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…but that’s an entirely different blog post altogether.

My most recent chat with Amy went somewhat like this:

Amy: i’m waiting for your Iron Man review on your blog
haha

Amy: you should find some super sexy photos of RDJ for it

Me: omg, horny much?

Photo: Paramount Pictures

Needless to say, the girl’s been enamoured with 2008’s reinvention of Iron Man since she saw it opening night. Being that I’d never hear the end of it until I saw it with my own eyes, I agreed to go with Amy this past Wednesday. I have to be honest, I’m not exactly what you’d call a fan of comic books (or the movies into which they’re made). True, they provide for exciting entertainment, but I’m not one to go out of my way to watch. I’ve never even seen an X-Men flick.

I had seen a preview for Iron Man several months ago on one DVD or another, and barely batted an eyelash. Truth be told, I’d never even heard of the Iron Man comics, and so knew nothing about the story or the characters (or even what the hell Iron Man’s deal was).

Photo: Paramount Pictures

Robert Downey Jr. stars at Tony Stark, a genius technology magnate with a penchant for women, alcohol and life in the fast lane (in one of his many fast Audis). He’s also the head of a massive weapons manufacturing corporation. After being wounded and captured in Afghanistan, Stark finds himself in a life or death situation while being faced with the reality his destructive weapons create.

Building a life-saving suit and a means of escape, Tony makes a decision to use his smarts for the good of humankind, all the while preventing his brilliant invention from falling into the wrong hands.

Photo: Paramount Pictures

Backed by a phenomenal cast including Terrence Howard, Gwyneth Paltrow and Jeff Bridges, this was a film that I actually enjoyed - quelle surprise! Iron Man is a superhero without any genuine superhero powers. It’s all in the suit (and maybe a little in his heart).

If this film is any indication of the summer film season to come, I think we’re all in for a couple months of great flicks. With Indiana Jones strapping his lasso back on next week and the fab four from Manhattan making their big screen debut the next, my Festival Cinemas membership card will be getting quite the workout.

On an unrelated note, there is next to no one in the office today, so my boss graciously and unexpectedly gave me the green light to bail after lunch. Being that my “island jitney” doesn’t depart until 4pm, I’ll take the extra time as an opportunity to enjoy my first light Mint Mocha Chip frappuccino of the summer with Becky in the sunshine.

Have a super long weekend, everyone!

To most, this is a snapshot of driftwood and rocks on a rugged shoreline, and it could have been taken anywhere.

To me, this photo simultaneously took my breath away while overwhelming me.

Photo: Dan Lilly on Flickr (Used With Permission)

Perhaps it’s because I’ve taken the time to walk on shorelines just like that, on both sides of Vancouver Island, and have absorbed everything offered. What’s funny is that, in the comment section of his Flickr page, the photographer stated that the day was full of “gray, mist, rain” and that those conditions provided for a less-than-favourable day for photos. In my opinion, the “gray, mist, rain” only add to the perfection.

For anyone that’s spent time on a beach like this on Vancouver Island, looking at this photo is bound to be a sensory experience for you.

I can hear the quiet, possibly with a few birds in the distance. The near-silence causes an ideal circumstance to hear the calm water quietly lapping on the stones. Though chilled, the air is fresh and crisp, filled with the scents of pine, wet rocks, driftwood, flora, fauna, sea salt and peace. I can run my hand along the splintered driftwood while feeling the crunch and tumble of rocks under my rubber boots. Moments and experiences like that are incomparable.

For anyone that’s spent time on a beach like this on Vancouver Island, looking at this photo is an instant reminder of the comforts of a place called “home.”

I normally love rain, but this is just depressing. We’re on day two of nothing but cold drizzle in downtown Vancouver. Naturally I’ll be Island-bound for the coming long weekend, but not before dropping the boys off with their Nanny and Papa for a couple days. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that the sunshine and warm air promised for the weekend really do make an appearance because I’ve been dying for the chance to rock some flip flops and a new sundress. Mostly I plan on taking it easy and relaxing with Charley, but on Sunday my mom and I are heading out the door and down the street, literally, to Kitty Coleman Woodland Gardens for their annual Art and Bloom Festival.

