The (mis) Adventures of VEG!

Truth in Blogging

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Sun, 08 Jan 2012 21:39:00 +0000

I use my blog to hide behind. Hide my pain and frustration and bewilderment and exhaustion and all. But, even if only for today, I am going to rip the curtain back and let you see me, warts and all.

...The past three, going on four, years have been very hard. I finished university in 2008 full of hope and life. And since then things have been less so. I got stuck in a job I loathed because I couldn't find anything else. I lost that job, and ended up unemployed for over six months, feeling worthless and unwanted. My Mom, the only family I had left, simultaneously my best friend and biggest foe, got gravely ill, got better, and then passed away suddenly. Even worse, the estate left behind was an extreme mess, and is still not resolved two years later. I finally found another job, but it's still not in my field, and it has turned into a very stressful and frustrating experience. And then...

...Last June 13th, after twelve and half years together and seven years of marriage, my husband decided to leave. The reasons are myriad, but what it boils down to is that I was unable to both crawl out of a deep hole created by depression from all of the above and more, and ask for the help that I so desperately needed, and still need. I made many promises to change, all of which I couldn't keep because the depression had such a strong hold over me that it kept dragging me down into the hole. I hid inside myself. I hurt him. I hurt me. I ruined the one thing I had that made me happy. I ache for the loss of my marriage...

...But mostly I ache for the loss of myself. Somewhere in the past four years, I lost myself. And no longer really know who I am. I am no longer a wife. I am no longer a daughter. I am no longer a sister. I haven't had any friends in a while. I have no career. I don't know where I am supposed to go from here. I don't know how to come out of hiding, even though I want to. I want to live life again, enjoy life again. How does a socially awkward, completely shy and scared, hopelessly lost 36 year old girl do that...

...Because, though it is embarrassing to say this, what I think I really need is someone to hold my hand, lead me out of the darkness, tell me it's going to be OK, and help me find my way again. Help me take a leap and learn to fly again. And this is my hope for 2012. To be me again.

How Do You Move On?

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Tue, 20 Dec 2011 06:11:00 +0000

How do you move on...
When one wants to stay and one wants to go?

How do you move on...
When not even a month into a separation, one removes their wedding ring and tells the other one how good it feels?

How do you move on...
When you love a person with all your heart, and they don't even seem to miss you?

How do you move on...
When you already feel worthless, small, unlovable, and like poison to the world, and the one person who is supposed to be there to help support you though it actually ends up using all of that against you?

How do you move on...
When you beg and plead for a chance to heal the wounds and hurt and they refuse?

How do you move on...
When you want to scream and yell and punch and throw because you don't understand how they can just leave like that?

How do you move on...
When it hurts so much that it actually takes your breath away?

How do you move on...
When the only thing you want in life is for them to hold your hand, hug, and kiss you and tell you that it's going to be alright?

How do you move on...
When you are the only one who seems to understand that phrase "in good times and BAD?"

How do you move on...
When, despite all the pain and hurt, you can't stop loving them and wanting them, even though they have stopped loving and wanting you?

How do you move on...?

VEG's Life Lessons: A Lesson in Water and Rice*

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Tue, 23 Aug 2011 19:03:00 +0000

Today I shall offer you all a lesson in post-modernity, or why dropping your iPhone in the toilet is not the best idea you may have ever had.

Yes, you read that right.

I DROPPED MY iPHONE.

IN THE TOILET.

AT WORK.

Insert snorts of derision here.

Now, VEGsters, should you ever wish to challenge me for the title of World's Biggest Dumbass (psssht, like I am ever going to be able to relinquish that title given my propensity for tripping over my own shadow,) I recommend the following steps to ensure your place atop the proverbial food-chain of dumbassery:

First, please take a moment to retrieve your precious, life-altering, want-to-marry-it, are-so-in-love-with-it-you-have-named-it iPhone from the toilet water and then frantically try to turn it on. Seriously, press the power button eleventy-thousand times in a row. Follow this closely by hitting the home button while simultaneously screaming, preferably LOUDLY, "FUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKKKK" in the work bathroom so that your co-workers think that you yourself have fallen in. Because this will not at all make your phone fizz from the headphone jack. Or cause it to blink rapidly through multiple screens, and then go blank, like it was having some sort of toilet-water-based seizure.

As a follow-up to these actions, begin to ugly-cry (again LOUDLY) and tell every living soul who passes your ugly-crying-face that you dropped your phone in the toilet and now it is dead, and repeat "WHAT AM I GOING TO DO, OMG, MY LIFE IS OVER!" ad nauseum.**

This is the point at which you will hear every horror story EVER about phones that got wet and never worked again, and fried memory cards that melted to the inside of the phone so that your whole life is lost,*** and why don't you just take the battery out (um, hello? it's an iPhone, NOT a Blackberry. Because GOD FORBID Steve Jobs let us look inside our phones. Hey Steve? Pandora's Box it is NOT) and hey, did you hear about the rice trick?****

More ugly crying and existential crises will follow as one waits by the container of rice in which you have lovingly placed your precious iPhone, whiling away the hours watching everyone else (yes, EVERYONE) walk by with their phones in hand, laughing over their friend's newest Tweets, guffawing at the funny new anecdotes on Facebook, updating the world on their current status (helllloooooo, ANGST-ridden, didn't we cover this?) and generally being all superior because THEY aren't dumbasses that drop their phones in the toilet.

And then, hesitantly and full of trepidation, you take your beloved out of the container of rice (after waiting patiently and not at all after staring at the container the entire time, willing the rice to perform some sort of miraculous, Jesus-worthy, resurrection-type-drying-out job) and press the power button, and...

Nothing.

Nada.

Zilch.

SHHHHHHIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTT!

