there, even though I almost fell flat on my face fifteen times. Then we started to nod off on the beach at Ambleside. Then we started to nod off on the patio at Earls. Then we tried to nap at my place but we both got happy feet so we couldn't. Then Michael went home and I had a peculiar hankering for beer and Trailer Park Boys, so I bought beer and rented Trailer Park Boys and got to witness Rita McNeil harvesting pot, which was fantastic.
To sum up: I think I have broken my body because my legs, ass, back and neck are sore since I haven't done yoga or weight training in about two weeks and when I try and touch my toes I hear pinging sounds as the sinews in my body start to snap. But I did have a PB on Saturday and I ran with the 8 minute group today, so I'm feeling pretty happy about that. Although that could be the Rickard's Red talking. When did I start drinking beer?
So, so glad to not have to work tomorrow. Am sleeping until 11. If you try and call me I will hunt you down and kill you. Steve French, the drug-addicted mountain lion, was funny. I do not remember the last time I was this totally exhausted. I am super pissed with the happy feet scenario. What the hell is with that?? I hate happy feet when I'm trying to sleep. What is the point of happy feet? What vitamin am I deficient in, that leads to me thrashing around in my bed unnecessarily? Stupid.
Um. My mom is 60 today. Age is a funny thing. I don't think that Michael looks 42 (especially given that he normally acts like he's 8). Went for coffee after the run and one guy that looks like he's about 40 said he's 48. Some runners do look young, that's for sure. Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror at Delaney's in West Van and I thought, "Wow. I don't look like I'm in my mid-twenties anymore". I look like an adult. I thought that I looked older than I felt (though this was likely the result of being sleep deprived for the past week, and running 20 miles over the past couple of days). It's weird, this whole getting older thing.
I am totally rambling because I'm utterly exhausted, mildly drunk, and don't want to go to bed because I don't have to and I want to party because I don't have to work tomorrow, but ultimately I'm 31 and have been up at 6 and 7am this weekend to run long distances and I'm really tired.
I believe, if you took my life on a good day (or even an even-keel day) it would be better than the majority of people's lives. I just need to really remember that sometimes.

The way the weekend is going

2008-07-19T22:32:00.001-07:00

I think I alluded to the fact that this weekend would either be good or disastrous in one of the blogs where I was contemplating wading into the ocean with bulging pockets. So, to update the people that have expressed concern for my overall well being in the last couple of days: this weekend is going well. Really well.
That fact that things are going well (as a result of me trying to deal with these issues with a relatively level head, all the while scrambling to discern how an "adult" would deal with this situation) is a relief. Like, a really, really huge relief on many levels.
So here are a few reasons why I'm glad I didn't drown myself today:

I would've botched it anyways, because I don't like the sensation of drowning too much and I'm a really strong swimmer. Basically I would've ended up with a lot of kelp in my hair and seawater in my lungs and I would've ruined my Sauconys which were pretty expensive.
I wouldn't have been able to watch "No Country for Old Men" which was fan-fucking-tastic.
No sushi either.
Bye bye French wine.
Lounging on a park bench in the sun with my super hot boyfriend that came in 4th in his age group and 9th overall in his trail race today wouldn't have been an option.
My mom would've been pretty pissed because her birthday is tomorrow.

So thanks to everyone for their kindness and encouragement and for listening to me as I muddle my way through my latest debacle. I've been pretty debacle-free as of late, so it's always fun to mix things up and have the opportunity to use a lot of swear words and think the world is coming to an end. Which I pretty much do every day anyways.

46:51

2008-07-19T11:27:00.000-07:00

Phew. Don't have to drown myself today. Nice, after many years of running, to finally have a sub-fifty minute 10k under my belt. Before today my fastest time was 50:14, so I was more than three minutes faster today.
Big D met me afterwards and we went for coffee and I told him about the Things I Cannot Blog About and he was like, "Huh" and then started putting rocks in my pockets and guiding me towards the ocean. Kidding. He listened, was non-judgemental and didn't let me get away with any shit. It felt good to talk to someone. Just hearing myself talk about it made it seem like less of an issue (even though it's a big issue and it's kind of kicking the shit out of me right now). I guess the point is that it's not insurmountable. Pocket rocks aren't the answer: being a grown up and dealing with things rationally is.
Fucking pocket rocks.

Pocket rocks

2008-07-19T06:28:00.000-07:00

It's gonna be a hot one. Shall I wear my running clinic t-shirt to denote that I'm representing the North Van 'hood? Shall I run with the pocket rocks, or pick them up after the run. Big D will probably be there this morning. He'll see me wading out into the ocean and be like, "This isn't a triathlon!" and then maybe, "You need more rocks!".
Ahhhh, gad. This weekend will either be very good, or quite exponentially bad.
Go go Gadget feet!

Today fucking sucked. And I will quite possibly kill myself tomorrow.

2008-07-18T22:11:00.001-07:00

Always fun coming up with blog titles. Oh, did I mention that today fucking sucked? Yeah. I was at book club the other day (you know, the day my car got towed?) and a couple of people commented on how I put myself out there by being so honest in my blog. I guess I am pretty honest with the things that I choose to share. There's a lot that I don't share. There's a lot that I could share that would leave you cringing in terror and passing judgement on me left right and centre because I have the ability to be this totally fucking destructive force within my own life. Today is one of those hurricane days. Today is one of the worst fucking days that I've had this year.
The good news is that if I don't run a sub-fifty ten kilometre tomorrow morning I will stuff rocks in the pockets of my running shorts (let's call them pocket rocks, shall we?) and march resolutely into the Pacific (which will be handy as my run takes me around Stanley Park) and then I won't have to worry about coming up with witty blog titles.
Ta.

