Whistler 2012

So long overdue, I know. March is a gong show in the book hustling business so I'm blaming my lack of interest in blogging on my jam packed schedule. That and the beautiful sunshine in what I think we can safely start referring to as the  So'On banana-belt.

Side note: I can't spell the word banana without thinking of that Gwen Stefani song, B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

Anywho... Our Whistler trip was ridiculous funtabulous. In the words of Penny, she be "ballsmazing."

Our flight left early Saturday and while we were there well within the required time to fly nationally, Air Canada continues to be one of the most inefficient airlines of all time. If you check in online the night before your flight and print your boarding pass, why should you then have to stand in a one-hour line up to check your bag? How is this efficient? This subsequent line up and the ridiculousness of Pearson actually required us to run for our flight as while Orange was being frisked by airport security for drugs et al they announced "all passengers on flight X direct to Vancouver should now be aboard the aircraft." Feck.

So I booked it and left Orange to totter on behind me, shoes in one hand, death grip on his pants with another, because yeah, he's hiding nitro glycerin in his belt buckle. Needless to say when the drink cart came around at 8:00 am we ordered beer.

Although I spent four years out West, I had never been to Vancouver. I am in love--a beautiful city full of beautiful people. One day tacked onto either end of our trip wasn't enough. Lady G, if you're still reading I'm totally jealous of your set up!

Our hotel was smack in the middle of downtown and was "pinkies up posh" (as in, there were Bentley's and Ferrari's in the driveway...) And as Orange is a quadruple platinum member, they gave us a top floor room, turn down service, fancy-schmany glass bottled water, mixed nuts, and a selection of Purdy's chocolates every night we stayed. Aside from one small goof whereby we took the ferry to North Vancouver thinking we were off to Granville Island, the day was wonderful.

We took a bus to Whistler on Sunday and the day was warm and clear. The views on the Sea-to-Sky Highway were fantastic, and as we were two of five people on the entire bus the driver gave us the guided tour. We arrived at the Fairmont and checked in. They have this groovy ski-in-ski-out service whereby you check your skis and boots with them and they'll take care of them for the week (all you have to do is traipse down in your sock feet in the morning and they more or less put your boots on for you!) We immediately headed out for a bite to eat in the sunshine of a patio.

And then we saw these. Had to have one, right? S'good. And totally worth the $30 a drink we paid for them. Yeah, that's right... $30 a pop. The rest of the events on this day (and some of the next) are vague...

...
...
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*ahem*

For the record, these aren't all ours...

We skied Monday, Tuesday and on Wednesday did Fresh Tracks--a limited number of people are allowed to take a gondola up the mountain at 7:00 am before the lifts open for others, they serve you a beautiful breakfast, and then ring a bell, the signal for you to take the first run of the day through the previous evening's powder snow. As it had dumped about 6" the night before, we were in heaven! Most days we called it quits by 1:30-2:00 and settled onto a patio for nachos and beer (I think I might have eaten my weight in nachos on this vacation...) We played in the hot tubs (where I was personally assaulted by a giant floating hairball...), shopped the stroll, and napped.

On Thursday we signed on for a snowmobile trip up through the mountains into a bowl where we zoomed around at high speeds. They took us for a BBQ lunch (who knew you could BBQ cookies?) and toured us back down through the sunshine--totally not something I would ordinarily do, but silly fun once I got the hang of it and stopped worrying I was going to zoom off the side of the track into the abyss below), and the day was so gorgeous and clear I can't imagine a better day to experience it.

Orange's good friend lives in Whistler and manages the refrigeration at the Olympic sliding centre (think bobsled, luge, etc.) He gave us an insiders tour of the track where we watched new athletes practicing, standing track side sipping our cans of smuggled Kokanee while the racers wiz by at 130km an hour. He toured us around the city, taking us for dinner at 21 Steps (my mouth is watering just thinking about it...), and out for live music and dancing. Or as Matt calls it, a "sweaty European dance party"... Don't ask.

Friday we had a late breakfast of Eggs Benny and strong coffee and grabbed the bus back to Vancouver for another hit of swank in our downtown hotel. Saturday we walked our buns off touring Kitsilano in the sunshine along with all the other 'hipster duffuses' (or hippycrites, as Oranges calls them) out and about downtown Vancouver on a Saturday morning, Starbuck coffees as far as the eye could see.

