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Growing up on BC’s coast, I’ve always said that I adored living somewhere that the residents experienced four distinct seasons. It wasn’t until visiting the Phoenix suburb of Scottsdale last week that I realized I really just tolerate the four seasons because it’s what I’m accustomed to. Once you realize that living without rain is an option, downpours are much more loathsome.

Photo: mikemac29 on Flickr

As I flew into Sky Harbor International Airport around dinnertime, I was instantly blown away by the sprawling size of Phoenix. Twinkling city lights stretched further than I could see through my sliver-sized window. Upon arrival, my host-with-the-most wasted no time in acclimatizing me to Phoenix nightlife. After a tasty little dinner at Hanny’s, a restored men’s department store, we walked a few steps to the US Airways Center to witness the Phoenix Suns completely slaughter the New Orleans Hornets.

Photo: jasontho on Flickr

To say I was instantly hooked would be an understatement. Between sitting fourth-row, center court and the hip hop music thumping while the teams were playing, the game had a genuine schoolyard feel to it. Steve Nash has quickly become a legendary name, but it’s only when you see him on the court that you understand why.

Being that it was Veterans’ Day in the U.S., a first-quarter patriotic display instilled swelling pride within the entire crowd. And sadly, it was the only time I took a picture during my entire trip.

Photo: Frank Kehren on Flickr

On the following day we found ourselves getting through a lazy morning with a trip to Nordstrom’s Last Chance outlet – one of only two in the U.S. I managed to score a current season DvF silk party frock for 85% off and a Marc Jacobs handbag for 90% off retail; he snagged some Diesel jeans down from $350 to $30. No word of a lie.

Shopping is exhausting work, so after a quick late lunch stop at The Vig (and believe me, the VigAzz burger lives up to its name), the rest of the day was a write-off. After seeing a bit of Scottsdale by bike, I was toast.

Photo: Daniel Greene on Flickr

It’s kind of impossible to visit the City of Scottsdale without partaking in their shopping – it’s practically a sport to some of their residents. Scottsdale Fashion Square is certainly the pièce de résistance as it stands towering over the canal-woven Scottsdale Waterfront. With in-mall shops like Barneys New York, Louis Vuitton and Burberry mixed in with Anthropologie, Forever 21, Sephora and J. Crew, it redefines the term “a shopper’s paradise.”

Photo: 427 on Flickr

As we made our way through Old Town Scottsdale, we noticed crews setting up for that evening’s The Big Pour, a street festival of (mostly) local breweries. After heading home to engage in an entirely sweaty and intense game of basketball for two, we were ready to shell out $10 and purchased our passports to debauchery. By the time I’d indulged in more than my fair share of 4 oz. samplers, we decided to kick it up a notch by making our way to a hopelessly chic cocktail bar, AZ88, where the whiskey flows like milk and honey.

While dramatic art installations – like the Dead New York City Taxi Driver exhibit below – can largely be argued as the bar’s claim to fame, I must put in a vote for their vicious Sidecar martini. A healthy splash of Cointreau was enough to finish me off. The rest of the night was a blur, including a trip to the Mondrian. It may – or may not – have involved a burlesque swing, too often nearly falling down and puking onto Hayden Road from inside the hired car. (Damn you, Sidecar!)

Photo: cam.riley on Flickr

It should come as no surprise to any of you that Saturday was black-marked by a hangover, so after spending half my day in bed, I finally had it in me to get up and out into the sunshine. Like Greater Vancouver, Phoenix is comprised of neatly parceled suburbs.

Photo: Conekt on Flickr

After grabbing mondo-sized iced Americanos (note that it’s pronounced “Ameri-con-o” down there), we made our way to the southeastern neighbourhood of Tempe – home to Arizona State University. It’s entirely picturesque, featuring a gorgeous waterfront walk around Tempe Town Lake, stunning sunset views and fresh air. For dinner, the Vancouver girl that went all the way to Arizona had sushi. Though, I wasn’t complaining – it was surprisingly fresh and delicious. We capped the night off with a flick at Harkins Camelview, catching a showing of The Damned United. Cute British football movie but it never engaged me. Take it or leave it.

