And so the mystery continues…

Heyo! I’m hitting a bit of a writer’s block, it would seem. Mostly because I spent most of the last month completely overwhelmed with what I’ve got going on (all my own doing, but still—it’s a lot) and when I get overwhelmed, I have a tendency to react like this:

rabbits-play-deadIt’s not the most super-productive strategy, I’ll admit. The best part is when I decide to roll over and get back to accomplishing [any]things, the stuff that inspired me to play possum in the first place has become bigger and more pressing. Awesome.

So, I’ve got a whole bunch of drafts started that I haven’t finished and I’ve been looking for a handful of poems I wrote in my first year of the creative writing program. I had been looking for them for ages, wondering if they were any good, since a great way to find out if your poetry is half-decent is to read it five-to-ten years later. If it doesn’t make you want to barf and then hide under a rock, you’re doing alright.

I found them, maybe sometime in the last twelve months. I remember being stoked to find them. Unfortunately, I do not remember where I was at the time. I feel like I’ve searched the condo, which leaves the storage unit downstairs. Ugh. The problem with the storage locker is that it is a) very creepy down there, and b) very, very full.

Me not finding the poems (and to be honest, not really looking for them physically—it’s been more a thing I think about from time to time, which is clearly not all that effective) has been a pretty handy excuse for not posting. Weirdly, though, it hasn’t helped with my writer’s block.

On that note, I’m going to sign off, because it’s beautiful outside and I want to enjoy the sunshine. I’ve been off this past week and the sorrow of having to return to work is starting to set in. I’m going to go play outside. You should, too.

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?

Summertime, I love you.

Heyo! Isn’t summer great? I mean, it’s all warm and smells like Hawaiian Tropic (the good scent that made you do this when you applied it, before they went and changed the scent <<shakes head sadly>>).

I’ve been out being all summery, which has been great (there’s that word again), since we’ve had a bunch of warm weather ’round these parts. I had begun to think we would never have summer sun + heat together again, ever. Luckily, it came and things got all toasty. Of course, I have yet to be able to coordinate a trip to a beach/lake/lawn with a bathing suit, so thus far (and really, summer’s kind of wrapping up and slipping into fall), my bronzed glow is restricted embarrassingly and quite obviously to my running and cycling shorts. Sun safe? Yes. Summer fun and sexy? Not so much

I started my archery lessons last week. I’m pretty much a natural. Except for how I managed to repeatedly catch myself with my bow string and wound up with a series of bruises. And yes, I did enjoy explaining how I got them. Is that weird?

Also, know what? You know how they make archery look on TV and in movies? Like Legolas and Katniss? Yeah, that’s not incredibly realistic, it turns out. Now, you guys, this may not surprise you, but it does me, a little. And not just because I’m incredibly trusting and gullible, either. I mean, one would imagine that there must be a nugget, or at least a grain, of truth to what we see on the silver screen. Come on, Hollywood: it’s not like I’ll never figure it out that you’re lying to me.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that it looks like I will not be

  1. Shooting from a stampeding oliphant.
  2. Shooting rapidly at multiple attackers.
  3. Swiftly plucking arrows from my shoulder-slung quiver and firing them in one graceful motion.

That’s okay, though. It’s still pretty fun and my mom is hilarious (I signed her up for the classes, too)!

We're going that-a-way.

We went sailing on Sunday on my Aunt and Uncle’s boat, The Mantra, in Cowichan Bay. It was awesome. Check out my golden non-marking Sperrys.



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.


So, uh huh! We’ve made it to departure day. I don’t know how that happened. I recall a certain degree of stress over many specific items related to gainful employment. But then I remembered that really, most of what I do on a daily basis (work or otherwise) is not life or death in importance. See, I would know, since when I worked for the RCMP, I actually did do stuff that was rather life or death in consequence.

First shot was a bull's eye. Just saying'...

Perspective. Huh. Also, I was what, like the cutest RCMP constable ever? You guys. I. Was. Intimidating.