While it was a whirlwind seven days and I seriously can't believe it's over, I would do this trip again in a heartbeat (except maybe the hangover from those Margarita things... I could skip that.) What a blast! We ate, we drank, we enjoyed the sunshine and good weather. We did exactly what we wanted to do when we wanted to do it, no two days the same.

I can't wait to start planning next year's trip...

I am beside myself with excitement, our Whistler trip being only two days away!

And with only one day left of work, we are basically on vacation as of 5:00 tomorrow night. The both of us. Together. In the same place. For, like, 8 days. In a row. Together. And no cat (sorry, Bert...)

I'm seriously not sure what to do with myself. It's like I'm 6 years old again and it's Christmas Eve and Santa's coming and I've totally been good this year so I'm due for a pile of gifts under the Fraser Fir. Except swap out the gifts for a pint in the sunshine on Dusty's patio at the base of Whistler Mountain. I'm seriously this stupid silly. Because, ya see, while Orange's work travel is the pits for many reasons, there are some benefits befitting both of us (aside from the obvious...) Such as his approximate 1 billion air miles and hotel points. Meaning we're riding in style door to door, to and from, and pulling a Leon's on the world ('not paying a cent'--or very few cents, that is...) for the luxury.

So'cited...

No Frills

On this week's morning off I attempted to do a quick grocery shop so the house would be full of yummies when Orange got home (read: English muffins and cheese...)

It would seem, however, that No Frills on a weekday morning is not a "quick" option as the average customer is seriously 17 times older than Gallen Weston's oldest aged cheddar. Let's just say that should things in the book hustling business not work out, I have a future as a Stock Boy.

I helped a woman make a difficult decision between a bag of baby spinach and spring mix. I read the indgrediants on a box of frozen pizza. I deciphered the green bananas from the yellow. I spent a lot of time trapped behind two terrible, terrible shopping cart drivers. I helped with bags into a car.

2 hours later...

I don't understand...

Breaded Cats.

Why? And who are these people?

p.s. Happy Valentine's Day!

Dodged Bullet

'Twis my weekly morning off, so up I go to Big C's house (as she refers to herself, nowadays...) to pick up the mail, empty the ice maker (don't ask) and do a general QA/QC on the place. All seemed well.

Heading back into the house after a quick sojourn to the mailbox, I'm stopped by two older ladies. Not unusual, being that the community is aimed at "adult living".

"Do you live here?" they ask me.

"No," I say. "But my mother does," as though I need to qualify my being there, afraid for some reason that this is the Adult Living Gestapo and they've identified me by my loud music and Ray Bans as an interloper.

"Oh, well, perhaps we could come in with you? [out come the Watchtower magazines] We'd love to talk with her about our nice new article on Armageddon."

At this time I do a quick side eye scan of the street and determine I am alone with no foreseeable out for this conversation, so I both physically and mentally restrain myself from asking what could possibly be "nice" about Armageddon.

"Nah," I say. "Mom's maxed out on Jebus. Thanks anyway."

"Another time then?"

"I don't think so. Besides what with the Armageddon and all..."

Dodged bullet, Big C. Dodged bullet.

Dear Running:

Have I caught you off guard? No? I hope this isn't a bad time...

Listen Running, I think it's time we talked. For awhile now I've been feeling as though we're growing apart; like there's a 'distance' between us (excuse the pun.) I just don't feel the same way about you anymore. And I know this is going to sound like a cliche, but it's really not you... It's me.

I'm sure you've noticed, Running, but I've really been trying lately. I keep thinking I can make things better: I buy cute new outfits and parade them around in front of you; I try to be spontaneous, going at you at different times of day; putting new music into our mix. But every time we're alone together my mind is elsewhere.

Because you see, Running, there's someone else. He's orange, and only home on weekends, and that's usually when you're calling wanting to hang out. I'm sorry you have to find out this way but I can't go on ignoring you.

And it has to be said... Sometimes you really suck. Sometimes I can't stand you. You're such a nag, what with your yammering in my ear to go farther, longer, faster. Can't a girl get a break? I mean, really Running, seriously... I work full time. You can't think I'm getting up early for you. It's bad enough you keep me up late...

I just wish we could go back to when we started. I mean, remember last night? Oh god, last night... We went for 6km and I was happy and singing along and really hittin' you hard. It felt good! There was no pressure! I mean, let's be honest. When we first started this thing we have I was only really looking for a tight @ss and a smaller pair of jeans. And then we got committed, we started planning for the future (races) and the next thing I knew being with you, Running, well... It just became work.

