i'm sorry

I'm sorry for neglecting you blog. I will come back to you, I promise. There are still more posts to be had. You are not forgotten.

money, money, money

Have you ever gone in to a store to pick up a "few" items only to leave with a bill over $150? People say you shouldn't go to the grocery store when you're hungry. I think you should also avoid shopping at a multi-purpose store when you are bored and want to spend money. At least I got a tea kettle among a "few" other items.

just singing in the...

I happened to shower beside Christine (not this Christine but this one) at the gym. Perhaps she was singing because she had a date with Raoul or maybe she was just having a happy morning. Kudos to her for sharing her talent so openly with everyone... that is until I had the urge to whistle "Memories" from Cats. After suppressing that urge, I suddenly had every single Andrew Lloyd Webber* song that I knew floating around my head.

Damn you pseudo-Christine and damn you Mr. Webber for ruining my Tuesday morning.

*Warning: Disturbing Image that IS work safe.

the week of the ma'am

On Friday I was shopping at Dani's favourite store that she rarely gets to visit (due to her location). As I was perusing the aisles a friendly guy dressed in a red shirt and khaki's asked "Do you need any assistance ma'am?" I responded "No, thank you." Not more than five minutes later another worker asked me again "Can I help you with anything ma'am?" Either Target is using a new customer service strategy or I must have looked old* and confused. I'm hoping it's the latter as I prefer to shop in peace.

*Three ma'ams in one week is starting to qualify me for the older woman status.

excuse me ma'am

There are only a few times I don't mind being called ma'am. One of those exceptions occurred yesterday as I was leaving a grocery store. The nice clerk ran after me yelling "Ma'am, excuse me, ma'am, you forgot one of your bags." Sometimes my memory works as well as I feel when I'm called ma'am.

shameless self promotion

Yesterday I completed a half-marathon. I know I have blogged about the triathlons I have done this year but this race meant so much more to me. As a teenager I struggled with asthma that often interfered with any sort of sport. Today it can be induced by exercise but is much more manageable. On top of that, I was never much for working out. I was not athletic enough to make it on any sports teams nor did I have any desire to engage in individual events. Last year I started to get serious about exercising. Running was still my weak area and I would struggle to get a mile in before walking. I was so focused on the triathlons this year that I didn't train as much as I should have for this race. Running was also low on my "likes" that it was easy to skip my run days when I was tired. As race day approached, I was terrified. I had only gotten up to nine miles and that was interspersed with a lot of walking. It seemed impossible that I would be able to push out 13.1 miles, especially with my knee giving me trouble. Friday night I resigned myself to the possibility of walking a lot during the race. When I woke up Saturday I kept telling myself to just do my best.

The course was beautiful. It wound down a canyon full of gorgeous trees. As I looked at the scenery and listened to my music, I started to just relax and enjoy it. I kept running and running, longer than I had ever before. At mile 10, I gave myself permission to walk for a few minutes. The last three miles were so hard. The course moved in to the town and out of the canyon. I could feel pain in various parts of my body and my knee but I pushed myself to keep running. Monica ran me in the last half mile when all I wanted to do was quit. I was so grateful for her pep talk and keeping me focused (although in the moment I didn't appreciate it quite as much). As I crossed the finish line, I started to cry. Perhaps it was exhaustion but I had also accomplished something that I didn't ever think possible. I used to be a lazy asthmatic that detested running and here I was completing my first half-marathon. All the downhills helped me to finish in a much faster time than I expected. I proved to myself that I really can do my "impossibles." This summer I have seen my progress and it feels pretty darn good. How lucky I am to have friends that encouraged me and pushed me to do all these races! Now I wish I knew someone that could rub my extremely sore thighs and calves. Yesterday I was on cloud nine and today I just want to find a really good massage therapist.

the next michelangelo

My niece is a budding artist. Like Michelangelo, any surface can be her canvas.


(click to enlarge)

However, I don't think her parents commissioned this piece of art for their bathroom.

seriously?

Reality shows are my Achilles' heel. Trashy ones? Yup, those too. I'm currently stressing over Big Brother. So, I will usually give any show a one episode chance. Bret Michael's Rock of Love has earned two viewings. It's so bad I can't change the channel. Yet, I stumbled on another VH1 show that started a wave of nausea. The Pick Up Artist focuses on helping nerdy men develop their skills with women.

However, these are the "stars" of the show
The guy in the middle goes by the name of "Mystery." It's no mystery to me that I would vomit in my mouth if he tried to pick me up. On what planet is he the Master of Pick Up?