Carma II

2008-07-17T23:19:00.000-07:00

So, perusing my bill from Buster's this morning in the elevator I noticed something was stuck to it. Yeah, a fucking $45 parking ticket from the City of Vancouver. My $62 night was ratcheted up to... whatever $45 plus $62 is (can we get an accountant over here? is there an accountant in the house?).
In other news that matters, I am not working on Monday and am going for an hour long massage because I'm as tight as a drum (we're talking musculature here, people). And I was the second fastest girl of the full and half marathon clinics tonight. And then we all went for coffee and Michael left to go to London Drugs so I went home and was chatting with my mom on the phone and my buzzer went so I buzzed him up and we chatted on my balcony, watching the luminescent, full moon rise into the evening sky until 11pm. I so heart Michael. He has the day off tomorrow and says he might bike into Vancouver so we can go for coffee or lunch. Sigh. I heart him sooooooooooo much.

Carma

2008-07-16T22:52:00.000-07:00

Hmm. How to write this blog? Start out nice and then descend into a scathing rage? Wait... I always do that. I think I'll just go where this glass of Muscat and these Baked Tostitos take me.
After my run I decided that it would be safe to drive to East Van for book club, because book club is at 7pm and as long as no one is jumping off the IMB at that time, it should be safe for driving. And safe it was! I was there so fast. Me, so happy tooling around in my little Civic, listening to Radiohead, thinking important, pure thoughts about enlightened things. I got a little lost, but arrived relatively unscathed at Squishy and Skyhammer's.
It was a full house for book club tonight (except Squishy cut out a little early: hope she is feeling better and her 'new' hummus kicked ass) and we had some great conversation (resplendent with many tangents) about "A Brave New World".
Wanting to get home at a reasonable time, I bid everyone a fond farewell and then exited into the balmy summer night. I noticed quite quickly that my car was not where it ought to be, but being somewhat directionally challenged I expanded the periphery of my search before returning to Squishy and Skyhammer's to mutter "Fuck me" under my breath and "I think my car has either been towed or stolen" to the general populace. Towed it was. The lesson learned, as per Po and Coco, is that if you have a bubble (a bubble being something that gives you pause and makes you question if what you're doing is a good idea) you ought not do that particular thing. I have had a lot of bubbles in my life. I'm pretty good at dealing with and appreciating the nuances of the bubble. But the giant bubble that hovered over my head as I parked my car, jumped out to determine if I was too close to the end of the block or not was emblazoned, "I ought not park here, though I'm pretty sure I'm fine and besides, how often do they enforce parking in East Van anyways". Well, allow me to impart to you that they apparently enforce parking quite often and I was (disputably) too close to the end of the block.
Skyhammer was calm as he looked up the line for idiots that have had their car impounded (I believe the website said something trite like "if you are one of the unfortunates that has had their car towed", which made me seethe all the more because it just seemed so fucking glib). I confirmed that my car had indeed been removed against its will and was languishing in some pen downtown with electrodes strapped to its genitals. "I'll be down there shortly. Praise Allah" I told Buster's Towing.
I walked outside and with my most endearing and pleading voice, with eyes brimming with tears I humbly asked Coco if she could give me a lift to the impound lot to which she replied, "That's why we're still out here, honey". Hmm. People being friendly and giving and appearing to not be put out. They call these people something. Friends? Yes, that may be it. Friends.
So, we jumped into Coco's car and she dropped C off downtown and, as she exited, she encouraged me by saying "Good luck with the Epsilons at Buster's". This comment actually works on two levels, so I am really excited to be able to break it down for you because it is rare that anything in my life works on two levels as I am mostly a boring, one-dimensional stick figure. See, her comment related back to the names for the various classes of society in "A Brave New World" (Epsilon being a derogatory label alluding to a diminished IQ and a life of drudgery, of course). The second level on which this works relates to the concept of "literary snobbery" that Po brought up during our discourse. I have just engaged in a form of literary snobbery by including (albeit through C's adept wit) the term "Epsilon" which will, no doubt, leave those readers of my blog that were in attendance tonight rolling on the floor, grasping their sides in unbridled mirth at this inside joke and literary reference, while the other reader(s) of this blog will be like, "Wow, that's totally fucking stupid and it sounds like she clearly parked to close to the end of the block and got what she deserved".
A year or two ago, I would be on some rambling diatribe (yes, this is rambling, but it's not a diatribe) and contemplating rescuing all the caged cars from the vicious confines of Buster's impound lot. Today, however, I will say that for $62 I got to spend some impromptu time with some very witty and friendly friends that gave me a hand when I needed one. For $62 I got an Epsilon joke, discovered that Coco has M&Ms on the floor of her car, learned about the bubble, and had my car valeted in prime parking near the ocean at Granville and Pacific. It wasn't raining, my glasses weren't stolen and I had my license on me (which I don't always have, and which is a necessity in order to free your vehicle from jail).
The bigger tragedy tonight was that Squishy had to cut out early because she wasn't feeling well, and that Skyhammer won't be able to drink wine when he's France.
So. Thank you to Coco for giving me a lift. To Po and C for making me laugh. To Squishy and Skyhammer for the hospitality. And to Buster's for the material for this blog.
My Civic has informed me that Buster's did not adhere to the Geneva Convention during it's internment there, and that they openly defaced its owners manual.
You sadistic bastards. I'm glad I rescued it before the waterboarding started.
Fuckers.

