It’s gettin’ hot in herrre

Where am I, the western Sahara? It certainly feels that way with this crazy heat wave we’re enduring. Vancouverites are in shock. People are piling into the closest Canadian Tire to score the biggest fans they can find. We’re in an inferno people. The tropics. I swear I saw a gecko in my shower this morning.

Granted it’s July, and despite popular opinion there are no igloos in this part of our vast country. Now that I think about it, I wouldn’t mind thronging myself up against a snowy structure right about now. Despite being a bit of a beach bunny - a tanorexic sun worshiper if you like - the humidity is a challenge. Besides the bronzer melting off my face, my hair has been quaffing into quite the retro-fro, reminiscent of Monica on Friends during the Maui episode. Good GAWD I'm a sexy beast. Sexy. Beast.

My only sanctum in all this swelter is the utterly ridiculous fashion trends my fellow citizens have been sporting to manage the rising mercery. This heat wave has equated to one, big hot mess for many, which is why I’ve prepared...

The Urban Cowgirl’s Summer Fashion Follies

1) Mesh tops on men. I don’t care if you live in the West End or not, these haven’t been acceptable since Wham released Wake Me Up. Shame on American Apparel for endorsing this look.

2) Socks with sandals. We all know it’s wrong so why do we do this? I use the term ‘we’ loosely as what I really mean is men with no fashion morals, and the tourist community-at-large. Senior citizens are exempt.

3) Men in v-necks. I’m sensing a trend here, but don’t worry ladies I’ll get to you next. V-necks are never a good idea on dudes. Ever. Don’t do that.

4) Visors. Remember when these were cool in the 90’s for a month or so? I believe they called it ‘bad ass country cluber chic’. I find visors rather agreeable on the golf course, but no where beyond the club house. We’re not teeing off at our neighborhood Starbucks, are we? I didn’t think so.

5) Blueblockers. I’d like to say senior citizens are exempt from this, but sadly they are not. These are fucking hideous. Surely there’s something more suitable that doesn’t make you look like an electrician.

6) OK ladies, here’s my beef – baring saggy boobs. Now, I’m the first to admit that sauntering about sans bra is a fabulous feeling. It’s the first thing I rip from my bod after a long day at the office. But must our bosom flap about in public? Wreck beach, yes. Hustling down Homer Street, no.

I’m signing off now to go stick my head in the freezer. So, my perspiring possums, let me leave you with a quote from one of my fave flicks, that sums up our weird, west coast weather.

"It's hot! Damn hot! Real hot! Hottest things is my shorts. I could cook things in it. A little crotch pot cooking." Well, tell me what it feels like. "Fool, it's hot! I told you again! Were you born on the sun? It's damn hot! It's so damn hot, I saw little guys, their orange robes burst into flames. It's that hot! Do you know what I'm talking about?" What do you think it's going to be like tonight? "It's gonna be hot and wet! That's nice if you're with a lady, but ain't no good if you're in the jungle!"

Summer in the City

Summer is upon us in Vangroovy, leaving many a Vancouverite feeling just that.....groovy baby. After suffering through another wet, at times demoralizing, winter we say farewell to the gray, the dark and the ugly. We’ve put our parkas in storage, said ta-ta to our toques and downsized that ever-growing pashmina population in our closets. Winter is over! Thank Buddha.

With summer, comes along several warm weather traditions specific to our fair city. I happened upon one of my faves over the weekend, and though it’s changed shape over the years, it still has the same Vancouver vibe. The Chinatown Night Market, reminiscent of the night markets of Kuala Lumpur or crazy Khao San Road in Bangkok, bring an ethnic flavor that makes you feel like you’re traipsing about South East Asia.

En route to the market I strolled past my favorite piece of street graffiti that looks a little like Gord Downey of the Tragically Hip...with a toupee hanging off the back of his head. Hmmmm, how arty.

