Buying Shoes in the Desert.


We set our clocks ahead this weekend and, well, I’ll be: Didn’t it just turn to spring overnight. Apart from the annoying way that losing one hour of sleep seems so much worse when you weren’t staying up doing something fun and possibly regrettable in the morning, it’s nice to have the sun up for so much longer. Summer’s a-coming, people!

I do realize that spring is coming first, but since I find spring to be a mostly soggy affair, and an allergy-ridden poor cousin to my favourite other seasons (read: all the other seasons), the fact is that it is getting decidedly warmer out. While out running today, it occurred to me that I may need to switch to shorts soon.  And I have a serious spring-cleaning thing going on, too. Our friends, Ben and Ashley, are clearing out their stuff so that they can sail off into the life of their dreams. This is inspiring in about a thousand ways. Follow your dreams? Okay!

Additionally, it’s inspiring to think of asking myself if this will fit on a boat anytime I contemplate making a purchase (this is the question Ben and Ash ask themselves all the time). Currently, I’m not making purchases, because I gave up buying stuff for Lent (food doesn’t count because I need food and also because I make the rules). Normally, I give up dessert and candy and sweets and joy-flavoured foods, but as Adam pointed out, that’s not particularly hard for me to do. I have pretty strong willpower when it comes to food, except for kryptonite chips. I briefly contemplated giving up chips, but thought to myself, “that’s crazy talk.” Then I weighed myself at a friend’s place and, well, sigh. I should probably give up chips, too… For now, I will give up shopping. Jesus couldn’t buy shoes in the desert and neither will I.

But I digress. I’ve long wanted to clear out about 90 percent of our material belongings (my shoes are not a part of this exodus. Obviously.), but I get so overwhelmed by all the stuff. OMIGOSH ALL THE STUFFS.

How did we get this much stuff? And why is it so hard to part with it? We don’t even use most of it, most of the time (and some of it, any of the time). It seems so easy in my head, or whenever I’m looking at small home designs on Pinterest, which is pretty frequently (they’re so cute and tiny!). As soon as I’m face to face with the endless piles of stuff we’ve accumulated, however, I start to wonder if maybe we might need it at some yet-to-be-determined time in the nondescript future. For example, the punch bowl: We have one. Why, I don’t know, since we’ve never, ever needed one. Punch is not really a thing people drink these days. I don’t know when I’m going to make a blend of juice that sits in a bowl and people ladle out into matching glass cups. I think it might be never.

In fact, our buffet is filled with stuff we don’t use but feel we can’t ditch. Actually, that’s not true: Adam would gladly huck it all out the window and then I have to remind him that windows are not places through which we chuck things. No.

So far, I’ve been reducing my makeup and nail polish collections. I haven’t enough faces, fingers or toes to EVER USE THAT MUCH ever in seven human life spans. It’s ridiculous. No seriously. It’s ridiculous. I can’t even tell you how much I have, because then I’ll be institutionalized or put on that Intervention show. DEAR MAC/OPI/SPARitual/CHINA GLAZE/BUTTER LONDON: PLEASE DEAR HEAVEN ABOVE STOP MAKING MORE STUFF WITH CUTE NAMES THAT IS SHIMMERY AND NEARLY/TOTALLY IDENTICAL TO A BAJILLION MAKEUPS/NAIL POLISHES THAT I ALREADY OWN. Stop it. Please. Help me help me. It’s unethical. I’m a colour addict and you are an enabler. You should be ashamed. I am. Mostly of myself, but still. Still. You, too.

The closet was hit next. I’ve got laundry baskets full of clothes that are being donated and I still want to get rid of more. I even have some shoes in there. Some. More like a handful, or very few pairs. But still, you guys; it’s some shoes and that’s a big step for someone like me. Because I love shoes more than I love makeup and nail polish (take THAT, cosmetics industry!).

Anyway, that’s what’s been going on. Oh, and this:

photo 4

I have waited for this moment forever. I’ve always wanted pets who’d snuggle. Granted, Hermes was sleeping here before Grimby sidled up to share the sunbeam, and it’s distinctly possible that Chubbs Hermes was too lazy to move, but whatever. It’s a snuggle and it counts!


Toilet paper and other unnecessary drama.

Okay, I’ve been away for a while. It’s been STUPID busy. Fall is crazy time for people who work in health promotion. Two words: Cold & Flu. Yeah, baby, I’m working on getting people to wash their hands.

Last weekend, Adam was away in San Diego and I went to refill the toilet paper in both bathrooms. I thought we had a package in the closet, but alas! We did not. We had nary a square to spare (actually, that’s not true: It turned out that we had 3 rolls, but the panic was probably a good motivator to actually buy some TP before we hit an emergency situation).

I remembered to stop and pick up some toilet paper on my way home from my big sister’s birthday party on Sunday night and this is when I discovered something about myself: I’m embarrassed to buy toilet paper. It doesn’t matter what you call it, if you try to pretty up the name with “hygienic” or whether it’s called “bathroom tissue”. Or, as Adam so eloquently just put it, bum paper. No matter the name, I’m mortified when I have to carry it.