Then, because you are a special kind of dumbass, the thought occurs to you that perhaps while languishing in the rice container for the past 18 hours the phone may have run out of battery power. And so you plug it in, press the power button, and.....

Angels sing.

Heavens weep.

Happy dances occur.

The phone works! It works! It really, really works!

You no longer have to keep the world waiting with bated-breath over your lunch plans, or your snickering over other (though admittedly lesser) dumbasses that you encounter. You are part of the modern world again! You no longer have to watch a gaggle of assholes flaunt their phones in your face anymore (granted, that might be a slight over-reading of the situation.)You are whole again! Yay! And that, my friends, is today's lesson for you. A lesson in humility (literal and figurative) and redemption. A lesson in living (albeit for 24 hours, but still) in a post-modern world, cut off from all of humanity because you forgot to take your phone out of your back pocket when you were doing the pee-pee-dance in the work bathroom because you waited too long to avail yourself of the facilities after your afternoon tea-coffee-Pepsi-more-tea fest. Consider yourselves learned!

Of course, you could always go the easy route and just not drop your phone in the toilet in the first place. 'Cause, let's be honest, even if you DO go the hard route of trying to unseat me from my World's Biggest Dumbass throne, I will have already done something else to renew my tenure as the Queen of All Stupidity by then. So, VEGsters, I guess what I am saying (rather verbosely,) is do yourselves a favour and don't even bother trying. Believe me, it's worth it in the long run.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*For those of you thinking, "Hey asshole, what makes you qualified to hand out advice?," I offer you my credentials: Undisputed World Champion in Personal Dumbassery, and World Record Title Holder in Klutz-tasticness.

**Holy first world problem, Batman!

***Seriously, major drama queen, or what?

****Google is your friend.

Blowing off Some Steam

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Fri, 19 Aug 2011 19:28:00 +0000

Wow! It's been a month, huh? And, like my blog crush Captain Dumbass says, it would seem that when you stop posting, people stop coming by (shocking, I know) and then your blog ends up looking like the scary house at the end of the block that everyone walks by really quickly, and little kids dare (nay, double-dog dare) each other to nicky-nicky-nine-doors it, and the porch stairs are all falling down so you have to do a special hopping pattern to get up them, and no one has mowed the grass for eleventy years so there is a colony of werewolves living in it, which makes the house even scarier, and...

Ahem. Anywhoo...

So, yeah, it's been a month. An extremely tiring, difficult, and long month. I will not bore you with the details as to why. Suffice it to say that there have been some MAJOR upheavals in the VEG-O-SPHERE over the past while that have required me to take a mental health leave from reality for a while. Life re-evaluations have been done, lives have been changed, blah, blah, blah. However, I seem to have come out of the dark now, and wanted to say thanks to you all. Thanks for sticking around, thanks to those of you who have written and inquired after my health, and thanks to those of you who sent virtual hugs.

Amongst the things that I have had to think over are the reasons for this blog and what I (and hopefully you, my precious VEGsters,) get out of it. And I came to the conclusion that my primary reason for starting and continuing to write this blog is to blow off some of the steam that would otherwise boil my brain to the consistency of strained peas. Though I am actually just as sarcastic, irreverent, and potty-mouthed in real life, I find that my blog (and the Twitter, the Facebook, the Tumblr, the Google+, and the plethora of other social media I have that makes my head aspolde) allows me to say things that social niceties don't always afford me the opportunity to do in the real world. That, and my delusions of being a writer some day. And my further delusions of being some sort of comedian. And, you know, my rampant case of attention-whore-ism.

So, yeah, I'm going to keep writing and blowing off some steam, if you don't mind. And if you do, you can just shut your whore mouth* and turn the channel.

Thanks for listening, VEGsters. It means more to me than you will ever know.

*thanks to Aunt Becky for my favourite insult of ALL time.

Ummm, The Cops Actually...

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Tue, 19 Jul 2011 17:56:00 +0000

So, I saw this the other day:

*Giggle*

And I'm not gonna lie, I was tempted to go and see if the parishioners hot boxed the church after this service.

Life Sucks, You Know?

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Mon, 20 Jun 2011 18:26:00 +0000

Sorry, VEGsters, been having a really rather difficult time of late.

If you want to read part of why, I am over HERE today.

And the rest will eventually sort itself out. But until then I might be a little quiet.

Hang in there, though. I am sure I will find a way back to ya'll soon.

/End Radio Silence/

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Thu, 09 Jun 2011 20:10:00 +0000

Bless all your little VEGster hearts, you rode out this period of quiet and stayed strong, knowing that I, VEG, would return and regale you with all the mega-adventures I MUST have been off doing to avoid my blog for the past two weeks.

Or, you're all just a bunch of sadists who are reveling in the opportunity to find out the new and inventive ways I have hurt myself in the past two weeks.

Or you're just lazy. Like me.

ANNNNYWHOOOO, to tell the truth I haven't been off fighting the zombie apocalypse or anything (that you know of), I have just have *GASP* not had anything to say, really. Or, more correctly, life has been kicking my ass all over here and gone and I just managed to find it again. Though WHY I wanted the behemoth fat bag that is MY ass back is anyone's guess. But I am back, and I have things to say NOW, so there you go.

...Because I thought I needed ANOTHER social media thingy (like I needed a hole in my head, really), I have "discovered" Klout. Because having 2 Facebook pages, Twitter, Blogger, Flickr, Tumblr, Stumble, You Tube, AboutMe, WordPress, and probably some other thing I am forgetting (and therefore) stressing over, wasn't enough. So take that, interwebs! I see your Klout and I raise you a Technorati. (BTW, WTF IS Technorati?)

...Rant above notwithstanding, I am actually very glad that I joined Klout. Because how else would I know that I am an authority on ducks?