When I arrived, the place was packed with revelers looking for some cheap street meat or a fake Fendi. As you do. I couldn’t help but snap a few pics of my favorite offerings, such as the plush stuffed animal phone charms. How does one maneuver their mobile with one of those things? Not to be outdone by the ghosts of Olympics past, there was a selection of memorabilia from the 2008 Beijing Summer Games. I couldn’t help but notice the close resemblance to Vancouver’s Olympic Mascots. Funny that.

After a well deserved bubble tea I made my way home, only to be stopped by one of our many homeless folk who wanted to test out a few jokes on me. And I quote “What’s horny and hums?” Needless to say, after the man started humming I made my way outta there. Charming.

With all this talk of summer, I feel obliged to share with you...

The Urban Cowgirl’s Poolside Playlist

Candy, Paolo Nutini
Magic, Ladyhawke
Lovegame, Lady Gaga 
107 degrees, Citizen Cope
Use Somebody, Kings of Leon
Boom Boom Pow, Black Eyed Peas
New in Town, Little Boots
Edge of Seventeen, Stevie Nicks 
Fame, Scott Weiland
Move For Me, Kaskade
I’m in Miami Bitch, LMFAO 
Suavementa, Elvis Crespo
Flashing Lights, Kanye West
Summertime, DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince (classic)

Party on possums.
xx

Photo credits - Urban Cowgirl

Sex, Drugs and Provincial Politics

It’s election day eve kids and the mud slinging, hand shaking and baby kissing has seemingly subsided. As per norm in BC, it’s a two party race, however we could see a third party sneak into a few more seats in Victoria.

I’ve always had rather strong opinions where provincial politics are concerned and a recent interest in electoral reform (thanks to my handsome roommate who explains things to me calmly when I clearly have no idea what I’m talking about). I’ve already made my choice, yet it is not my intent to sway British Columbians who might be reading this blog. I’d simply like to remind everyone who is eligible to get out and VOTE tomorrow, Tuesday, May 12th at your local polling station from 8am-8pm.

So instead of spouting off each party’s platforms like every media outlet in town, I’d like to review a few comical highlights from this crazy campaign...

Carole James, leader of the NDP party, has for once truly captured my attention. Is it just me, or does James sound just like a certain Alaskan lady who ran for VP of the US of A? Just an observation. See comparison clips below:





Another juicy James tidbit occurred during an interview on a popular Vancouver radio station where she allowed herself to be photographed with the DJ’s wearing t-shirts adorned with anti-Olympic messaging inspired by this graffiti found somewhere in East Van.

Granted it was all a joke, but where is her PR team? Her crew then posted the image on James’ Twitter page, thus giving the Liberals a little more ammo the day before the election. Whether you support the Olympics or not, hundreds of thousands of visitors will be gracing Vancouver and Whistler with their presence in less than a year, not to mention the millions of TV viewers. Should she get in, is this the message we want to send to the world? Surely not.

Adding to the deliciousness that is democracy are BC’s 40+ fringe parties. Some of my favorites include:

The Sex Party is once again on the mend to ensure British Columbians are getting their rocks off with a little political reform, which includes: changing our education system, repealing sex-negative laws and regulations, and supporting a sex-positive community. I feel that; pun intended.

The Work Less Party might have the most effective campaign slogan of all - Alarm Clocks Kill Dreams. Quite right. I was enjoying a rather fantastical dream staring myself and Chris Pine (the new Captain Kirk) the other night, and my alarm clock did indeed kill that buzz. I digress, the party is campaigning for a 32 hour work week. I have no negative comments to add here.

The B.C. Marijuana Party, an oldie but goodie, is shakin and bakin all over town with their eloquent yet controversial leader Marc Emery at the helm. Despite boasting the best weed around, I don’t usually partake in the Province’s cheeba culture, however Emery has some very valid points. Not sure they deserve a seat, but I’m glad they’re there to raise awareness. Wouldn’t it be grand to put the gang bangers out of business by legalizing marijuana? Oooohhh....I’ve said too much. Overgrowing the Government....clever pot heads.

