This Escalated Quickly

Summer's well and truly here in Veggie land. Blue skies, warmth, golden shadows, snow topped mountains. It's all so peaceful.

At least it is peaceful Sunday through Wednesday. Serene. I get my morning coffee and drive down to one of my favourite look out points to drink it, overlooking the ocean and the mountains and the wild flowers, and all is right with the world.

Then Thursday rolls around and the first of the week's cruise ships roll into port, a kilometer from my house, making loud honks that make your stomach lurch, and producing an alarming stream of horses and carriages, pedicabs, coaches, and taxis, parading endlessly past the house en route to make some money off of those passengers.

And there are so many of them.

Three quarters appear to be very excitable Asian tourists, chattering, swarming, and carting giant cameras. They seem to enjoy it here, they travel en masse, and are particularly fond of standing right at crossings even though they're not crossing, making me stop for no reason, when all they're doing is looking at something across the street. Either that or I'm driving through and one decides to just jump in front of me without warning. Those guys are driving me to drink, I swear.

They also are extraordinarily fond of selfie sticks. You never see a white, black, Indian, or middle Eastern individual with a selfie stick. But almost all the Chinese, Japanese, and Korean ladies seem to carry one along with their lipstick. It's fascinating. Must be a cultural thing.

So from Thursday till Sunday it's touristville. Which is nice, seeing people in your town having fun and enjoying the scenery. Even when it's a little annoying at times.

Sadly, a lot of the tourists here are people like the woman I encountered this morning, who appeared to have some sort of problem driving over 25 kmph, turning me into a huge, sweary asshole inside my car, as I was trying to get somewhere on the narrow coast road, yelling to myself, "It's a 50 zone you fucks!" because clearly I'm some sort of unashamed speed demon, who probably hasn't had her coffee yet. But I get it. You're looking at the pretty view and it's lovely, good for you.

But good god woman, you're in a car, move your ass.

25 kmph, I ask you! May a crow shit on your head, ma'am.

Thank God it's Friday.

Disjointed Nonsense!

I just got back from visiting my mum for a couple of weeks. It was a whirlwind visit consisting of six flights, much turbulence, jet lag, and eating the approximate equivalent gross national product of a small nation, while consuming enough alcoholic beverages to sink a tanker if placed on top of it just right.

The trip itself though - the trip was laborious, to say the least. Those flights were long and by the third flight on the outbound journey - where it turned out I had not one but two (TWO!) loud, unhappy toddlers seated directly behind me and one of them was clearly beating the back of my seat with an oar or something - I would've happily watched Donald Trump have relations with a hippopotamus, if it meant avoiding getting on board another plane.

Actually, I'd watch that any day! Although I'd feel for the hippo.

It didn't help that when my second flight landed in lovely Halifax, Nova Scotia - I assume it is lovely, I wouldn't know - stuff looked like this:

Yeah, that is fog. We had a fuel thing going on though - blah blah, I don't want to know about ways you're possibly trying to kill me, WestJet - so we got to land, whereas a lot of flights were less lucky. I say "lucky" but I'm not sure that's the word. "Bumpy" might be better. "Skiddy" would certainly be accurate. Did I hurl though? I did not. My innards remained in place. You'd be so proud.

This photo, incidentally, is the exact moment of touchdown, because rest assured, even when landing in severe wind and fog, and thinking death is imminent, I will still do the world a solid by getting out my phone and taking a photo. You're welcome.

In the airport, I had a five hour wait, which was just as awesome as it sounds. A one hour flight, a five hour flight, followed by a five hour wait, followed by a six hour flight? Yes please. Just sign me up for that ALL OF THE MONOTONY. I filled the five hours by stuffing sandwiches down my food hole and rocking in a rocking chair while staring at the fog in a trance. See my fantastic view below:

YUP.

All airports should have rocking chairs. Seriously. This video might work if you have flash player, but whatever. PRETEND.

Anyway, I finally got to Scotland and it was sunny, which both delighted and terrified me, because usually, the second I arrive, the heavens open and the rain apocalypse comes, but seeing sunshine was unexpected and ominous. What could it mean? End of times? I had mysteriously landed on some parallel universe version of Scotland? I watch "Star Trek" I know what goes on. I mean who knows where we went in all that fog?

I celebrated the fact I was alive and had been awake for over 24 hours, by having a soothing beverage at my sister's house while grinning crazily and talking to the cat.

Don't panic though. That might be the only non alcoholic drink to pass my lips in twelve days.