Photo: Kathy Birkett on Flickr (Used With Permission)

Photo: Kathy Birkett on Flickr (Used With Permission)

This is the sixth annual Art & Bloom Festival. The show is focused on presenting a limited variety of art forms. Emphasis will be placed on original works by painters, potters, sculptors, glass blowers, original stained glass designers, garden art and other unique art forms.

Photo: Kathy Birkett on Flickr (Used With Permission)

Photo: Kathy Birkett on Flickr (Used With Permission)

I remember visiting this very same place as a child with my family to pick out Christmas trees. In recent years, it’s been transformed from a Christmas tree farm to an exquisite garden within nature.

Regular admittance to the garden is $6 for adults, $2 for those 5-12 years old and free for toddlers. Rates may vary dependent on the event (ie. Christmas Carols at the Barn), and unfortunately, rates for the Art and Bloom Festival aren’t specified on the website. Luckily enough, dogs are more than welcome on the grounds, provided that they’re leashed and picked up after.

For more information, visit the website. Check back after the weekend for my review and personal photos of the event.

As I sit here awkwardly and gently typing, I am happy to say that my hand is much more neatly bandaged this evening. While I would’ve preferred to avoid a visit to the walk-in clinic, and the potential of stitches altogether, upon arriving at the office this morning, my boss insisted I have the gash taken care of right away. He even gave me money for breakfast and coffee.

I skipped a block down Burrard Street to the Stein Medical Clinic in Bentall 5 and was absolutely impressed. The wait was short and the staff was entirely professional and proficient. My doctor, a sweet woman with what I think to be a South African accent, was on the ball and definitely knew what she was doing. Due to the location and type of gash, actual stitches would’ve been next to impossible. So instead, I was given a thorough wound cleaning, butterfly stitch bandages, a topical antibacterial cream, a protective gauze bandage, extra dressings to last me a week (the duration for which my hand must remain bandaged) and a tetanus shot on my way out the door.

That being said, next time you require medical attention, I most definitely recommend this clinic. I may even dare to say that the experience was better and more thorough than a visit to my regular GP.

That took care of problem number one. Problem number two involved having the door and handle to the apartment fixed. Thankfully, I heard from Jack as soon as he regained consciousness, and it was the first time during either ordeal that I actually started to cry. He was totally awesome, told me not to worry and that he’d take care of everything. Aside from having his mom and best friend call to keep an eye on me and make sure I had whatever I needed, he made a couple phone calls to ensure that everything would be fixed by the time I got home from work. And wouldn’t you know it, but Dave was just finishing sanding down the top of the door as I entered the building.

I’m blown away at how awesome everyone’s been. I can handle my own in a crisis situation, but I’d really prefer not to. Knowing how bummed out the events of the last 24 hours left me, it was Becky to the rescue!

I adore flowers, and ironically enough, she brought me narcissists. Really, that’s what they’re called. We both had a chuckle over that one.

I added them to my slowly-dying bouquet of pink tulips.

Being that we were hungry girls, we ordered Indian food and I really did pick it up this time. She had the butter chicken, and I finally got to savour my lamb roganjosh.

And of course, what impromptu girls’ evening would be complete without perfect puppy pics?

Someone had his eyes on Becky’s samosas.

If Casey isn’t playing with his football, he’s waiting for it to be thrown for him.

And so now, with my tummy full of Indian food, perhaps I can finally make the pajama-clad crawl into bed with the puppies and Deadwood.

Goodnight, and good luck.

I am one of those rare people who thought that Zooropa was a gem of a record. One particular track is entitled “Some Days Are Better Than Others.” Preach it, Bono.

Sunday Night’s Plan: Feed the dogs at 6pm, shower, dress in clean and cozy pajamas, order Indian take-out and be in bed by 7pm to watched two hours of Deadwood before Amy arrives at 9pm to retrieve her beloved Peanut.