Before I bid you adieu, I’d like to remind you to read up on STV before casting your vote tomorrow. Many western countries around the world (21 in Europe alone) have already adopted proportional representation. Let’s be sure we are all well informed.

See you at the polls possums.
xx

Attack of the killer brellies

I’m a Vancouverite, therefore my knowledge around the fine etiquette of umbrella usage is second to none. It’s animal instinct, a sixth sense if you will. If you live in Vancouver or have visited during the winter months you know what I’m on about.

I have no problem with the rain, because a) at least it’s not snowing and b) it’s snowing on the ski hill. I am also a big fan of fashion wellies, which are once again, in style this season. Thank Buddha. My beef, dear possums, is with the folks who can’t seem to figure out the unspoken rules around maneuvering through our busy city avec umbrella. Following a minor incident between myself and a militant man walking down Robson with his golf umbrella today, might I share with you...

The Urban Cowgirl’s 5 Steps to Umbrella Safety

1) Allow umbrella-free folks access to awnings. Some people take a gamble on mother nature and nix umbrellas all together. These people are either new in town or mentally disabled in some way. I digress, give them the awnings if you’re strutting about with a brellie. What do you need anyway, double the coverage? It’s rain people, not an air strike.

2) Much like driving down the street, stay on your own side of the sidewalk. Ditto for your umbrella. Be mindful of your fellow foot traffickers and make room for one another. Don’t lunge at me with your weather weapon. You don’t drive down the middle of the street, same goes for walking with a brellie.

3) When opening your wet umbrella among a crowd, try to avoid spraying your fellow citizens in the face. Just today a gal got off the bus in front of me and opened her soaking wet brellie, showering me with all the goodness that is Vancouver’s liquid sunshine. It’s not a wet t-shirt contest. I’m just trying to get home lady.

4) Brellie thieving. Believe it or not folks, this is a serious issue in our city. I’ll admit, if push came to shove (i.e. I was out on the town and didn’t want to dampen my hairdo) I would resort to this low level thievery myself. However, we do live in a rain forest...be prepared. Pack your brellie just in case.

5) When traipsing about in the rain with friends, either share your brellie or travel in single file. It’s no fun to break through a cluster of brellie clad people, only to be mildly maimed on your way through.

Summer is just a few months away possums, so until then be mindful of your brellie conduct. Look alive...you never know when you could be under attack.

Hockey wife or whore bag?

Over the weekend whilst lunching with some of my favorite luncheon ladies, we were delighted by the appearance of a certain local hockey star. El Capitan himself Roberto Luongo just happened to be popping by for lunch with his brood and was about to be seated a few feet away. Excellent. While my cohorts were gaga over Luongo’s little one, I couldn’t help but take notice of this lovely large man straight away. *Sigh* - I felt like a girl of 20, ahem, something again.

After staring incessantly for a few moments, the Luongo clan was quickly relocated to another part of the restaurant. Not because of said incessant staring...I swear. Rather because his family is the size of Sicily and couldn’t fit in our corner of the restaurant. Ho hum, twas a nice encounter while it lasted. However, as my gal pals and I were saying our goodbyes, a rather irate Mrs. Luongo was making quite the scene outside.

This woman began to shout at her hockey star hubby, siting that some couple inside the restaurant was her cause for frustration. Something to tune of “that couple wasn’t just looking at you, they were staring...they’re always staring at YOU, what am I, chop liver?” Ummmm....yes actually, quite right, you are indeedy chop liver. Luongo = local hero and hockey rock star GOD. You, Mrs. Luongo = puck slut, raving lunatic bisnatch. Why oh why do hockey players always seem to end up with these relentless ingrates. Complete with her Burberry boots and Gucci baby bag, no less. Barf.

