Dear Orange:

Love,

Library Lady

Whales

I have trouble conceptualizing the size of a blue whale. I always have. I blame it on the fact they are so reclusive. You don't see a lot of blue whales in Telus commercials or modeling for Old Navy like you do your cheetah and your pot bellied pig. They're loners, those blue whales. They float around in parts of oceans I don't get to very often and do their "maaaaaoooooooooooohhhhhheeeeehhhnnnn" thing, eating their krill. I don't suppose I'll be seeing a blue whale anytime soon.

I get it, they're big. They're the biggest. But... What does that mean exactly? And please don't tell me I ought to "google" the answer. I've done this. And a picture comparing the size of a blue whale to a Tyrannosaurus Rex is not helpful because I won't be seeing one of those anytime soon either. They are elusive to me, and I appreciate that about them... Like they're not all "look at me, I'm a blue whale, I'm the biggest." They just are. And that makes them way cooler. Not like those show-off dolphins.

In my esteemed opinion...

... There is very little that Bill Murray can't do. Have you seen What About Bob? The Man Who Knew Too Little? Fantastic Mr. Fox? Ghost Busters? The Life Aquatic for crying out loud?

"Son of a b*tch, I'm sick of these dolphins."

Amazeballs.

He's totally bizarre in all of these films which is perhaps why I love him because secretly I know I"m bizarre, too. For example, sometimes in an effort to zone out I watch movie trailers on my iPad (if you don't have the IMDB app, get it). Weird, I know. There are a myriad of other things I could be doing with my time, like shopping for curtains or painting the back room or baking something nice for someone nice. Instead I watch movie trailers. And this little ditty co-staring Bill (amongst many other hilaripuss actors) immediately caught my eye:



Oh, I will be seeing this. Yes sir. Perhaps more than once.

Like mother like son.

At least I have an excuse... I worked that day! I hardly call militantly eyeballing the bird feeder and negotiating one's girth back and forth between the couch and food bowl a tiring series of events.

Oh, but I lurve him and all his pear-shaped chub.

I really, really, really hate the expression "friendly reminder" or even worse "gentle reminder".

Michael Lewis, I can't quit you!

I'm trying to listen to a "smart person's" book on CD during my commute to work instead of my regularly scheduled program of morning radio and traffic reports. But my facade is crumbling... I'm not a smart person, nor do I play one on TV, and my attention span for this particular subject matter (sub prime bonds and real estate derivative markets) is waning. The first CD is 50 minutes long and I have rewound it three times today alone.

What can I say? Economics are not my forte. But I am determined... Now if only I could convince BG to commute with me and explain what I don't understand (the majority) and pat me on the back when I do (not much).

p.s. I have changed something on the blog ever so slight but ever, ever, ever so important... Can you guess?!

Feed

I read a book for a Masters class called Feed by M.T. Anderson--an ironic satire set in a future world where a media feed is inserted directly into people's brains when they are babies. The result is a chilling consumer society where empty-headed teenagers are obsessively driven by fashion, shopping, the pursuit of entertainment, and by constant self-destructive customized murmurs in their brains of encouragement to buy, buy, buy...

Heavy, yeah? But so good. So, so good.

I remember the class discussion: those who argued the premise was too far fetched and completely science fiction, and on the flip, those who knew felt were weren't far off. I was with side B: we would eventually succumb to a world where we are joined literally and figuratively to our technology. And this was before every hand held a Blackberry, every smartphone was a charge card, and every person (and their dog) had a Facebook account.

For the record, you will never receive a poke from Bert nor I.

Today's Twitter feed (hmm... just noticing the irony there...) brought this little gem to my attention:

Google Owns Your Soul

*shivers*

This is f*cky. And so... I don't know... Wrong? Am I alone here?

S'rsly. Marshall McLuhan, if you could see us now.

Many things with no things in common

Sometimes I secretly worry I'm an elderly person in a 30-something body. I eat a lot of soup, for example, and am somewhat obsessive about my bran intake. I like to watch Antiques Roadshow (as I type it's on the TV in front of me, and two individuals in motorized wheelchairs are arguing over the age of a walnut pie safe..) And I spend a lot of time in my own head debating where exactly in my garden I should place my garden gnome (as it stands he's in a lilly patch but I'm not yet satisfied he's positioned for maximum exposure. He'll no doubt migrate to the daisies before week's end...)

Last night Bert made his way into the bedroom in the wee hours of the early morn to throw up a ribbon. He has a tendency to do this, particularly when he's been into my wrapping supplies or if he's spent a considerable amount of time in the back room with the plants. He can be clear on the other side of the house and he'll seek me out to make it known he's throwing up. On one hand, ew. On the other, I'm kind of flattered he feels the need to share this with me...? Afterall, when I'm sick I want my mommy, too...

This weekend we met a new addition to the family, and what a pumpkin she was. But perhaps my favorite part of meeting her was Lil' C's reaction: at one point we were sitting on the floor of the overstuffed living room, me with 7-month old baby Hannah in my lap, when he came real close and quietly sang the alphabet, followed by Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. He then proceeded around the room (in his cords and button down plaid shirt), introducing himself to those he didn't know ("So what is your name? My name is [Lil' C]" and when appropriate, slipping in his legendary knock-knock joke:

Lil C': Knock knock...
Unsuspecting victim: Who's there?
LC: Orange...
UV: Orange who?
LC: Orange banana!

[diabolical LC laughter]

For those of you concerned I have just sucked some of the joy out of a little boy's life by giving away the punch line of his favorite joke, have no fear. He will unabashedly share this gem with you over and over and over again, consecutively, every minute on the minute, regardless of how many times you've heard it. I am confident my leak won't affect his presentation.

p.s. What is it about oranges and bananas that little people find so funny? I'm more of a kumquat girl, myself.

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...

...
...
...

*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?"