I could only last 15 minutes on this one but the portion I viewed was the men learning stock type lines as openers to meeting women. When I heard this ONE, I busted up laughing. See, the first night I met Ange (read The Good Papo on the right) we went to a house party. We were sitting around chatting when a guy interrupted with that opener. (I even blogged about it in 2005). He failed miserably. It was awkward and annoying... and now I KNOW it was just a phony way to get us talking, not even a real story. Looks like Mystery needs to teach these men something more useful. And someone needs to teach Mystery some style.

my welcome back

After spending nine days in Canada, my food supply was pretty low. Succumbing to the dreaded grocery shopping, I chatted away to a friend on the phone. I stopped in the aisle to look at razors (as I left mine behind). An older woman got close to me so I moved, thinking I was in her way. She tapped her eyeglasses then tapped me. I finally realized that her proximity was an attempt to talk to me. I asked my friend to hold a moment and the woman said "Sorry to interrupt but I love your glasses. Where did you get them?"

Yes, Utah, this fashion maven is back in town...

master charge

I knew we were in for a treat when our motel had a "Master Charge" sign hanging below it, rather than the more commonly known "MasterCard." I'm not sure that anything, including that sign, had changed since 1979.

Let me introduce you to all the amazing features of the Parish Motel in Burley, Idaho.

You need to call someone? Sorry this phone will only get you to the front desk.

Towels come with complimentary holes and stains. See Kris's fingers poking through? Also note the pretty decor.


However, for 50 bucks a night (and nothing else available), it was worth it. We were minutes away from the start of our race. Ah spandex... now that's why everyone wants to do a triathlon, right?


In the end I didn't need knee pads but would have liked some miracle surge of energy halfway through my run. It didn't come. The last three miles of that run were painful.

phew!

When reading the official rules and regulations for my upcoming race, I was relieved to read this: No form of locomotion other than running, walking or crawling is allowed.

Anyone have knee pads?

payback

Today I ran over a snake... on my bike. I was riding down the canyon and there were people on my left so I couldn't swerve. It was just a little garter snake and I clipped it below its head. I actually felt bad for the ugly thing. It was just trying to sun itself on a lazy Saturday morning and was not likely the same snake that caused my 2004 spectacular rollerbladding crash. That accident left me with scars on my knees and elbows and road rash that lasted weeks. I tried to save that snake by swerving and ended up in a bloody heap next to the path. Thankfully I did not repeat my mistake today. Sorry snake, your death was caused by your 8th cousin once removed. That's what they call "almost payback."

"how to" manual

{This is how to make a horrible situation even more horrible}

Last year I began swimming once a week for workouts and triathlon training. After many frustrating moments in the change room, I settled for the most flattering of the unflattering swimsuits. Sport suits are not made to look good, they are made for utility. The black TYR suit had been working quite well until I noticed this Saturday that it has become sheer in some sections. This was likely due to my breaking one (or both) of the two cardinal rules in swimwear: washing it in the washer or leaving it out in the sun. In any event, I had to replace it as I wasn't about to show more of myself than was already necessary.

I went to a local sport store that sells a variety of equipment and apparel. I was frustrated at the thought of trying on suits yet again. It is probably my least favourite activity, next to shoe shopping (I have exceptionally narrow feet, so I usually leave stores angry or close to tears). The change rooms in this particular store are located in the very centre. The doors are always locked and it usually takes a solid five minutes to locate someone to unlock it for you. I had tried on numerous suits and was torn between two. The mirror in my change room was smudged and I wanted to get a better look. My cell phone rang and it was a friend requesting a favour. I continued talking to her as I exited the room to look in the mirror in the main area. Somewhere between holding the door open and talking to my friend, I lost control and the door slammed shut. There I was... in the middle of a sports store, in an awful one piece swimsuit, with no salesperson in site. The door went from floor to ceiling so there was no way I could crawl under. I poked my head out to the left and saw no one. I poked my head out to the right and saw no one. I attempted to act confident but was shrinking inside. I took several steps around the store and finally saw two male workers talking to each other. I politely asked one of them to open the door that I had locked myself out of. I re-entered my change room feeling completely mortified.

So if you don't think that swimsuit shopping is that bad, try locking yourself out of your change room. It will make it one of your worst shopping expeditions ever.

(sort of) obscene public acts

Lately my blogging has consisted of lazy list-making but it's so damn hot that I can't think straight. I've lost most of my will to live, lying listless on my bed, hoping food will just appear. It never does nor does some angel to wipe the sweat off my brow. When I do venture out in to the fiery furnace, I see all sorts of things that horrify and disgust me. So, in my starving, over-heated state, I present yet another list.

