Category Archives: NaBloPoMo

Pumped Up Kicks

I finally got some new kicks this week! My other trainers were nearly falling apart, what with my four-times-a-week workouts and wearing them hiking in Colorado; and while I may or may not spend copious amounts of money on new clothes, shoes, and purses, running shoes just seems so, well, utilitarian. Getting new running shoes is kind of like getting socks and underwear at Christmas — is it really a gift or is it just a necessity Santa puts beneath the tree under the guise of a present?

The bottom line is that my old shoes were looking eerily similar to worn out tires — the tread was gone and when I did the penny test1, I could see every single bit of Lincoln’s hat. ūüėČ So off I went to Luke’s Locker to procure myself some safe new shoes. I’ve even added a photo to show you how unsafe I was being by continuing to wear those unsafe shoes! Rebel yell, yo! And to make myself feel better about spending money on a “necessity” when I could have been out buying things like clothes, shoes, and purses. ūüôā

Being that I’m not usually a creature of habit and am someone who will always try something new, it seems ironical that I got the same pair of running shoes I’ve been wearing since the earth cooled — my beloved Asics Gel Nimbus. When you find trainers you like, you stick with ’em. I’m not crazy about the color I got, but I wear a 7.5C shoe (not an 8B like I normally have to cram my foot in) and Asics only sells that size shoe in this weird pinky-orangey-tie-dye shoe. Whatevs — they fit like a glove and what could be more important than running in shoes that actually fit and don’t make me feel like one of Cinderella’s stepsisters before the ball. W00t, indeed.

Now I’m pumping up my new kicks and going for a run!

1 I always wondered how to do the penny test while I lived in Canada since the Queen (who’s on their penny) doesn’t wear top hats. Inquiring minds want to know.

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Filed under NaBloPoMo, Random, shoes

Why I Love My Friends

Some things make me giddily happy, like “tights and boots” weather, making braised meat stews in winter, kicking ass at work, and volunteering with the Junior League.

Not many things, though, make me as happy as spending time with my girlfriends. There’s just nothing like sipping a cocktail; talking about shopping, work, and boys; and laughing giant belly laughs with really fantastic people, which is exactly what I did tonight.

What’s great about my friends is that we never sit around and turn into mean girls like so many women I know; we don’t gossip incessantly or get jealous when one of us does well or lands a date with the super hot guy we’ve all been lusting over. Nope — my friends inspire me,¬†support me, keep me grounded,¬†and make me bowl over with laughter. They’re wicked smart and extremely successful in their professional lives. They care about their friends and families just like I do and, when one of us is down and out, they are the first person calling to be by your side. They also float me money for the valet parking I inevitably use but for which I never have cash.¬† Basically, my friends are¬†amazing people.

We had a weekly Thursday thing until a couple of months ago when we all went through some big events in our lives; we didn’t stop talking, natch, but our “Real Housewives” Thursday night ritual1¬† went on a bit of a hiatus. It had been two weeks since we’d gotten together, and we pretty much sucked up every bit of oxygen in the room catching up. Three hours later, with tummies full of good food, good wine, and soreness from the copious laughing, we hugged each other, kissed each others’ cheeks, said our “I love yous”, and made plans to get together the following week.

As we were leaving, three other women were leaving together. They were considerably older than us, but looked like they’d had as much fun as we had. They hugged each other, kissed each others’ cheeks, told each other they were loved, and went on their merry little ways. We just looked at each other, giggled, and said “there we are in 30 years.”

They say good people have good friends. I knew I was good…but I didn’t know I was this good.

1And by “Real Housewives ritual”, I mean drinking a ton of wine and only getting through ten minutes of the show.

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Third Time’s A Charm

It’s been so long since I’ve visited my blog that I literally had to get out my commercial-grade¬†Dyson dust buster to clear off the six inches of dust and 739 cobwebs that had accumulated on my site. I had completely forgotten my password and¬†had to dig¬†deep into¬†my php files to find it which, by the way,¬†I never, ever recommend anyone attempting. I’m actually surprised I lived to tell about that particular experience. Just like your grandma’s attic, though, the dust has been officially blown off of this bad boy all in honor of National Blog Posting Month!