Here’s what really happened…

6pm: I set out three dishes, one for each pup. As usual, I proceeded to scoop out some wet food into each of the bowls. Suddenly I was hit with a sharp and cold feeling, figuring I’d knicked the can. I looked down at my hand, staring with interest, and realized that my knuckle was rockin’ an exquisite gash.

Instinctively, I ran my hand under cold water in preparation for paper towel and mega pressure. As the first bit of blood washed down the sink, I said to myself “hey, that kinda looks like bone.” I soon realized that the can lid went up and into the fleshy part covering my knuckle.

I first tried to get ahold of Rod in hopes he may have some gauze - no luck there. “This is bleeding pretty steadily…” I typed to Jen on Adium. I proceeded to actually sit on my hand in an attempt to apply enough pressure to stop the trickle.

7pm: One hour later and still bleeding a bit. Jen insisted on coming over with first aid supplies, and at this point, I didn’t argue. A three-hour wait in emergency for stitches sounded less than appealing.

Less than 45 minutes later, my Angel of Gauze appeared, and in no time at all I had cleaned the wound, sprayed the hell out of it with Bactine (a god-send, really; it’s a household must) and dressed it in gauze and medical tape. Finally, with my hand wrapped in a plastic shopping bag (save the lecture), I was able to shower.

8pm: Being that Amy would be over in an hour, and her and Jen had never met, I suggested that we get Indian together while we wait. Jen agreed in the splendidness of such an idea, and so we set towards the door in an effort to pick it up (along with a couple Diet Pepsis).

“Oh my god!” she exclaimed from the front door of the apartment. I looked over and saw that Jen was holding the actual door handle in her hand.

It was no surprise to me: the door in this apartment has long been too big for its frame, and getting it open takes a great deal of pulling and yanking. It was only a matter of time before the handle broke off. Except this time, the metal itself shattered.

8:30pm: You’d think that it would be as simple as removing the pins and opening the door, but as I stated above, the problem is the door itself. The mechanism was technically open, but the door was jammed so tight in the frame, that the only way to free us was by way of a good push from the outside.

I tried calling Rod again, I tried calling the front desk, I tried calling Jack. Rod was in Richmond, no one was “manning” the front desk and Jack wasn’t answering his phone. Awesome. Being that our only hope was Rod’s arrival back in the neighbourhood around 10pm (to catch the keycard from the 5th storey window), what else could two girls do? We put out a plea for help by slipping a note under the door.

9:30pm By this time, the Indian restaurant had already called three times, and a fourth on a different line, wondering if I was coming for my lamb roganjosh. I was hungry, frustrated and felt totally bad when I knew all Jen really wanted to do was go home and watch Oz. Really, I couldn’t blame her.

In a last-ditch effort, I tried the front desk again for the 10th time at about 9:45pm, and minutes later, we were free. Finally someone responsible came on shift. And so now, as it’s nearing my bedtime, this is as good as a closed door as I’m going to get tonight…

I can look at the broken handle on the dining table and the bloody gauze on my hand now and laugh. Events like this are hugely character-building and form unique bonds. I’m so grateful I had someone to share in the hilarity of it all. Whenever I am here, taking care of my two favourite furry boys, something always inevitably goes wrong. I’m just glad the predictable headache is over and done with and out of the way so early into my undertaking.

I think I’ll go order some Indian takeout now…

My weekend, much like every other, was full of activity and over way too soon. True, it’s only Sunday morning, but I’ve done so much since Friday after work that nothing sounds more appealing at this point than staying in bed watching Deadwood all day.

On Friday evening, I swung by to pick up Jenny before hitting Urban Fare for delicious raw eats. After taking 30 seconds to glam up, we made our way to meet up with a few friends as we’d all been invited to the Lotus Sound Lounge to hear the birthday girl, being Phaedra, at the decks. Anyone who knows me knows that I just do not go out. Take-out, wine and movies will always win, hands down. But in all honesty, it was actually great to get out with a few close friends, burn the garlic off my tongue with some vodka and catch up.

She’s amazing, by the way.

Which one of us is the other Boleyn girl? You decide.

Raul was definitely out to have a good time.