Seriously, WHAT...THE...FUCK...Klout?

...Oh, and for those of you who actually follow me on Twitter (hmmm, you really are a bunch of sadists, aren't you?) you would have seen that while the rest of you have literally been melting your faces off in a heat wave, we have had such weather that would allow fully clothed (for middle of winter) snowboarders to travel to our local ski hills. And ACTUALLY snowboard. On June 4th. So, yeah, that's a big FUCK YOU from Mother Nature all around, I'd say.

...My 30(mumble-mouth)ish birthday is approaching in rapid fashion and I am going to celebrate it by taking two days off of work and sit in my PJ's on the couch, eating ice cream, and watching really bad daytime TV. LIKE A BOSS.

...But all kidding aside (sort of), I have actually jumped back on the diet and exercise band wagon, after jumping off last time caused such a bad broken ankle that my ass felt compelled to go on strike too, which directly led to my annual physical being accompanied by a banshee-like scream from my mouth when I stepped on the scale. So, yeah, WAGON'S HO! (again.) I haven't had any McDonald's or ice cream or donuts in the past two weeks. And I only had to stab eleventy million people to make it through. I'd say that was a win-win all around, wouldn't you?

And, tomorrow, if you're good, I shall regale you all with that time I licked the frosting off a cupcake to avoid eating too many carbs in one day. Because I ROCK like that. And TOTALLY understand what carbs are.

Shit, I missed Tuesday AGAIN?

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Wed, 25 May 2011 17:03:00 +0000

So, even though Keely is taking a break, Imma gonna to do a RTT today anyway.

Only that it is Wednesday.
And it's not an official "thing" to do RTT anymore.
And, well, shit, VEGsters, just GO with it.

...However, I would like to say that I had a VERY good reason for missing Tuesday, though. But I got distracted by something shiny and skipped off after it, and my brain was all "SHINY-SHINY-SHINY...those are pretty shoes...ooo, look, the flowers are really blooming this year...um, personal space, close-breather..." and then I forgot why.

...But, if you all really want random, then I have it for you here:


Shit, Twitter, that is an eclectic bunch of people you want me to follow.

...Do you ever feel that the sheer amount of social media/blogs/cheezburger sites/cat videos that you follow on the interwebs is so overwhelming that it crowds out all the important stuff in your head? You know, like what day of the week it is? And your phone number? And your middle name? And then all you are left with is a random assortment of 140 character (not so much) witticisms and the jingle to every 1980's TV commercial ever made? Yeah, me neither.

...I don't do well with sleep deprivation/lack of sleep. Seriously, the "I'm going to get all stabby on you" quotient can get raised by eleventy million percent for every hour I lose. So, a total crap sleep on Monday, combined with a train disaster that led to a 25 minute commute being a one and a half hour commute, finished off with a sphincter-clenching-double-overtime-win-we-are-going-to-the-motherfucking-stanley-cup-finals hockey game last night means that I may be a *tad* on the grumpy side today. Does it show?

...Oh, and I am currently saddled with the X, Q, K and Z in Words with Friends. So yeah, hide the knives, people. VEG's first world "problems" are riding high today!

Um, No...

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Thu, 19 May 2011 22:47:00 +0000

Did anyone else notice this today?

Yes, that's right, you TOO can class up your blog by adding a virtual tip jar to your page.

Because nothing says classy like "give me some money, random strangers."

It's Douche-Tastic!

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Tue, 17 May 2011 18:59:00 +0000

Nestled among the other eleventy million things I hate (like UGG's, people who drag their feet, and having my picture taken) are Blue Douche headsets. You know, those little ear pieces that people wear to talk on their phone?

Now, listen, before you all get all riled up about needing them in the car, I have no problem with wearing them there. It's these other guidos that walk down the street thinking they look all pimp and shit with that piece of plastic in their ear. And don't even get me started on the people who talk on them like they are yelling over a jet engine. Anyway, a co-worker of mine, after hearing me call out another co-worker on their Blue Douche, brought in his son's headset.

If a blinged-out, gold, D&G Blue Tooth headset is not the very ultimate in douche-tastic-ness, then I don't know what is.

Weekend Epiphanies and Other Assorted Brain Droppings

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Mon, 16 May 2011 19:57:00 +0000

Now don't get too excited, VEGsters, we are talking about ME having epiphanies, after all.

...I finally managed to watch Blade Runner for the first time this weekend.
Thoughts: This movie was but one example of the fact that we were really obsessed with robots trying to kill us back in the 1980's. Oh, and the future (which is in 9 years, according to Blade Runner) is motherfucking bleak and dystopian. And MAN, do we want flying cars.

...Though I am obsessed with it, and would likely marry it, if I wasn't already happily wedded to Hubby, I draw the line at paying ACTUAL REAL money to enhance my farm in Zombie Farm. And, furthermore, WHO DOES pay money for FAKE things? And you all think I need help. Sheesh.

...For the love of all that is good and Sephora, why the hell do people who are not getting off the bus/train feel compelled to stand at the doors and block the way for those of us who ARE exiting? Are they agoraphobic and must be within millimeters of the nearest evacuation point? Are they in need of a whoosh of fresh air every time the doors open? Or do they have their heads shoved so far up their ass that they can lick their own inner ear? (Ding, Ding, Ding, I think we have a winner!)

...Due to it's recent, shall we say, hiccups, the fact that Sony launched a PlayStation certified smart phone with Rogers Mobile last week is just a little bit on the hysterical side. "Oooo, yes, buy our phone you can't even use yet because we can't get our own fucking network to run properly."

...I cannot tell you how much I ♥ this. I want to hug the interwebs for producing such greatness.

From here

The Rapture is Coming, And I Have Nothing to Wear!