The entire episode was reminiscent of Trevor Linden’s retirement ceremony where his wanker wifey behaved in a very similar manner. What is wrong with these women? For once, it would be nice to see a hockey wife worthy of these ice gods.

In other news, I caught the season opener of Celebrity Apprentice last night and realized, Ben Mulroney’s mom may have had a steamy affair with the Donald. Is Donald Jr. Ben's long lost brother?. Possums - dicuss. Evidence below...

Too Posh to Pick Up the Poop

Last week a dear friend of mine rang me to rant about a particular neighborhood in our fair city with a bit of a shitty habit (pun intended). I’m a big fan of the furry four-legged members of our community, however the people in which they belong to need to clean up their act - literally.

Nothing puts a damper on ones day like discovering that you’ve traipsed through some dog doodie while strutting down the street. Picture it possums; you’re en route to dinner with friends sporting some hot new heels and ‘splat’...you’re amidst a mound of ca-ca. Or worse, imagine you’re late for a blind date and have to duck into an alley to ditch the dog doodie from beneath your Burberry ballerinas. Sacrelig.

It just so happens that I’m in the midst of relocating to this part of town and felt the need to post a plea to these people who fail to pick up after fido. Passing by a pile of poop in this part of town, or any other for that matter, is simply unacceptable. Pack some baggies next time you walk your pooch people. Surely there’s a bylaw in place for this...

With that, I’ll leave you with this fabulous doggy ezine I discovered. Dog lovers subscribe here!

Woof woof possums.

Surviving the Race of the Humans

So I did it possums. Along with nearly 5,000 other competitors, I hit the pavement Sunday night for the Nike Human Race 10K. Whew, what a night. Let’s review, shall we?

As mentioned in a previous post, I signed up to run the Human Race a few months back during a boozy event with a gal pal of mine. What sold me (besides the open bar) was the international element of the race, given 25 other cities around the world would be participating on the same day. Cool! I’m also approaching the milestone that is the big 3-0 this year (gulp), so I felt a 10K or some sort of physical achievement was in order. I use the term ‘achievement’ loosely as I’m no Ironman, however it was an achievement pour moi.

The course itself was impressive, carrying competitors along Vancouver’s picturesque seawall during an otherwise perfect sunset. Although it was touching to have complete strangers cheer you on along the way, I’m confident I nearly plowed over a few grannies attempting to ‘high five’ me as I huffed and puffed past them. I was also lucky enough to have my extremely supportive BF cheering me on as I crossed the finish line. Good thing, as I may have collapsed without that last minute bit of encouragement.

Simon Whitfield, silver medalist of the triathlon event at the recent Beijing Summer Olympics, took part in the race coming in third overall. Um…could you imagine coming in first and beating an Olympian? That’s gotta’ be good for the old ego.

By the way possums, if you’re planning to run a 10K, do not attempt this without training. I am a runner, however I tend to laze away the summer days and abandon my exercise routine, only to be replaced by beaching and drinking…and beaching and drinking. Thus, stepping onto a treadmill once over the 10 weeks prior to the race does NOT constitute a proper training program. Boo.

I’m feelin’ the burn, as I’ve been waddling around since crossing the finish line, yet the pain is beginning to subside. My remedy you ask? Drinking and avoiding exercise ofcourse. Hmmm...What can I say; it’s a vicious cycle people.

Pain aside, I’m thrilled to have taken part. Vancouver ranked 4th overall for fastest city and Nike threw out all the stops – everything from the spanky dry-fit shirts included in your runner’s package, right down to the kick-ass after party complete with live performances by The Trews and Theory of a Deadman.

This cowgirl of urban proportions is certainly not in any hurry to run another race; however I could get back in the saddle again in ’09. Stay tuned…

Continuing from last week...

Kits beach congers up a familiar face...and a few other notably bizarre beach-goers.