I want to go back to our relationship being fun and easy and something I looked forward to, Running. So I really hope we can work at it, find that sweet spot again... Get our "groove back", so to speak. I still love you, Running, and would be willing to try a (running) clinic if you thought it would help us get past this wall (excuse that last pun...)

Always and forever,
Library Lady

Perspective.

Busy, and cranky, and picking up the pieces. I'm trying to get it done, ok? I don't have that answer, and no I'm not sure why it's like that. Cleaning it up, putting it away, stop doing that and do more of this!

Ugh.
Blarg.

In the end, though, -6 and snow she has no where to go. And I've got flannel, and fluffy, and soft, and warm.

Perspective.

Haiku for everyday things:

On grilled cheese for dinner:

Crispy and golden,
Cheesy goodness in my tum,
Damn. Burnt it again.

On phone stocking my sister:

One ring, two ring, three.
Gasp! My TV talk bores her?!
Pfft. Hang up, redial.

On running in the cold and wet:

My nose is snotty.
No Kleenex? One last option...
Snot rockets, engaged!

On post holiday season radio music:

Bieber makes me scream.
Please, no more 'baby baby!"
My ears can't take it.

On flannel sheets:

Getting cosy, yay!
Pull the covers up and snug,
Warm and comfy bed.

On Bert's weight gain:

Belly round and full,
You're shaped like a plump pear.
I love my Berty.

Sh*t my boyfriend does...

I really do love him.

A few weeks back, Fingers tracked down an amazing deal at COSTCO. What isn't an amazing deal at COSTCO, you ask? Lots of stuff. Four dozen chiabata buns, for example, are only an amazing deal if your house doubles as a panini shop (or if you're Big Guy...) But a Philips Sonicare HealthyWhite toothbrush set with sanitizer is always an amazing deal.

Ever energized by the prospect of improving his oral hygiene, Orange set off this week to buy us our very own Philips Sonicare. Thank you, Orange. While there, however, he was seduced by the allure of aisle two and ended up purchasing our toothbrush alongside a barrel of jumbo sized sour keys. And apparently he received some sideways glances at the juxtaposition between the two items.

The (unsolicited) email I received with the subject line "Windsor, always be hatin'" is as follows:

"I have never received so many shifty/judging eyes... Why do they care I purchased some industrial toothbrushes with a vat of sour soothers? They don't know me." --an enraged Orange

No big deal...

... Me and my ukulele and our felt tipped picks learned to strum an A, B, C, B flat, and a C sharp today, and then worked 'em into a few melodies.

And now I can't feel my finger tips.

Bert hates my ukulele. I, on the other hand, love it!

Resolutions, 2012

It's the end of the world so I gotta make this one count, right? I mean, how can I go contently into our impending rapture on December 21st with unresolved resolutions? This would be a problem, I would think. Do you think I could sleep for eternity with badly flossed teeth?

*sigh*

On that note, let's look at what I did and didn't accomplish in 2011:

1. Put more into investments and get more financially minded. I think I can cross this off the list as "successfully accomplished", at least to some extent. In another month I will have payed off my car (*knock on wood*) which will add to the wad stuffed under my mattress.

2. Take a risk. A big one. Totally. First, I ran Around the Bay  which was a pretty significant check in the danger box, what with my getting so sick after the Ottawa half. I also took a scary new job with scary new responsibilities which actually turned out to be awesome bananas.

3. Learn something new. See #2. Lots of learning this year... Also took up hot yoga, which is disgustingly yummy. And Beef and I took a cooking course. Wow. So yeah, in retrospect I learned a lot!

4. Travel somewhere. Cuba! Or "Cubis" as Lil C' would say. Orange and I also did a fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants trip to New Jersey which was amazing-doodles. And lots of cottage-ing, of course.

5. Be more empathetic. The new job has helped with this but I'm definitely still working on it...

6. Run Around the Bay in less than 3 hours. Ha! Oh how naive we are... But I'm still pretty pumped about 3:06.

7. Get a better deal on car insurance (!!!) A never ending thorn in my side. As an aside, I was chatting with Orange about this just the other day and wondered out loud if my insurance would drop a bit once I was no longer financing my car (stupid thought, I know) to which he replied, "No, but when we get married we'll combine our insurance with the house and it'll drop substantially." To which I said, "yes, but I'll also be 65 by then, so I should already be expecting a major savings..." *drum roll* Thank you, thank you... I'll be here all night.

