February 3, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): You've got the right kind of energy to get things done today -- and have fun while you're at it! You may surprise some folks who are bumbling along as you pass them by with a smile on your face!
Laura’s Log:
Tupper does not understand that I can be a bum and sleep in until 8 a.m. or noon. Sure, he’s enjoyed having me around much more over the past week, but Taylor Swift will sing an entire live performance on key before Tupper’s internal clock stops giving him the customary 6 a.m. wakeup call. I tuned out his licking and scratching and repositioning circles for as long as I could, but then I realized, Who am I kidding? I’m awake. Decided to take advantage of the fact that my morning rush doesn’t have to be. We drove down to Spanish Banks, my favourite area of Vancouver, and he bounded out of the car, on a mission to run straight to the off-leash dog beach. Well, he got sidetracked sniffing a Doberman’s butt and then a pug’s, but he still made the jaunt from pavement to sand in a record five minutes.
The beach is Tupper’s great equalizer. He regularly stumbles and suffers through unpredictable gooney bird landings. On the uneven sand, it almost looks normal. Like Pee-Wee Herman’s unfortunate bike dismount: I meant to do that! The whole romp was good for Tupper’s ego. He even outran a basset hound. Rather certain he relived that moment when he succumbed to a snoring slumber thirty seconds into the drive.
Must appreciate the freedom that comes from being between jobs. When was the last time I got to Spanish Banks on a weekday morning? And when did I last get to meet up with my sister on Dunbar for coffee? Sven was looking angelic, sleeping in the stroller and Gretel, covered in head-to-toe pink resembled an oversized stick of Hubba Bubba gum. Meanwhile, poor Estelle looked like Rocky Raccoon. “Yeah, he’s an angel now,” she said, glancing down at her four-month-old. “You should’ve heard him in the night.”
“He’s too loud!” Gretel chimed in as colour commentator.
“Better not let Lucy see Gretel bathed in pink,” I whispered as we inched closer to the Starbucks counter.
“Oh, screw Lucy! Gretel likes pink.”
“All those Disney princess videos aren’t helping, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, I’m really blowing it. If Gretel becomes a lesbian, Lucy’ll have to be her tutor. For now, I’m just going to let Gretel enjoy the Teletubbies and Goodnight Moon. Don’t tell anyone, but I might even let her have some of my donut.”
“You’re a bad, bad mommy,” I kidded.
“I know. To tell the truth, the only reason I’d share my donut is so a little less goes to my hips. Can’t work off all this extra baby weight by going to a gym, so Gretel’s just going to have to share the sugar.”
I looked down at Gretel who was seated on the floor, trying to spin in a circle, pushing off the leg of the man in the business suit in front of us. “You think she needs the sugar?”
“Oh, it makes no difference whether I give it to her or not. She breathes it in. God knows what harm I’m doing to her with the coffee aroma thrown in.”
As the gentleman turned and glared at Estelle, I perked up. Jobless and childless? Underrated.
KEN’S JOURNAL (via iPhone):
IT’S DARK AT 5:30 IN THE MORNING. THAT SHOULD COME AS NO SURPRISE, BUT SOMEHOW I HADN’T FACTORED THAT IN WHEN I SET MY ALARM LAST NITE. LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW & ALMOST WENT BACK TO BED. THEN I REMEMBERED MY DATE ON THURS W/MARIBETH. MUST GET UP. MUST GET RID OF MY BEER BELLY IN 2 DAYS. MUST JOG.
ALL RIGHT, THE BELLY ISN’T GOING ANYWHERE IN THE SHORT RUN. BUT I GOTTA START SOMEWHERE. HAVE NEVER GONE ON A DIET & THE THOUGHT OF COTTAGE CHEESE & LITE BEER MIGHT CAUSE AN UNSIGHTLY PIMPLE OUTBREAK B/F MY DATE. DEFINITELY MUST JOG.
AS I HEADED OUT ALONG DAVID LAM PARK, I WAS SHOCKED TO SEE SO MANY DERANGED INSOMNIACS & FITNESS FREAKS. THEY FLEW BY ME, NOT EVEN SOUNDING WINDED AS THEY GLIBLY ANNOUNCED “ON YOUR LEFT” OR “ON YOUR RIGHT” B/F THE PASS.