Exhibit A - A certain Mr. Chad Kroeger of Nickelback fame lounging on the grass with who appeared to be the bands drummer. Hey Chad, ditch the hair-do. This is how you remind me of 10 years ago. Just a tip.

Exhibit B - Unknown bartender practicing his tricks a la Cocktail, juggling 2 bottles and 2 martini shakers whilst gettin down to whatever electro-funk play in his headphones. Hey buddy, Tom Cruise called...he wants his moves back.

Photo credits - Urban Cowgirl via camera phone while sneakishly pretending to text message.

The beautiful people, the beautiful people

So far this summer, I’ve spent most of my weekends at Kits beach assuming the position of a tanorexic and reveling in the non-stop entertainment that is people watching. Yes, this popular summer locale is known for its beautiful people but I’ve noticed more of a likeness to L.A.’s Venice beach in terms of random and strange occurrences. It’s the perfect place to situate for such delights, for example…

Let’s take the cheerleading squad that uses the grassy patch at Cornwall and Yew to try out their tricks. Young, and otherwise miniature girls, fly through the air whilst kicking their legs behind their heads as some strapping young men hoist them up with one hand. Impressive...yet, odd. Is cheerleading seriously a common practice in Canadia? Who knew?

Next up you have the body builder boys sporting low cut v-neck shirts that have been otherwise painted on. I appreciate that they’re trying to flaunt their physique, but come on fellas…pretty sure I saw those shirts at American Apparel in the…ahem, girls section. Just peel the damn things off for f*ck sake, it is summer after all.

Then we have our sugary sweet Japanese gals sunbathing and giggling the day away. Just last weekend I spotted some harajuku types kickin' it in the Kitsilano, one who seemed rather distracted…by herself. While her gal pal lay snoozing beside her, this young lady began a photo montage - of herself - that would end up lasting about 20 minutes. Then, when she was through with her series of self-pics, she proceeded to curl her eyelashes with a contraption resembling that of a tire iron….over and over and over again. I thought to myself ‘oh no sweetie, please stop that...you’re going to pull every one of your eyelashes out. Drop the curler….DROP THE CURLER!’

Parking for the day = $10.
Ticket for drinking in public = $50.
Bizarre-o Vancouverites making a spectacle at Kits beach = priceless.

Gather your inner-gay dahlings and celebrate Pride

Sunshine, sweat and muscles – oh my! Much to my delight - and the delight of 530,000 other spectators - this was the underlying theme of the 30th annual Vancouver Pride Parade. Seriously though possums, it was a grand event demonstrating and celebrating 30 years of gay/bi/lesbian/transgender rights in Vancouver, and what a celebration it was!

Never have I witnessed a more ethnically diverse event. Everyone from members of the aboriginal community to the inclusion of a Bollywood inspired float by Sher Vancouver, a social support group for GLBT Sikhs. There was also a selection of religious groups offering their support to the cause, with one sporting a fabulous Gospel singer accompanied by a 20 person ensemble, which really got the crowd going.

The Pride parade wouldn’t be complete without your typical corporate sponsors and politicians looking for the ‘gay vote’. Yet, whatever their reason for participating, it all garners positive attention to gay rights which is the objective of the parade in the first place.

OK – politics and seriousness aside, let’s move our focus onto the crowd. You have grandma and grandpa in from Cloverdale to take in the colorful floats. You have families and children. At one point, a Mariah Carey-inspired drag queen stopped to toss condoms into the crowd when a young lad in front of us said ‘he would like a sucker too’…to which the queen reached deep into her frock, pulling out an assortment of lollies for the tot. I for one was enjoying the plethora of fit, young men bopping about to a selection of electronica and Madonna…do you blame me?

One of the more powerful moments during the parade was a float displaying the Freedometer Map, a color-coded world map highlighting gay-friendly countries…and the results are quite grim. I’m happy to say Canada is listed as one of the most progressive countries on the subject, however we are only one of three, joined by Spain and South Africa. These are the only countries in the world where there are no penalties for being gay, same-sex marriage is legal and there are discrimination laws in place. As a good friend of mine put it ‘we live in a bubble of liberal thought here in Vancouver and have become complacent about the relevance of this parade and how far our world has yet to come’. Case in point.