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Mon, 16 May 2011 18:25:00 +0000

Shit. The world is coming to an end on May 21st, according to the HUGE motherfucking billboard I saw on my way to work this morning.

Only 9 days notice? I mean, come on, people, why didn't you give us any time to plan?

Oh, that's right. I'm not getting raptured because I am a un-repentant fucker. So let's hope my dentist and my hairdresser are total fucking heathens too, because I am in dire need of a cavity filling and a cut and colour. Though not at the same time, because that would be CRAZY.

Letting It All Hang Out

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Mon, 09 May 2011 18:25:00 +0000

So, I was reading over at Julochka's blog the other day about "blogging it out" and how we often censor what we say online because of the audience we know is reading. And what it would be like if we could just say the things that are REALLY on our mind, DAMMIT! And it made me think. Which, let's face it, is just plain fucking EXHAUSTING. But the thoughts that came to me were interesting (to me) and I thought I would share them here.

I spent all of my childhood, and much of my early adulthood, with my outside "mask" on. I was living proof that you never know what goes on behind closed doors. Because, let me tell you, when we were out as a family, we were the fucking Cleavers. And when we were behind closed doors, we often came at each other WITH cleavers. (Metaphorically. Mostly.) We were a very fractured family, but you would never know it unless you got a glimpse of the private life inside our house. And I was the peacekeeper. The one that made everyone ELSE happy so that they would just shut the hell up already. And stop throwing things, and screaming, and just generally behaving like assholes. Over the years, I became my worst nightmare. I became FAKE. And I loathed myself every minute of every day, knowing that the people I interacted with every day didn't know what I was really like. Because, in reality, I didn't even know who I was, having suppressed EVERYTHING for so long. And all of this self-hatred and self-doubt eventually led to a full blown case of social anxiety disorder, something I have struggled with for over half my life now. But, with the help of my awesome Hubby, and some wonder medication, I finally emerged from that mask about 5 years ago, and finally discovered ME. The REAL me. The one that you see on this blog. The one with the potty mouth and the penchant for all things geeky. The one that is OK with not having every single person's approval. The one that falls down all the time (literally AND metaphorically.) The one that is sarcastic and ranty. The one that is happy more often than her writing would suggest. And the one that has nothing to hide.

Now, I know, I can hear you all crying "HYPOCRITE! You blog under a pseudonym. You DO have something to hide!" But let me tell you straight up, no, I do not. I blog under a pseudonym out of respect for my husband, because he simply asked me to. And I love him enough to understand that he wishes to remain anonymous. But ask me anything about ME, and I am happy to share. And to speak my mind. And to swear with abandon. And to just rant sometimes. And that's OK with me. And I hope it's OK with you too, VEGsters! Because if it's not, you are just generally shit out of luck.

So, what do YOU wish you could share, but are afraid to?

Slap Your Flippers If You Agree

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Mon, 02 May 2011 18:12:00 +0000

...So, FLU-FEST 2011 continues into week two, with the spectacular addition of laryngitis, which means that I currently sound like a barking seal crossed with a honking goose. Sexy!

...I recently removed the word verification thingy-ma-bob from my comment form and have now discovered the hilarity of the spam comment. Especially the ones that are written in a language that I don't speak, and comment on the exact same blog post EVERY SINGLE DAY. I am also digging the ones that ARE written in English, but seem to be in some local dialect known as mother-fucking-gibberish.

...Speaking of interwebs GOLD, I recently posted this on my twitter, but I cannot let it go by without sharing it here...

If you haven't checked out That Can Be My Next Tweet, you are missing out.

I think they nailed it with that particular one, n'est pa?

...Additionally, based on my personal ethos of hating people (see above), I believe that this t-shirt will become standard wear for me whenever I leave my house.

From here

...Finally, on this Monday, I will leave you with THIS. Obviously they didn't interview ME for it.

Words Spilling from My Flu Addled Brain

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Fri, 29 Apr 2011 21:22:00 +0000

Yes, VEGsters, unfortunately that is what you are going to get today: a random assortment of words, and perhaps even sentences, from my sick brain (actually it is more like my ILL brain. My brain is rather sick most of the time already.)

...Predictably, my Easter visit to the nieces, nephews, in laws, brothers and sisters ended in me getting yet another mother fucking cold. Seriously, that is now three holidays in a row that I have gotten sick because I can't resist the cuteness and cuddliness of my gaggle of VEGsters-in-training. And let me ask parents this: does parenthood bestow upon you some sort of super-hero immunity to these mutant germs your children possess 99.99% of the time? Because, DAMN the little ones are virtual germ FACTORIES.

...Otherwise, this is how my long weekend played out:

1. Got drunk on in-law's front lawn with brother and sisters in law, coming to the realization that children are MUCH easier to deal with when one is tipsy.
2. Spent entire next day being used as human kleenex by littlest nephew. And now have left arm that is gigantic, while right arm languishes with usual under-arm-blubber, due to carrying the snotty one all day long.
3. Got drunk on in-law's front lawn.
4. Got drunk(er) at in-law's dinner table.
5. Went to Walmart drunk.
6. Wore Easter Bunny ears on head whilst shopping at Walmart.
7. Bought ridiculous Easter themed stuff that seemed like a good idea at the time.
8. Marveled at the shopping cart-only escalator at Walmart. We are living in the FUTURE, man. Or it might have been my booze soaked brain.
9. Woke up to little ones on sugar highs before 8am on Easter morning.
10. Became slightly stabby when realized there was no coffee to alleviate all the Walmart fun from the night before.
11. "Helped" my nephew in the backyard Easter egg hunt by tripping over pavement, landing on top of him, and taking a face plant in the dirt. While NOT drunk.
12. Came home still picking dirt particles out of my hair.