I'm not learning

2008-07-16T17:26:00.001-07:00

Ran home. It's really hot out there. I'm quite sure I no longer have any sodium in my body. So, you know. Yeah.
Jogging over the Lionsgate bridge is such a rush. As I hit the crest a huge tanker was passing underneath and it blew it's horn, this deep resonating blast. The mountains are so unbelievably beautiful, and the water and the sunny blue skies. Just amazing. And this is my "commute" home. Love it.
LOVE IT.

Sigh... Facebook

2008-07-15T22:05:00.000-07:00

The CEO of my company wanted me to be his friend on Facebook. He actually sent me the request yesterday and I've been in a state of mild panic ever since. See, I don't want people that have the ability to fire me to be my friends on Facebook. I think that's pretty fair. Needless to say I was put in a pretty uncomfortable position, because how exactly do you rebuff the owner of the company and the top dog that that you ultimately work for in such a way that he won't screw you when it's time for your annual raise?

So, um, this is what I wrote to him: "Thank you for adding me as a friend on facebook. Unfortunately I lead a double life as a super hero during evenings and weekends (see witty bear costume evidenced on profile picture). While it would be nice to share funny and/or amazing YouTube clips with you from time to time, I must adhere to my super hero's pledge to limit my FB friends to those that cannot cause me to become unemployed, as this would severely limit the budget that I have set aside for tights and capes (the price of which has dramatically increased due to rising fuel prices, and an unexpected resurgence in the overall fashionableness of capes)."

Here's hoping he has a good sense of humor...

Notes from a Tuesday

2008-07-15T21:04:00.000-07:00

Men are really bad at attempting to covertly check women out. Or maybe they just don't care if they get caught.
Traffic stops immediately at crosswalks when I deign to cross them wearing a quasi-short skirt.
This work issue has me experiencing a weird combination of apathy and total disbelief.
I fucking hate Robson Street.
There should be a "slow lane" for tourists so they can get out of my goddamn way because I have places to be.
Never tell a friend you'd like to see them since you've "got some time to kill". Instead say: "I haven't seen you in a while and I really miss spending time with you and I would love nothing more to simply be in your beautific presence because you're a valued friend and I treasure you immensely".
I strongly dislike it when people tell you this great theory that they heard from someone they revere (and now subscribe to it), even though you've expounded this particular theory a few times before.
I'm being told to smell the roses again.
I actually saw someone literally stop and smell some roses on Lonsdale tonight.
I smelled some sweet peas.
My nickname is Sweet pea.
I ate two ice cream bars.

Yeah. That's pretty much it. Hopefully notes from a Wednesday will be more exciting. Though it won't include two ice cream bars. I only have one left.

Golf is more interesting, anyway

2008-07-14T23:20:00.000-07:00

Really? A-Rod?

I admit, I may have been a bit off the beaten track with Jean Reno, but seriously: A-Rod?

If I ever become the most successful, talked about, media savvy woman in the world, and the pickings are such that I contemplate cheating on my husband for someone akin to A-Rod, please get Jean Reno on the line. Or Clive Owen. Or Mike Weir.

That's it.

Okay, I would consider Topher Grace too.

It was really, really hot today

2008-07-13T22:15:00.000-07:00

Here's a dumb thing to do at 3pm on a really hot day: run. Wanted to do 15 miles, did 12.4. It's okay. It's what the clinic did this morning so I can ease up on myself. Need to actually start attending the Sunday runs as people have stopped asking where I am and have written me off as a crack baby. I'm not a crack baby; I just like my sleep.
Michael and I watched "Eagle vs. Shark" tonight. It wasn't as uproariously funny as I thought it would be, but it turned into a very good (albeit painful to watch) story about the family dynamic and dysfunctional losers.
Feeling pretty mellow and a bit down. Tomorrow has the potential to be shitty, but I'm not going to dwell on it right now: there are much bigger issues in my life right now.
So we'll see.
Won't we.

I'm scared of bears and sharks

2008-07-13T13:50:00.001-07:00

Totally didn't get up to do the run this morning. Actually, I lie: I did get up at 6:35. While Michael got ready I drank orange juice from the container before going back to bed. Managed to sleep for another 4.5 hours. It was the first decent sleep I've had in over a week and though I'm still coughing today I feel much, much better. Who gets sick in July??
So yesterday was fun. What an amazing event. When Michael and I used to run 10 kilometre races all the time we noticed the same guy, Oliver, was winning them over and over. I sort of developed a crush on this guy because he was pretty cute and obviously in great shape (crush/quasi-stalking, it's all the same). Anyways, Oliver married someone other than me and after a couple of years of intense therapy I was able to overcome it. As Michael and I were sitting in our chairs - marshaling, as it were, and fending off an incredible conflagration of gnats (what is their purpose???) - I looked up and saw a familiar looking person coming down the trail. I turned to Michael and said, "Wow, that guy looks like Oliver!". And it was and he was in the 3rd spot overall for the race, and when we looked up (stalked him) the results after the race we saw he came in 2nd overall. So hot.
We saw quite a few people from our running clinic grinding it out. Everyone was amazingly friendly and some people seemed to be really glad to see us. Because there was only a couple hundred runners a lot of people were running alone and I think some people were glad for a little social interaction, even if it consisted of Michael and I flailing and jerking around to avoid mosquitoes, when not pretending to be bears.
A friend of ours was in the race and she actually stopped to chat with us a bit and let us know how she was feeling. We had told her that I was going to dress up as a bear and scare runners (jokingly), which is why Michael made up the bear masks which N didn't really find that scary. We also told her that we would direct all the women that came before her in the wrong way, so she would hopefully place in the top three. Obviously we didn't do this, but another female runner cruised by and asked us if we wouldn't mind tripping all the people behind her (we didn't do that either).
Went to my mom's for dinner with Michael afterwards. Jay and Andrea were there so it was nice to see them. I never see Jay and then twice in two weeks! Weird. Sad that my parents will be moving out of the house in the next couple of months. Childhood home and childhood memories and all that.
Alright. I'm totally delaying the inevitable. The inevitable being a fifteen mile run that I have to do because I do one this morning. I believe I have only showed up to one Sunday run so far with my clinic. I'm such a wanker, but I'm doing two additional miles over what the clinic did. So, you know, I'm stupid.
It's so hot out there.