Despite the worlds ability, or lack thereof, to adopt a more liberal approach to gay rights, it’s comforting to know that we live in city, and a country for that matter, that is open to all members of its community, regardless of color, religion or sexual preference.

Whew! I feel a group hug coming on…

Photo credits - Nella Amenta

Move aside sightseer cuz I will run you down

Tourists. Turistas if you like. Good people, for the most part, who have traveled from near and far to visit our fair city. They boost the local economy and contribute to Vancouver’s already diverse culture. Summertime tends to be the turistas favorite time to visit, given our pleasant yet mild weather and unbeatable scenery. I rather enjoy these said turistas, however they do pose a problemo for locals like me who enjoy an evening jog on the city’s seawall.

There is no better way to blow off steam than a run on our fabulous seawall at sun set as the blue herons take flight and silhouettes of inukshuks appear along the waters edge. It’s almost an infomercial people. However, just as your pace gains momentum, you are stopped abruptly as lookie-loos stroll slowly, weaving about with no regard to who’s running up behind them. You can try shouting an assertive ‘pardon me’, or, ‘behind you’ but this doesn’t always help as not all turistas speak-a ingrish. I completely appreciate the allure to stroll in this area, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult for us runners. We have a lane for cyclists and rollerbladers - why can we not have a lane dedicated to lookie-loos that is separate from the runners? A fast lane if you will.

Thus, I have decided to submit a patent application for what I’m calling the Runner Ringer. When runners are approaching the unsuspecting lookie-loo turistas, they simply ring the bell – loudly and vigorously – until the turistas kindly move to the side. This may take time to catch on, therefore I will include an instruction manual with helpful phrases to use whilst using the Runner Ringer, i.e. ‘MOVE’, ‘GET OUT OF THE WAY’, ‘REMOVE YOUR SMALL CHILDREN OR CONSIDER THEM ROADKILL’, and similar phrases of that nature. That way, the turistas have a clear sense of what the Runner Ringer is for until it has caught on as commonly as a police siren. Gesturing to the turistas to ‘pull over’ in a sense.

I think this will alleviate my frustrations and the frustrations of my fellow runners and moreover put an end to the Ludacris song ‘Move Bitch, Get Out the Way’ that rings perpetually in my head.

Happy strolling possums. xx

English Bay brings boozers and debauchery

I’m posting a tad on the tardy side this week as I was enjoying an extended Canada Day long weekend of blissful beach time. Speaking of beach - ahem, nice segway UC – I was treated to a delightful spectacle of events the other night at English Bay.

With my BFF and BF in tow, we strolled to the beach to take in the sunset over some take-out sushi. While soaking in the scenery, the people seemed to be the more interesting subjects. Let’s start with the token drunk guy, shall we? That guy who’s been boozing on the beach all day to staggering proportions. Our said boozer - with an open bottle of wine in hand - took it upon himself to entertain a crowd of Spanish speaking exchange students on the art of break dancing in the sand. Yes kids, this is what all Vancouverites look like after a little vino tinto. He then continued to irritate the crowd after confiscating some poor mans guitar to perform his rendition of…um…slur lady slur by the late, great Bob Dylan? Not sure.

I then predicted that our beach boozer was about to drop his drawers and bare it all…and I was right. What is it with men and male nudity – they think it’s hilarious! They get this possessed look in their eye and you just know someone is going to flash their fig newtons. Our subject then sprinted into the ocean, amongst a cheering crowd only to be interrupted by some of Vancouver’s finest who hoisted him away in handcuffs. At least they allowed him to put his shorts back on.