Anyway, I’m going to bed and then I’m getting up early and beginning a super amazing adventure. I shall not be blogging my way through it because, frankly, I’m going on vacation to get away from it all, and experience France, which would be tricky to do through my laptop (being that typing on a laptop is awfully similar to what I do all day at work).

So yeah, I’ll catch y’all up later. I’m super excited. You can’t tell, but that’s because I’m really, really tired. But I am. It’s gonna be epic. EPIC.

Ciao and Happy Mother’s Day to all the moms out there!


The Worst.

I know. I know. Where the h-e-double-hockey-sticks have I been, anyway? Well, let me tell you:

I found this super-cool-looking antique wardrobe and while I was checking it out, all of a sudden I was whisked into a world of perpetual winter, where all the animals talked! There were all kinds of animals, too, even ones we don’t have in this neck ‘o’ the woods: unicorns, fauns, mermaids and centaurs…

Oh wait, that’s Narnia. I didn’t go to Narnia. That’s just a story (albeit my favourite story of all time in the history of ever). I wish I went to a magical land filled with wonderfulrishical creatures. And not just because I was buried in ever-increasingly frustrating work and commitments, either. I mean, I did wish it more because of those reasons, but let’s call a spade a spade here: I pretty much wish the places in my favourite books and stories were real ALL THE TIME. And by all the time, I don’t mean fleetingly, whilst I reminisce about my childhood and those fanciful days of my youth. I mean ALL THE TIME. Life would be cooler and things would always work out and honour and justice would always prevail. Plus, unicorns. I’m just saying…

But no, I was just busy. Sorry ’bout that. I don’t enjoy it, either, but it would seem that, in fact, I am not the boss of me. I don’t know who is, but whoever makes my plans has some serious issues with scheduling and time management. I mean, come ON. I’m so tired, but all I hear is “Mush, MUSH!” and on and on I go.

Whatever. I’m whining. But hey! Look over here! Guess what though? The Fabulous France Foray is really taking shape. This is a very good thing, since we leave in 15 days. That is not a lot of days. Jen has planned us a TRIP THE LIKES OF WHICH YOU HAVE NEVER SEEN. You guys. There will be museums. And art. And palaces. And mirrored hallways. And crypts (“I [will] see dead people“). AND CASTLES OF THE MEDIEVAL ERA! And baguettes. And Bordeaux. And Nice beaches (there’s a pun in there, for you clever devils). And wine.

Oh, the wine. We’re looking at wine tours and all I hear is “this one takes us to a Roman aqueduct” and I’m all like, “TAKE ME TO THE AQUADUCT OF ANCIENT ROME-Y TIMES.” I mean, you guys, people (like you and me, but shorter in stature and life expectancy) built this stuff like a million years ago. Or a thousand years. Maybe a couple of thousand? I really don’t know. I should brush up on my history. This coming from the girl with an undergraduate degree majoring in Anthropology, with enough history classes to have pulled a double major. Well. I can’t be expected to remember everything. Or what I had for dinner last night. Or, what I had for dinner tonight, come to think of it.

So, yeah. I’m excited. Hence, when work is stressful, I just pretend that all I hear is “baguette”. It’s working out for me, as a stress-reduction method. You should probably try it out. I call it “The Paris Effect”. Or “The Baguette Effect”. Or whatever.


Check out my reading stash (oh, okay: I’ve been reading the Hunger Games trilogy, too):

I guess this is where we find out how rusty my 1st language is after all this time.

I also finished teaching my last ballet yoga class on Tuesday. It’s kind of bittersweet. My students were awesome, but I’m reaching burnout levels and thus, my spare time is at a premium. I got paid $231 for 8 weeks of classes (which is well below my personal premium). Not that it’s all about the money, but that’s little compensation for basically losing my entire Tuesday nights for two months. Now I’m just teaching one class at work, but with 4 new students! I’m stoked on these great ladies joining the mélange! How cute is this, though: Two of my ballet yoga students brought me a teacher’s gift, knowing I was heading off to France. How amazing is that? I’ve never gotten a teacher’s present before!