VERY HUMBLING. I WAS ON THE TRACK TEAM IN HIGH SCHOOL. NOW I’M BEING OVERTAKEN BY AN 80-YEAR-OLD WOMAN IN A FLOURESCENT GREEN RUNNING ROOM UNITARD. “IT’S GOING TO BE A SUNNY DAY!” SHE BEAMED, GIVING ME A HEAD TURN AS SHE PASSED. YEAH. IN 2 FREAKIN’ HOURS! I THINK SHE NEEDED TO SAY SOMETHING TO EXPLAIN THE FLASHING OF HER DENTURES. WASN’T BUYIN’ THE “SUNNY DAY” CRAP. SHE WAS GLOATING. GOSH GOLLY, THOSE WHIPPERSNAPPERS DON’T HAVE MUCH IN THEM THESE DAYS, DO THEY?
I AM NOT PROUD, BUT I GATHERED ALL THE ENERGY I HAD 10 MINUTES LATER WHEN I SPOTTED A MAN AHEAD OF ME IN A WALKER, OUT FOR A PRE-DAWN STROLL. PASSED HIM W/EASE! 2 MINUTES LATER I WAS HACKING AWAY, LEANING OVER A SEAWALL RAILING. WAS THAT VOMIT OR BLOOD TRYING TO MAKE ITS WAY UP?
AND I STILL HAD TO TURN AROUND & MAKE THE RETURN LEG HOME. W/THE SUDDEN UNPLEASANT AWAKENING OF MY LEFT KNEEE, IT WAS MORE HOBBLE-WALK THAN RUN.
REWARDED MYSELF BY PICKING UP A DOZEN DONUTS FROM TIM HORTONS—FOR MY COLLEAGUES—ON THE WAY TO WORK. ONLY 4 LEFT BY THE TIME I GOT OFF THE ELEVATOR. (WLD’VE BEEN 5, BUT HAD TO GIVE THE NEW CANADA DONUT A TRY. AFTER ALL, I LOVE MY COUNTRY.)
GUESS I HAVE SOME KINKS TO WORK OUT IN MY WORKOUT.
Showing posts with label Tim Hortons. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Tim Hortons. Show all posts
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
GETTING OUT THERE (KICKING & SCREAMING)
February 1, 2010
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your social nature can't be denied, and today you find yourself with more time than usual for mixing it up with new people. You should get out there or get online to meet new people!
Laura’s Log:
Why does my horoscope sound like my mother? Of course, I’ve got more time. I’m jobless! I don’t WANT to get out there and meet new people. A get a whole week to wallow, don’t I? Tomorrow will be different.
Maybe I do need to meet new people though. Not a boyfriend. For once, that’s the last thing on my mind. It’s just not the right time. Pretty sure that “I’m unemployed” won’t impress during the speed round of five basic questions. (I suppose one or two might be intrigued by the answer to a followup. “I was allegedly the office slut. Can you imagine?” Still, I don’t want to date a perv. That’s Marella’s territory.)
Left a voicemail with Nadia on Saturday and she still hasn’t returned the call. It never used to be that way. And, of course, I called AND emailed Tamara, apologizing profusely for somehow implying that I’m not in total support of her blossoming relationship. I’m sure I’ve got a few more days of the silent treatment.
Katherine called last night. Wants me to join her in Puerto Vallarta to escape Vancouver during the Olympics. I don’t have the money. Besides, I want to be here during the festivities.
“Do you have tickets?” she asked.
“No.”
“What do you care about biathlon or even hockey?”
“I don’t actually. But it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity—”
“To not care in your own backyard.”
“Yes. Exactly. Well, except for the fact I have no backyard.”
Katherine didn’t get it. But the Olympics aren’t about logic. They’re a time when you block out politics, your Visa balance (if you can, considering the incessant airing of Visa commercials) and Lady Gaga. You throw yourself into a patriotic tizzy, idolizing some twenty-eight-year-old Albertan who has devoted his entire adult life to going headfirst down an ice tunnel on a cafeteria tray. And you get teary over the athlete from Ghana who left her family six years ago in search of snow and a decent ski rental. Just thinking about it makes me want to order a Tim Hortons double double—not sure what that gets you, but it’s quirky Hortonspeak—instead of my Starbucks nonfat latté. OK, almost. Maybe when the Games roll.