Drunken nudists aside, there was a plethora of G rated entertainment to enjoy. Everything from fire throwers and bongo playin’ hippie types, to this couple engaged in a cirque du soleil-esque performance of acrobatics. I kid you not. Just another night a la plage.

Until next week possums and remember…wear your sunscreen.

Photo credit – Sunset at English Bay, Urban Cowgirl

Things that make me go hmmmmmm

Oh Vancouver. Our fair city, voted ‘most livable city' in the world, several times over. Hardly! Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hatin’ on my hometown, however I have observed some rather bizarre occurrences as of late and felt the need to share some minor rants, albeit very tongue in cheek.

May I present the Urban Cowgirl’s Shitty in Vancity Top 5

5) 3D baby. A local Vancouver spa is offering packages for scoping out your unborn embryo whilst enjoying the spa experience. Watch the 3D spectacle unfold on a 42” monitor (optional gender assessment included). Having seen some of my friend’s alien-esque 3D baby images, this is simply disturbing. I’m not interested in sharing spa space with expectant mothers talking placentas and episiotomies. Can’t this be exclusive to prenatal class? Too much information.

4) Taser gun toting Translink employees. Have you seen these guys? Packing weapons reminiscent of The Terminator as they watch over you, with a militant look in their eye. Take head my fellow loser cruiser passengers - you best be buying a ticket when hopping aboard local transit. The people of Poland would certainly agree.

3) Stiletto’s in Yaletown. This supposed trendy part of town offers the appropriate atmosphere to rock your Micheal Kors and all your fabulous footwear. However, this is near impossible given the cobblestone walkways and uneven streets, making what should be a confident strut turn into a sloppy stagger. My poor BF has fallen victim as well, as I cling to him ever so spastically, just to stay upright. Sheesh.

4) June weather. I’m not going to elaborate, let’s just leave it at that.

5) Gregor Robertson wins Vision Vancouver candidacy. Dear god, how do nutbars like this end up in the race for the mayor’s seat of ‘the most livable city’ in the world? The thought of this man representing Vancouver during the 2010 Olympics makes me dry heave. See my previous blog on good ol’ Gregor for some insight into our upcoming civic election. Vote for Peter (Ladner)!

That’s all possums – I was feeling cheeky this week. Clearly.

Bootin’ it in Bogota or Leggin’ it in Lima

Last night I attended an event celebrating the launch of the Nike Human Race in Vancouver. A race to save humanity? Not as such. But a 10K run round Vancity whilst 24 other cities around the globe run the race concurrently.

Having traveled to half of the cities participating, I decided to sign up. However, this may have been slightly induced by the continuous stream of wine being poured into my glass. Nothing like a little après work wine haze to inspire ones greatness.

Thus, let the training begin. It’s not like I’ll be hoofing it through a marathon or anything, it’s just 10K – right? Less beach lounging and patio surfing…more running. Shit, what have I done?

Vancouver is the only Canadian city participating (what’s up TO?), so I’ll be saying G’day to my mates in Melbourne, Pip Pip to my pals in London and Nay-ho-ma to my homies in Shanghai, as I stride ever so gracefully (or grasping for my last breathe of air) over the finish line. The race is scheduled for 7pm (a twilight run), August 31st. Cities listed below:

Austin - Bogotá - Buenos Aires – Caracas – Chicago – Istanbul – London - Los Angeles – Lima – Madrid – Melbourne - Mexico City - Munich - New York – Paris – Quito – Rome - São Paulo - Seoul – Shanghai – Singapore – Taipei – Tokyo – Warsaw - Vancouver

SATC – the wait has officially ended as I saw the film over the weekend, to which it exceeded all expectations. I have never seen so many frocks and stiletto clad women in Vancouver…ever.

Showy Vancouverites lack social sophistication

In recent months, it has occurred to me that I am living amongst a competitive group of generation x’ers. Competitive in what way you ask? I’m not talking about your typical Saturday night slow pitch game people. No…no no. I’m talking about two seemingly hot topics these days - money and mortgages.