With tried-and-true, must-visit addresses for the Parisian visitor!


The Finish Line

Happy Easter! I was so busy planning my chocolate finding/eating that I forgot that I needed to wrap up my Lenten blogging mission. One blog each day for 40 days. I realize I missed a day, but just for the record, I DID blog on Sundays, which were technically freebies. I’m going to keep it up, I’ve decided, but I’m aiming for a minimum of four posts per week. Not because I don’t want to blog daily (I just know you’d be at a loss without my random thoughts and insightful commentary), but more because I need to make sure I’m not staying up super late just to post, thus inhibiting my early-morning routine. Which makes me grumpy.

Just for the record, I didn’t consume as much dessert as you might think. Actually, that’s a lie: We did find the restaurant we’ve been trying to recall for three days. We couldn’t remember the name and weirdly, Googling “awesome sundae” didn’t provide us with the clarity we hoped to find. All I knew was that the place had stuff hanging from thingys. I know, right? Shocking we couldn’t find it… But then we DID!

Here is what the sundae looked like, before and after:

What's that on the right? Oh, it's the hot-fudge conveyance mechanism. NBD.


The carnage. This took 3 people...

Earlier today, I was looking for a church to attend Easter mass. I found a little one:

The local church, aka Saint James Cathedral

You know, just a small local chapel. Seriously, this place was gorgeous and the music was amazing. There were symphony members and a massive choir. Definitely a post-Whoopie kind of choir, if you get my drift. Here’s what it looked like inside. I don’t know if this photo does this place justice, but it was a lot of beauty:

Heavenly pretty gold dangly stuff!

All in all, a pretty awesome Easter Sunday. Although, no Cadbury Mini Eggs. This may possibly be a good thing. The jury’s still out… (we’ll be finding some mini eggs tomorrow)

I’d write more, but Adam’s sawing logs and it’s making me jealous. Check you later, skaters. Oh wait, one more picture of today’s awesome weather, because it was really an amazing day:

Not sure how I haven't had hay fever yet, but I don't miss it.












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.


Seattle or bust!

Woo hoo! Spring Break Daytona Beach! I mean Easter long weekend, less Daytona and more Seattle. But it’s almost the same. Today has been quite momentous. Many things have occurred that are what I’d consider awesome. In no particular order, here they are:

  1. It is FINALLY the 4-day long weekend we’ve been eagerly and not-so-patiently awaiting since New Years, because our premier dangled Family Day in front of us on a year-long string.
  2. Adam and I are in Seattle. There will be shopping. There will be. I have saved all my shekels for MONTHS for this occasion. Bay’s gonna get stylish!
  3. I finally saw us on the bus. That may not make a lot of sense, but check this out:

We're on a bus! But not the way you think...

Oh yeah, and Adam got articles! In Victoria! That’s right: I shan’t be blogging to you about the high times in Whitehorse/Yellowknife/Iqaluit/Tuktoyaktuk. There will be no dogsledding for me, though I may attach a harness to Hermes and see what happens (yes, I know it will be nothing).

Anyway, we were just leaving for the ferry when Adam got the call. I peeked my head around the corner to get a read on his face (his thumbs up and toothy grin were a dead give away). When he hung up, we let out a whoop-whoop, hug and a kiss, and then grabbed the bags and sprinted out the door and caught the 5 pm boat, much to our pleasant surprise.

We waited for 9 years at the border, which was posted as a 40-minute wait. They lied, but you can’t get all aggro about these things, or else they flag you and cross-border travel becomes unpleasant. Plus, they have guns. But we did have hanger (hunger + anger = not pretty), so we were nearly matched in terms of dangerous-ness.

We’re staying at the Silver Cloud Hotel, close to Safeco Field. We got it à la cheap from Priceline. Here’s what’s funny about it:

We're in a "special" room.

Okay good night!

Ooh! Look! A bumblebee!

