This is going to sound super duper cheesy, but...

... It's really easy to throw the word "love" around, huh?

I love cheesies. I love Modern Family. I love working up a good sweat during a run. I love euchre. I love flip flops. I love log fires in the winter. I love the sun on my face. I love chocolate milk, and my slippers, and skinny dipping, and hugging people, and, and, and...

I think I love a lot of things.

The contestants on The Bachelorette claim to love each other. So do those dips on the e-Harmony commercials I'm so convinced by. Who knows whether or not they do.

But all of these things probably aren't really love, per se. I like cheesies... a lot... I like seeing that big orange bag in my cupboard... Little orange smiles, I call 'em. But do I love them? Nah. Not really. And Modern Family is a really good show, but I won't cry when/if it comes to an end. Chocolate milk, slippers, euchre, flip flops... Heck, even hugs! I could do without all of these things if I had to. Meh. They're just things.

......................................

My parents would have been married for 38 years today. 38 years! While never part and partial to the inner workings of their marriage (beyond sitting on the landing listening to their conversations when they thought I was upstairs in my room) I'm sure they had their ups and downs. Heck, I've only been at Orange's for a week or so and he's already saying "there will be days I really, really bug you... And there will be days where you really, really bug me..." And I'm sure, after nearly four decades, there were days they really, really bugged each other.

But for 38 years they shared a double bed, never wanting to upgrade to a queen or king that might give them more room because it would move them further apart. They took vacations together, alone, twice a year. They split the paper in the morning. They cuddled on the couch at night. They had dates on Fridays.

For 38 years.

Man. Talk about love...

If I hear that Rihanna and Eminem song one more time I'm going to punch something...

I'm back from vacation, y'all!

While there are no pictures to post as of yet (I left my connector cord at the apartment...) there are lots of goodies to share, not the least of which is a story involving Fingers leaving me for dead in the middle of the Everglades with a Panther hot on my tail. And I have the bruises to prove it!

All in all, it was a great trip, although I can now safely say that Florida in August is a hot mess of humidity and mosquitoes. Until such time as I get my act together, these tid bits will have to do: 

1. Never try and move a dresser past 7:00 at night on the Sunday after you've returned from holidays. That is, if you value your relationship more than a walk in closet... 

2. Speaking of walk in closets, I feel like one of those people on MTV Cribs with a big glorious room to put all their shoes and sweaters and jewlery out on display... "What should I wear today? Oh I don't know... Why don't I take a spin around my new glorious walk in closet and think about it!" Sorry Orange, but the sweat, tears, and your curse words were well worth it to this gal *doe eyed smile* 

3. There's nothing like the purr of a cat to tell you you've been missed. 

4. I don't know what those rap guys are talking about... Hennessy is not all it's cracked up to be. But then, nothing you can buy at CostCo by the case is really all it's cracked up to be... With the exception of bulk Kettle Corn... 

5. My mom and Beef are away at a cottage and I miss them like I miss wearing flip flops in the winter. And that's a lot! 

6. I bought this t-shirt while I was away and part of me isn't ashamed. What's wrong with me?!

When did he get so big?

 I don't like it.

Wait! I mean... I do like it! Don't get me wrong... I love that he can talk to me know, and ask me "what'cha doin?" and on Sunday at dinner I'm pretty sure he said my name. But I also don't like it, you know?

I mean, what happened to these days?

 

 

I miss my lil' potato, you know?

Pecan Pie Pressure

Orange has been working on a job site that neighbours a well known large-scale Canadian bakery. His role is begin the detoxification of the neighbouring site so to ensure the bakery's water supply doesn't wind up laced with TCE. Nice, huh? Just your average day in the life of Captain Planet...

