the root of our torment

I just finished reading Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, so maybe I simply have human suffering on the brain, but it seems to me, we at the Regier household have met with one of the modern world's gravest treacheries: the disappearance of remote controls.

It began on Sunday with the garage door opener. Then yesterday, the television remote. Oh the injustice!

Dean has a loathsome habit of misplacing everything: his keys, wallet, laptop adapter, hair product etc. Though there is no pattern to their placement, usually I have a knack for tracking down the above listed items. Not so with our current eluders. They are lost to oblivion. We've turned the house and car upsidedown three times each. And it is the gravest inconvenience. Especially when Dean wants to watch the Senators on channel 3 and I want to watch What Not to Wear on Channel 34. sheesh.

yah, yah, we'll survive.

*****************************************************************************

It's officially summer. I know this because I have one sunburnt shoulder and because I fired up the BBQ for the first time tonight. Like literally the first time. I have never before lit a BBQ.

I've watched many a propane BBQ be lit, but all we have is a coal-burning hibatchi that I won at a $5 Christmas gift exchange in Seattle two years ago (remember that one ladies? With the crazy guy who loves Canadians? and the dude who worked at Microsoft who I totally insulted? But I mean really, who names their kid Zolton?).

With nothing but the coal briquette package to guide me, you'll all be pleased to know that I BBQed like a pro. Next time you're all invited.

you don't know me.

I've never been one to fill out those lengthy online surveys when I get "tagged," but since this is far more interesting and since I was tagged by a blogger I much admire, it seemed a good means of whiling away a Saturday afternoon when I should be working.

The rules:

1: Each player starts with 8 random facts/habits about themselves.
2: People who are tagged, write a blog post about their own 8 random things, and post these rules.
3: At the end of your post you need to tag 8 people and include their names.
4: You may need to leave them a comment and tell them they’re tagged, and to read your blog

Eight random facts you probably don’t know about me if you’ve mainly read my blog:

1. I have a supreme repugnance/gag reflex toward rubber bands, and most things rubber, in general. I think it began some time around kindergarten when I saw my nextdoor neighbour Shannon gnawing on a filthy, thick, industrial strength rubber band. To this day I could puke at the very touch of them—like every single day that I have to remove them from the mail bundles at BC Hydro.

2. I don't eat red meat (not even pork, "the other white meat") because my bowels take issue with it. And thus, so does my husband :)

3. I have lived for more than two months in the following places: Vancouver, Uganda, Calgary, Tampa, Maui, the Muskokas (Ontario), and Aberdeen, Scotland.

4. I dropped out of university after two years with the intention of becoming a photographer. I know, funny. With so many travels and flights of fancy, no wonder it took me so long to get my degree.

5. I was in French immersion from grades 1 through 6. We did everything in French: history, science, math. To this day I sometimes forget to put the dollar sign before the number, and must remind myself to use decimals, not commas.

6. A bonafide TV star once invited me to be his date to the Gemini Awards (Canadian Emmys) at which he was a nominee and presenter. I declined.

7. When I was 20 I got my lebret pierced while in beach town in Brazil. It's the only time in my life I've passed out. If you look closely you can still see the scar below my lip.

8. I was once publicly exposed in a busy square in France when the self-contained-bathroom door opened on me, mid-pee.

I tag: Maria, Lena, Andrea, Laura, Sam, Mat, Kate and my Mom (who never seems to blog anymore)

May 23, 2005

Seattle. Sun. Starbucks.

Frocks. Photos. Fish.

Trams. Trolls. Thai.

The smartest question I ever asked,

(“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”)

Two years ago today :)

cue Barbara Streisand:

Golf came to my rescue today — the annual BC Hydro Engineers' tourney supplied me with an afternoon off. That meant Starbucks with the hubby, timed by destiny so that we would run into a dear friend (rhymes with Smelly) in the coffee lineup.

While we sat enjoying the last of today's sun, Kelly and I reminisced for the second time this week, and I was—as I often am when I spend time with people who have known me FOREVER—blown away by the beauty of friendship and being known.

Sharing a complete set of memories with someone is so wonderful. When you discover that a special moment in history stands out in their minds fifteen years later, just as much as it does in yours. Like learning that the song you danced to in seventh grade with THAT boy still makes him think of you the way you think of him. Or that one movie line ("How do you like THEM apples?") still makes you and five of your friends all think of the exact same life-changing teacher.

gross, I'm getting all sentimental. Enough.

It's the beginning of the year's third-best long weekend (after the July one and the August one) and I am happy. The forecast looks like: bowling, sleeping in, shopping, "surprise" parties, the Heroes finale (!!!) and, catching up on an array freelance work.

Also, Operation BM (aka the Cleanse) is going, well, swimmingly.

please pardon my potty mouth

We have a new toilet! Nice and clean and white and flushes right away--no need to hold the handle down for a full 8 seconds with this bad boy.

