Random thoughts on a Tuesday afternoon.

I did something to my neck in my sleep again. The sort of something where you feel as though your muscle has been replaced by piano wire. A few days ago I woke up with a pulled hamstring. Am I beating myself up in my dreams? Is someone else beating me up in my dreams? Either way, I’d never know it. I rarely remember my dreams these days.

I can feel November settling in around our home. The temperature hasn’t dropped any further but the cold feels different anyway: a lingering, searching chill that seeps its way through our poorly insulated perimeter and reaches out with grasping tendrils for bare shoulders and toes.

Thick bathrobe and novelty slipper season has arrived at the Nut house.

The russet and gold October splendor of our tulip tree was smashed into a jumbled heap of soggy browns with the first real November rain. Only a handful of leaves still cling to the branches, tattered orange scraps on a ravaged skeleton. The droning of leaf blowers fills the air by morning. The crackle of leftover Hallowe’en fireworks still permeates the night.

And the days grow ever darker.

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My cup runneth over. Ew, stop that.

Disclaimer: this post is dedicated to a certain monthly female inconvenience. If you find yourself uncomfortable with the general discussion of surfing crimson waves, having the painters in, the women’s curse, etc., come back again tomorrow and I promise you there will be no further mention of Dracula’s teabags or the like.

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The “Nutty Acts Without Thinking” Hall of Fame

Last night I was so tired and distracted that I almost poured chicken bone broth into my tea instead of coconut milk.

Thank god for the “almost” part of that sentence or I would have had to commission a new plaque for the “Nutty Acts Without Thinking” Hall of Fame, to be displayed among such storied accomplishments as:

  • holding a carrot stick in one hand, a pencil in the other, and taking a bite of the pencil
  • throwing freshly cut apple slices into the garbage instead of the apple core
  • vigorously shaking a bottle of mustard while the cap was open, covering everything I knew and loved in Dijon
  • licking my finger and then using my other hand to turn the page
  • repeatedly putting rinsed dishes back in the sudsy sink instead of the drying rack
  • grabbing my car keys instead of my apartment keys to take out the garbage and locking myself out of the building
  • knitting the same row of a hat pattern two extra times and not noticing until half a dozen correctly knitted rows later
  • photocopying the document I meant to scan (multiple offenses)
  • shredding the document I meant to scan (also multiple offenses)
  • turning the lights off while leaving rooms that were still full of people (yet more multiple offenses)
  • instinctively touching the thing that someone else literally just told me to leave the hell alone (approximately 90% of the Wall of Fame)

And let’s face it, such dubious achievements leave enough of a bad taste in my mouth without also having to toast them with chicken-flavored Earl Grey.

Sneezy cats and educated rodents.

Let it never be said that volunteering at an animal shelter is boring.

We’ve got a lot of poorly felines on our hands this week. Anti-cross contamination measures have been upped even more than usual due to sick kittens and one sneezy adult cat with a kitty cold. ‘Tis the season for everyone to be sniffly and miserable, I guess.

Meanwhile, a woman who had an hour to kill while her car was in the shop decided to drop by and play with the kittens while she was waiting, only to be informed that they were in isolation and not receiving visitors.

But would she perhaps like to read to a guinea pig instead?

Of course she would. I mean, how do you say no?

Our latest addition to the guinea pig fam is…shy, to put it mildly. To put it less mildly, she’s so incredibly terrified of people and the world that she was prescribed a daily therapy plan on arrival.

Said plan consists of two main components:
1) Bribery with treats.
2) Literature.

So every day, our newest little floof potato gets an earful of prose to get her more accustomed to big scary human voices and the big scary human bodies they come from, along with whatever delicacies she’s willing to venture out and nibble on in our big scary human presence.

And today she got the mother lode.

This is gonna be one intelligent damn rodent, y’all.

Everywhere I go.

Well, it took a while, but the temperature around here finally dropped to what I would consider acceptable November levels.

…and then just kept on dropping.

On Monday I went jogging in a sleeveless vest. On Wednesday I went jogging in a thick hoodie, toque (AKA beanie, to any confused non-Canuck readers) and gloves.

And now I’m at war with my brain.

Brain: Wow it got cold all of a sudden!

Me: Yeah, look, I can see my breath!

Brain: Smell that?

Me: What?

Brain: Almost smells like it could snow.

Me: *breathes deeply* Mm-hm.

Brain: You might say that it’s…

Me: No. Stop.

Brain: *giggles* …it’s…

Me: Don’t do this.

Brain: ♫♪ …it’s beginning to look a lot like Christmas! ♫♪

Me: I’m gonna murder you with an ice pick.

That’s right, it’s only a week into November and I have Christmas music stuck in my head and it’s not even the stores’ fault because although a bunch of them already have Christmas displays up, none of them are playing holiday music yet which means my brain is just an asshole with a hard-on for Bing Crosby.

Anyone know the best pesticide for earworms?

Common sense in retrograde.

Now that the U.S. midterm elections are over, we can all get back to business and focus on what’s really important: astrology.

I know, I know, people like to throw a lot of words around like “pseudoscience” or “quackery” or “what are you doing on my roof with that telescope you fucking weirdo?” when it comes to divining personal meaning from the cosmos. I used to be one of them.

Until I saw a sign.

Twelve of them, actually.

Sitting right there under my nose, languishing shamefully unnoticed in my spam folder, were one dozen all-important nuggets of pure, auspicious, life-altering gold.

A less open-minded person might not have given them a moment’s pause, might have even deleted them without a second glance, never knowing how close they came to enlightenment.

Be thankful I am not that person, and that I have decided to share this wisdom with you all instead of greedily keeping it to myself.

You’re welcome.