Last Saturday, Orange worked overtime. And on a number of occasions the bakery supervisor--a slight, white-haired moustached man--wandered out to the lot, flustered and anxious. Hair net and lab coat clad, supervisor man was very stressed and felt the need to vent his frustrations to Orange:

It would seem the bakery has been asked by a supplier to "clean up" their pecan pie... "The pecans aren't crunchy enough and the crust isn't crusty enough." So the bakery boys were working overtime. First they tried adding super shine mix to the pecans to increase the crunch, but batch number one was a dud. "Tasted like plastic." Then they tried "impregnating" (his word, not mine...) the crust with liquid CO2 to increase the freezing speed of the crust froze off the assembly line. Also a dud. By mid afternoon the bakery supervisor was at his wits end, claiming the problem lay in his convection test kitchen vs. the conveyor product kitchen and not in the crunchy or the crusty.

At 3:00 when Orange was punching out of his own job site, the air overwhelmingly smelled of pie and bakery supervisor man was sending the boys on a grocery run for more butter and eggs. Where do you suppose you buy butter by the truck load?

I'd like to learn Kung Fu.

Karate sounds so lame in comparison...

"I'm a karate black belt..."

"I'm a Kung Fu master..."

See? Sh*t yea.

Mega drama at Orange's house tonight.

He called about 5:30 while I was in the midst of digging out my cleats and pulling on my jersey for Ultimate Frisbee, and hung up shortly after so I could zoom out to Fingers' house. Not two minutes later he called back: 

Orange (panicked): "Uh, yeah we got a situation over here..."
Library Lady: "What's wrong buddy?! Are you okay?"
Orange: "Uh, we have a baby raccoon trapped in the green bin, and he is less than pleased with me!"
Library Lady: "I'm on it!"

I zoomed over to the house and found Orange stationed at the back gate, baby raccoon still snug as a smelly, garbage covered bug. Literally. After wheeling the bin into the middle of the lawn (insert angry tiny baby raccoon scratching and howling), I slowly laid it on the ground and pulled open the lid.

And then I ran like the dickens. Both of us did.

We hid in the sun room overlooking the backyard, and waited, watching. We could certainly smell the little dude (ew), but we couldn't see him. Slowly but surely we crept back out the door and sidled up to the side of the bin. Yup. He was still there. Staring at us with his beady little eyes from the bottom of the box. Like it's my fault he was entranced by the smell of rotting coffee grinds, banana peels, stale pita wraps, and an old pizza slice.

That's when Orange let me in on the latest ravine drama: I guess the raccoon parents recently split and are now sleeping in different trees. He assumes there is residual anger weighing on our baby raccoon, and his acting out (partying in our green bin) was no doubt a result of his broken home life. So we took pity on the little dude, and rather than shake him out of the bin so we could Javex the sh*t out of it, we let him be, scared as he was, assuming come dark he'd probably scurry his way home.

Let's hope he gets the counseling he needs. Because the next time he ends up dumping in my green bin he's going to have some explaining to do...

THIS SH*T makes my life.

Random thoughts:

I watched a documentary on heavy metal last night. Not mercury, iron, or aluminum, but Slip Knot, Twisted Sister, and Black Sabbath. Totally insightful. While I have no plans of rushing out to devil horn at the next Alice in Chains concert, I'll look with less scorn at the leather clad dude who spends his days at the library rocking out and chatting online with fellow metal heads. A little less...

---

As I spend more time at Orange's house, I spend less time running. Sad but true. Ultimate Frisbee has been my weekly exercise for the last couple of weeks. And while my new UF team and the position I play within it kicks butters, my legs still crave the pavement. Last Sunday I watched a jogger blast pass me at a red light in 30 degree heat, and from the comfort of my air conditioned Yaris I actually looked at him with jealousy. Gross. Baby Shiloh brought the smite last night when I went for a long overdue run along my favorite waterfront trail and I literally gagged at the end of it. Not cool, Shiloh. Not cool.

---

Bert and I are back at the apartment after the aforementioned couple of weeks in and out of Orange's place. With only a month left before the "corporate merger" of the accumulated households, he'd made himself quite comfortable with his swish new digs. I'd be lying if I said he was less than displeased with me for bringing him back to chez Library Lady. While I'll try not to take his snubbing personally, you know I'll still coax him out from under the bed with a spoon full of vanilla yogurt.