It's just in time too because Dean and I began our colon cleanse this morning and, not to be too graphic, I'm scared I'll be having frequent rendez-vous' with this important bathroom fixture.

I celebrated the colon-cleanse equavalent of Mardis Gras last night: for the first time in seven years I ate a HAMBURGER. Not just any hambuger, mind you, an Anth & Cheri Gallello burger as thick as my fist. Yes, it was soooo worth it.

downers and uppers

After what seemed like the absolute perfect weekend (Saturday's goodness was rounded out by a family brunch on Sunday, followed by Subeez with J&K and Aqualung at Richard's on Richards), it only seemed right that something would come along to dampen it all.

Just before the encore an unfamiliar number showed up on my mobile—the lady downstairs letting us know our toilet was leaking into hers. ugh.

So we are currently flushing with the help of an empty gallon milk jug, and mostly avoiding any activity that would require said improvisation.

While we were enjoying ou garlic mayo fries, however, I learned something new: Scooby Snacks (yes, the little kibbles those crazy hippies fed their monster-hunting dog) are in fact drugs. All those years I woke up early to watch Scooby Doo before school... I've been soooo naive.

components of a perfect day

+ Sleep in 'til 9:30 after a late night of cousin bonding and white wine

+ Walk with good looking man, in the sun

+ Latte, scone

+ Pick up UK visa, procured stress-free in 3 days, start to finish

+ Catch bus downtown, read fluff news

+ 3.5 hours at the VAG: Acting the Part, House of Oracles , and the main reason for my visit: Fred Herzog's Vancouver photography (see above).

+ Run into one of my favourite Vancouver couples

+ Five loads of laundry (okay, this part wasn't so perfect,but it IS an accomplishment to get through all your laundry on a typically bustling day in the Landmark Caesar laundry room)

+ One batch of spaghetti sauce to take to my gramps whose wife is in the hospital

+ Walk downtown as evening falls, appreciate view from Granville St. Bridge

+ Peter Bjorn and John at the Commodore - opening act Fujiya and Miyagi was also very notable

+ Walk home, knowing you get to do it all over again for Aqualung tomorrow :)

I'm in!

It seems props are due to the British High Commission in Ottawa - I sent my VISA application on Tuesday and it got approved today!

I am officially legal to work in the UK. It's a liberating feeling in fact.

Major Grey

Context is everything. At an Indian restaurant, for example, the subject line of this post is a very good thing (particularly at a little spot in Kirkland to which Harms once brought me). On my head, however it's nothing but trouble.

About three years ago I found my first grey hair, still only an inch or two long, and in spite of friends' warnings that it would grow back in multiples, I plucked it. Six months later it was back, and so the cycle continued. I hadn't seen the little bugger in quite some time when it showed up in the office bathroom last week. And I paid it its due punishment (extermination).

Then, two days later while leaning my head on Dean's shoulder, he claimed that he spotted one. I said it couldn't be, I only have one grey hair and I just removed it! But sure enough, he plucked out the proof.

So imagine my dismay, when yesterday I find YET ANOTHER grey strand sneering in my face. This one three inches long. Either my single grey hair has super powers, or I have officially crossed into granny territory.

I know, I know. Millions of women my age color their hair, but I LIKE my hair color and I'm not sure I'm willing to part with it just yet. And so the plucking will continue.

back on the bus, reflecting on etiquette

I'm back to working full time — a five week stint at BC Hydro in Burnaby. It's a mindless job, but a union wage, so who can complain? In the evenings I'm trying to keep up with a couple of paid writing projects, but the ones i really am excited about (the unpaid ones), those are being put on hold.

On the topic of money and in light of the current $1.25/litre gas scandal, I recently did some calculations:

tank of gas/week $60x5 = $300
parking/day $3x25 = $75
TOTAL: $375 (ie. half a week's pay for a month of transportation and that's not even including insurance, which Dean pays for)

Meanwhile, a 2 zone monthly bus pass is $95. Unlimited travel for under a hundred bucks and it's a tax write off! The smarter option is clear.

So I was sitting on the skytrain yesterday and a girl boards the car—a typical Vancouver girl: black Lulu pants, freshly darkened hair accentuated by her salon tan, high pony and headband. Harmless enough. She sits beside me and in a manner of seconds I feel her leg pressed up against mine. On a busy day, this is overlooked, but in a half empty car it made me uncomfortable.

I shift my legs closer together.

Moments later, her bony knee has inched its way over to mine again.

I further close the space between my own legs and angle them the opposite direction, but sure enough she further splays hers!

Surely this is violating some sort of unwritten transit code? Can I have some support here? Even big jock guys usually have the decency to keep their limbs out of your leg space.

So what did I do? I pushed back. Bit by bit I widened my own stature, far beyond what is normal or comfortable for me, but just until those stretch-cotton clad legs were back in their alotted space and their owner was perplexed. I felt like a passive aggressive yet smug school child.

She gave me a dirty look and got off the train at the next stop. I guess I had made myself clear ;)