...Do you ever check out the Blogs of Note, or other blogs recommended by your friends, and they are these pretty blogs, that are well put together, well-written, feature beautiful art or photos, and have some sort of special attractive fairy dust sprinkled all over them? Yes? Then what the HELL are you doing here?

...Is it wrong that I did a little Snoopy dance and giggled uncontrollably when one of my bitchy and unbelievably pain-in-the-ass co-workers got fired?

...You know, for most of my life, the Canadian dollar had been valued MUCH lower than the American dollar, usually hovering around 75 cents for every US dollar. And trying to use Canadian money in the US during that time was like trying to get someone to shake your hand after wiping your snotty nose all over it. EWWWW! I"M NOT TOUCHING THAT! Seriously, you couldn't order ANYTHING ANYWHERE without having to pay in US dollars. And now, lo and behold, our dollar is worth more than the US dollar, and they are MORE THAN happy to take our orders of Proactive, or Snuggies, or SlapChops in Canadian Dollars. Fuckers.

...Why do we women talk with our hands so much, especially given the fact that what we are doing with our hands adds absolutely shit-all to the conversation we are engaged in at that moment? Case in point: this woman stopped me for directions the other day, and I mentioned that she would see a sign on the right hand side of the road indicating where the theatre was she was looking for. And I did it while making this hand gesture:


Fig 1: My AWESOME Paint drawing skill

...Seriously? WTF did me drawing a rectangle in the air add to this conversation? Sheesh.

TFIT(SF) Day

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Thu, 21 Apr 2011 18:25:00 +0000

Finally, we made it to Easter. That was a hell of a long slog from Christmas. I must admit, I got all stabby there for a while, waiting and waiting for a precious long weekend. But I am better now. Mostly because I ran out of places to hide the bodies.

Therefore, instead of the usual TFIF celebration, I am celebrating a special TFIT(SF) edition. I'll leave it to you to figure out what that means.

...So, even though I (somewhat) ran earlier this week, I just negated any benefit from it by ~~eating~~ inhaling 3 Easter cookies in record time. I did it without even noticing. And yet I wonder why the fuck my ass is the size of the Goodyear Blimp.

...Thanks to genetics, I have always looked younger than I actually am. I once got berated by a shop owner for skipping school when I was perusing a store on a Wednesday afternoon. Keeping in mind that I was 26 and gainfully employed at the time. And I think that the confusion between my chronological age and the perception of what age I look like has finally confused my face. How else can I explain the fact that I am getting pimples on top of wrinkles? And that I have pores on my nose the size of the crater that killed off the dinosaurs, yet have smooth skin on my cheeks? And don't even get me started on the whole dreaded chin hair situation.

...I have a question. Why is it called Good Friday? 'Cause it really wasn't a very good day for Jesus, after all. That whole dragging the cross through the streets while being flogged, and then being nailed to it and being speared in the side can really put a damper on things, you know. It really should be called Good Sunday, if you think about it.

...Hear that? That's the sound of a thousand angry people rapping away on their keyboards to send me "you are a sacrilegious whore" emails. Which is ever so slightly louder than the stampede of people un-following my blog right now. Oh well, their loss.

Happy Easter VEGsters. May the Easter Bunny bring you blessings of chocolate and a diabetic coma.

Seriously, How Am I NOT Made To Live In A Bubble?

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Tue, 19 Apr 2011 19:00:00 +0000

Cherished VEGsters, I have a very important lesson to share today. So settle in and get ready for some learnin'!

I am not sure if you have noticed or not, but I MAY have mentioned one or two (gazillion) times that I need to lose some weight. It is a cycle with me. I get all excited about my exercise and diet plan, do it once or twice, and then fall back into my sugar-inhaling, cheeseburger-loving, lazy-assing ways. This cycle has been fairly continuous since the day I hit 30 and my 20 year old ass simply ceased to exist. And buying tummy-controlling jeans this weekend is a sure fire sign that this cycle is about to repeat itself once again.

Therefore, after contemplating the thought that my ass really is reaching epic proportions, I remembered that a few weeks ago Keely mentioned that she was going to start the Couch to 5K running plan, and I was all like, "Couch to 5K? That sounds like something I could do. Well, at least the couch bit," so I got all excited, looked it up, and downloaded the app for my phone. Unfortunately, though, this in itself did not lead to the fat-melting-off-my-ass moment I was hoping for, so yesterday I finally resigned myself to the fact that I might have to actually *gasp* run (no really, that is me gasping for air at the mere thought of running.) Now, because I am such a fair skinned girl and prone to burning when I am outside for more than 5 seconds (and NOT because I am lazy and didn't want to actually go OUTSIDE *shudder*,) I elected to run on a treadmill in our building's gym.

Slight aside:

Again, I am not sure if you have noticed or not, but I am not the most coordinated person on the planet, or even the universe, for that matter. And the C2K plan involves interval jogging and walking, which necessitates a change in speed on the treadmill.

Slight aside, part deux:

VEGsters, I don't want to shock you or anything, but did you know that the entire treadmill doesn't move? That there are, indeed, parts of it that do not? And when one steps on those parts while at a full run at 5 miles an hour, chaos is likely to ensue? Well, let me enlighten you. There are. And it will.

ANYWAY, it therefore seems fairly self-evident that when it is ME running on the treadmill, there is likely to, nay, WILL be a hysterical series of blunders that leads to me tripping, falling, catching myself, tripping again, sliding off the side of the treadmill, falling on my head, losing a shoe, and bending my glasses so that they were sitting almost vertical on my face, all within about 5 seconds. Basically when I was finished, I looked like this, but with glasses:

So, you see, the moral of this story is NOT that one should pay attention to where the sides of the treadmill are at all times, but that I should be required to wear this sign everywhere I go:

So, It Has Come To This...

