Girl’s week in! (the place is a mess and it’s only day 1)

So, Adam’s away in Penticton for work. That’s right: It’s just me and the cats. Uh huh, Adam’s been gone, what, maybe 15 hours, and the house looks like a disaster. Sigh. It’s not my fault. I wanted to make delicious dinner for me and I was indecisive, so I kind of sort of picked everything. The resulting mess is probably somewhat related to the fact that the BBQ was running out of gas, so I was prepping in a hurry.

Oh fine. I’ll come clean (even if the kitchen won’t): I hate doing dishes. Wash the floor, clean the bathrooms (and I mean eat-off-the-toilet-not-because-you-would-but-because-you-could clean), vacuum and dust like an allergy-ridden Stepford wife with OCD? I’m on it. But put away dirty dishes? I can’t. Why? The dishwasher is full. Of clean dishes. Clean dishes I would have to put away first, before I could do anything to the dirty ones. I mean, come ON, you guys. That’s epic. Just thinking about it makes me need to take an ice cream break.

Excuse me. I need ice cream… Here’s a picture to keep you occupied during this little intermission:

Hermes the Handsome

My friend Janice is a graphic designer and decided Hermes needed a bow tie. I think we can all agree that she is correct.

Ok. Ice cream acquired and in the process of being eaten. Check. (Just for the record, took me like 34 seconds to hook up a bowl of chocolate chip mint. I gots me a system.)

So I was thinking the other day how I haven’t really posted much about France. Weird, because it was the best trip ever. Seriously, it was amazing. I have always wanted to go to France and while I’ve been super blessed and fortunate to visit some amazing corners of this world, Europe always seemed to stay just out of reach. After wanting to see France for as long as I can remember (it’s the first place I ever wanted to travel to see), I think I was a little worried it wouldn’t live up to my expectations, inflated as they had been over the years.

I’m happy to report, however, that I needn’t have worried. France, you see, is amazing. It’s beautiful. It reminded me of Disneyland a little, where they repaint the garbage cans every night, lest there be any chipped paint, unseemly marks or mild imperfections even on the trash receptacles. My first impression of France, after coming out of the metro station on the first morning — enroute to the Eiffel Tower — was that Paris was stunning. I almost expected it to be just a false front, and if I peeked around the corner, I’d see the city that looked like every other city. But that wasn’t the case. Paris and all the rest of France was just gorgeous. My friends, I’m talking about make-your-heart-sing beautiful.


First thing I saw. Super-beautiful shiny pretty things. Oh, Paris!

To be totally fair, that was actually my second impression. My very first impression was that it was very busy. This could be due to the fact that we’d been traveling for, oh, 97 hours (fine, it was more like 36 hours, but still) and we landed in Paris on a Saturday night. With luggage that was WAAAAY too big (lesson learned: pack light[er]). We were trying to navigate the metro system, which, just for the record, neither Adam nor myself had ever experienced, after a travel-filled and sleepless 36 hours. I was tired. I was greasy. I was wearing Lululemon pants and no make up, in PARIS. I was concerned we’d lost Jen and Jon and I’d have to call Auntie Carol and explain that we’d misplaced her only daughter.

See, we’d also been waiting at the Charles de Gaulle airport for over 3 hours waiting for Jen and Jon (who turned out to have missed the stop and continued into the city, thinking they’d missed us and would meet us at the hotel) who never appeared, despite our best efforts to locate them in one of the world’s busiest air traffic terminals. Thank The LORD that Jen had provided some rough guidelines for how to get from the airport to the hotel. That being said, we still managed to get a little mixed up, leading a kind French man to ask us if we needed help (whilst we stared at the metro map as though it would suddenly show us the way like Harry Potter’s Marauders’ Map). Our good Samaritan’s reward for this gesture of kindness? Our bug-eyed, somewhat frantic, “NO, THANK YOU WE’RE FINE!” What can I say? We were sleep-deprived and paranoid, having been told repeatedly that everyone and their dog in France wanted to pick our pockets. We both agreed afterwards that he was probably just very nice and helpful. Shame on us.

Luckily, we found Jen and Jon at the hotel. They were just about to leave, because they were heading back to the airport to look for us. That’s what I call friendship. Then, we went to a local pub, ate pizza, fries and drank copious amounts of beer.  It was great.

More to come.

By the way, I’m looking for change. New job, private sector. No point keeping it secret, since the Universe can hardly organize itself to give me an amazing opportunity if I’m keeping my head in the sand and trying to be all secretive. Am I right? I am. I am right.