---

A Babybelle can make or break a lunch.

---

Mom and I are heading up North this weekend for a mini-break. Pictures and commentary to come. Stay tuned.

Camping 2010

The girls and I had 4th annual mini-break last weekend. You may recall past adventures camping in the wilds of Bon Echo, and last year's Florida extravaganza, complete with Muumuus, dog races, et al. This year's time frame was slightly tighter, so we decided to stick closer to home to make things easier for all involved, reserving a campsite at the Elora Gorge.

Totally fun and exciting, right?

Sunshine and sandy beaches? Check.
An exciting day tubing down the gorge? Check.
S'mores and beer and pita pizzas roasted over the fire? Check.
Good friends and good gossip? Check.

We loaded Poo's car to the t*ts (literally... I sat with my feet on two bags of wood with a bag full of breakfast food on my lap, while Free Samples and Fingers squished awkwardly in the back in and amongst the air mattresses, coolers, and camp chairs and Poo trying desperately to drive slowly, what with her inability to see out any of the windows...). We hit the road Friday after work and with a little luck, we'd be snug in our campsite singing Kumbaya around a raging blaze by 9:00.

What could go wrong?

How about:

1. A total alcohol ban at the park.
2. A dangerously high water level resulting in the cancellation of all tubing and tubing-related activities. 
3. $8 for a bag of beyond dry kindling, and the Conservation Authority's monopoly on area firewood, at that.
4. A campsite on a round-about. Literally... Cars could pass on all sides, not to mention our view of the highway from the flap of the tent.
5. A suspicious poo smell...
6. A forgotten pump for the air mattresses.
7. A hole in one said air mattress.
8. One long walk in inappropriate footwear and subsequent blisters (serves me right, I suppose...?)
9. Deer flies and mosquitoes the size of llamas.

But my girls are not those who take challenges lying down (well, maybe Free Samples *wink*) so after laughing to the point of tears and potential pant wetting, we made the most of our weekend, got ourselves set right and comfortable, and enjoyed every second of our "camping extravaganza"...

*shifty eyes*

What could possibly top this next year, ladies?

'Tis a rainy Friday.

But THIS kind of makes my life right now.

"Swimming, swimming, in the swimming pool!"

In an attempt to beat the heat last night, Fingers and I tried to take a swim at the local pool. Orange lives around the corner from an Olympic sized in-ground that has in the past looked crystal blue and lovely. For some reason it had been drained yesterday... Why? I'm not sure. So we retraced our tracks and took our butters to the next closest location.

The check-in girl gave us the family rate ($7.00). Because we're a family, obviously. After changing into our suits, hosing down in the cold, gross shower room, we made our way onto the deck to join the pool party. I wore my flip-flops for as long as possible on deck because of my fear of hair off the head and in general bare feet in public spaces.

Ahh, relief! It's amazing what a little chlorine can do for the soul. Fingers dove right in while I inched my way into the turquoise abyss, savouring the dip of each toe into the cool water.

As expected, no sooner had I submerged myself when the thunder clapped and the teenage twat sitting in the lifeguard stand blew his whistle for us to evacuate the area. Huddled under the enclosure with the rest of the pool-goers waiting out the storm, Fingers looked over to ask if I wanted to stay the 30 minute minimum wait when the little girl standing next to me began to howl to get back in the pool. "No. I don't" I replied. I'm pretty sure only dogs and bees could hear her screams, she was that high pitched in her wailing. We couldn't even be bothered to dress ourselves, just got back into our car soaking wet to take our "family rate" @sses back to the hot house.

Zut alors!

Could I be more boring?

Come summertime, when once again the monkey on my back rears it's ugly head, I find I have no energy for a) computers and b) blogging when I get home from "the shop", so to speak. Sitting pants-less on the couch watching PVR'd episodes of The Hills, however, has real appeal. Hence my lack of posts.