An ankle-turning good time

2008-07-12T14:34:00.000-07:00

Was home long enough last night to have a 30 minute nap followed by a 75 minute workout. Grabbed Michael and we went to the British Properties to find the place where we were supposed to be situated to direct all 200+ of the insane runners doing the Knee Knacker (a trail run from Horseshoe Bay to goddamn Deep Cove: 30 miles starting at 6am). Went to bed at 1am. Up at at 6:30. Returned home at 1:30 for another nap and now I have to go for dinner at my mom's with Michael, Jay and Andrea. Up again at 6:30 tomorrow for a 12 miler in Stanley Park.
Oh my god. I'm so tired and I didn't even run anywhere today. Will post pics of Michael and I pretending to be bears and overall dicking around when we weren't waving and clapping and encouraging runners.
One guy thought he had a broken foot and we were like, "Oh my god" and he's like, "Yeah, I'll just Terry Fox it out" and continued down the path to the next aid station. And by path I mean steep, rocky, difficult terrain.
Insane! Congrats to everyone that ran the Knee Knacker this morning: you guys looked great and were hugely inspirational! You guys ROCK!!

Raison d'etre

2008-07-10T23:34:00.001-07:00

Having one of those nostalgic, I don't wanna go to bed kinda nights (I'm the malnourished one in the red)...

Reconciling

2008-07-10T21:22:00.000-07:00

Having a hard time reconciling what I do from 8:30 to 4pm every day with who I am as person. The thing I like the best about my job is the people. I love the people. The folks that I hang out with for coffee and for lunch are people that I would easily have as my friends in the "outside world".
This issue at work is really chapping my ass. I have several issues with this... issue. Shall we rant? Let's rant.
First of all, when did I start giving a shit about stupid, inconsequential things/people? When I was nineteen I was getting rat-faced at the bar, getting in to bar fights and having a helluva good time. Now, I'm not saying I want to get shittered and take a swing at someone that has stolen my pool table, but I do like the way I rated what was important back then. This? This current fucking stupid issue? It is not important. The person that is pushing the issue? Right. Not important. Yet I can't shake the bad vibes. I've become some whinging idiot that wants everyone to like her. Why do I care who likes me? The people that do like me (and there are more than two of them) are really great people and their opinion is all that really ought to matter. For chrissakes, I had a running mate come over to me and tell me that he had sent love and hugs and kisses my way via Michael cause we've missed each other for the last couple of weeks. Let's recap: an attractive, fit, single man is forlorn when I don't show up for a run. Okay that? That's worth digesting and pondering. That's an indicator of who am I because I am who I am when I run, when I go out for dinner, when I blog, when I read on the seabus, when I walk down the street. And any man that misses me, after seeing me sweaty, panting, red-faced and disheveled on a weekly basis is a man worth listening to!
Which leads to point number two: the majority of us aren't who we are at work. I'm an accountant. Like, what? And this is my fault, I suppose, for not taking a chance to do something that would have been more in line with my personality. I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to be a marine biologist. And in my job, which is a job versus, say, a career or a passion, I occasionally get shit on. And it's hard to get shit on when you're doing something that you have to do to pay the bills because: a) no one likes to be shit on; and b) it's doubly hard to get shit on when it's to do with something you don't give a shit about.
And when things are rolling along okay you don't hear me talk about work. Work is the thing I do until 4pm at which point I get to go lead my real life, which consists of: eating; drinking; running; yoga; weights; friends; family; sleeping; coffee; lunches; sushi; tapas; music music music; Sudoku; blogging; photography; hiking; environmentalism; drunk texting; napping; movies; chilling on my balcony; flirting; debating; walking; not paying attention while taking public transit; trying to keep my hands to myself; and convincing myself that all the "missed connections" posts on Craigslist are aimed at me. So, you see, it's a rich life.
I have nothing to complain about. Nothing. As far as lives go, I lead a really fantastic one. I just don't like when aspects of my work life spill over and taint my real life. What's important? Is it important that I was able to prove (to my boss who has important letters behind his name) that our company owes NIC on the taxable medical and dental of our UK staff by likening it to the employer portion of taxes due for MSP contributions paid on behalf of our Canadian employees? No. It's all made up and arbitrary and I have a made up and arbitrary intangible job whereby I move figures around to make people happy based on whatever the current rules are. Rules that I don't understand. What is important is that I had leftover sushi for dinner and it was awesome and I got to go for coffee after mile repeats (I was the second fastest girl) with a bunch of phenomenal people and I'm looking forward to volunteering at the Knee Knacker on Saturday morning and then going to visit my family for dinner Saturday night and then running 12 miles around Stanley Park on Sunday morning.
And Radiohead's "House of Cards" is important. And it's important that I biked the Kettle Valley trestles when I was 17. And it's important that I read "A Brave New World", smelled the sweet peas in the park as I walked home, ran two marathons, had someone come up to me in a bar and ask if I was "married married" or "going out to the bar married", jumped up and down on the pinnacle of the Lionsgate when Michael and I ran the three bridges for "fun" one weekend, got drawn into a political debate while waiting to make a deposit at the bank, chatted with my neighbour on the 10th floor, discovered David Bowie, watched "My Dinner With Andre", stayed up until 3am having great conversation more than once, cheered Ironman athletes on for the last leg of their race in Penticton, got a great deal on some new Privos (best shoes ever), ran the mile repeats way too fast and then had a decaf cappuccino. Not necessarily in that order.
Fuck Monday.