Guess I’ll sort of take my horoscope to heart. I’ll go online. See what people are saying about Pink’s dizzying Grammy performance. Was she really singing live while spinning and dripping?! Did the audience get glittered? If so, who had to get Jay-Z a towel?
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
DINNER WITH SARA AND THE KIDS LAST NIGHT. WHATDOYAKNOW, JERRY WAS THERE, TOO! DOESN’T FLY OFF TO REGINA UNTIL TUESDAY. I DON’T KNOW HOW SARA HANDLES ALL THE FAMILY ISSUES WHEN HE’S GONE SO MUCH.
TRAVIS HAS CHANGED SO MUCH OVER THE PAST YR. HE’S MOSTLY ALL GRUNTS WHEN HE SURFACES FROM HIS BASEMENT LAIR. WAS I THAT MOODY IN 8TH GRADE? YEAH, PROBABLY. STILL, IT’S A BIT HUMBLING. USED TO BE THE COOL UNCLE. NOW I’M JUST ANOTHER ANNOYING ADULT WHO WARRANTS A SCOWL.
THE OTHER KIDS ARE CUTE AND CHATTY AS EVER. THEY BOUNCED ABOUT IN THE FAMILY ROOM AS “G-FORCE” BLARED IN THE BACKGROUND—AN INANE CAPER ABOUT TOO-CLEVER RODENTS. RUDY GAVE ME THE ENTIRE PLOT IN NINETY SECONDS, NEVER TAKING A BREATH. NORMALLY I HATE HAVING THE ENDING REVEALED. GIMME “TOY STORY” ANY DAY OVER THIS CRAP. ETHAN AND BELLA MADE ME A CROWN TO MAKE ME KING KEN. “WHAT ABOUT YOUR DADDY?” I ASKED. “SHOULDN’T HE BE THE KING?” “N-NO,” ETHAN SAID. “HE JUST N-NEEDS TO BE D-DADDY.” TOUCHÉ.
JERRY WAS IN HIS HOME OFFICE MOST OF THE TIME I WAS OVER. HE AND TRAV EMERGED FOR DINNER BUT IT REALLY WAS THE SARA SHOW. I HELPED IN THE KITCHEN AFTEWARD & KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT. SHE GETS PISSED WHEN I QUESTION WHAT THE HELL JERRY THINKS BEING A FATHER IS ABOUT.
GOT TO READ ETHAN THE NEW BOOK I BOUGHT HIM AT BEDTIME: THING-THING. NOW THAT’S A COOL BOOK. HE LOVED IT! SADLY, IT’S MUCH BETTER THAN ANYTHING BY GRISHAM.
BEFORE I LEFT, SARA TOOK A COUPLE MORE PICS OF ME IN THE DINING ROOM FOR MY PLENTYOFFISH PROFILE. I’VE DECIDED I WILL MSG SOMEONE TONITE. GOTTA GET THE BALL ROLLING.
LIBRA HOROSCOPE (from astrology.com): Your social nature can't be denied, and today you find yourself with more time than usual for mixing it up with new people. You should get out there or get online to meet new people!
Laura’s Log:
Why does my horoscope sound like my mother? Of course, I’ve got more time. I’m jobless! I don’t WANT to get out there and meet new people. A get a whole week to wallow, don’t I? Tomorrow will be different.
Maybe I do need to meet new people though. Not a boyfriend. For once, that’s the last thing on my mind. It’s just not the right time. Pretty sure that “I’m unemployed” won’t impress during the speed round of five basic questions. (I suppose one or two might be intrigued by the answer to a followup. “I was allegedly the office slut. Can you imagine?” Still, I don’t want to date a perv. That’s Marella’s territory.)
Left a voicemail with Nadia on Saturday and she still hasn’t returned the call. It never used to be that way. And, of course, I called AND emailed Tamara, apologizing profusely for somehow implying that I’m not in total support of her blossoming relationship. I’m sure I’ve got a few more days of the silent treatment.