Updates:

• For the doubters in the crowd, my garden is still scrumptious. It's odd looking, in that the perennials haven't quite filled out as I hoped and this torrential heat has the lilly's flopping and the daisy's praying to the sweet baby Shiloh for rain, but it's a happy garden all the same. Orange and I tried to transplant ferns from the cottage to his house this weekend but by the time we'd made our way through four hours of wall-to-wall cottage country traffic poor Monsieur Fern was deader than dead.
• Speaking of the cottage, I am officially a pack mule. I spent Canada Day working as a Sherpa schlepping old deck wood from the cottage to the dock one floor joist/board at a time and stacking it neatly in a burn pile, whilst Orange diligently cut and screwed his way to an (almost complete) new deck off the bunk house. Being the anal librarian type, I of course then organized my piles from large wood to small wood and burned them accordingly... Stop laughing.
• This weekend is our annual girl's camping trip. You may remember said extravaganza's from 2007 and  2008, and then of course the infamous 2009 Florida trip. I'm super pumped. There's something to be said for a vacation without boys...
• Lunchtime isn't as exciting when you don't have a good lunch to look forward to.

And that's it.

This was the kind of weekend I had...

Deep thoughts by Orange:

"I worry about the day they decide to stop making sour soothers. What are we going to do? I mean, look at Bonkers. Everyone loved Bonkers. And then one day, poof! They're gone. Now you go those classic candy stores on Highway 400 and they're selling you expensive retro Bonkers. But we all know they aren't really Bonkers. They're just repackaged Fruit'ella [sic]...


Why are you looking at me like that? I'm trying to be serious. Sh*t."

It's hot and sticky and I my underpants are sticking to my butt.

TMI? Perhaps. But the windows are open and the sun is setting, and the most glorious breeze is coming through the open window, so there's hope for me yet. I've never had air conditioning, nor has it ever appealed. I leave the frozen hallways of work and crank open my car windows letting the wind whip my hair and stick to my lip balm. I like being hot, and thus the process of cooling down. Far easier to do than to warm up, I say. I'm contemplating serving myself the Creemore chilling in the fridge and chasing it with oat cookies.Why not? I went for a run and hobbled up the Dundurn stairs... I deserve it. It was that foolish errand, after all, that got me into this butt-sticking, humid mess in the first place.

Bert, on the other hand, lays sprawled on the wood floor dreaming of a sunroom and his place on the couch under the screened in windows. September, buddy. September.

Two things need to go:

1. Karl Wolf? Really? Two words:

Dou.Che.

2. I'm not a fan of mattress commercials. Nothing says "crack house" to me quite like a mattress without sheets, and yet every mattress commercial I see there's some Chiquita Banana sprawled out or faux-sleeping on a sheet-less mattress! Ew. A child's bed is one thing, but even in my darkest days as a student I managed to track down a bottom sheet to save me from the Whiskey Tango. Sheets come and go, but a mattress is an investment--for heaven's sake, dress it up and treat it to a nice steak dinner.

Tomorrow is Father's Day.

About a week ago I was routing through my storage cupboard at work where I store all the discarded books I've bought from the book sale tables, my Mrs. Potato Head (don't ask...), and various gift bags and wrapping for the prizes I occasionally give out. I came across a "Happy Father's Day, Grandpa" card I'd picked up at from the staff 'give and take table' sometime before last September. It's blue, it has a fish on the front, and is no doubt from one of those card bundles people buy so they always have a card on hand if/when a birthday, sick day, and/or anniversary strikes. I guess that makes two of us with no reason for a Father`s Day card.

Unlike a lot of holidays, I've never thought of Mother`s Day and Father`s Day as "Hallmark holidays" per se, regardless of my jump-the-gun card. I like letting people know how much they mean to me. Subconsciously I think I've been celebrating him for awhile. Yaris' stereo has been set to the Rolling Stones on repeat, I recorded Harry Potter on PVR, reserved a tee time for this past afternoon, and tomorrow we've already decided to go to Port Dover for fried clams and chocolate milk shakes.