Derpa derpa

2008-07-10T13:27:00.001-07:00

In a bit of a better mood today as the maelstrom is scheduled for Monday. May as well enjoy the meantime and in between time. Why let this cast a pall on what is shaping up to be a kick ass weekend? I’ll kick your ass. How ya like them apples?
As the always insightful and positively situated N (who I shall now refer to as Squishy) exclaimed to me last night as she and I languished on the patio at Earl’s on Robson, “But you’re fabulous!”. True (though this fact seems to sometimes escape people). I should take to reminding them. “Um, that’s nice and all, but you seem to have forgotten that I’m fabulous”.
The bright spots of today’s existence include: sushi with A for lunch (whereby I brought my own plate from work so they wouldn’t put it in a Styrofoam container); it appears that we only have to run 3 one mile repeats tonight; and I’m looking forward to coffee with my running buddies afterwards; and the Robot Liberator’s fantastic blue shirt which makes him appear more attractive than usual.

And?

2008-07-09T08:52:00.000-07:00

Fuck today, too (though I am alternating between despair, anger, impotence and apathy - the apathy is new).

Further, yet

2008-07-08T18:06:00.000-07:00

I'm in an atrocious mood. I am not having a good day. What started out quite delectably hasn't gone horribly awry.
The silver lining? My coworker was very kind to me when I explained my embattled and beleaguered position (he's typically very sarcastic and not one for human kindness, which is why we get on so well).
I take solace in the fact that in a week or two this will be nothing more than a minor blip on the radar (one hopes). In the interim: GODDAMNIT.

Downhill

2008-07-08T14:17:00.001-07:00

I'm having a shit day.
Fuck.

Good morning!

2008-07-08T07:32:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned that in the last couple years I've started having a lot of erotic dreams? This morning I dreamed that I was making passionate love with Jean Reno. Well done on the casting, brain!
God, I'm in a good mood.

I copped out (only did 30k today)

2008-07-06T22:24:00.000-07:00

Slept in a little bit (up at 8:15am) given that I've had a cold for a few days now. I wasn't able to get in the fifteen miles, but I did run nine miles this morning before coming home, jumping in the shower and running over to Extra Foods to get some lunch for the hike with Jay (also nine miles).
Yep. To say that I'm knackered would be a bit of an understatement. I can't even think very straight right now. Michael came over around noon to drop off my car and to tell me about his 16k race up Grouse Mountain (he did in one hour and forty something minutes). He was muddy and smelled bad. I think he had a good time and wants me to do it next year. We'll see. He actually arrived at the same time that my brother pulled up on his Kawasaki, so that was pretty funny. I'm glad they got to see each other given that we met up with Jay so infrequently. So the three of us had a nice chat, dropped Michael off and then Jay and I went on our hike.
It was so awesome to catch up with my 'little' brother. We always have great conversations - we were chatting away the entire four plus hours that we were out there. He's such a great guy. I'm so glad I don't have a brother I don't or can't relate to. I'm touched that he made the effort to come all the way in from Abbotsford, which is about an hour away, and I'll make sure I make it out his way in the very near future. Like Michael says, I've only got one brother. I was very happy to spend an afternoon with him outdoors doing something that we both really enjoy.
Came back and he left, then Michael and I went for dinner and talked about our respective adventures. I realized that, though I was wearing a skirt, I hadn't managed to get all the mud off my legs and I had some nice scratches on my calf. Hot. You know what? You run fifteen kilometres at 9am, then hike another fifteen kilometres in the afternoon and tell me if you give a shit about anything except a decent meal and a good sleep.
On that happy note, I am going to goddamn bed because I'm tired, though happy to once again not have been attacked by bears.
Bears and sharks are scary.

Ha ha ha. Oh my god.