Peanut’s still in my charge until sometime this evening, and make no mistake about it: three dogs is a huge handful! Somehow I’ve manage to avoid complete chaos, and I’m so thankful that he, Benji and Casey all get along really well. Saturday’s forecasted rain managed to hold off long enough, so Susan and I made a quick stop at Starbucks before taking the Goof Troop (as I affectionately like to call them) to Trout Lake Park for a walk and a chance to run around and stretch out their little legs.

All three were exhausted after and fell asleep in the car. I tried to snap this picture before they woke, but just seconds before I turned my camera on, Peanut had his eyes closed and his chin rested on the edge of the seat, Benji was sleeping so neatly like a little gentleman and Casey had passed out with his chin resting on Benji’s back. It was perfect.

The only unplanned surprise of the weekend was a tea date with Becky. Being that she was in the neighbourhood for DrupalCamp, we made an impromptu visit to Farfalla for my favourite cookies. In fact, just looking at this photo has me convinced I may need to go grab another one (or two) today. Bad, I know.

I had one more commitment to keep before I could call the rest of the weekend my own. A few years ago, when I’d broken up with a now ex, it didn’t take me long to discover that spending time dancing my little heart out at Celebrities was a cure-all for getting over jackasses. I met some really fantastic guys who adored me and yet didn’t try to take me home at the end of the night - the most desirable balance.

My good friend Andrew was turning 29 (for the first time - really), and wanted to get friends together for the evening. The plan was to start at the Atlantic Trap and Gill on Davie (being that he’s from the east coast) and finish up at Celebrities. The truth is, after the previous night, I couldn’t have felt further from wanting to go out, but I really wanted to see some special friends that I hadn’t spent time with in a long while. I decided to ditch Celebrities but show face at the Trap and Gill, and nursed bottles of San Pellegrino with lime all night instead.

The highlight of my evening was definitely my reunion with my dear friend Stathi, whom I hadn’t seen in forever. We used to get together all the time on Saturday nights when everyone else was going out to Celebrities, and stay in with food and movies instead. It’s a national tragedy that a chiseled Greek man, so beautiful, is so…untouchable. Such is life. Le sigh.

So what have we learned from my weekend re-cap? Just that Deadwood and chocolate-dipped espresso shortbread cookies are the focuses of my Sunday.

It is, however, a minute(ish)-long example of just how incredibly, adorably special dogs are. Only once in a blue moon does Benji meet a dog he likes, and he’s taken to Peanut like a fish to water. Here’s hoping that we’ll see the helicopter propeller tomorrow!

And don’t worry: I am a woman, therefore I multitask. I can simultaneously shoot video while still managing to throw Casey’s purple bone for him.

First off, I want to very pointedly say: “Wow!”

I truly have the most amazing, supportive and loving readers that any writer could ask for. I was somewhat cautious in writing my last post, fearing that I could have missed the mark I was aiming for and left much open to interpretation. Despite that, your feedback and encouragement has been overwhelming, so to all of you, I give my thanks.

And now on to my next adventure…

Just moments ago, I stood at a gate with two of my favourite furry friends and said goodbye (or howled, in their case). For the next 2 months - give or take a week - Benji and Casey are in my charge. The fun is multiplied because Amy’s dropping off her beloved Peanut with me for the weekend as she spends an ahhhhhh-mazing weekend at the Kingfisher Spa in Courtenay with her mom.

Original Photo: ameliaburrows on Flickr

I’ll do my best in our adventures this weekend to get a video of Peanut and Benji playing together because not only is Peanut the only dog Benji actually likes (aside from Casey, Pete and Bella), he gets so excited when playing with Peanut that his tail goes around in circles much like a helicopter propeller. It’s adorable to see.

Aside from that, all’s quiet on Keira-Anne’s front, so I haven’t really got much else to say this afternoon. However, I am more than sure that there will be many photo posts full of dogs in the coming days and weeks, so stay tuned.

And before I forget, are you free on Friday night? Come and see the lovely and luscious Phaedra spin her decks at the Lotus Sound Lounge (455 Abbott Street) in Vancouver.