He really is still so very much apart of my life. I hear his voice, ask him questions, consult him on tough decisions, and often find myself laughing at the joke he would have made had he been here in person. He was right about so many things, beyond the importance of basic math skills, not the least of which is 'there is always a reason to pun'. Teeing up today I could hear him saying:

"Keep your head down... Don't try and kill it... Keep your head down... Choke up... I told you to keep your head down... Nice swing, kid. Now if only we could see you drive like that on the road..."

Har dee har har, dad. Happy Father's Day, old man.

[insert joke about hip replacements, dentures, and old age homes...]

*blows into microphone*

*ahem*

Attention please!

I have an important announcement to make:

Pants is coming to visit, July 23-25th.

*jumpy, clappy hands*

ING Ottawa Marathon

A totally amazing weekend!

Friday night after work, Free Samples and I made our to Ottawa--me for the ING 1/2 marathon and she to party, party, party. Six and a half hours of frustrating traffic and even more frustrating radio music later ("Cal-i-forn-ia girls are undeniable, daisy dukes, bikinis on top...") we pulled into chez destination.

So good to see Cousin Toque and his sidekick (Toque, the original)! After pleasantries and some chit-chat we hit the hay. CT has the cutest little house with hands down the most comfortable guest room... I literally slept like a baby, minus the bed wetting and onesie. Although I secretly wish I had a onesie...

Saturday morning, the nerves were seriously starting to set in. What seemed like a good idea three months ago had quickly become a scary reality. CT snapped me out of it, taking me to the health expo where we picked up our race bibs and digs, mapped out the course in the car, and combined drank approximately 400L of Gatorade and water. CT made us a kick-butters dinner of stuffed pasta and salad... Washed down with Gatorade, of course.

That night we went to cheer on CT's friends in the 5 and 10km races. Although he'd warned me the city was very into this race weekend, I had no idea what to expect. The Bay was my first major event, and  we had our fair share of spectators (more so on the swish side, and less so on the "don't get shived" side...)

Overwhelming, is the only word to describe it. People lined the treed streets, cheering and clapping and encouraging runners as they zoomed by. The elite runners were amazing to watch... Their feet barely touch the ground. With the sun shining we screamed and yelled encouragements. It was amazing to be part of it, and overwhelming to think that in 12 hours I would be one of the racers...

Cousin Toque planned to run the marathon (like a crazy person) and his race was due to begin at 7:00am. Needless to say, I took the extra couple of hours sleep, with my half-marathon start time set for 9:00. After the usual pre-race routine (water, coffee, oatmeal, banana, water, Lara bar, water) I got myself did up, and called my cab for the start line. By 8:15am I was in my corral, fiddling with my water belt, worrying I'd pinned my race bib too high. I got worked up to my "heck yes" music (Imma Be, Carry Out, Jump...), and waited for the gun.

Bang! And we're off, 9,000 runners funnelling past the Parliament Buildings and the National War Memorial. The race course is amazing, rolling hills into Hull, zooming back into Ottawa past the University and through the downtown core, with the last 10km along the canal. The chute back into Ottawa at the 10km mark was unreal--people 5-6 deep lining the streets cheering and encouraging, holding signs that say things like "you're feet hurt because you're kicking @ss" and "toe nails are for sissies".

By this time I'm well ahead of the two hour pace bunny and feeling fantastic. At 12 km or so I can hear Free Samples chanting my name from the sidelines, hung over as sh*t and out on the streets cheering me on all the same. Her "go LL's" pump me up even more, and I sail on through with a big smile on my face. I'm feeling great!

Ehn.

At 16km, I'm done. The two hour pace bunny waltzes by and I'm sad as a little black raincloud. I should have listened to CT who warned me never to pace myself with one of these dudes because it's the most depressing thing in the world to see them blow by. And it was. Plod, plod, plodding along. I'd give my life for a cheeseburger. I'd give my life for a bathroom not made out of florescent green plastic...

Like a light at the end of the tunnel I see the marker for 750 meters... 500 meters... 200 meters... People hanging over the guard rails like I'm an Olympian, cheering and clapping, and yelling at me to "keep going!" Free Samples has wound her way to the finish line and is yelling along with the crowd!