Some other day when I wasn't consuming a vat of delicious food or punishing my liver, we took some dogs out for a walk in the woods, which was nice and gave me some exercise. The weather was so great, I still don't quite believe it.

That lab never stopped moving. I mean seriously, he was like a tiny, canine hurricane. Also, there's no delicate way to put this, but I never saw a dog produce such immense piles of excrement as this dog. It was like....seasoned mountaineers would get lost on those things. No, there is no picture. Again, you're welcome.

Did I mention there was alcohol? Rhubarb vodka cocktails in the garden, yes please!

I spent a fair bit of time at my sisters where we cooked and ate and drank (see above and below). I think this next photo accurately shows the ratio of those activities...

There are VEGETABLES there, don't give me your crap!

I also got to hang out with my friends too which was great. We had dinner (of course!) and one day we headed to the beach and had more delicious food then a hearty walk on the beach, even though a gale was blowing. We're not afraid of no stinking weather, however! No Sir. 

I did cry when I combed my hair, however.

A colorful log. Why not? Then it got greyer.

That weather wants to mess with me.

After the beach, we had ice cream sodas and I had a hot date with this guy. He's all about pillaging. Yes those ARE palm trees! In Scotland. I know, right!

At some point, on some other day, cocktails were had in the city, with my sister. Things are a tad hazy but I do remember how good they were and how expensive, and also full of fruity, hardcore goodness. See? Vitamins people! One of these is rhubarb and custard flavor. All I can say is YES. They are both pink because I am a lady. My sister's drink on the right had a chili on it, which is clearly blasphemous in a beverage, but she swears it was fabulous.

It's possible we had more than one drink. It's only polite.

Fizzy!

OK, we had several, sue me.

After all that, we had food, I lost the will to live, and at some point there was a train ride, after which I was home and took off my pants in case I bent over and accidentally shot someone in the face with a button blasting off from the strain.

Eventually my liver quit and I decided to fly home. Another three flights that made me want to stick pins in my own eyes. This time I had no toddlers kicking my seat and screeching, so that was an instant score and the entire flight was in daylight, although I kept annoyingly travelling back in time until I had no concept of anything whatsoever. Which is about normal for me.

I did get to fly over the Rockies when it wasn't cloudy for once though!

So now I'm home. And summer's here. And I'm at work although clearly I'm not because I'm typing this dribble. 

And because you can't have everything.

Somebody's Watching You

Just for you BILL

Last night I was terrorized by a raccoon.

Yeah it sounds funny NOW.

There are raccoons in the neighbourhood, I knew this already. Now and then I encounter one in the driveway, steely eyed, looking at me like it's trying to calculate how easy it would be to knock me down and eat my face off. On those occasions, we regard each other warily then I back up and leave, and it does whatever raccoons do in these situations. Sometimes, in the evening, they even scale the trees in the yard and wander onto the roof, where they stomp around like tiny Nazis, giving me the fear at 2 a.m. because I think someone's in the attic.

Last night, however, necessitated an evening drive to the supermarket as a tragedy had occurred and I'd found myself devoid of both Coke Zero and wine, and well...if that's not a Defcon 1 situation I'd like to know what is.

It was only 8 p.m. or so and just gotten dark. When I rounded the corner into the drive, I saw some smallish critter with a tail like a particularly hirsute toilet brush, dart behind the end of the house at the other end of the drive. I commenced to my car and got in. While sitting there, fiddling with the club lock (because my car's the approximate age of Christopher Columbus) I saw the little furry piece of evil lurking at the bottom of the drive again, clearly thinking I'd gone and the coast was clear. It then proceeded to march up the slope towards the car with the clear intention of murdering me and nibbling on my spleen. Nope.

It then darted right under the car. Great. I was just about to leave. I didn't want to start up and drive over it, I can only take so much trauma in one day and the running out of wine thing had taken its toll already.

I jiggled around a bit hoping the movement would alert it to my presence and it would move. I saw nothing even though I was scoping out all my mirrors like a madman. So I tooted my horn which...I don't know if anyone else has a '99 Cavalier but man, it's about as manly as Barry Manilow in a tutu arriving at a Liberace concert while riding a unicorn. It sounds like a 4 year old girl whining. Anyway, no luck.

I started the engine figuring the sound would scare it out and I could commence my great wine and coke zero quest. I figured wrong, though. I reversed just a few inches hoping that would do the trick. No sign of the raccoon.

It was at that moment I thought two things. 1) fuck my life, and 2) I had to get out and look under the car to see if it was actually there, and risk it leaping out from the depths of hell and attaching itself to my face while screaming like a banshee.