2008-07-05T20:39:00.000-07:00

Met up for brunch with Big D today - hadn't seen him for ages. He looks great and was in good spirits and it was nice to finally connect and catch up! Looking forward to seeing all the changes he's made to his pad the next time I'm over that way. Michael was supposed to show at noon as well, but at 12:05 when he still wasn't there I called him and... he was in bed!! He showed up half an hour later with pillow creases on his face. Hilarious. He has a 16km trail race which takes him from Ambleside in West Van to the top of Grouse Mountain tomorrow morning. Good luck with that.
Actually, I'm one to talk. Our clinic has a nine miler scheduled for tomorrow and I was like, "Nine miler? Why even get out of bed?" (kidding), but I did decide to run on my own and go fifteen miles, because that's how I roll. Then my brother emails me and wants to go for a hike tomorrow and since I haven't seen him in seventeen years I said, "Hells yeah!" so we're going to do the hike (between 14 and 16kms) that Michael and I did last weekend. Except I think I still might do the 15 mile run in the morning.
So. You know. Good luck with that. At the minimum I should shed the remaining three pounds, though the more likely scenario is that I will pass out on the trail from exhaustion and my brother will pour honey all over me and leave me for the bears. It wouldn't be the first time, either.
What else, what else. "Be Kind, Rewind" was really funny. And Michael and I ate a whole Angel Food cake last night.
Cause we're angels. Clearly.

Right

2008-07-03T21:48:00.000-07:00

We were supposed to do a tempo run tonight, but because we missed hills on Tuesday (being a stat no one really showed up, I guess) we got to do hills tonight. What hill, you ask? Keith Road. Two minute intervals up that sonofabitch, six times. I was so hot coming down the last time that I was feeling dizzy. As we were doing pushups sweat was streaming off my face. If I'm not down a half a pound tomorrow morning, I'm going to Tim Horton's and having a doughnut and coffee for breakfast cause I don't know what else I'm supposed to do. Frick: I even walked down to the seabus this morning (and was sweating even at 8:15 in the morning: lovely!).

THIS. IS. OFFICIALLY. MY. MOST. BORING. BLOG. EVER.

Here is a picture of pitch from the tree in front of my dad's house that I got on my feet within 46 seconds of arriving there. The fun thing is then dirt, sand and pine needles stick to it. And cats. I actually managed to get pitch on my cell phone.

I'm going to bed.

My conundrum (it’s good to be me and have such conundrums)

2008-07-03T09:02:00.000-07:00

I drink coffee. I like to put milk in my coffee. So does everyone else in the office. I get agitated when there is no milk to put into my coffee because a) it doesn’t taste as good and b) I know that milk in coffee helps to prevent the calcium from leaching out of your bones. Brittle bones are bad.
There is a young lady with whom I work who will pour herself a glass of milk. Every day. Keep in mind that we only buy the smallish cartons of milk. I believe that she knows I, and the ex-receptionist, frown upon this because this morning when we were both in the kitchen at the same time she made an effort to futz about endlessly, waiting for me to leave so she could pour her cup full of milk. By the end of the day I’m sure the carton will be empty, people will start bitching about there not being any milk for their coffee, the temp receptionist will come to me for more petty cash, etc.
DISCLAIMER: I realize this is all trite, but just bear with me.
The facts are these: she knows she ought not to help herself to a glass of the “coffee milk” every morning – this is evident in the furtive manner in which she does it. My company shouldn’t be providing everyone with a glass of milk every morning. My coworkers shouldn’t have to have their coffee black because one person chose to take half the milk for her personal use. The receptionist shouldn’t have to essentially grocery shop to keep the milk stock up because it’s being rapidly depleted by one person.
Given this terrible situation, which has be me overwrought and gives me night sweats, what is one supposed to do?

One more quick thing

2008-07-02T22:14:00.000-07:00

Um, don't mean to bite the site that hosts my blog for free, but what the fuck, Google? A little recognition on Canada Day would've been nice! Is it because you hate Stephen Harper? Because we hate him too!!
I admit I was disappointed to get to the Google page on July 1st and not see some Canadiana emblazoned on it. The snub made the Globe and Mail for chrissakes.
My temper is somewhat tempered in that they did do something for Walter Gropius' 125th birthday.
But don't let it happen again, Google! For shame!

The winds of change...

2008-07-02T22:05:00.000-07:00

... and other aptly named blog titles to reference the weather. They're calling for thundershowers tonight. The sky is currently ominously obsidian. Weird. It was 27 degrees when I walked up Lonsdale today. Why did I walk up Lonsdale in 27 degree weather, you ask? Because I didn't magically lose 4.5 pounds as I had anticipated this morning. Being in my thirties is a bit different than being in my twenties. Oh shit: I just depressed myself because I'm in my thirties.
Watched "Living Out Loud" tonight. I won't recommend this movie because the delivery was botched and Siskel and Ebert were wrong to have given it two thumbs up, but I will say that it was a refreshingly atypical story showcasing a lot of human flaws and realities and for that I greatly enjoyed it. It had a good moral. And though it was rather badly done, it still rocks on most of the shit that's currently out there.
The other thing that happened to me that was really exciting and will keep me going for days is that I had a great Seinfeld moment on the bus today. I guess people are re-committing to public transit with the glorious new carbon tax (good: I hope it hits $2 a litre!) so I couldn't get a seat today and kept ramming people with my purse (I love my purse: it can fit an umbrella; a bottle of wine; a book; my cell phone; my Shuffle; wallet; makeup; and sunglasses... so basically you have all your bases covered all the time) and a seat came up and I offered it to a woman roughly my age and she said, "No, you go ahead" and so I said, "Okay" and took it. Normally I would have insisted, but I really wanted to read "A Brave New World" some more. So I did.
Aren't I a motherfucker?

