It's not all about me, I swear

It's been a hectic week here in the city, so Luc and I have planned another weekend escape to the mountains. These mountains, however, are significantly more populated than the ones we trekked into last weekend. Not so much mountains, per se, as an overly developed town.

We're going to relax and read and pretty much just hang around. After all, I need my beauty rest, we have our engagement photos next week. In preparation I got my hair dyed, just a touch-up to add a little excitement to my otherwise mousy look. According to people at work though, my darker hair makes me look like an evil-twin version of myself.

After all of that self-indulgent "me" talk, I feel I owe you, my lovely readers, a story:
Last week a woman on the bus had her cat with her in a carrier. When she noticed me staring at her kitty she began talking to me, telling me how much the cat loved buses. I asked if she was just taking the cat for a ride, she replied that the cat was sick and she was taking her to get help. Then she got off. At the hospital. The human hospital. I wonder how that went?

Do people actually do this?

At Tim Horton's last week I asked for a large coffee with two milks. Same as usual. I stood to the side, waiting for my order. A couple minutes later the woman behind the counter shot a panicked look in my direction and cautiously held out the coffee cup in front of me. "Ma'am, are you sure you want twenty milks in your coffee? Seems more like a latte." The cup was literally filled to the brim with cold milk.

Officially in my "late" twenties

Today is my 26th birthday, or as my mom described it, "being closer to 30 than to being 20." The day got off to a less-than-stellar start as I walked from the bus station to the Tim Horton's in a swirling cloud of skunk spray. A giant skunk had been squished on the highway, and the weather on this particular morning was nothing short of a howling gale, sending the potent stink in a far-reaching radius that included the bus station where I get off, the Tim Horton's that I patronize and the front door to my office building.

As I walked to get my morning coffee, the smell seemed to be following me, so much so that I thought I may have been sprayed by a skunk and not noticed it in my Monday daze. I started to panic, wondering how long it would take to get the smell out of my hair and clothing. Would I need some sort of skunk bath?  Should I cancel my Tuesday night hair appointment? Would dyeing my hair help with the smell? Should I still go into the office? Will Tim Horton's serve me smelling like this? Will the skunk bath fade my tan from the weekend? Amid the ridiculous questions I was asking myself, I saw the black, white and red smearing of skunk on the road. It was really, really gross. I was sad to see the dead skunk, yet relieved to see the root of the evil smell.

The rest of the day was great; I got cake at work, cake at my parents' house, lots of love and messages from friends and family, and at the end of the day I didn't smell like skunk. What more could a girl ask for?

Success!

After months of endless searching, trying on way-too-sky-high heels that make me a giant, lamenting over the hideously trampy shoes some designers try to pass off as "bridal"...I finally found white wedding shoes with a low heel. Halle-freakin-lujah!

Obsessed with

Ugly Betty.

I can't believe it's taken me this long to start watching this show. I've been an assistant before and I work in publishing. I've buttered toast, picked up dry cleaning, made reservations, driven cars to the shop, tracked down impossible items, planned parties....I've been an under-appreciated Betty, so watching this show is especially fun. As for the publishing aspect, the magazine office that I'm currently interning in is nothing like Mode's hyper-dysfunctional, high-class office of chaos, fashion and scandal...but after all, it is just a show.

Wedding photos in the wild

Luc and I managed to get out of the house on this particularly lazy Sunday and find the good weather that was hiding in the city next door. We drove to Steveston for frozen yogurt and to scout out our location for the post-ceremony photo shoot. We chose the Britannia Shipyard in Steveston because of the beautiful, natural surroundings and the great, beat-up old buildings. The way I described it to Luc was, "you know, the contrast of our fancy clothes and the shitty old buildings. It'll look kinda cool and vintagey and all that crap." Luc said that was "very elegantly put." I agreed. And if we have time after photos here, we're planning on heading down the boardwalk for ice cream before we arrive at the ceremony. Here's hoping that I don't get chocolate hedgehog on my white satin.

Monthly Photo - July 2010

Luc faces a formidable opponent atop the Chief.

July 2010 Banner