I’m baaack! Tattoos and cookies and moths, etc.

Yup. I know. I’m worse than the worst. I tricked you into thinking I would post right away and then left you hanging. I’m very tricksy, you see.

Fair Warning: My friends, this is the first post after a long absence from posting. That means it will not be the best post. It will have many topics, each a rabbit hole attempting to lure you down various meandering trails that are my thoughts. My apologies. Once this is out of my system, we’ll return to my normal programming (which is only slightly less meandering). 

The last several weeks I’ve been pretty busy working on getting ready for the inaugural Pacific Tattoo. Not that kind of tattoo; the musical variety, with drums and bagpipes and kilts, oh my! The show was this past weekend. Actually, there were three shows, one run-through and one full-dress rehearsal. I would know: I was there for all of them. It never got old, either. Once I get around to downloading the vids off my iPhone, I can share some of my favourite parts (Highland Cathedral in the finale was amazing).

Seriously, some of these people could play. Firstably, I love drums. Percussion is so cool, especially when accompanied by marching and swinging kilts. I also love bagpipes, but then again, I am from Nova Scotia and we do have a fair amount of that Celtic thing going on…

I’ve been volunteering for Pacific Tattoo for two years. Yes, 2 years. It takes a long time to get a show like this off the ground. I would know. I’ve been working on the marketing and communications team, which has been fun, but also pretty busy, especially as of late. So that’s my excuse.

Anyway, in other exciting news, I’ve taken 6 Mondays off to use up some vacation time. I really miss flex days. They’re a huge perk of working for government. Since I moved into my current role about a year and a half ago, I had to give up flex days and BOY OH BOY do I miss them. I was happy to work 47 minutes extra every day in exchange for every other Monday off. Now I tend to work 45 minutes to an hour (or more) extra, but without the time off. It’s not as sweet a deal, that’s for sure!

But as of today and thanks to the interspersed stat holidays, Bay’s got 8 weeks of Monday-less workweeks. Aw yayer. Since I volunteered for approximately 27 hours this weekend (why, yes, I did count them), much of today was spent being really, really, exceptionally lazy. Seriously you guys, I slept until 9:30. Then I laid in bed, reading a really bad book, because I couldn’t let it win by not finishing (it didn’t get better, either. I think Hermes could write a better mystery.). Then yoga, which is more like 2 hours of Pinterest (best. thing. ever.) and then Primary Series.

Lo, the weary volunteer returneth at 1 am

This is what I look like after 27 hours of volunteering.

Then I baked some cookies and went for a run. Only the latter was successful (except for how I ate some nachos with salsa and felt like heaving for that last .5 km. As you do.). Know what happened to the cookies? Let me tell you (really, this is the gist of the entire post. I’m easily distracted.). After making ALL the cookies (approximately three dozen, just for the record), I went to put away the ingredients. I had even included extra ingredients: coconut, because it’s delicious and good for me, and flax seeds, because they’re good for me and fun to suck out from between my teeth. Amiright? You know I’m right. You get ’em out and bite ’em in half, which is fun and makes eating flax seeds actually worthwhile, since if you don’t chew ’em up, they, uh, go right through you, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, I digress (often). As I’m putting away the oats, I see something move. IN THE CONTAINER, which is sealed. I pull it down to look closer and discover it’s a moth. We are having moth issues in our house. Clearly. I open the container, hoping the offending critter had flown in while I had the lid off to measure the oats required by the recipe. However, upon closer inspection, this proved not to be the case: The oats were infested. I don’t mean they were seething or anything, but I saw at least 3 and my imagination did the rest. As I squinted suspiciously into the container, I could’ve SWORN the oats were moving. Hard to say, because those dusty little moth bastards are exactly the same colour as the oats.

Well played, unwelcome moths. Well played. First my favourite sweater, now this. It is ON, moths.

So you know what I did? I dumped all the oats and the cookies into the garbage and remained annoyed for 1 hour. Actually, I told Adam that I wasn’t sure if the cookies were okay, whereupon he immediately reached to test one (he didn’t yet know about the potential added protein, see). I stopped him—I’m such a good wife, saving my beloved from eating the bugs I just baked—and asked if he thought they were okay, even if there might have been some moths in them. There also might not be moths in them. Maybe I magically scooped all the oats that hadn’t been a buffet dinner for the moths… Yeah, there were totally moths in the cookies.

Hence, the garbage. What a waste of cute little mini semi-sweet chipits.