Katherine called last night. Wants me to join her in Puerto Vallarta to escape Vancouver during the Olympics. I don’t have the money. Besides, I want to be here during the festivities.
“Do you have tickets?” she asked.
“No.”
“What do you care about biathlon or even hockey?”
“I don’t actually. But it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity—”
“To not care in your own backyard.”
“Yes. Exactly. Well, except for the fact I have no backyard.”
Katherine didn’t get it. But the Olympics aren’t about logic. They’re a time when you block out politics, your Visa balance (if you can, considering the incessant airing of Visa commercials) and Lady Gaga. You throw yourself into a patriotic tizzy, idolizing some twenty-eight-year-old Albertan who has devoted his entire adult life to going headfirst down an ice tunnel on a cafeteria tray. And you get teary over the athlete from Ghana who left her family six years ago in search of snow and a decent ski rental. Just thinking about it makes me want to order a Tim Hortons double double—not sure what that gets you, but it’s quirky Hortonspeak—instead of my Starbucks nonfat latté. OK, almost. Maybe when the Games roll.
Guess I’ll sort of take my horoscope to heart. I’ll go online. See what people are saying about Pink’s dizzying Grammy performance. Was she really singing live while spinning and dripping?! Did the audience get glittered? If so, who had to get Jay-Z a towel?
KEN’S JOURNAL (via Blackberry):
DINNER WITH SARA AND THE KIDS LAST NIGHT. WHATDOYAKNOW, JERRY WAS THERE, TOO! DOESN’T FLY OFF TO REGINA UNTIL TUESDAY. I DON’T KNOW HOW SARA HANDLES ALL THE FAMILY ISSUES WHEN HE’S GONE SO MUCH.
TRAVIS HAS CHANGED SO MUCH OVER THE PAST YR. HE’S MOSTLY ALL GRUNTS WHEN HE SURFACES FROM HIS BASEMENT LAIR. WAS I THAT MOODY IN 8TH GRADE? YEAH, PROBABLY. STILL, IT’S A BIT HUMBLING. USED TO BE THE COOL UNCLE. NOW I’M JUST ANOTHER ANNOYING ADULT WHO WARRANTS A SCOWL.
THE OTHER KIDS ARE CUTE AND CHATTY AS EVER. THEY BOUNCED ABOUT IN THE FAMILY ROOM AS “G-FORCE” BLARED IN THE BACKGROUND—AN INANE CAPER ABOUT TOO-CLEVER RODENTS. RUDY GAVE ME THE ENTIRE PLOT IN NINETY SECONDS, NEVER TAKING A BREATH. NORMALLY I HATE HAVING THE ENDING REVEALED. GIMME “TOY STORY” ANY DAY OVER THIS CRAP. ETHAN AND BELLA MADE ME A CROWN TO MAKE ME KING KEN. “WHAT ABOUT YOUR DADDY?” I ASKED. “SHOULDN’T HE BE THE KING?” “N-NO,” ETHAN SAID. “HE JUST N-NEEDS TO BE D-DADDY.” TOUCHÉ.
JERRY WAS IN HIS HOME OFFICE MOST OF THE TIME I WAS OVER. HE AND TRAV EMERGED FOR DINNER BUT IT REALLY WAS THE SARA SHOW. I HELPED IN THE KITCHEN AFTEWARD & KEPT MY MOUTH SHUT. SHE GETS PISSED WHEN I QUESTION WHAT THE HELL JERRY THINKS BEING A FATHER IS ABOUT.
GOT TO READ ETHAN THE NEW BOOK I BOUGHT HIM AT BEDTIME: THING-THING. NOW THAT’S A COOL BOOK. HE LOVED IT! SADLY, IT’S MUCH BETTER THAN ANYTHING BY GRISHAM.
BEFORE I LEFT, SARA TOOK A COUPLE MORE PICS OF ME IN THE DINING ROOM FOR MY PLENTYOFFISH PROFILE. I’VE DECIDED I WILL MSG SOMEONE TONITE. GOTTA GET THE BALL ROLLING.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)