I¬†tried participating in #nablopomo¬†last year and fell off the wagon after a mere three days. Then I got the crazy idea to¬†blog¬†about¬†Texas, but I¬†didn’t do any traveling around Texas and, ergo,¬†had nothing to blog about. I’m keenly aware that this, my third attempt at reviving my blog,¬†falls clearly into the “stop crying wolf” category, but¬†because blog readers can be so demanding and because I continue getting comments¬†like “I really miss your blog” or “your really have mad blog posting skillz” or “what the hell are you doing these days” or “dear god, please blog again, woman!”,¬†and because, honestly, I miss it here, I’m going to give this the old college try again.¬†

I may not make it all the way through, but I promise you this: I’m going to do my very best to make this blog less about¬†blogging and more about being seriously RAD!¬†¬†So cue the trumpets and confetti tossing because I’m back…well,¬†for 30 days anyway.You’re welcome. ūüôā

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Filed under NaBloPoMo, Texas

Thank You For The Mammaries (Day 24)

Admit it — you¬†love breasts. We all love breasts, really. It’s possible that breasts¬†could¬†be called an American obsession and, in fact, I would venture to say that men everywhere take great lengths to recognize the hypnotic allure of a shapely breast. Big ones, small ones, fake ones, real ones, round ones, square er, semi-round ones — it’s all good stuff. For some women, breasts could easily qualify¬†as their¬†most enthusiastic component, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.

So what’s *not* to love about breasts? I’ll tell you what — that bitch¬† breast cancer. Sure, we all love prostrates and ovaries and skin and throats and brains and lungs and all those other body parts that contract cancer too but, being a woman who doesn’t have, say, a prostrate, I worry more about breast cancer than I do about any of the other varieties. Which means you get to hear about this subject today. You’re welcome! Not to mention, breast¬†cancer statistics1 are nothing short of grim. Consider these applicable to¬†the U.S. in 2008 alone:

–¬†250,230 new cases
Рa 1 in 8 incidence
Р40,480 women died from the disease. In one year. And people are pissed about the 4,3652 troops who have died in six and a half years in Afghanistan??
Рthe highest rate of cancer only after lung cancer

Thanksbeto the Twitter, I found out about¬†a little project going on¬†in Toronto called ProjectPink!. The idea, started by Darryl Koster of BusterRhinos Southern BBQ3 in Whitby, Ontario, was this: talk about how every woman should have a dash of pink in their hair at some¬†point in their life which then manifested into his agreement that he’d dye his hair pink if Torontonians purchased¬†1,500 BBQ sandwiches4¬†between now and December 18. Most importantly, though, 50 cents of every sandwich purchased would be donated to the Breast Cancert Society. Sweet! Some of the way cool Toronto bloggers and tweeters I follow — karmacake.ca and cakeordeath.ca5 — decided that if the number was met, they too would put pink in their hair, and so on and so forth, and, let’s just say that a little viral revolution was born. Of course, never one to be left out when it has to do with a mini-revolution, and because I have always, always, always wanted pink streaks in my hair, I jumped on the proverbial¬†bandwagon.

You may remember those research studies they do on kids where they put deliciously yummy candies on a table and tell the poor, drooling four year-old that if they can wait five minutes without eating the candy, they get them all, but if they can’t wait the allotted time, then they’re basically headed for a life of unhappiness and destruction? ūüėČ Well, I fall into the latter category. I have gotten much better as I’ve gotten older, but my OCD6 tends to kick in when I’m excited about something and I just simply cannot. wait.¬†Yes, I¬†have¬†zero patience and yes, I have negative 500 willpower. Your point?

What I’m getting at is this: my very favourite colour is pink.¬†You could say that I am somewhat of a pink fanatic;¬†my Twitter page is pink, my NaBloPoMo page is pink, my iPhone case is pink, I only use pink file folders at work and now, thanks to ProjectPink! my hair is now pink. No,¬†I am not channeling my inner Avril Lavigne¬†rocker girrl, despite the fact¬†that I live¬†in Ontario from whence she came. I like to think that I’m just taking this opportunity to promote¬†ProjectPink! in my own little way before December 18, as well as¬†fulfilling yet another item on¬†my lengthy Canadian bucket list. Of course, the pink hair¬†also¬†most certainly qualifies under¬†“Things that would never¬†have happened in Houston, Texas”. ūüėČ

I’ve gotten mixed reactions. I see people glancing at it like “does she have pink in her hair?” or, alternatively, probably thinking “talk about age-inappropriate!”. The cool, hip people I know¬†are like “omg, I lurve it so much!”. The uncool, non-hip people I know7 are like “hmmm, okay”. When I tell them it’s for breast cancer, they get it, but really, they don’t. It washes out in six to eight weeks, but I honestly don’t care one iota what people think¬†— I love it. And,¬†every time someone asks me about it, I tell them it’s for ProjectPink.¬† If I can do a teeny, tiny part *and* have pink hair, then I’m one happy girl!