Why you ask? Well, my friends, because then people will know I—wait for it—go to the bathroom. HORROR OF HORRORS! I don’t really know what exactly it is that makes me want to grab the paper and run.

The Wall of Shame.

The Wall of Shame.

Also, why is toilet paper sold in impossibly large and awkward packages, WITH NARY A CONVENIENT HANDLE, MIGHT I ADD, which you will drop when the hole you poked through so as to carry the effing behemoth of humiliation tears, and then when you bend to pick it up, you drop everything else you’re carrying, thus drawing the attention of EVERYONE IN THE WORLD STORE? Why is the only effective way of carrying an unwieldy parcel of plastic-wrapped sheepishness, roughly the size of André the Giant, to hug it to yourself like it’s your saviour, or at least the way you wished you could’ve hung onto your first slow-dance with your crush in high school?

Honestly. This is stupid. It reminds me of when I was a teenager and the thought of buying feminine products was enough to make me seriously contemplate the benefits of running away and living in the woods like a savage. Because that would be less embarrassing than buying stuff that every female human needs, obviously.

This seems like a great place to live. No judgment from

This seems like a great place to live. No judgment from


Come on, Bay. Everybody poops. There is literally a book on the matter. People are not looking at me, thinking, she needs toilet paper because she’s disgusting. What an animal. I mean, seriously, the guy in front of me was buying stool softener, which is at least a 12 on the 10-point scale of embarrassing gastrointestinal purchases, right?

I need to get over myself.

For now, though, I can rest assured that I bought two massive packages, so I can at least postpone the next embarrassing purchase until I can pawn the chore off on Adam. Of course, carrying both packages made it really look like I had a problem…

I’m on a boat!

Enroute to the big smoke!

Merrily we drive to Van, after being THE LAST CAR ON THE FERRY.

This weekend, Adam and I are going to Vancouver for a romantical getaway. I know: “Get a room, guys,” right? We’ll stay at Adam’s brother, Brendan’s, place, which is in False Creek. I don’t know why I’m telling you that, since you very well may have no idea where that is. But it’s lovely and while we stay there (Adam lived with Bren during his 8 months of co-op terms in Van), I like to pretend we live in this fabulous downtown-ish condo and are all metropolitan and stylish. Hey, it works for me.

Needless to say, picking outfits is of great importance for such a jaunt, since LET ME TELL YOU, there is a great void in the middle of the Georgia Strait, into which all style is absorbed before passengers alight upon Vancouver Island. I’m not being snotty, since I live on the island and love it there, but seriously, you guys: Something happens between Schwartz Bay and Tsawwassen and it’s not fashionable. I mean, I have left Victoria feeling like I’m lookin’ pretty put together, and by the time I reach Vancouver, I feel like I’m a clamdigger gone far, far astray.

It probably has something to do with the shopping. Vancouver has way better shopping. Don’t even get me started on Seattle (oh, I love you, Nordstrom Rack). Since Adam began his coaching training south of the 49th Parallel, I’ve become much more stylish (in my humble opinion). The options and prices are just SO much better. Victoria has some awesome indie shops and labels, but the prices are pretty much out of my grasp.

To be fair, though, I think a lot of my style metamorphosis has come about thanks to Pinterest. I’ve always had great ideas of what I’d like to do, but without the pieces, it’s hard to put it into action. I like to peruse the ensembles and see what works for me and what I might be able to do. I’ve learned that I can play with accessories (something I think I’ve really shied away from in the past), which really helps to refresh my pieces and enables a much more creative use of my wardrobe. And yes, my wardrobe is plentiful. I’ve got a good idea of what I like and I take exceptionally good care of my clothes. Clothes and fashion bring me a lot of joy, which sounds lame and materialistic, but really, it’s just a way I like to express my creativity (along with every other thing I do all day long—I’m an artist at heart. Always was.).

And then there’s my shoes. My affection for footwear is really enough fodder for an entire blog, or at least it’s own post, so I won’t say much in this one, but suffice it to say that my mother’s been calling me Imelda Marcos for as long as I can remember. I like shoes, and I like good ones, at that. Really, I like good quality everything. I’m not a brand junkie, but I know what I like, and when that coincides with a quality item, I’m sold (over and over again). I think that’s the topic of another post.

So, where was I going with this massive digression? Oh yes, to Vancouver. Where there is shopping (though I have not a lot of money and am aware of my impending trip to Seattle next weekend…). Adam still owes me a birthday present and we decided we’d shop for it together (that’s a two-fer for me!)… I’ll let you know how it turns out!

What do you like to spend your money on? Are clothes and fashion as a form of personal expression important to your identity? If not, what is?

Seattle Day Deux

Day DOO! Hahaha. Oh, I am tired. My feets are swollen. I think I may have walked to northern California today. It’s quite possible.