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Mon, 18 Apr 2011 18:07:00 +0000

Yes, VEGsters, it is sad but true.

I bought tummy controlling jeans this weekend.

All I need now is some Spanx, some easy listening music, and some Botox and I am all set for middle age.

Yay me!

I would (have) totally drunk you under the table*

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Wed, 13 Apr 2011 21:21:00 +0000

*I explain this later. Be patient. It will ALL make sense (to me).

Ironically, one of my favourite authors EVER is a recently discovered one (see what I did there? It's IRONIC because I said EVER, even though the discovery is RECENT...crickets... crickets... Shit, alright, just go with it, OK?**)
Anyway, to make a short story long, my favourite author is Jen Lancaster, who writes hysterical, snarky, spot-on, and insightful memoirs about different stages in her life, like unemployment, what it's like to live in the big city, and her struggle with losing weight. If you haven't read her books, and enjoy sarcasm and humour (and really, if you don't enjoy those things, what the heck are you doing HERE?) I highly recommend them to you. Which leads in a roundabout way to my ACTUAL point (again with the short story being long), which is that because people tend to read things that resonate with them personally, her recommended reading lists have been GOLD for me.

Case in point: I just started reading "My Formerly Hot Life - Dispatches from Just the Other Side of Young" by Stephanie Dolgoff. Check out her blog to get an idea of what she writes, but, basically, she describes what it is like when (women specifically) realize that they are no longer the hot young thing, leading a fabulous and wild life, but have become a little chubby, frumpy and grumpy in our 30's and 40's, settling in for a more sedentary and less shiny life. And it's like she is writing DIRECTLY to me. Her words could be my words. For reals.

Now, for those of you still in your 20's, or Doctor-Who-forbid, your teens (does your mother know you're here? And that I am a TERRIBLE influence on the grammar and vocabulary of today's youth?), you probably want to plug your ears. But for the rest of you, my contemporaries and above, you can likely relate to this: I have always had the sense that something HAPPENED when I hit 30, yet could never really put my finger on what it was. That is until last night when I started reading Ms. Dolgoff's book. And then it hit me like a ton of something that weighs a ton. Does any of this sound familiar?

...I used to have a great butt. And thighs that had never had the pleasure of actually meeting each other. However, the last 5 years have seen a slow, albeit steady, progression in the size of my pants until I hit the double digits. Which (may) have resulted in a crying jag in the fitting room at Old Navy. And.the realization that muffin tops (and other delicious pastries) have led to a LITERAL muffin top in my mid section, as well as creating a very uncomfortable first meeting of the tree trunks now known as my thighs.

...As a corollary to this (hmmm, maybe NOT such a bad influence on the vocabulary of today's youth,) I have also come to the realization that I can no longer eat anything (read: cheeseburgers. Sweet, sweet cheeseburgers) I want without any real consequences. And don't even get me started on the topic of adult acne due to me not getting every last smidgen of makeup off of my (wrinkled) face each night, whereas I used to wake up most mornings with false lashes pasted half way down my cheek, lip gloss smeared into a clown mouth, and eye liner that was now lining my (perfectly smooth) upper lip.

...Though I am was not a very big girl, I used to be able to regularly drink my much larger, burlier and tougher guy friends under the table on any given occasion I might find myself in the bar with them (read: every day that ends in a -y.) And now? After one, maybe two, drinks, I am more likely to be found napping under the table. At 9pm.

There are a myriad of other examples like this, but you know what? Despite all that I seem to have lost (and gained) from those days, I am MUCH happier in my skin than I ever was back then. And, that my friends, is what Ms. Dolgoff is really writing about when she talks about being a "Formerly." It's about being OK with who you are now, no matter the number on the scale, the size of the jeans, or the width of the butt. Though I would have to say I wouldn't be LESS happy if my thighs stopped talking to each other in the near future.

I highly recommend "Formerly" to any woman who is often left wondering what the hell happened when we hit 30, or 35, or 40, or...and what the hell we ever did to piss gravity off that much?

So, VEGsters, what makes you a "Formerly?"

**I TOTALLY say this to Hubby all the time because I rarely make sense. Mainly because I gloss over crucial details like the likelihood of it raining today when he is trying to decide to take an umbrella because I am telling him that the weather guy's wife's best friend's dog sitter is our next door neighbour.

RFT: TFIF

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 20:07:00 +0000

WE MADE IT! A whole week of RTT! If that doesn't convince SOMEONE to bring back RTT (hint, hint, Keely) then I don't know what will.

...You know what is hysterical? Watching people on the train almost take a header (and sometimes actually take one) when they are fishing in their pockets for their phone that just went "ding-dong-ding" 4.3 nanoseconds ago because they MUST know RIGHT NOW of that über important Facebook status from their BFF, instead of waiting the 5.2 nanoseconds before we pull into the station, therefore allowing them to let go of the handle without looking as graceful as a moose on roller skates. HYS-TER-I-CAL. Not that I ever do that.

...I (may) have squeed yesterday when I discovered that the new season of Doctor Who starts on April 23rd, AND that we will actually be getting to see it in Canada (the step-cousin of current DVD and TV availability) AT THE SAME TIME it is being aired in England! It (may) be circled on my calendar. In red. With hearts and stars by it. Maybe.

...And then I started thinking that I am going to start worshiping and calling out to Doctor Who as my deity of choice (you know: Good Doctor Who, that is an ugly baby, stuff like that) because people get all incensed with me when I take the Lord's name in vain (at least internet people. And, to be honest, I am sick of responding to each email I get about taking the Lord's name in vain with a picture of my bare ass and a caption saying, Suck it Up, Buttercup.) Though it seems unlikely that I will stop saying "Sweet Baby Jesus" when I am startled.