I cannot tell you how often I have been subject to participating in these vile conversations at cocktail parties and such. Where someone is telling me how much they bring home per annum and how much they’re in hawk for over their fabulous 400 square foot condo. Fabulous indeed. Far be it for me to judge anyone on what they feel is a personal accomplishment, but are we really resorting to this kind of chit chat in social settings? Isn’t this information better suited for ones financial planner?

Personally, I find it obnoxious and boring. For example, I am a rather well traveled individual and value these experiences a great deal. However, I dare not speak of my travels during these said social functions. Mention of my trek to Manchu Piccu in Peru, wine tasting in Tuscany or motorcycle tour across Cambodia somehow comes across as ‘showy’ or pretentious. Meanwhile, these money mongers have more or less shared their bank statements with me. Which begs one to question – when did we all become such muppets and decide to compete with one another? Who cares really?

While these Yaletown yuppies and their tea cup puppies feel they have reached the height of sophistication, I suggest looking further then your local Starbucks and dog park. There is more to life people. Bearing in mind, I’m somewhat sleeping with the enemy (figuratively speaking) as my lovely bf lives in this neighborhood, so I tread very carefully on the subject. Yet, this group think mentality adopted by generation x does lead me to ponder – is it just Vancouver…or is it happening the world over?

Over and out possums. xx

Loser cruiser or an environmentally-conscious commute?

Imagine if you will, a bitter cold and rainy Vancouver day. Hard to visualize, I know (insert sarcasm here). It’s 8am on Monday and you’re en route to your local bus stop, trying to maintain a solid grip on your coffee, umbrella and super-sized purse (because they’re hot for spring and therefore necessary). You board the bus which is stuffed to the brim with wet, growly people, yet somehow you manage a seat – yes! You then spend the next 10 glorious minutes with a stranger’s private parts in close proximity to your face and you think to yourself – ‘am I there yet’? ‘Am I the unlucky subject of an episode of Punk’d’? Ashton…where are yooooooouuuuuuuuu…?

You crank your iPod - loudly - in an effort to drown out your fellow commuters and somehow survive this journey from hell. Upon arriving at your stop, you try and escape this torture much like a herd of cows being let out to pasture.

Being a frequent passenger aboard Vancouver’s various modes of public transportation, I can speak from experience with regards to the narrative above. Thus, I have some rather strong opinions on the subject. Allow me to share with you the…

Urban Cowgirl’s Top 5 in Bus Etiquette

5. No talking please. For example, my mom (bless her) recently ‘rode the bus like regular people’ only to be rudely shut down while offering a friendly ‘good morning’ to a fellow female passenger, who was clearly not having it. It’s not a social mingler, it’s a mode of transport. Let’s keep the chit chat to a minimum.

4. Are you over the age of 85 and/or retired? If so, please refrain from riding the bus during peak commuter hours. Where are you going at 8:30am? Is it imperative that you visit the public library at this hour? PS I’m happy to respect the elderly and offer my seat to you, but please be mindful of the 4 inch heels I’m dealing with.

3. Do NOT for any reason ask me to turn down my iPod. This is my only survival mechanism. One day I will bravely reply, explaining ‘this is how I tune out riff raff like you’, but in the meantime, I’ll grin and nod and pretend to turn it down…but I won’t.

2. What part of ‘move to the back’ do you not understand? Tourists and ESL students exempt, however 90% of the passengers can hear the driver loud and clear. My favorite is when stubborn people refuse to move and the bus driver plays god and refuses to go anywhere until everyone has done so. Meanwhile, I’m increasingly late for work. Two words – move bitches.

1. Become self aware of your personal hygiene and refrain from boarding the bus if you stink. I realize some people don’t know they’re stinky, and these people should simply be shot ofcourse, but all others should know – if you board the bus, and you stink, I will stare you down like the stanky mcstank that you are.

Until next week dear possums. xx