Photo: phxpma on Flickr

By the time Sunday arrived, I had a hard time believing I had to leave already. Normally whenever I’m away from home – even if only to Tofino or Seattle – I feel entirely unsettled and can’t relax, but my time in Scottsdale was amazing. Thankfully we had a bit of time (though not enough if it were up to me) before my flight for a short jaunt half-way up Papago Peak. The views were breathtaking and I can’t begin to convey the sense of absolute peace I felt sitting on those red rocks. My boots are still covered in dust from that desert and I hesitate to wipe them clean.

While some – mostly my mother – are disappointed that I neglected to take any photos, my reasoning was simple: why lose time clicking shots to capture memories when you can experience them? I wasn’t there to play the role of the tourist; I was there to just be there. My time spent there was entirely precious, rejuvenating and incredible to me, and it should come as no surprise that I can’t wait to return.

In recent weeks, I, like many other people around Vancouver, find myself in a painfully consistent routine each morning. It begins by hitting the snooze button on my alarm clock more than a handful of times – at minimum. Failing that, I spend my first waking moments considering any plausible excuse to stay in bed that particular morning. Once reality kicks in, I know that the sensation of being rain-slicked while my boots become a decoupage of wet leaves is a looming inevitability. This is made even worse being that I have a dog who is desperate to pee the moment he bounds out of bed and before I leave for the office.

Despite umbrellas and hoods, my hair also falls victim to the season. I ask myself each day why I bother blow-drying, but it’s something I always do anyways. It’s the routine. After the eating of breakfast and the shower and the make-up and the blow-drying and the careful choosing of matching unmentionables comes the dreaded wardrobe selection. I must attire myself appropriately for the office but what I wear must also be functional enough to be tucked into galoshes and under a raincoat. Almost none of my office apparel fits the bill in this (or any) regard, so I normally leave my apartment a complete disarray of sunshine.

As I engaged in this daily dance with myself earlier this morning, it took almost no time to suddenly realize that this time three weeks from now, I’ll instead be waking up to this…

Original Photo: Sarah Sosiak on Flickr

The only decision that then needs to be made is red bikini, blue bikini or new bikini? You decide.

As an aside, I apologize for the lack of blog posts. I really have no valid excuse that would appease you. Feel free to stalk me on Twitter in the meantime.

For almost the entire duration of our friendship, Rebecca and I have dreamed and giggled about visiting New York City together. Finally – finally – the trip planning has been set into motion, and with Rebecca’s recent whirlwind trip this week, my stoke meter has been spiking. Though our girls’ vacation to the Big Apple isn’t going to happen until May, 2010, it doesn’t hurt to scout out a bit in advance.

Photo: Miss604 on Flickr

While we’ve agreed to rely more on spontaneity and avoid the usual tourist traps and a packed itinerary, there are certainly a few things I need to do and experience.

1. Walk across the Brooklyn Bridge at sunrise to take in the views of Manhattan from the Brooklyn Heights Promenade.

2. Eat a pretzel from a different street vendor every single day (I love warm, salty pretzels)!

3. Visit Times Square at 1:00 a.m. to snap pictures.

4. Cruise across to Staten Island on the free ferry (and maybe “enjoy” an infamous Staten Island iced tea).

5. Take a deep breath from the top of the Empire State Building.

6. Aimlessly wander Greenwich Village to find something unique for each of my special someones.

7. “Hit up Magnolia and mack on some cupcakes…”

8. Allow my darling Meghan to drag us to her favourite places and allow her to set me up with she-knows-who (and I won’t forget, Megs).

9. Buy myself a charm bracelet at Tiffany & Co. and have it engraved with the date to commemorate the trip

10. Devour a tasty lunch in Central Park in the sunshine.

I have no doubt I’ll probably put on a few pounds from all the tempting food. I know for certain I’ll drink a lot of coffee; sleep is overrated and I plan on making the most of our week there (even if it means heading out on some solo excursions). And fingers crossed, this is where we may be staying. We’re checking out our options, but those rooms sure would make from some cute photo shoots!