...We are having cake at work today because we celebrate once per month for each person whose birthday occurs that month. It is March's turn today (yes, I KNOW, it is April, but someone (me) was too lazy and forgot to order the cake for yesterday,) so when I was packing my lunch this morning, I was being all responsible and saying "no, I am having cake at work today, I do not need to pack one of those delicious cupcakes that are staring at me from the fridge." And now I want that fucking cupcake. Serves me right for being an adult.

...Editor's note: all of the above is true because I do not do April Fool's Day stuff. Because, you know, ADULT. But, actually, mainly because I am TOTES gullible.

...Viva La RTT revolution! Bring it back! Keely! Keely! (Everyone now!)

RRT: We're In The Home Stretch!

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Fri, 01 Apr 2011 03:14:00 +0000

So, it is day 4 of the RTT marathon and I am still here. And, inexplicably, so are you! You deserve a prize, VEGsters, so here you go :

...My name is VEG and I am a Zombie Farm addict. Anyone here who plays this mini-game on their phone? Because you OBVIOUSLY must understand where this obsession comes from. I mean, come on, plant zombies and vegetables and get MUTANT zombies with potato, tomato, onion or coffee heads, carrot eyes and turnip arms? Which you can then employ to invade neighbouring farms? And get wacky farm decorations like cotton candy trees? CLASSIC. (Note: the Zombie Farm people did not pay me to say this. Though, if they were, I would totally take one of those blue gravestones so that I can plant the Cyborg Zombie!)

...Here in Canada, and specifically BC, there are NO holidays between New Years and Easter. And because Easter is so fucking late this year (April 22nd? Really, Vatican? WTF is that? Are you TRYING to make us all stabby? Because it's working) everyone I work with has reached their maximum grumpy level waiting for a long weekend to roll around. So, yeah, it's a bitch to go into work right now. Which is a bit of a change when it is me BEING the bitch that goes into work.

...Don't believe me? We are putting a bunch of new policies in at work next week, and when searching for a person outside of direct management to enforce the policies and ensure that all people are adhering to them, guess who the first person was that they picked? I told them I want a sheriff's badge and a cattle prod. And I believe I might actually get them.

...Let it be known that Baby Bean is so ridiculously cute that I may start using his cuteness as a substitute for sugar in my morning coffee. He is that sweet. No shit.

...This? Right here? This is why English sucks for all non-English speakers trying to learn the language.

see more Funny Graphs

...I cannot tell you how much I ♥ this video

see more Gifs

...Oh, and just in case you were wondering why I called it RRT today...it's a secret! (Unless you have spent anytime trying to schedule pretty much anything online. Then, not so much.)

...Now go visit the Captain 'n' Keely. They started it.

RWT: Hump Day Hoots

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Thu, 31 Mar 2011 03:07:00 +0000

This is my third day in a row of blogging. The fact that I keep coming back each day and blogging is a testament to how much I love Super Keely and Captain Dumbass. That you keep coming back to read my blogging is a testament to your ability to punish yourself.

...The Captain and I were ~~insulting-each-other~~ having a rational discussion over email last night (favourite topics included his proclivity to search out all Sandra Bullock movies and watch them repeatedly, and my complete inability to watch Disney movies that result in an (albeit animated) animal getting hurt) and he ended it by noting that he had some delicious cake waiting for him to eat. Which made me realize that I had a few cupcakes in the fridge that I HAD to eat (my weight in) RIGHT NOW. Which was after I had already scarfed down three pieces of pizza and chugged a whole bottle of Pepsi. Which made me wake up with heartburn this morning. Which, naturally, I blame on Captain Dumbass, because, well, obviously.

...I think that I am single-handedly keeping the vending machine people that service the Coke machine at my work in business. In related news, it would seem likely that I will soon single-handedly be keeping my hyper-tension and diabetes doctor in business if I can't quit my pop habit. Oh, and my wine gum habit too. And my cupcake habit. And my ice cream habit. And...

...Does anyone else see headlines like "Rebel Troops Re-Take Libyan Town" and automatically snicker and wonder if the Rebels are being led by a white robed, cinnamon-bun coiffed, tiny little princess and her faithful droids?

...Really, Twitter? REALLY?

...I have a hate-hate relationship with Uggs. I hate them very, very, very much and just when I think I cannot possibly hate them more, I manage to squeeze out a smidgen more hate for them. Why do I hate Uggs? Because they make the person wearing them drag their feet. And I hate people who drag their feet even more than I hate Uggs (as well as dumb-asses, and people who have their heads up their asses, and the size of my ass.)

RTT: The Original Recipe Version

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Tue, 29 Mar 2011 19:11:00 +0000

That's right my pretties, it's the original, the bestest, the most awesomest of days (this week. Thus far. Lest we forget that Friday is still yet to come.)

So, in my wanderings of The Interwebs, I have noticed that the popular bloggers I follow (Yeesh. I just cringed when I typed the word "popular." It gives me flashbacks to junior high. Which is my version of Vietnam.) all have one thing in common: They all have a "thing." For some, it is the unbelievably cute shit their kids do. For some others, it is because they are simply and exceedingly hilarious. For more still, it is because they have some sort of adoring fan base that they have carefully cultivated with some sort of super power I appear to lack. And finally, for some, it is because they have found a way to make fun of every day life with a little twist. And it made me wonder: what is my thing ? Judicious use of brackets? The power to swear excessively? My inability to make gravity my friend? What do YOU think it is?