Dieting sucks (so I'm not doing a very good job of it)

2008-07-01T21:44:00.000-07:00

Michael ran the HBC 10k this morning and placed 39th OVERALL. There were over 800 runners at the event and he finished with 42:19. He placed 4th in his age group: one spot away from getting a medal!! I am so excited and proud of him. I slept in until 11am. When he came over this afternoon he kept pressuring me to look up his time and finally I said, "You've already looked up your time, why do I have to?" and he kept cajoling me so I called up the results and started to do the old "find on page" and he was like, "You don't need to do that, just scroll down a little bit". It's a huge accomplishment and I better attend any other 10k races he chooses to run because I think it's a matter of time before he gets in the top three.
Then we went for a walk and for some lunch, after which we got McFlurries. Nothing says diet like a McFlurry (mine, a small, clocked in at 520 calories and 17 grams of fat). In my defense I did work out for close to an hour and a half today.
Anyways. I haven't run a 10k for eons and I was always looking for a sub-fifty minute race and I never got it. Since then, running half and full marathons I have seen my time at the 10k mark and it has always been sub-fifty, but it's not official and I want to get that puppy in writing. So. I am going to run the Summerfast 10k on July 19th and try and get a sub-fifty minute race recorded. And it's on a Saturday so I don't have to give up my Sunday run with the clinic. Which means that I'll have to be at Stanley Park at 8am on Saturday and at the clinic at 8am the next day. Which is great because I love to get up early.
Thanks to Michael for inspiring me to run another 10k to get another personal best. And congratulations to him for such an amazing accomplishment today!

Hot

2008-06-30T23:35:00.000-07:00

It was so hot today, that when I came back from work I changed into a dress. Quite a confounding experience and one that I feel I shall not repeat for many moons to come.
In other news, yes. I love coming back from a week off. Hmmm... to go off onto a tangent or not? Not. Apparently I still have some remnants of zen in me.
Went over to Michael's and played with him this evening. He cooked me dinner and we watched "The Ice Storm" which was pretty interesting. I think I may have to ponder it a bit further because there was a lot going on. We ate nectarines.
Starting a diet tomorrow. These five pounds have got to go. They enrage me. I let them hang around because I think it's easy to get rid of them. I've been thinking that since last October. So am serious about it now. If it's on the blog, it's golden. Salad, soup and fourteen mile runs are my friends (my friends that I hate).
Um. Yes. Super boring, eh?
Oh - my faith in karma has been restored. It does seem that bad things happen to people who inflict badness on others (in this specific instance at least). So now I feel super shitty telling those two women that were day tripping on Lasqueti that they had likely passed Spring Bay since, as I jogged back in the direction from whence they came I did not notice the road that leads to Spring Bay so the likely scenario was that they hadn't come upon it yet.
Dear ladies: I am so sorry. I was confused and unsure and my misdirection was not born from malice and I liked the fact that, in your august years, you were traversing the Gulf Islands and I thought your Greek sailing cap was jaunty and my dad has one like it and he used to get a free shot of Ouzo when he wore it to the Greek restaurant on Marine Drive in White Rock.

Hiking

2008-06-29T20:42:00.000-07:00

Didn't do the ten miler this morning, though Michael was up and out the door. I was up and into my bathing suit and on the balcony at 8:45. Sweet.
Michael came back and we made "hot enough for ya?" jokes because it was so hot today. Then we decided to go to the Lynn Headwaters and maybe go for a little hike. And, because we're like that, our hike, which was supposed to be about 8 kilometres ended up being around 15 kilometres (at least). See, at the 4 kilometre marker we discovered there were some falls another three kilometres away. Long story short: we arrived at the park at 1:30pm and left it after 6pm. The Norvan falls were fantastic. The water was so icy cold that Michael could only put his feet in them for thirteen seconds before grimacing in pain and mincing about. I, being sane, did not put any body parts into the water. Also, I forgot my camera (but did bring a lot of Werthers which I really enjoy) but Michael has a wicked camera on his phone and took a lot of pictures so when he sends them to me I will post them.
Anyways, it was just a stellar day. North Van is beautiful and our hike was amazing. We had a really fantastic day together. We came back, had dinner on my balcony, listening to jazz, talking about how tight our hamstrings are, you know, the usual.
Not looking forward to work tomorrow, but Tuesday's a stat which makes me a happy Canadian!

Feed me!

2008-06-29T00:03:00.000-07:00

Ah gad. Michael is in bed, resolute on attending tomorrow's 8am clinic. Fuck that. I'm still on vacation. I was like, "You're too tired for sex: go to bed. I have to blog". It strikes me that my priorities might be out of order. Eh. Too burnt for sex right now.

Alright. Here are some of the much anticipated pics from my sojourn. Please. Look through them at your leisure and then never again ask me why I drink so much to get through the week.

I'm not coming home!