“I couldn’t leave BC, let alone the West Coast,” has always been my response whenever someone has asked me where I’d move if I could move anywhere. Except, however, that isn’t entirely true. Much like the Crocodile Dundee movies instilled an insatiable thirst for New York City in me from a young age, the same can be said of Southern California thanks to countless other movies from the 80s.

There’s something almost quaint about SoCal that I can’t quite put my manicured finger on…

Photo: LA Wad on Flickr

Maybe it’s the idea of living in a town that begins with San or Santa or Los. Maybe it’s because I want to wear my flip flops to the Circle K in the evening for a slushy. Maybe I wish I could have written my SATs… just out of curiosity.

Photo: Bisayan lady on Flickr

I think there was something about the adolescences of Brad and Stacy, of Bill and Ted, of Hannah Nefler and so many more that I have always found enviable. Don’t get me wrong because growing up in Comox was an experience I wouldn’t trade for anything, but it’s California. CALIFORNIA! (“Califorrrrrrnia“)

Photo: www.YoVenice.com on Flickr

I won’t lie… there are moments I feel like packing up, blindly heading south and setting up a new life amongst the palm trees and sunshine and bikinis and rollerskates and starry eyes and Spanish deco-inspired neighbourhoods. Oops… make that “neighborhoods,” right?

I think Jordy and I would fit in just fine down there…

(Plus, it appears the Bay Market sells ice cream!)

This weekend was the first weekend I didn’t spend on Vancouver Island in a month. Last night was rough and tough, and I felt very much defeated. I didn’t need something to keep me occupied or attempt at making me smile; what I needed was rejuvenation. Rejuvenation wasn’t what I expected, but it was exactly what I got on this optimistically gray Sunday afternoon.

I hopped the 601 bus to Tsawwassen and was picked up by Chelsea. We then hopped the border into the United States to spend the afternoon in Point Roberts.

She’d been wanting to show me Lily Point Marine Reserve for sometime now, and the experience was incredible. It’s funny how driving across an imaginary line can instantly cause me to feel so far removed from all that I want to escape. We were only minutes from Canada but miles from “life.”

Lily Point holds an interesting piece of history in the area. Between 1884 and 1917, the Alaska Packers Association operated a salmon cannery at the edge of the water, overlooking the Juan de Fuca Strait. The cannery was subsequently abolished when the salmon supply depleted, but a few remnants still scatter the shoreline today. This is how it used to look.

It took no more than a brief glance to the silhouette of Saltpring and Vancouver Islands for my heart strings to feel a sharp tug. It will always be home, but what I yearn for there is in my past.

After admiring the view, we made our way down the clay cliffs to check out the cannery ruins up close and personal. Chelsea feels like Alice in Wonderland down here. I totally understand why.

I wouldn’t be hard-pressed to guess that much of what remained of the cannery had been destroyed by fire at one point.

I saw these two horses wearing pretty purple robes. So regal-like.

Obviously going to the U.S. and not raiding the candy aisle would be a tragic waste of time. We wasted no time. Chelsea’s big into the Swedish fishes.

Want some of my awkward Goobers? (Emphasis on the “awkward”.)

How’d you like them boxes, Duane?

Yessss… they’re very tasty.

That pink crap you buy? That’s not real cream soda, in case you were wondering.

I’m a sucker for VitaminWater, but those lucky Americans are also treated to VitaminEnergy drinks. I’m jealous. So I bought one. I’ll let you know how it is. (Oh and it’s in a can, not a bottle.)

$18.49 American dollars later, and it’ll all go straight to… well, I dunno. I’ll sweat it off or something.

Photos are great and the candy will be eaten, but I wanted a permanent reminder of my day.

I’ve always been fascinated by beach rocks, and the colours I found amazed me.

Whether you believe in God or not is your call, but I couldn’t help but be in awe of the beauty Chelsea and I experienced today. The beauty in the nature around us, in the simple honesty of our friendship and of the spiritual recharge that this day provided for me.

