Hey guys. I’m in Seattle, for weekend two of my coaches’ training program. I’m not ready to write about it yet, so I’ll fill you in later. I will share that while I can see the beginnings of transformation (which is what I signed up for, after all), I childishly don’t want to admit it (though I suppose I just did, didn’t I?). This is largely because the weekends thus far, all 1.5 of them, have kind of left me feeling generally pissy and angry. Being confronted with your stuff—in concert with 14 other people’s baggage—doesn’t leave you (maybe it’s just me) a lot of room for grace. Oh well. No one said it would be easy.
More to come on this at some other point. I know I’ve said that before and never returned to a topic, but I promise I’ll be back with this one. Scout’s honour.
Anyway. On another note, Starbuck’s in Seattle are always interesting. There’s an impressively bearded guy on my right who is either playing an intense video game or plotting the overthrowing of a small nation somewhere in the South Pacific. I wonder if when he wakes up, he has bed-beard. Like, it’s all squished and flattened on one side. I wonder…
It bears noting that I will consistently take a seat next to a chatty Kathy, or in this case, chatty Keith, who absolutely does not pick up on my I-want-to-be-alone vibes. Seriously. When I put on headphones, I’m telling you I’d rather listen to Fun than to you. To be completely honest, I’d rather listen to Fun a lot. IT’S SO GOOD! I have to limit my exposure to Some Nights, though that limit is pretty high. I think there’d be an amazing opportunity for choreography there. All marchy and throwing yourself around the floor and big, surprising jumps. I love a good jump that you don’t see coming. They happen to me all the time in ballet class. “Whoa—I just jumped there. In pliés. At the barre.” (I’m 32. At this point, a lot of my dancing is kind of an out-of-body experience, where my mind is just kind of bemusedly watching my legs and feet do stuff, with little communication between the two.)
But I digress. Surprising.
You know, throughout the course of my day, I’m often struck by random thoughts (shocking, I know) and inspirations for future blog posts. I always think to myself, “I should really write these things down,” lest I forget. But I never do. Write it down, that is. Forgetting I do all the time. Which leads me to today’s topic: Stuff you can get in the U.S. that you can’t get up here in the True North Strong and Free. I think I kind of sort of generally remember the gist of this one.
For example (NB: the font’s about to get all small. Don’t ask me why.):
- POG. Okay, to be fair, I actually enjoy that I only get this in Hawaii, because it’s totally an island treat. But still. Still.
- 4-litre jugs (that’s right, I said JUGS) of rum, with a reinforced plastic handle (on account of the heaviness of the rum, you see).
- Flavoured everything. Coffee? How ’bout toasted coconut coffee? UM YES PLEASE VERY MUCH THANK YOU! Almonds? Why not try roasted coffee almonds? OMIGOSH THEY’RE PUTTING ALL MY FAVOURITE THINGS IN ALL MY FAVOURITE THINGS. IT’S LIKE THE SOUND OF MUSIC IN MY MOUTH! “THESE ARE [QUITE] A FEW OF MY FAVOURITE THINGS!” (You can sing along)
- Cheap but awesome white t-shirts at Tar-jay. Seriously. I wear a white t-shirt pretty much every day. I’m not exaggerating. They’re like $8 and they’re really nice. A decent, though not as nicely fitting, tee at home will set me back at least $20. FOR CRYING OUT LOUD. I AM. I’M CRYING OUT LOUD HERE.
- OH, AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON THE YOGOURT. Seriously. You guys: They make fat-free flavoured Greek yogourt that you can’t tell is fat free. And it’s not sweetened artificially, either. Up here, all our fat-free yogourt is sweetened with aspartame or Lord knows what (and even He might not be able to pronounce it. I’m just saying). Because obviously, I don’t want to watch my weight without increasing my odds of developing cancer and having a numb tongue. Which reminds me; does your tongue go numb with artificial sweeteners? Mine does. It’s like my tastebuds are protesting and just pretending to ignore me and everything I eat for an hour after touching the offending stuff.
Well. Now I’m all riled up. Good thing I love Canada so much. I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Except maybe a sojourn in France. I’d be down with that. I could bring Grimby everywhere. He’s very chic (when he’s not peeing on his own face. Don’t ask. My dog is amazing and not always in the most sanitary way.).
Anyway, I think this post is just about a wrap. I must say, though, that the weather is kind of yucky. This is not shocking to those of you who are aware of the meteorological conditions that tend to frequent the Pacific Northwest. But in my defense, I did check my iPhone weather and it said there would just be clouds. So I wore suede shoes, which was a decidedly bold move, not unburdened with doubt. You win, Mother Nature. This time (and probably most of the time).