Today was a good day. Seriously, you guys, the weather was ridiculously lovely. I even had a shop girl tell me upon my entry to the store that I had overdressed for the day. Thank you, Captain Obvious. Don’t make light of a person who is bearing shopping bags, with their coat on their arm and who is just a little bit sweaty. Big mistake. Big. Huge. Well, actually, not really, since I still bought stuff from that store, but still. STILL.

Anywho, I done good today. I got me some RIDICULOUS shoes, which shall receive a post of their very own. Just you wait (you really haven’t got much choice in the matter). I also got some less ridiculous shoes, but I’m still excited about them (I DO love shoes). No jeans, because I officially ran out of jean-trying motivation whilst eyeing up a pair of white jeans and wondering how long I’d wear them before sitting on wet paint or spilling POM juice on ’em. I figure 23 minutes, tops.

I went to Forever 21, too. I’ve heard a lot about this place. I can tell you I will NEVER go back there. That’s just not my idea of fun shopping. It’s a HUGE store, in a HUGE mess. I can’t handle that kind of thrift-store vibe. I get angry and annoyed and all like, “WHY CAN’T ANYONE TELL ME WHERE ANYTHING IS IN HERE?”

I also feel bad about buying extremely cheap crap that I figure will fall apart possibly before I leave the house the first time I wear it. I bought a couple of tops, because I figured I’d been in there too long and would never get that time back ever, so I’d better have something to show for it. Here are some of the highlights of my internal dialogue:

“This is what’s wrong with the world and now I’m being part of the problem.”

“Bay, it’s a sunk cost. You know this. Get out and spend your money elsewhere.”

“No, I do NOT wish to rehang my discarded items.”

I mean, really: I did my time in retail, which included putting away and folding/hanging discards. I no longer wish to do this and they really can’t afford my hourly rate.

I also felt very Canadian. Especially when the dude at Nordstrom Rack (an employee, no less! Harrumph!) backed up onto MY foot, without apologizing AND despite my polite “oh—watch out!” and then I apologized. Good grief. And I heard a lot of “uh huhs”. Adam is onto something there…

I also got my bangs trimmed, which was great. Because I then could actually see. It turns out the reason I couldn’t find a restaurant was because I literally couldn’t SEE them. And I bought 3 chocolates to eat first thing in the morning! And was propositioned by a table of sailors. You know, as you do.

Hey, so I shopped here, at Abe_bie &:

Why wear pants when you can just hold them?

Interestingly, when I took a picture with the flash on, this is what happened:

Could it be? Is this guy luminescent?

It’s official: I think Abercrombie & Fitch uses vampires for models. Because they glimmer in the light.


Zombie apocalypse: Are you ready? Also, I’m in Seattle.

The reason I ask is because, apparently, Mother Russia is working on zombie guns. Not guns that will effectively deal with the undead, mind you, but guns that turn you  into one. Because that’s what we’ve been missing ’til now. What the world needs now is not love; it is mindless, people-eating drones. Clearly. Don’t worry, though; if you’re worried about how to cope in the event of such a disaster, the CDC has you covered. Seriously, you guys, the stuff that is legit in this world is pretty sad. And yet, no unicorns. Sigh.

What I find interesting about this is that there are people starving in this world (despite there being more than enough food for everyone), but money goes into the creation of this garbage. People with no place to call home, no bed to rest their head at night. Children living in terrible conditions, facing even worse times ahead if they’re lucky enough to grow up. But Russia is making zombie guns. Humanity’s priorities are a mess. <<shakes head sadly>> Who’s gonna make the anti-zombie gun? You know, the one that shoots love and puppy kisses?

Speaking of zombies, today was Sakura-con here in Seattle, which is an anime convention. This means a lot of people were wandering around in fairly uninspired costumes, including zombies, vampires and various characters of unrecognizable renown. We did see a pretty darned realistic and accurate Daenerys from Game of Thrones, dragon included. Well done, pretty blond girl, well done.

Adam and I wandered around today and shopped it up. I didn’t get much—a few tops— but I got lots of ideas and tried on EVERY PAIR OF JEANS IN THE WORLD. Okay, it was 5 pairs. But still. STILL. Pulling skinny jeans on and off  is frustrating and causes my undies to bunch up/down/all around. TMI? Too bad. I don’t know about you, but I find the buying of new jeans to be one of the most tiresome and annoying tasks in the world. My fingers are blue from pulling up all the newly dyed indigo. I’m always worried I’ll forget to put a pair on when I go out for another size, and there I’ll be, in my knickers, in the middle of a store. This didn’t happen today, thankfully.

I have some missions for tomorrow. One of which is the finding of Cadbury Mini Eggs. Because Easter is in T-minus 2 and we got nuthin’. I’m mildly concerned that they don’t sell them here, which makes me sad for the US, but mostly for me. I KNEW we should’ve bought that mamma-jamma bag at Costco, Adam!

Pioneer Square. This is Adam's picture because I didn't take too many today.