8. Start taking vitamins daily. Tried this, and got a rash. Turns out I'm allergic to Niacinamide. Who knew? But Orange has me hoped up on Vitamin B and C.

9. Lose the muffin top... Still working on it, but yoga is helping.

10. Get out of my reading comfort zone. For sure. The job has helped. Now that I select all of the adult fiction for the system I'm hit with the "Oo, that looks good" stick quite a bit. I'm also reading to facilitate the book clubs which is 8 books a year I ordinarily wouldn't go near, as well as a disgusting amount of Canadian fiction for our One Book One City program which I also organize. I rarely have fewer than two books on the go, and one book on CD in the car. But I love it.

11. Eat more locally.  Meh. 

For 2012, let's go big or go home, shall we?

1. Get better at saying 'no'.
2. Get financially organized and on track towards one day owning my own cottage. Armageddon aside, of course.
3. Learn to play the ukulele (baby steps towards the banjo...)
4. Get greener. *sigh* If the end of the world can't push me into recycling my empty toilet paper rolls, what will?
5. Do something professionally that I'm really, truly proud of.
6. Beat last year's ATB time.
7. Give more.
8. Hit my goal weight.
9. Get engaged. Boom. Yeah, that's right... I just said that... (p.s. for the record, #1 and #9 are totally unrelated.)

Sh*t my boyfriend says...

When he's in comfy-mode, Orange likes to lay on the couch and listen to the TV, rather than watch it. As in, he lays with his back to the big screen.

Upon walking into the living room to find Bert 'listening' to a movie (read: laying on the couch): "like father like son, I guess, eh buddy?"

Christmas Re-Cap

It's official: improbable life goals are no longer improbable. Mama LL/Santy Clause spoiled me this year, literally making all of my (improbable) dreams come true.

1. While I'm not actually keeping bees, I'm keeping the benefits of the bees. Dearest Fingers delivered pots of homemade creamed honey, spicy honey mustard, red pepper jelly, and beeswax lip balm. The mustard is aces on turkey sandwiches and my lips have been softer.

2. I am now the proud owner of a donkey. Well, sort of. I am the proud sponsor of a donkey from the Donkey Sanctuary. His name is Eeyore (of course) and he is busy in the UK providing companionship to children with special needs and disabilities as well as visiting residential homes, hospices and schools. Needless to say I'm a proud mama. I never thought I'd own a donkey (many donkey... donki?) let alone a philanthropic ass. Who wants a donkey who sits around eating grass and scaring off coyotes (they do that, you know...) when you can have a donkey with a job? He's the gift that keeps on giving, and one I hope to continue receiving for years to come!

3. While I don't yet know how to play it, I now posses a banjo. Yes, a banjo. To quote Clark Griswald, "if I woke up tomorrow with my face sewn to the carpet I couldn't be more surprised than I am now..." And it's not just any banjo, either. It's a vintage banjo in a vintage case with vintage sheet music. The best part? The story of how Mama LL tracked it down. She searched Kajiji high and low and drove into the city with a pocket full of cash. Walking into a stranger's house with no clue of what to look for or ask about with regards to stringed instruments, she bargained her little scrupulous heart out and walked away with a total gem at less than asking price. Papa would be proud.

I love my banjo. I take it out every night, open the case, and look at it. I plunk the strings. I turn the knobs. And yes, I know they're not actually called 'knobs'. One of the many things I have to learn about banjos I suppose...

First stop ukulele lessons (to commence the end of January), next stop banjo profesh!

Is it too presumptuous to start introducing myself to people as "Library Lady, bluegrass musician"? No? Yes? I guess I should return the 8x10 glossies of me and my banjo then, huh?

It's Christmas eve, b*tches!

(Well, sort of... For those of us celebrating on the 26th--me--it's figuratively only the 23rd...) Semantics. Regardless, have a good one, peeps and for those of you travelling, be safe. For those of you staying home, make yourself cozy and snuggle in for a good weekend. Lots of love.

More Christmas song observations:

1. Roch Voisine and Anne Murray... Their voices could be interchanged. I'm convinced they are the same person.

2. Robert Downey Jr. was a singer at a (particularly low) point in his career, and actually had a Christmas Album. So, there's that.

3. The song "Baby It's Cold Outside" is less about Christmas and more so about aggravated assault:

I really can't stay...
I've got to go away...
Say what's in this drink...
I simply must go...
The answer is no...