♈︎ Aries (Mar 20 – Apr 20):
Of course and why you’re going to always be do that it. Must follow their rules and guidelines, like it is hosted by another everyone.

♉︎ Taurus (Apr 20 – May 21):
Within these cases, the simple fact that you wish to read gets completely ignored. For this reason I continually go as well as read increasing amounts of his work.

♊︎ Gemini (May 21 – Jun 21):
For you to forget, without compromising an individual have to produce to people.
Users will start noticing the good content you link to, and they’ll start noticing you.
It’s likely that ALL analysts.

♋︎ Cancer (Jun 21 – Jul 23):
You need recognize what oodles of flab to optimize. Put your readers at ease by not being too bad-tempered. Now that’s the formula to making your advertising prospecting.

♌︎ Leo (Jul 23 – Aug 23):
Help make sure that a body’s running an authentic business. 

♍︎ Virgo (Aug 23 – Sep 23):
You can be trying to sell. Now tend to be all to be able to make money, right?

♎︎ Libra (Sep 23 – Oct 23):
Various other words, just before purchasing as exact as may in relation to its what outcome you want. A person never in order to present a blanket any baby with wrong name spelling and signature.

♏︎ Scorpio (Oct 23 – Nov 22):
Try it, a person not be sorry. It’s not that easy to create traffic into a website.
These used a few ideas nevertheless the choice really is endless.

♐︎ Sagittarius (Nov 22 – Dec 22):
Dating apps open a world of choice to you.

♑︎ Capricorn (Dec 22 – Jan 20):
Do not stress yourself anymore thinking what gift to provide to friends. It may be that our prayers for justice activate the power of existence force is actually God. Look kept own the room, anywhere you go.

♒︎ Aquarius (Jan 20 – Feb 18):
Are you able to guess what probably taken place? However, you prefer to be cautious because are unable to want to be too education.

♓︎ Pisces (Feb 18 – Mar 20):
Don’t wear seat belts lest you drown in your own urine?


Hang in there, baby.

I can’t concentrate at all today. My stomach is in knots as I scroll through Twitter reading the good, the bad and the ugly goings-on of the U.S. midterm elections.

I can’t even start to imagine what it’s like to be there in the thick of it. The last two years with The Orange One in charge have been plenty terrifying to me and I’m just a Canuck sitting up here in America’s hat in my flannel igloo watching from the sidelines.

Three weeks ago I voted in Vancouver’s municipal election. There was no line at the polls. I wandered in, gave my voter card to a very friendly volunteer, got checked in with no issues, inked up my long paper ballot, fed it into a working scanner and went on my merry way.

I know that’s not the experience a lot of Americans are having today, and with so much more at stake.

But please hang in there, friends. Do what you gotta do. I can’t vote with you, but I will cheer you on until my voice gives out.

A mountain getaway, more broken things and small abominations.

Nutty Hubby and I spent a week up in Whistler in mid-October.

We timed our visit poorly in that we arrived directly following Canadian Thanksgiving, which is exactly when the gondolas up the mountain stop operating and most of our favorite restaurants shut their doors for the brief off-season between summer mountain activities and winter mountain activities.

On the bright side, the place was way less packed with people than usual, we still managed to do plenty of hiking, and we actually found a bunch of new favorite restaurants since we couldn’t just keep heading to our old standbys and had to branch out.

We did stay at our usual hotel, which I both love and hate because the suites are giant and have up-to-date technology (love! <3) but apparently no one who installed any of the outlet and switch plates knew what a level was or how to use one (so much hate).

Why.

The suites come with kitchenettes, which I also love, but whose tiled floors are more slippery than a freshly Zamboni’d ice rink. I thought I was safe in my favorite cozy grippy socks, but I guess they’re starting to fail in the grippy department because on the way to the sink to rinse a plate I wiped out and went down like a sack of potatoes. In my panic to not break the plate or myself, I managed to hook my arm over a nearby dining chair to slow my fall. This was a good idea with an ugly result:

Me and my bright ideas.

Also for whatever reason the hotel seems to think this is an appropriate method of offering salt and pepper to their guests:

Shaker or packets: PICK ONE.

Thankfully, having decided to put The Elimination Diet of Sadness somewhat on hiatus for the month of October while we celebrated various things, I was able to soothe my bruised ego – if not my bruised underarm – with seasonal tipples, gourmet food, and ice cream sundaes with all the fixin’s.

Forget your pumpkin spice lattes for fall, just give me whiskey in my apple cider and I’m happy.

Literal cherry on top.

We couldn’t have asked for more beautiful weather for our hikes.

Idyllic as fuck.

Or more entertaining signage.

Petty vandalism or washroom directions? You decide!

That escalated quickly.

We also relocated this little dude, who was trying his best to get murdered via cyclist on one of the lakeside trails. He’s gonna turn into a Western Tiger Swallowtail someday if he gets his shit together and learns to look both ways before crossing the road.

No smooshy for you.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and before we knew it it was our last morning in the mountains. After checking out of the hotel we stalled for a good couple of hours and then hit up one last restaurant for lunch before the drive home.

Which is where I encountered one of the most perplexing bathroom stall fixes I think I’ve ever come across as a public washroom user.

Okay, but why?

This isn’t like an “I live in the middle of nowhere and my outhouse latch broke so I guess I’ll raid the toolbox for whatever I can use to keep the bears out while I do my business” situation we’re talking about here. This is an established restaurant in the heart of a resort town. Y’all can do better than a turnbuckle and some screws as a makeshift latch, I don’t care what you say.

The best part was how even when “latched” the door still hung slightly open, so the danger of someone assuming the stall was empty and trying to enter unawares was ever-present. Just in case you like your bodily functions with a heaping side of nervous suspense.

It’s a good thing we don’t live in Zombieland.

Yet.