It’s ironic to me that, on the bus ride to Tsawwassen, I started to read Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, because those three elements were key to what brought me the most joy today.

P.S. Follow me if you’d like post updates, as I have – and will continue – to write less often.

We are the few…

We are the brave…

We are the stylish…

We are the authoritative…

We are the very, very sneaky…

We’s the shit…

We are: TEAM EXTREME PISTOL!

Last week I wrote a post about handguns and my unquenchable desire to fire one. To say that the post received an overwhelming response would be an understatement. As I said before, this is something I can only and will only experience in a safe, controlled environment. That being said, my friend Dan tracked down a suitable gun range that Amy and I can try out just south of the border outside of Bellingham in Whatcom County.

Here’s hoping we’ll make it down there soon for one of their women’s handgun classes (lessons, laws, ammunition and an hour of target practice for $35 for the ladies), but being that we’re girls, you can’t expect us to not have a little fun in advance, can you?

There’s a new Bang-On shop that just opened up downtown on Davie Street, so we trekked there, picked out our tees et voilà! What you see is what you can’t get.

All extreme pistol training photos courtesy of Port Coquitlam & District Hunting & Fishing Club

Today is what’s known as “Black Friday” across the United States, where sales and great deals are as abundant as turkey leftovers from Thanksgiving. Fervent bargain hunters at a Wal-Mart store on Long Island, New York trampled a 34-year-old worker to his death this morning at 5:00 a.m.

The Associated Press reports:

Witnesses told the Daily News that before the store was closed, eager shoppers streamed past emergency crews as they worked furiously to save the worker’s life.

“They were working on him, but you could see he was dead,” said Halcyon Alexander, 29. “People were still coming through.” [source]

I have to wonder what happens to decency and respect, but I suppose that notion becomes abundantly clear when you’ve got 50-inch Plasma TVs for less than $800. Priorities, right?

When the Persian Gulf War erupted in the summer of 1990, I was nine-years-old and verging on my 10th birthday. Over those warm months out of school, I spent most of my days wandering my Oma and Opa’s farm barefoot under the sun instead of with friends. I’d spend hours in the garden and bird aviary with my Opa when I wasn’t indoors with my Oma. She suffered from Multiple Sclerosis and therefore was generally confined to sitting on the sundeck or watching TV.

Though I was far too young to appreciate soap operas (and I still don’t), my Oma loved them and I was more than happy to keep her company on those afternoons. On August 2, 1990, Iraqi troops invaded Kuwait and before long, my Oma’s beloved soap operas were endlessly pre-empted for Persian Gulf War news coverage. Every image that my nine-year-old eyes laid sight on was of sand and tanks and military figures and Saddam, Saddam, Saddam. I was frustrated and childishly upset that we couldn’t watch our shows together all due to a “stupid war.”

The Persian Gulf War ended some months later, and some years after that I entered junior high en route to high school. There I took classes in social studies, history and comparative civilizations. Were I to enroll in these courses today, I would no doubt find them interesting while also understanding the relevance behind the events. In seventh grade, however, all my classmates and I could do was roll our eyes and question why we had to learn about something that seemed to hold no significance to a group of young teenagers.

Flash forward to November, 2008: I am now only weeks away from my 28th birthday and my world view is also that much older. The bombs dropped on Hiroshima, Japan decades before I was born. The Vietnam War broke out when my mom was just a teenager. I was only eight when the Berlin Wall crumbled and just 20 the day the towers collapsed in Manhattan. I am 27 and last night witnessed a country stand up for change and overwhelmingly elect Barack Obama as their next President.

The significant events in history are equally important to the events that happen in this world every single day. They are directly impactful on the life I live today. I live in a country where I can walk down the sidewalk and wear the clothes that I choose, believe in the faith that I choose, vote for the policiticians that I choose and make the choices that I want. That kind of freedom does not come without considerable cost.