That title has nothing to do with anything in this post. However, should you feel inspired to giggle, you can always watch Michael McIntyre’s Comedy Roadshow and on one of them, you’ll see a Welsh guy named Steven Williams. He will say “Ooh, look: A bumblebee!” I guarantee you that you will laugh. If it weren’t 10:35 pm and thus past my bedtime, I’d go watch it right now. It’s that good. You’re welcome.

I guess I just made my title refer to the content of my post. I assure you, this was not my aim. I fully intended it to be just a random quote I picked out of my memory banks. Sometimes, though, I’m too clever for my own good.

I had an idea for a blog post tonight, but I forgot to write it down and now it’s gone. Pffft. Vanished into thin air. Just like my intention to write the idea down. Perhaps I shall remember it tomorrow. Perhaps. We shall see…

Oooh, but you know what? I forgot to tell you the best part about yesterday’s hot yoga class: Bending & Boiling, Part Deux. There was a girl in front of me (who has clearly done hot yoga before, inasmuch as she, unlike me, was not wildly looking around the room as if to say, “What’s going on? How did I end up here, inside the molten core of Earth herself?”) whose nose just started bleeding. I’d noticed it for quite some time, but was too damn hot and bothered (not in the way you think, either) to mention it. Also, people don’t talk in hawt yoga and I was not wanting to break the rule, just in case they sent me to an even hotter corner to sit and think about what I’d done for punishment.

So yeah. Her nose is a-bleeding, all down her face. Seriously, you guys. There are mirrors all over the frigging place in this hotter-than-Hades room. And she’s all bending and sweating and seemingly oblivious to the bleeding, which I can only assume was occurring due to severe over-broiling of the body. Eventually, she turns to her friend and mouths: “Is my nose bleeding?”

Um, yes. Yes it surely is. Unless you sweat red, my friend, and if you do, you have a whole other set of problems. Gives a whole new meaning to the saying “Blood , Sweat and Tears,” doesn’t it?

Oh! I just remembered what I was going to write about! How very absent-minded-professor-like of me. I’m too lazy to draft more right now, but I will leave myself a cryptic hint, for tomorrow:

  1. brain-eating amoebas
  2. The Plague
  3. Bot flies

I bet you’re intrigued now, aren’t you?

I will end off with this little story for you:

In 2005, Adam and I went to Disneyland. It was the funnest. Time. EVAR! Seriously, there are many yarns I could weave about that adventure-laden expedition, which I shall mete out in small, delicious morsels, lest you be overcome by the EXCITEMENT of it all.

So, anyway, they sell all these princess costumes for the little kids to wear there. Any little girl can be her choice of princess, but alas! Not so for the more mature (you have to pronounce that “mat-ooor” for the full effect) royal wannabe, such as myself.

Oh, the humanity! So, I went to the princess section, bought a tiara and stuck it in for the remainder of the day. I mean, really: the kids’ mouse ears have elastics on ’em, so the kid can wear them about, but not the adult ones. I guess we’re meant to just sit still and watch happiness happen, to avoid any gentle breeze that might knock my last vestiges of childhood from my head. Why, yes; it bothered me—how can you tell?

But I digress. While wandering around California Adventure, a park employee dashed out in front of us from one of the movie-making buildings (I don’t know what they’re called, but you can go in and see/learn things, I think. I don’t know for sure; we didn’t go in because we were too busy having The Time of Our LIVES). He was gasping like he’d run the Boston Marathon, holding one hand up to stop us. We thought we must’ve dropped something.

And then. You guys. Then, he takes a step back, makes a massively regal-looking and graceful bow to me, and announces, “Your Majesty!” FOR ALL THE WORLD TO HEAR. Didn’t I just die (of happiness)!

Best. Moment. EVAR! Seriously. This guy wins like 9 zillion customer service points from me.

Anyway, long story made short, this picture reminded me of that moment:

Owl + Royal Treatment = Happy Place

Well, that was fun. At least it was for me. Aaaand, that’s what really matters. Adieu!