Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Gloom





Okay perhaps I'm exaggerating just a touch. But on this 20th day of June, the first day of summer mind you, I find myself bathed in goosebumps. I'm on the roof of my exceedingly fashionable modernist Vancouver apartment building. The sun is directly overhead and I'm . . . . chilly. Unacceptable. If I was an optimist I'd say there was a haze. Because I'm a realist I'll say there's high cloud cover. Did I mention it's June?

Only Born and Raised West Coasters would actually continue to live in weather like this. Mainly because they don't know any better, and the rest of the globe keeps blowing smoke up their asses. Meanwhile it's 16 degrees and I'm in very short shorts and a semi-tank top. I'm pushing the limits. The limits of what someone my age should be wearing as well as what's appropriate in sub zero temperatures. But because this could very well be the only vaguely sunny day we get until July I'm going to bloody well take advantage of it.

About 13 years ago my folks up and moved from the real estate gold mine they owned in Victoria all the way to Ontario. Thousands thought my parents had gone prematurely senile. And perhaps they had. However they packed up their life for a few reasons. A major one being: "Toronto has seasons."

And as the haze turns to 100% cloud, I realize they were on to something. 
(is that a rain drop?) 
Yes it still occasionally rains back East. Yes you have to rake leaves and shovel snow. But guess what, you can also sit outside after 6pm and not have to wear a chunky knit and drape yourself in an afghan. Which is exactly what I wore on the roof last night shortly before 8pm. Actually I think there may have been sun earlier today? Because just now as I padded over to the railing (so I could pitch myself over the side) I think I burned the soles of my feet on the paving tiles. But as the clouds continue to loom overhead I feel, rather than trying to soak up a couple of pathetic rays of murky sun, doing several loads of laundry would be a better use of this summer afternoon. 

The weather. This is the one strike Vancouver has against it. Oh, and the ridiculous cost of living, and the alleged unfriendly nature of most inhabitants. Other than that it's swell. 
I love this city. No really. I especially love my neighborhood of South Granville. If I didn't have the great boutiques, convenient watering holes or half of my friends living within a 6 block radius the totally crappy weather would upset me far more.

I've lived, worked and loved here for coming up on 7 years, and apart from a couple of near fatal hiccups, things keep getting better. With any luck so will the weather. Although lets face it, contrary to what the name implies the globe is doing the opposite of warming. Within 30 years I'll probably be complaining that the saber tooth tiger meat is tough, the eternal winter's wearing on my nerves, and I simply don't have a thing to wear to the ritual sacrifice a week from Saturday.

Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Burgers + Bikinis


Let's face it. It's probably obvious to others, but for reasons we're going to blame on the ol' "I was in a coma" excuse the following was not obvious to me.

First. I was anticipating a dreamy trip to Maui. This is exciting because:
1) I've never been to Hawaii.
2) I haven't been on a tropical, hot, do-SFA-while-lying-on-a-beach type vacation since the early 90's
3) I get to go with my dreamy boyfriend and get to do romantic things.
4) Finally, and most importantly I get to buy a new bikini.

Bathing suit shopping. Exponentially more horrifying than jeans shopping. It all began one afternoon, when I decided to head downtown and meet a girlfriend and her teensie toddler. We were doing our usual wandering the streets when girlfriend said we should get the baby some grub. Naturally my maternal instincts kicked in, and I enthusiastically suggested McDonald's. One salad, one happy meal and a super-sized two cheeseburger meal later, it was time for me to head to my next appointment. I know what you're thinking. And you're right. It's  a TWO cheeseburger meal. I still say they should do a THREE cheeseburger meal. Two is hardly enough. Anyway, we parted ways and I headed to my appointment to visit a bikini designer who is in fact worthy of the pages of Sports Illustrated. I mean I suppose a worse time to try on suits would have been a week earlier when I was on the rag, or if I'd ordered the apple pies for desert. But this was still a pretty bad idea.

In the end I did not look like Giselle Bundchen. I looked a touch bloated, definitely pasty and had come to terms with the fact that I am delusional.  The good news is I got a bikini. After being there for a solid hour and trying on what seemed like every suit they had I came out with a possibly too skimpy black crocheted bikini. There was extraordinary patience involved. Both by me and especially by my angelic consultant.

With that traumatic albeit successful experience over, it suddenly occurs to me that there is a more distressing twist to this mediocre story. Burgers. In particular the fact that I can no longer stomach burgers, unless they are of the extremely fast food persuasion. For several years the delicious burger was my go-to meal. At least when I was eating out. It's hard to screw up a burger . . . hard but not impossible. So when visiting restaurants that boast unimaginative or just plain unsavoury menus, a burger was always a safe-ish bet. As a result of a week jaunt to Vancouver island bookended with dinner time ferry rides and ferry food, my annual "Week of Burgers" was born. For roughly 5 years I celebrated August with 7 days of imbibing. That is until last year. My epiphany happened today when one another girlfriend invited me over for a pool dangle and burgers this week. A tremendous idea in theory, however the last time I did that with her I had a cardiac arrest 3 hours later. I realize now my residual anti burger feelings could be a direct result of that "last meal."

What a terrible thought. "I had a cardiac arrest and all I got was a lousy fear of hamburgers" . . . and a sweet bikini.