I could've also decided to maybe not go to the store after all but, seriously??? I mean NO wine, not even the shitty stuff you cook with.

So I carefully tested the waters, so to speak, by allowing my left leg to dangle, precariously, over the edge of the car, listening furtively for any sign of a rabid screech that would suggest some zombie-esque nibbling was about to begin. Nothing. I got out of the car.

"Get your ass out of there!" I said in a really bold, confident, and completely "I have the situation under control!" type of way (maybe). Nothing happened.

I was pretty sure by now it wasn't even under the damn car, it had escaped around the front of the house or next door or something. But I didn't want to risk running over it and skeezing myself out, not to mention the guilt factor of killing a little creature that looked comically like Judd Hirsch.

I slowly bent down and tried to get a look near the wheels at the front. I saw nothing! Phew. I breathed a sigh of relief and turned around to get back in, and as I did THERE IS A FUCKING RACCOON RIGHT BEHIND ME, its evil little eyes glinting at me like, "You want to run your little, pussy, ancient car over me? huh?"

This happened in this order.

I shrieked like a little girl.

The racooon made a sound like if you'd accidentally trod on a six foot tall budgerigar.

It took off like a bat out of hell in one direction, and I ran the opposite way.

I dropped my car keys in some tall plants and tripped over my own feet.

Hell yes, I found those suckers and still went to the store. If a person ever needed wine, it was RIGHT THEN.

The moral of this story is, never run out of wine.

* I don't mind raccoons really. Mostly.

The world is new, the world is now...

Well here we are. Another year, another possibility, another respondent burst of enthusiasm about new beginnings we probably won't stick to.

I think most people seem to be in agreement that 2016 was a year best left behind in a haze of gratitude (that it's finally over). It's stupid really - years are man made things and events, good or bad, do not adhere to such ridiculous human-imposed time restrictions, but still, we are mortal beings and so we respect our self regulated time containers and agree. 2016 was a pretty terrible year for the world.

2017 though, will be awesome. Full of positivity and well...stuff that blatantly defies 2016's legacy right in its smug, fat face.

So here's to you, friends. Happy New year, whatever it means to you. A psychological new birth of spirit, to us all.

NSFW. But Safe for Life.

This has been making me laugh all afternoon. Awesome in its simplicity. I'd buy that lady a beer for her sheer determination. You rule, Scotland.

Travellin' (Wo)Man

I've been on a short vacation recently and returned more exhausted than when I left, which, part of me firmly believes, is not how vacations are supposed to be, although the other part of me thinks that this is merely proof that you did it right.

At the end of the holiday I spent a few days just hanging out in Vancouver, walking my feet into bloody stumps, drinking too much wine/beer/cocktails, having food with friends, etc. Here are a couple of my friends here. Both are tasty. I favoured the brunette...

Other than that, I enjoyed being in the mountains, staring at glacial lakes and staying in a mountain cabin. I especially enjoyed the return journey into Vancouver in the pelting rain and fog and rush hour traffic. It's like it knew I was coming.

Here are a few photos, to bore you with.

Beautiful Lake Moraine on a cloudy early morning

Bridge in Golden, BC

Lake Louise in the morning - the water is actually that color

Some logs on the beach in Vancouver

Rainy night in downtown Vancouver

Part of the Vancouver Skyline

Lake Louise again

Canoes on Lake Moraine on a chilly, cloudy, early morning

I could go on, but I'll spare you. Hope you're all well?

Half Way To Comatose

When you work from home you have a lot of leeway with everyday stuff, you didn't use to have. Sure, it can be a gigantic recipe for laziness, but it can also be more productive and relaxed than sitting in an office, avoiding your boss and throwing pencils at the ceiling tiles.

You can make your own hours for one thing, which for me are afternoons and evenings, when I'm most productive. This leaves mornings for drinking coffee, treadmilling my face off, showering, and drinking coffee by the sea.

Plus, working from home means you can work in your pajamas if you feel like it (I do not, this is a lame activity). You can stream playlists all day long and play with your collection of Funko Pop toys. You can also have a nice, evening glass of wine on your desk if that floats your boat, although, sadly, I usually don't in case I have to drive somewhere, because I take sudden urges to just GO and everyone knows, sudden urges must be obeyed. The following photo is the result of a sudden urge the other night.

Then one day you wake up and start to realize that you haven't left the house in four days and even then it was only because you ran out of food and wine and had no other choice but go out or expire from lack of sustenance. Plus you look like a feral child and haven't had a haircut in eleven months and have worn nothing but jeans every day for the last half year, and almost no make up.

Then you realize, eff it, you're actually okay with that.