Now that this long post has come to an end, I can say in conclusion, fuck cancer and support ProjectPink!

P.S. You may have heard that the¬†United States Preventive Services Task Force recently suggested that women begin to wait until they’re 50 to receive a¬†mammogram. Well, my message to USPSTF is this:¬†you should get out of my¬†way because if you persist with these guidelines, you can assume that¬†I’ll¬†promptly¬†be donning¬†my¬†4-inch heels and paying you a visit! Also,¬†you should know that I think about you when I touch myself.¬†ūüėČ

1 Source: breastcancer.org
2 As of 11/22/09 at 1:25pm EST. Source: antiwar.com
3 OMG. Southern BBQ in Canada?! Cornbread, sweet tea and baked beans? Yes, please!
4 By which I do not mean Canadian BBQ or “hamburgers”. I mean real BBQ sandwiches. You know, like brisket.
5 Does anyone else see the pattern here?
6 I don’t really have OCD, but I like to blame my impatientness on OCD¬†rather than the fact that I just simply have a lack of willpower. ūüė¶
7 You know who you are.

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Writ By Hand (Day 10)

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Was It Something I Said? (Day 4)

Apparently, the RCMP enjoys reading my blog. For nine minutes and eight¬†seconds. Not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but apparently¬†my recent post¬†about going to Canada jail¬†turned some heads¬†in Ottawa. ūüėČ

RCMP

 

 

Also, Internet Explorer 6? Seriously?

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Filed under Canada, NaBloPoMo

The Great Harbord Street Pumpkin Festival (Day 2)

Harbord Street Pumpkin Festival 125What do you get when you cross a crisp, Fall night, more than 400 elaborately carved pumpkins, and closed-off Toronto streets lined with table after table? Why, you get the second annual Great Harbord Street Pumpkin Festival, of course!

Held the day after Halloween, residents of Harbord Village brought¬†their carved pumpkins, found¬†an empty spot, and graced the tables with their gourds. At dusk, the pumpkins were¬†lit, the street was¬†closed and was aglow. Literally.¬†A silent auction was¬†held at the Art Gallery, local restaurants featured pumpkin-flavoured items on their menu, a bagpiper played, and at the conHarbord Street Pumpkin Festival 152clusion of the night, the pumpkins were¬†collected for composting. Even in the midst of a sea of orange, Torontonians still managed to stay green. ūüôā

I walked down the street in awe.¬†The night was clear and cool, and the plentifully fallen leaves filled the streets.¬†The smell of hot chocolate and spiced cider filled the air. Parents¬†strolled down the street holding hands;¬†kids sprinted down the street screaming with excitement and¬†practically burned off their fingertips¬†from getting too much of an “up close and personal” pumpkin view.¬†I didn’t blame them. There were¬†pumpkins with Canadian themes,¬†warts,¬†wrapped like ninjas,¬†with squash for noses, question marks, Inukshuk,¬†a centipede-looking pumpkin made up of eight gourds, and, a somewhat humourous H1N1 pumpkin paired with a devil. I am quite sure that by “devil”, they meant “the media”.¬†Ahem. DT Bistro had the most amazing pumpkins I’d ever seen — they looked as thought they’d somehow been flecked and¬†there were literally hoardes of people gawking at them.¬†Or maybe that was just me. Anyway. As I walked, I¬†had¬†flashbacks to the scene in “You’ve Got Mail” where Tom Hanks entertains his niece and nephew at what I thought was the¬†Fall carnival of all Fall carnivals. There wasn’t Harbord Street Pumpkin Festival 011exactly apple bobbing (thanks, H1N1!) or face painting at the Harbord Street Festival, but¬†there was plenty of happiness, leaves,¬†spooktacularness, and¬†witty,¬†amothereffinmazing pumpkins.

Check out the full set of serious pumpkin goodness here.

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Filed under Canada, Halloween, NaBloPoMo