Dolly Parton has very few options: she can leave and freeze in the apparent raging storm, or stay and be sexed by Rod Stewart. I'd take my chances with the storm.

A random selection of week-before-Christmas observations:

1. 'Tis the week for excessive spending. While I finished my Christmas shopping some time ago, I always find the last few days before Christmas to be intoxicatingly expensive (is "intoxicatingly" a word?) It's like the nearness of Santa awakens some glorious demon making me excessively generous, buying gifts not a few days earlier I swore were too expensive.

I love it. My wallet doesn't. To those who benefit, you're welcome.

2. Fancy Cousin (Toque's brother, living the high life in NYC) sent the family a Christmas card:

A merry Christmas to you all--Mama LL, Beef, Mr. Beef, Lil C', LL, and the guy who won't commit...

Amazing.

3. Have you ever noticed the song "Wizards in Winter" by the Trans-Siberian Orchestra sounds a lot like the chase music from The Goonies? You be the judge...

And before you ask, yes I do have too much time... Orange travels a lot, remember. 

4. Lil C' spent the night last weekend and if he asked me once he asked me ten times why I don't have Christmas decorations up. You try explaining to a 3 year-old that our curvaceous stiletto clad Leg Lamp is a "major prize" and does technically fall under the category of 'Christmas decor'. Oh, and I have a manager set up. A Leg Lamp and a manager. Sounds like a bad Christmas song...

5. For those of you I haven't sent THIS to, enjoy. And for an explanation, see point #3.

BB's comedy routine

There are many little people in my life whom I would call Peeps--Lil' C, of course; Bear, Pants' peanut; Manrissa's little chunker; and The Original Little, Baby Belly.

BB belongs to Belly and was the first baby amongst my elementary chums. She's the tops. I knew sometime ago I liked the cut of her 3-and-a-half year old jib. First, her voice sounds like a cartoon character. Second, shes funny. Super funny. Last year at this time she was grocery shopping (not alone, with her daddy) when from her place in the shopping cart she spotted Santa. What is a toddler to do when spotting Santa amongst the Fortino's produce but to repeatedly yell "SANTA!" at the top of her little lungs until "Santa" turned around? Turns out it wasn't Santa, and the plump lady in the red coat wasn't too pleased at the comparison.

Add to this the text I received earlier this evening:

"BB had a tantrum tonight because I wouldn't let her watch Keyboard Cat (she was being rude). Last night she was making her stuffed kitty play an imaginary keyboard."

If she didn't look so much like her mommy, I'd say she was mine. S'cute. Thank you, Belly, for such a good giggle and for such a funny little potato...

START THE CAR!

I found something. Something completely cool. And for once I'm being a really bad girl and not doing what technically (not to mention morally) I should do: I'm totally keeping it.

*shifty eyes* Muuuuahahahaha! (evil laugh)

It's mine, my precious, my only... Sucka.

*runs away clutching awesome find*

NO! NOOOOOOOOOO! The horror!

Norwegian butter crisis threatens to ruin Christmas!

*sob*

Not the butter... Please, not the BUTTER!

*runs screaming into the night*

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

It's been a very Christmas-y day...

Getting up this morning we put on a pot of the "festive" coffee (read: hazelnut) and I immediately set to work on Dad's Christmas cakes. Two pounds of candied cherries, three cups of dried fruit, two cups of nuts, 2/3 of a cup of some serious booze, and a partridge in a pear tree later and the cakes were set to bake for the next three and a half hours. A few moments of panic between the creaming of the butter/sugar mixture and the addition of the eggs--looked like there was some serious curdling going on--but one quick call to reassuring Mama LL and my mind was set to ease.

By this time Orange had the wood stove a blaze, and Bert was happy as a clam, sunning himself between the perfectly positioned sun beam and the fireplace, underneath our three carefully hung family stockings. He remained there for the majority of the day, moving in intervals closer/farther away from the heat as required.

Then it was on to fashioning 22 miniature Christmas cards for my work peeps, followed by shopping for a Secret Santa gift, and a brisk walk in the cold sunshine with Fingers. And now, curled up on the couch with the Ginger Kid, our leg lamp aglow ("its a major award!") we're alternating between Home Alone and Elf on the television.

Aside from a minor catastrophe involving Mama LL's Christmas tree, a perfectly Christmas-y day.