I'm not exactly sure where to begin with all the ridiculous wonderfulness this weekend!

1. Thrusting one's hips like a "porn star", grabbing one's "snatch", and thumbing to one's bum...

Uncomfortable turns of phrase? Yes! Also a number of the moves Fingers and I learned in our inaugural Kettle Bell class Friday night!

The event started as awkwardly as humanely possible (I'll spare you the details) and continued in a progressively bizarre manner, including someone in the class continuously and rather loudly referencing her "jiggling thighs" and the majority of the evening being unconsentingly caught on video tape by the gym owner as he recorded the first Kettle class for the studio's webpage. At one point the instructor told Fingers to "use her huge chest" for momentum...? And if you've seen Couples Retreat you'll appreciate the horrible comedy of watching the instructor demonstrate The Swing on your neighbor whilst repeatedly chanting:

Boom... Boom... Boom...

A workout, to be sure, but not an experience I'm gagging to repeat anytime soon.

2. Beef and I took a cooking class today at the local community college, taught by a local chef: Comfort Food 101. On the menu was chicken curry pot pie, parsnip ginger soup, roasted root veg with maple glaze, and baked pears with a green tea syrup glaze.

But while we enjoyed the undeniable talent and charm of our instructor, our fellow classmates were a strange group, to say the least. Don't get me wrong: they were lovely, lovely people. But while I am by no means a wiz in the kitchen (hence the class...) I know to hold the handle of a pot when stirring, that sweetbreads are not pastries, and that while yes, duck, chicken, and goose are all considered "poultry" they are in fact, different...

3. We taped out of our culinary adventure around 2:30 just in time to hit up the teen dance championships taking place in the same venue.

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And the only thing more awkward than using the word "snatch" in a post you know your mother is reading is watching 16 year-old lyrical jazz dance solos.

All in all, a truly cultural weekend full of learning experiences: the planks in Friday night's class taught me running has given me some crazy strong abs (which are hiding under the not-so-surprising muffin); Orange was right: truffle pigs ARE where it's at; and yes, there can be bad renditions of Footloose.

There's something to be said for intuition.

I am a firm believer that there is a sixth sense. An awareness that sends shivers down one's spine, goose pimples to appear on one's arms, or causes the thinker to wonder what dark recess of one's mind a random thought has been pulled. I think we often choose to ignore or push away these intuitions because they are usually sensing a situation or issue we're choosing to ignore for whatever unpleasant reason--no matter how many times it proves itself untrue, we convince ourselves that if we ignore it, surely the issue will fade away like a sneeze that never manifests itself from the initial tickle.

I thought of a professional friend last week... Someone I worked with in a brief capacity a couple of years ago, but who was so lovely and so vibrant that we took special care to keep in touch from time to time. I was a reference for her in her first professional job, we had lunch a couple of times, and there was the odd email update on her precious dog, Minnie, and her new home in a commuter town north of the city. I thought to myself late last week "I should email her and check in on the job and the house, find out how she and her newlywed husband are... It would be nice to mentor her in the way my good friend, Rosie, has mentored me." And so I added to my mental list, "get in touch."

I found out today that she passed away on Friday. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. And truthfully, in one of the saddest ways possible. The news hit me like a truck. I actually pushed my chair back from my desk in disbelief, shaking my head and covering my open mouth in shock."No, that's not true. I just thought about her. No. It can't be. Things like that don't happen in 2011."

I can still see her pretty smile, her bouncy curls, and her natural spirit that put anyone and everyone at ease. I know last week, some part of that spirit passed through me, bringing her to mind, allowing me to reflect on the memories I have of her. I will endeavour to celebrate her in the effort I put into my work, knowing how great an impact she would have made on the profession. And I will mourn the loss of someone who was robbed of life too soon.

Busybusybusybusybusy

I like being busy because it means:

1. Lists. I like lists.
2. The day moves quickly.

It can be disconcerting though, when you repeatedly get to the end of your shift and think "It's been 8 hours already?" The work is enjoyable, though, and when you're in something new and developing fresh skills and talking to people about subjects that are totally foreign to you... Well, it's just plain nice to be using a new part of my brain and to have shed the burden that was becoming a uncomfortably comfortable job. Savvy?

I'm also reading a disgusting amount. Mostly because I have to, what with the book clubs, and programming selections, and reviews I'm responsible for. But I've been in a reading rut lately so it's refreshing to turn into a book now and again as opposed to the TV. So far, that list has included:

• People of the Book, Geraldine Brooks (not recommended...)
• Every Last One, Anna Quindlen
• The Abortionists Daughter, Elisabethe Hyde (she just had to spell it with an "s", huh?)
• The Oultander, Gil Adamson
• Nine Lives of Charlotte Taylor, Sally Armstrong (loved it!)
• and my next is Midnight at the Dragon Cafe, J. Bates Fong

Anything anyone wants to suggest as a possible read to add to the list?

I'm really into the Local Natives right now...

Tomorrow is my dad's birthday.

And because five years ago he signed me up for a cell phone as a Christmas present, and regardless of how many new contracts I've signed and/or how may conversations I've had with Telus explaining that:

A) He died.
B) I am 31 and thus responsible enough to have my own phone

... they continue to send my "happy birthday" text messages on this day. I suppose I should be grateful for the opportunity to make as many free local calls as I want tomorrow?

Nah. I'd rather continue thinking Telus is just a bunch of @ssholes.

Happy birthday, Pop. And (pardon my French, Aunt Margie) f*ck you, Telus.