2008-06-27T16:38:00.000-07:00

Kidding: I have to go home to give my two weeks notice at work and pack up some shit before coming back to live here forever. Kidding again. Sort of.
I cannot believe how fast this week went. I've got scads of great pictures which I'll post when I get back home. The weather has been awesome, I've been sleeping and eating well and I've gone for two runs, two kayak rides and got in some yoga (while enjoying the ocean breeze) this morning.
The first thing I did when I arrived at Lasqueti was to help my dad chase a deer that had snuck into his fenced area. So all that marathon training really paid off... The next day I helped him clean the chimney and watched as he did some soldering. Then I got to spray ether into the smokestack of the backhoe while he tried to get it going again. That was entertaining. Then we dumped some logs at a mill so they can be made into boards and I got to play with a border collie who was intent on herding my dad's dumptruck. In between all this exciting activity I lay in the sun a lot, finished Margaret Atwood's "Life Before Man", kayaked out to the Finnerties, drank a lot, ate a lot, bumped into a friend of my dad that hadn't seen me since I was a kid, had dinner with my dad at the restaurant, watered a lot of plants, and started writing a book. So it's all been good.
The wildlife here is amazing like usual. The ravens are exceptionally raucous this year and sound like little girls shrieking. Not exactly soothing. I also saw a falcon which is pretty rare. Disturbed a bunch of sunning seals last night and because they're so curious they followed our progress for a while, popping their head out of the water to exhale loudly which, as usual, scares the shit out of me. Saw a couple of deer, a raccoon, scores of eagles and a water snake.
Hm. I really, really don't want to leave. I am so totally relaxed. The other day I followed a honeybee for a while as he was collecting pollen. I'm that zen right now.
Well, I should head on back I suppose. Sigh. I love it here. Such a nice existence.
Peace out, kids. Will post a bunch of pics on Sunday.
See you tomorrow, supermummy!

1:43:54

2008-06-22T20:30:00.000-07:00

I'm not sure I know many people that kick off their vacation by getting up at 5am to run a half marathon. I'm so glad it's done. I love the Scotiabank half (that's why I've run it four times). What a great day. I love the people that come out to cheer, I love the volunteers. I love this absolutely beautiful city that we live in and I love that, this year, Michael and I went with another fabulous couple and that we all went for brunch after.

My time was 1:43:54 which means I ran a sub-five minute kilometre and I felt really good. In fact, I felt the best that I've ever felt after running any half or full. Michael came in at 1:35:47. He's effing fast.

I remember back in the day, thinking how the grind up the hill from Jericho beach was so arduous. I remember hating the Burrard Street bridge. Not today. Today I loved it all. I felt good and strong and had no knee pain and I fueled well and I as I was booking it to the finish I heard (over my iPod) Michael cheering me on.

I'm so fortunate to live in such a beautiful city and to be able to share such a great accomplishment with 5,000 other people on a great Sunday morning in June.

Then brunch. Then Michael and I napped: we were totally knackered. Then we got up and walked for another couple of hours around North Van, enjoying the sun (and getting the lactic acid out of our muscles).

Here's where I'll get sappy about Michael. Tune out now if you want to retain your dinner. So he comes back from Penticton last night and he comes over for dinner and brings an overnight bag without any prompting. We stay out on my balcony until it gets dark and are amazed how late it stayed bright. So we sleep (though, per my previous blog, we didn't sleep too well). Pick up J and G and get to UBC for the run. Then we spent the whole day together and now I won't see him for another week. He's just so great. I dunno. We sat in the sun at Starbucks eating cake and then wandered around, venturing into heretofore undiscovered trails and pushed each other into sprinklers. He brought me wine and jams and jellies from the Okanagan and washed my car while he was up there. He wants to pick me up when I get back into town on Saturday night. Public transit is brilliant from the ferries to here, but he wants to come and get me and I said okay. Sigh. I love him endlessly.

On that note. I should go... do stuff. I have to catch a 5:30am bus tomorrow because I'm insane (though leaving at this time gets me to Lasqueti at 10:45 and I'm going to FUCKING NAP FOR EONS).

I might blog at the school while I'm up there. I'm bringing my camera so I'll get lots of shots and post them when I get back.

I love not working. I love running. I love the summer and my life and Lasqueti and friends.

Mmmm. Happy!!!

It's 5:20am... do you know where your sanity is?

2008-06-22T05:19:00.000-07:00

Yeah. This is too early for a race. Why do we have to start at 7am?? It's only a half marathon. I aim to be done by 8:45! I bet we'll be home by 10am. Then I'm going back to goddamn bed.
Got a scant couple of hours sleep last night because I never sleep before races and then I look at the clock and think, "man, am I going to be tired tomorrow" and become increasingly agitated.
When I did fall asleep I dreamed that Michael informed me that he had never loved me and that he had been manipulating me for the last eight years (and was apparently even attending courses on how to manipulate people). And it was one of those dreams that was so real that I was sure it was actually happening: it was absolutely horrible.
I told Michael about it and he said, "a course in manipulation? Where would one take such a thing, I'm curious...". Ha ha.
We're both so bagged.
It better not rain.
Must go brush mossy stumps.

Liquor and writing

2008-06-21T11:19:00.000-07:00

Hello. Thanks for tuning in. My blog is getting pretty goddamned boring these days. Pretty goddamned boring indeed.
Sore from the gym today. Place is a disaster: must clean and do yoga. Not looking forward to the 5am or 5:30am wakeup call tomorrow (and I'll be up even earlier on Monday).
I have a dilemma. Since I will be at Lasqueti full on Monday through Friday I thought "hey, I should bring my laptop and try a little writing since I never find the time to get to it". And then I thought "laptops are fucking heavy when you have to hump them from here to there". I reckoned I would do it nonetheless. I would suffer in silence for my craft (at which I am not at all accomplished). Then I thought "I need to get enough booze to last me from Monday to Friday and that's going to be very heavy because I drink a lot". Now I am at a crossroads: I cannot possibly heft such a tremendous amount of wine and my laptop. What to do, what to do... I guess I could just not drink while on the first vacation I've had since October 2007.
Sorry, just fell of the chair laughing.
Huh. I guess I'll just have to get a Sherpa.
So it's settled.
I actually have a couple of good ideas. This translates into me getting 70% of the way through and then loathing it and being unable to re-read it for fear of becoming sick to my stomach.
Right.