...I have a deep fascination with all birds, but in particular urban birds like seagulls, crows, ravens and pigeons. And whenever I watch a flock of them circling in for a landing, I often wonder who makes the final decision to commence the mass landing? Especially when the whole flock aborts the landing at the last minute. Is it kind of like when there is a pop fly in baseball and no one calls it, so they all abandon the catch at the last minute? Because I like to imagine the conversation going something like this: "Hey, Phil, you got this, man? Hey Phil...oh shit! We're going to crash people, pull up, pull up!" And then, as they circle around: "PHIL! I thought you HAD it man! Fucking CALL it next time, man. Geez!"

...Last night when Hubby and I were grocery shopping, we both stopped in our tracks in the produce department because we realized at the same moment that what we were hearing over the speakers was Violent Femme's song "Blister in the Sun." Set to a pop track. And sung by the someone who sounded like they were auditioning for the Mini Pops. It was a quintessential W. T .F. moment.

...some people should clearly never be let out in public. This would be one of those times:

...Finally, I think I need to come up with a name for my merry band of followers. Mostly because I adore Aunt Becky and her term of "Pranksters" for her followers. Suggestions, my pretties?

RMT: Always a Follower....

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Mon, 28 Mar 2011 23:59:00 +0000

As usual, Captain Dumbass has an AWESOME idea and I must follow him around like a little puppy and copy his every move. I mean, we already established that we have a hive mind, right? Anyway, here are my Random Monday Thoughts, also in honour of Super Keely.

...I find it hysterical that my local community fitness center has an entire row of treadmills, stationary cycles, and elliptical machines that stare directly into the window of the McDonald's across the street. Of course the reason I noticed this is because I was hauling my "I-fell-off-the-exercise-and-eat-right-wagon" fat ass in there to get a Big Mac. Semantics, I say. Or some other big word to distract you from my loserdom.

...Listen, let me tell you, the drama queen in your life has NOTHING on the majority of the men that I work with. Seriously, they are the moodiest bunch of fuckers you have ever met. And yet, they only have two distinct moods: deliriously happy or fuck-ass-shit grumpy. There is no between. Nada. They will simply oscillate between the two at random intervals throughout the day. It is crazy making behaviour. Especially from a bunch of GUYS. This is, of course, excepting Hubby, who is the sweetest, kindest, most lovely human being EVER! (Oh, HI Hubby! Didn't see you there...)

...Does anyone else find it SLIGHTLY hypocritical that they are bombing Libya, but "let events take their course" in Egypt? Talk about the ultimate in popularity contest...OMG, Hosni, you are TOTES the bestest friend EVAH! We are total BFF's! But Gadaffi, you're a poopy head, and the pouting and stamping of feet didn't work, so THERE, are you happy now? See what YOU made us do?!

...Even though I caved, this is primarily why I find Facebook to be an example of EPIC *FACEPALM*.

...Someone posted these and asked if you knew the shows/movies they were from. You know what's sad? I know all of them. I really should go outside more.

see more Monday Through Friday

Dear So and So: The Bean Edition

noreply@blogger.com (Vancouver's Enviro Girl) — Fri, 25 Mar 2011 18:36:00 +0000

So even though Kat is not doing a Dear So and So today, I thought I would post a letter anyway because, well, just read.

Dear Baby Bean:

You are only two days old, and already I am smitten with you. I wanted to write this letter to you because I am overwhelmed with love for you and can't keep it in, and exploding it all over the internet seems like as good a plan as any.

Mainly what I wanted you to know is that your Mommy and Daddy have been waiting so long for you, but now that you're here, it is hard to imagine that you never were. I guess you have been wandering the universe, looking for the perfect place to land, and let me tell you, you could not have picked a better place. Your Mommy and Daddy have been through a lot over the past five years, looking in corners, under beds, in the sky and all sorts of other places, looking for someone; someone so special and wonderful and magical. And that someone was you.

I have been there from the beginning, hoping, and wishing, and crying and laughing, and hugging and loving (I'm the one with the weird laugh.) And now that you're here in the big wide world, Auntie VEG wants to make sure you know just how loved you are. And to write down all the promises I made with the universe, should you decide to make your Mommy and Daddy all your very own.

Auntie VEG's List of Baby Bean Pledges

1. I promise to always listen to you when you need to complain, to hug you when you need comfort, and to buy those noisy, annoying toys your Mommy and Daddy won't.

2. I hereby pledge that you can always have as much candy, cookies, and cake as you want when you are at Auntie VEG's house. I also pledge to fill you full of all that sugar right before going home to Mommy and Daddy.

3. I promise to never let your little hand out of mine, unless there should be a sale at Sephora. Then you are on your own kid.

4. I promise to take a million pictures of you, preserving all those special memories for posterity. And then show all the naked ones to your girl (or boy) friend when you are sixteen.

5. I promise to embarrass you greatly at your high school graduation, sobbing loudly and declaring to all that can hear that "I can still remember when I first held you at two hours old."

6. I promise to share all the universe's secrets with you. Especially the really good swear words.

7. However, I promise that all your own secrets will be safe with me. And all my friends on Facebook.

8. I promise to teach you all my tips and tricks to life. Except for how to trip over your own shadow, even though that is Auntie VEG's patented move. One person in the world with that "talent" is enough.

9. I promise to teach you all about responsible drinking of alcohol. Especially the most important tip I ever learned: NEVER mix vodka and beer in the same night.

10. Finally, I hereby pledge that I will ensure that you are fluently bilingual by the time you are five. Just don't tell Mommy and Daddy that my second language is sarcasm.

But seriously, Bean, I want you to know that you are very, very loved in this world. Your Mommy and Daddy couldn't be more in love with you, and you have your very own fan club with multiple uncles, aunts, groupies and grandparents.And you can always count on your Auntie VEG and Uncle G for anything your heart should desire. Because I will never stop loving your little, little face.

Much Hugs, Kisses and Laughter,

Auntie VEG

PS: Yes, you have a real, proper name, but the internet is at its best when we keep a little mystery, don't you think?