Finally, I'm done! Even though I would have sworn a strip the 2-hour pace bunny is long past me, I cross the finish line in (*drum roll*) 2:00:12 seconds! Not to get too puff puff on y'all, but that's near top 30%. Say wha?!

• I was runner 3884 out of 9208 registered half marathon runners
• I placed 1432 out of 5329 women
• I placed 275 out of the 868 in my age bracket

I get one of those metallic warming blankets, my banana and yogurt and bottle of water, and some little kid puts a medal around my neck. A couple of hours later, CT pulls through his 42km race (again, 42km... wtf?), fit as a fiddle, preening like a superstar (that's me in the red and white bandanna up front... And for the record, the clock states 2:05 by that's gun time, not actual running time...)

An amazing day. And some amazing lessons:

1. A water belt isn't necessary in a well organized race. While I lugged 2 bottles of hydration all 21.2km, there was plenty of water and Gatorade at every 3km mark, and relatively disgusting gels at the 8km mark. I barely touched my belt with the exception of the pocket I kept my Kleenex in... Damn you, seasonal allergies!
2. READ about marathons and half marathons before you do them... Some seriously helpful tidbits I could have used pre-race, like avoiding ibuprofen, keeping fibrous foods out of my diet at least three days before the race, taken 'er ease on the Gatorade because the sugar can mess you up... *shifty eyes*
3. If it's your first one, stick close to home. In retrospect, a six hour car ride post race was perhaps not the best of ideas. Thank Shiloh for dearest Free Samples, who patiently drove my butters back to the Hammer.
4. And finally, don't be scared! It's really not that far to go! Whether you walk it or run it or do some combination of the two, you're accomplishing something unreal. And if you choose a pretty course, at the very least you've spent a beautiful day (fingers crossed) outdoors.

This picture makes my life...

... And ya'll know this face is followed by some serious "meh".

Two sweet treats

It's been an exciting but vair busy week.

The trip to Ottawa and my first, competitive half marathon was beyond exciting. I'm waiting for the photos to arrive in my in-box from the organization, and to get five minutes on my own computer to sort through my own thoughts before I post on it. But have no fear... The details are coming!

Until then, in a word, the race was: amazing.

More on that later.

Since the weekend I've been fending off the repercussions of running 21km, getting to work early and staying late, playing 2 and 1/2 hour Ultimate Frisbee games, masticating fruit, and running around like a mad-woman trying to sort through last minute details before yet another road trip to Collingwood for a weekend wedding (Orange is in the wedding party...) Mon Dieu! But yesterday brought two vair sweet treats:

1. My Plan B deliveries began yesterday!

Plan B is a local organic farm organization delivering fresh, locally grown and/or organic fruit and vegetables to your workplace based on orders. Fingers took part in Plan B at a former workplace, and based on her success I suggested the organization to our Green Team who in turn organized our drop-off. I ordered a half-share of fruit which means once every two weeks I receive a shipment of locally grown fruit delivered to the library--enough to keep me satiated until my next shipment! And to keep it interesting, if it can't be locally grown they pull from international organic, fair trade suppliers.

This week I got blackberries, bananas, apples, peaches, and rhubarb (which I quickly gave away because I'll never use it...)

I'm so excited about this! Not only will it mean I'll never run out of breakfast, but it also means that for 20 weeks I'll be doing the world a little bit of good. It's like a fruit hug.

2. Just the other day I talked about my favourite running trail being made that much better by the birth and migration of mama and papa duck and their family of babes.

Well, yesterday a mother duck popped her head out of the island in the middle of our staff parking lot and smartly marched her 11 ducklings (11!!!) across the parking lot, past the library compound, through the Central park rose garden, and across a major intersection to the lake. And I just happened to be on my break (and then some...) so I got to watch the entire ridiculous parade.

The best part? No joke, two staff members from Bibliographic Services held traffic for her while she marched her troops across the road. We were so worried after all her efforts one of them would get smooshed! But they made it safe and sound.

Tra la.