Yesterday morning, as I went for my daily Americano as I normally do, there was a man on the corner of Hornby and Robson streets dressed in military fatigue, handing out poppies for Remembrance Day. He was quite old and I would venture to guess that he fought with Canada during World War II. He smiled warmly at me as I placed money in his collection box before allowing him to pin a poppy to my lapel. I looked down at his frail hands as they proudly placed the deep red flower over my heart. As his eyes then met my own, I considered all the things he has probably seen in his lifetime. It was all that I could do to blink back the tears that so desperately wanted to fall in gratitude.

History is not the stuff that text books are made of, nor is it comprised of a number of events that happened long before our time as individuals. History is happening on each corner of this planet, every single day. Last night, hot tears streamed down my face as the future President of the United States stressed the importance of United States, no matter a person’s income, sexual orientation, skin colour or belief. He spoke of hope and of peace while offering realistic optimism. As President-Elect Barack Obama so eloquently stated, “this victory alone is not the change we seek – it is only the chance for us to make that change.” [Source]

Like countless others across my country, across the United States and all over the globe, I woke this morning with a renewed sense of hope. I am a part of what will soon be known as history that has helped shape this world – my world – and the world that my children will some day live within. I can’t help but feel as though we as united people are about to experience the current of our river flow in a new direction as we all venture forward with both vigilance and great anticipation.

When I first heard that Jenny Lewis was playing in Seattle, I grabbed my other favourite Jenny and made a run for the border.

Every trip to the United States begins bright and early with breakfast at IHOP. Me, Jenny and my boots loaded up on a short stack with a side of some of the best bacon I’ve ever had.

With our bellies full, we headed southbound on I-5 with only Seattle as our destination.

I was beyond excited to be heading into Seattle for two reasons: 1) I hadn’t been down for a visit for, quite literally, years; and 2) Seattle holds a lot of history for me and my generation, being home to everything from Nirvana to Singles to Starbucks.

Our only hotel needs were sleeping and showering, so we wanted something decent but cheap. After fielding a few recommendations, we settled on the historic Moore Hotel. The building has been a landmark in “Emerald City” since 1907, and is full of charming rooms with a pre-war NYC flair.

With two narcissists under one roof, upgrading from a room to a suite was crucial. And at US$115, it was a deal we couldn’t turn down.

After check-in, we headed out into downtown Seattle and the Pike Place Market area to explore while we killed time before Jenny Lewis was to take the stage at the Showbox Theatre.

The last time we’d eaten was around 8:00 a.m., which after the afternoon we’d had walking around, seemed about three days ago. Hoping to recreate the amazing fish n’ chips experience we’d had in Tofino, we parked our butts at Lowell’s in the Market. Their claim-to-fame is “Almost Classy!” I beg to differ. I would instead say “Almost Tasty!”

Jenny Lewis’ show deserves its own blog post, so check back for that tomorrow. This morning, after a fantastic nine-hour sleep, Jenny and I headed back to Vancouver. Stopping at Alderwood Mall for a tasty treat from Hot Dog On A Stick is also somewhat of a must-do for me when I’m in the States, and Jenny had never tried it before.

We both decided on a large cherry lemonade (my favourite) and a traditional turkey meat hot dog on a stick. The HDOAS staff are notoriously friendly – at least at this location – and Anna was sweet enough to throw in a sample of their cheese on a stick. It tasted exactly like a grilled cheese sandwich – delicious!

My next trip to Seattle will not come soon enough! Check back later tomorrow for all the details and photos from my night in Heaven with Jenny Lewis. You can also check out Jenny’s blog post here.

It’s 10:59 a.m. and I’m still stretched out in bed. There’s something about the change in season that makes it harder to get out of bed, more challenging to choose fashion over warmth and function when getting dressed and nearly impossible to find energy and motivation.

Photo: fddi1 on Flickr

It is also, however, the season that’s usually filled with excitement and much to look forward to. Tomorrow marks the start of that with me and Jennifer‘s trip to Seattle. It’s been far too long since I’ve made my way to Puget Sound and can’t yet even believe that I’ll be seeing Jenny Lewis in concert. Naturally, I’ll have a ton of photos (and hopefully a few exciting stories) to share when I’m back on Monday. Until then, have a fabulous weekend, everyone!