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.

An Update: Nothing is Happening

This week's been sweaty. And showery. Because one, logically must follow the other or else you'll stank up the environment with your fumes. Allegedly.

I've been putting my new treadmill to work. Every day I've worked out and I'm feeling stronger already. The first day, my running shoes conspired to try and strip the skin off my heels, but I was ready for that shenanigans with double socks and band aids. You have to get up pretty early to get ME, shoes. So good to get back to it though. Now to get that old fitness level back!

Other than this I've been enjoying casually swearing at rampant tourists and people playing that infuriating pokemon game, who think it's perfectly reasonable to be wandering in front of my car like lobotomized turkeys. Alternately I am calming myself down by looking for whales at my favourite look out point while filling my innards with coffee. Whales and tourists. Two non-complementary opposites when relating to my psyche. Part of that sentence was redundant, but I think we'll all live.

When not indulging in the two above activities I've been not sleeping (I'm pretty much an Olympic grade champion at this) and working strange hours, wearing out my Wacom tablet (note: Need new nibs) on new designs.

To summarize: running, designing, coffee, tourists, whales. I really should have led with that.

Scattered

I live on an international border, so I usually have both American and Canadian cash on me at any given time, just because. In the immediate regions on both sides of the border you can generally spend either currency, and so sometimes it all becomes a big blur in my cluttered little brain. And my wallet.

Sometimes I'm paying for parking, and the machines in my city only take local currency. I'll stand cursing at the smug little metal jackwagon, which is insolently spitting coins right back at me, then realize I've tried to squeeze in one measly U.S. quarter instead of a Canadian one and it's having a bitchfit. They're barely indistinguishable in appearance and size but the machine? IT ALWAYS KNOWS. And it always happens when I only have the exact change, therefore, I wind up a quarter short and either have to move or use my credit card for a two dollar ticket. Gah. FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS, am I right?

I already feel better having ranted about this highly important event.

I just bought a new treadmill and I'm stoked. It's been two - almost three - years since I last ran and I miss it.

I should point out, I hate running. Let me put it into context for you. 

Take Tom Jones. Infamous for inducing people's moms everywhere, into a panty-soaking mass of hysteria. Tom's fans love Tom so much they will hurl said gross panties at him on stage, faint all over the place, and defend him to the death with their all-encompassing adoration. If you were to take all that mom-generated passion, put it in a cocktail shaker, shake it up violently, clone it seventeen times, and pour it into a giant cosmic container, you STILL would not have the amount of passion strong enough to equal my passionate hatred for running.

But I do like the way I feel after I run, so I am excited to get back into being a wobbly, shaky, sweaty, sweary mess - albeit one whose jeans fit better! - four times a week. If nothing else I'll get to listen to some new podcasts or music. And maybe it will render me too tired to yell at the assholic dickweeds in their gigantic, tiny-wanger-compensating, pick-up trucks, who keep trying to illegally park in our 'residential only' parking outside the house, and who keep backing into my tiny car like it's not there. 

MAYBE...

Hope you all had a good July 4th/Canada Day/weekendy summer thing!

Fuck Off Britain

I have only two things to say today.

1) Don't let the door hit your ass on the way out, David Cameron, you giant bag of dicks.

and:

2) There must be some sort of brain disease spreading in the UK that has rendered so many people idiots. You people have no idea what you've done.

That's all. I am so fucking disappointed in my homeland. If I still lived there I'd move. Obviously not to mainland Europe though, so thanks for limiting the freedom we used to have, asshats.

Hair Raising

My hair just keeps getting longer and longer, which...well, I'm told that's what hair does, don't think I'm unaware, it's just that it seems to do it way more regularly than I'd like. Sometimes it's okay on the longer side and it feels good to swish around all free and easy, like a ginger hippy princess.

Some days I wake up having slept just right and I look like I have cool, effortless beach waves and hey, check me out, I just woke up looking this awesome. These days happen about as often as you catch a glimpse of a porcine figure with wings floating past your window.

On the other hand, most days I wake up looking like Janis Joplin on a bender, with a head full of bees.

But as discussed ad nauseum for years  now, I never seem able to get a good haircut anywhere. I've tried. So. Many. Times. And I should probably point out, it's not the haircut that's bad usually, so much as my ability to wear it or style it myself without looking like I did it with a snow blower and too much enthusiasm. That's good and well when you're twenty and everyone's like "Check out that chick with the crazy hair, she must be COOL!" Nowadays it's more, "Jesus, check out that obvious cat lady who got dressed in the dark and probably has a family consisting purely of mannequins that she keeps in her basement!"  That and frightening small children in the supermarket.

Which, when you think about it, is the one up side to all this.

However, it's not the look I'm going for. The trouble is I hate safe, boring soccer mom kind of hair cuts, that's not me. I want to walk in there and go, 'give me funky rock chick hair only a little more age appropriate so I don't look like a total asshole.' But somehow I never do as I'm pathetic and inarticulate.

I'm also trying to partially grow out my fringe  a bit (that's 'bangs' to you American folks) and I don't know about you ladies out there, if you've ever tried this, but I'd put it right up near the top of my "Sharp Things I'd Rather Impale Myself On Than Do" list, right after "Licking Donald Trump".

It's such an unfulfilling, labourious, esteem-sucking nightmare. In my opinion anyone attempting this should be allowed to just not leave the house for nine months till it's rectified itself or your head's imploded, and during that time people should bring you all the food/wine/chocolate/tequila you require until it's safe to go out in public once more.

At least I have coffee again.