*One that never fails to make me shudder is barefoot in bathrooms. Several fearless fools appear each week in the gym locker room. The floor has got to be teaming with bacteria. Is it so hard to bring cheap flip flops to shower in? Even at the airport screening area, I bring socks (if I'm wearing sandals) because the thought of my skin touching the ground makes me want to vomit.

*Ladies, really, look in the mirror and take a long, honest look at the thong riding up over your jeans. It's grotesque. Perhaps there are a number of men who find it "hot" but spare the rest of us.

*Short shorts that show too much leg, short shirts that show too much jelly belly, low cut shirts that show too much boobage. Do some people lack mirrors or common sense? C'mon, like 2% of the population actually have the bodies to pull off exorbitant displays of flesh.

*Scratching. Men are the typical culprits in this department, although I have seen the occasional woman. Sure, down low may be itchy but show some discretion. It makes me uncomfortable so don't do it three feet away while facing me or during therapy when you're sitting on my couch.

Yes, I could write more but now that the air conditioner is kicking in, I suddenly feel happy.

happy belated america day

I'm beginning to join the melting pot of America by giving you "Things to do on the fourth of July"

1. Run for freedom. It only requires a 5 or 10k commitment. I chose to be more patriotic and run the 10k.


2. Do some fire blowing. The only cost is a mouthful of powdered sugar (a.k.a icing sugar).


3. Spend as much time as possible with a friend that is moving.

4. Watch "Rocket Chick" bike up and down the street with loads of fireworks strapped to her head and back.


5. Watch kids light fireworks, ride their bikes around them and wonder how in the world they don't catch on fire.

you know it's hot when...

Your deodorant melts.

I got ready at the gym today, put my personal effects in my car and went to work. When I came home, I unpacked and thought I would "freshen up." Unfortunately my deodorant had turned in to liquid. Time to hit the supermarket.

o canada...

I have spent the last four of five years in the USA on Canada Day. Today's "Canadian holiday" was particularly amusing to me, as I sat in a Utah chapel singing all the patriotic American hymns in preparation for the 4th of July. I have chosen to live away from my homeland and I have no current regrets. That being said, I miss my country. I love my wonderful Canada.

A few things that make me happy about home:


Beautiful Banff and seeing the Rockies outside my window.


I love the Calgary Flames. I love hockey. I love that people back home love hockey.


Friends, and especially this particular travelling companion.


It always gives me warm fuzzies to see the majority of my family. The kids say the most hilarious things.

At home I can say washroom without anyone cocking their head and giving me a confused look. It is completely normal to say that someone "phoned" or to share your "marks" on your exam. I could bust up my arm, go the hospital and not have any concern if my insurance will cover it fully.


O Canada, my home and native land...

In my heart you'll never go bland.

it's raw

Last week my gals and I planned a celebration dinner. I had just completed a brutal exam (cross your fingers I passed) and Jo had everything for her move to Arizona fall in to place. The food of choice was "all you can eat" sushi. We could each start with three dishes before ordering more, so that is exactly what we did. What we neglected to consider was how much food that actually was! Wanting to avoid the 75 cent charge per leftover piece we literally packed it back. After that much sushi, the eel tasted particularly fishy. I plugged my nose in hopes to choke it back.

It was only minimally effective but it was my last piece.

The lesson we learned that day was: bring boys or start slow and keep ordering if you're not full. This picture showed only a portion of the plates we cleaned off. I'm surprised I didn't vomit.


Addendum: Jo and I thought it would be fun to try something out of our usual repertoire so we ordered two pieces of Octopus. If you want to feel as though you were at the table with us, check out Jo's new blog, Wind in the Hair. Click on her link and see us eat it.

when in venice

Rent a beach cruiser. It's probably the most fun I've had in months.


And if you have big strong muscles like Kris, climb a rope.


When was the last time you felt like a kid?

share the love

My love affair with Snopes is still in that new and exciting phase but I have a feeling this will be one relationship that will last. Snopes has yet to let me down, is endlessly entertaining and always tells me the truth. Take for instance a recent email that I thought was questionable. It stated that I could develop breast cancer from drinking water in a plastic bottle that's been left in the car. I consulted my new boyfriend, and sure enough, he told me it was FALSE. The only thing likely to happen is regret from taking a swig of hot water at the end of my workday... thankfully my breasts stay safe.

Several weeks back I received an email from a co-worker chock-full of great advice for teenagers written by the esteemed Bill Gates. Again, as I read it my first response was "Bull, Billy didn't write this." And you know what? He DIDN'T. My new beau confirmed this yet again.

There was also an interesting email that my pop consulted my man on before forwarding it on. I'm not a Bush fan, but I like hypocrites even less. I know Gore has justified the electricity usage, but still.

So, if some of you also share my boyfriend (we have an open relationship), please share some of your favourite moments with him?