It was a sunny afternoon, this past Saturday, as Amy and I pulled open the door at Book Warehouse. My only mission was to find one particular book. Being that she’d already read it, Amy was quick to point out the humour she found in the title of a particular section in the first chapter:

“Here, look…‘Our Inherited Dysfunction.’ I showed that to my mom and she laughed.”

I suppose it’s something we can all laugh at, being that each and every single one of us not only comes from a dysfunctional family or background, but also because we all possess sociological malfunctions in ways that are unique to the individual. My personal dysfunction, something I touched down on last year in a number of posts, wasn’t something I become aware of until only recently, despite the fact it had been simmering on the back burner for close to a decade.

Much of what troubles me manifests itself in such a way that my security can easily crumble. Questioning my self-worth while allowing my mind to be invaded by doubt comes faster than I often have the chance to put my guard up. And once again, as it has a tendency to do, my dysfunction reared its dreadful head on Sunday afternoon. As of late, yours truly and her blog have been the target of online mud-slinging 5 different times in as many months. Some have chosen to e-mail me their disdain directly, while others have chosen subversive attempts on blogs that aren’t quite as secretive as the authors may think.

And while words can initially sting, the actualities behind the language are far more comprehensive.

“Words, no matter whether they are vocalized and made into sounds or remain unspoken as thoughts, can cast an almost hypnotic spell on you. You easily lose yourself in them, become hypnotized into implicitly believing that when you have attached a word to something, you know what it is. The fact is: You don’t know what it is. You have only covered up the mystery with a label. Everything, a bird, a tree, even a simple stone, and certainly a human being, is ultimately unknowable. This is because it has unfathomable depth. All we can perceive, experience, think about, is the surface layer of reality, less than the tip of an iceberg.”
– Eckhart Tolle, A New Earth (2006 Plume Publishing)

What I find most astonishing in any of my communications (or, rather, mis-communications) with my readers and other bloggers alike is how often the tongue-in-cheek manner which peppers my writing is missed altogether. And further, it is rather perplexing to me how many of my readers that I don’t know in any regard can purport to know me enough to make solid statements about the person they believe I am based solely on the content found at a web address. However, if you believe and understand what Tolle says about words and their impact, it is uncomplicated and easy to see how it unfolds. Because the words used against me, ultimately, are as meaningless as the words I use on this blog (and even in this post), and it is rather clear that you and I are no better than each other or anyone else.

Photo: sporkist on Flickr

If, as Tolle states, we are easily lost in and hypnotized by someone’s words, we must ask ourselves why that is so. It is much the same with anything in this earthly world in which we can become entangled. When our focus is not grounded in what we know to be fact and truth that is based on tangible experience, we will undoubtedly allow ourselves to become carried away based on our emotional side. Most often, the emotional side will dictate based upon our insecurities.

Much of the aforementioned mudslingers chose to attack my physical appearance, the tongue-in-cheek posts I tend to write and what they perceive my personality to be based on, merely, words. Our emotional sides remind each of us of robbed happiness, lack of self-confidence or any number of things that any number of us experience at one time or another. And, unfortunately, it seems those things tend to spill out in a sometimes spiteful manner.

On this blog, I write about my family because they’re my everything and are the one thing that truly matters at the end of the day. I chronicle adventures with my friends because each of those friendships is a give-and-take situation that provides nutrition for the soul in one way or another. I compose entire blog posts based on a pair of jeans, a bikini or a new nail polish colour because new jeans, bikinis and painted toenails are fun (and besides, what girl doesn’t like buying pretty new things?). I share the mundane aspects of my life and add a twist because, for whatever reason, there are those that have an itch to know.

I write because I love language and connect with the joy in the expression of it.

Rest assured that I won’t be letting “the haters” get me down. Instead, I thank them sincerely for the drive they provide.

qui·es·cent Pronunciation [kwee-es-uhnt, kwahy-]

–adjective
being at rest; quiet; still; inactive or motionless: a quiescent mind.

Photo: psychoactive.me on Flickr