I thought I’d post pictures from our epic foiling prank. I had the fabulous Ashley B foiling with me today.  This is only phase 2; tomorrow, Pjete and I will finish wrapping the walls, couch, blinds, office chair, and – perhaps – the ceiling.

As today is BC Day, the office was closed. I was surprised to arrive and see my boss’s car in the parking lot, but as the recipient of my prank works in a different department, I wasn’t concerned about unwanted interruptions.  It seems, however, that our foiling was too loud. My boss heard us from the other side of the building, and came looking for the disconcerting noises. Seemingly, there’s a homeless man camping in our parking lot, and she was actually quite creeped out.  In any case, we were caught in action. The conversation played out as follows

Boss Lady:  Hello???? Is someone in there?

Us: Hi, [Boss Lady]

Boss Lady: Oh good, it’s just you guys. You know about the homeless guy in the parking lot, right? I think they’re going to ask him to leave. I was a little concerned about the noise.

Us: Sorry! We didn’t think we’d disturb anyone.

[insert ten minutes of small talk here]

Boss Lady: So what are you girls doing in [co-worker's] office?

Us: Oh, ya know, just a little redecorating. It’s a surprise.

Boss Lady: Oh nice, what are you working on?

Us: Oh, ya know, just wrapping everything in foil.

Boss Lady: (astonished look) Wow! I didn’t even notice! Wow! You guys… Well… I haven’t seen – or heard – anything!  Oh my gosh…

I was shocked that she didn’t immediately notice that everything was wrapped in foil. It was so funny. I stood there, trying not to laugh; I couldn’t figure out whether or not she had previously seen the office or if she had simply not seen the extent of the foil.

There are now just two phases left in this prank.  Phase Three is tomorrow; we will finish “redecorating” [coworker's] office.  Phase Four is later in the week; we will find a way to record [coworker's] reaction to the the prank with a hidden camera.  If Phase Four is successful, you will see a video at some point early next week.

In no particular order, here are my favorite albums to play this summer:

1. Pretty. Odd. - Panic! At The Disco
2. 1 - The Beatles
3. Save Me San Francisco - Train
4. Shout It Out – Hanson
5. The Great American Midrange - The Elms
6. Now, Volume 6 – Various Artists (2000)
7. Forrest Gump Soundtrack - Various Artists
8. The Essential Lynyrd Skynyrd - Lynyrd Skynyrd
9. Tragic Kingdom – No Doubt
10. Gold – Bob Marley and The Wailers
11. All Their Greatest Hits – Barenaked Ladies
12. Born To Reign – Will Smith
13. Number Ones - Michael Jackson
14. Everybody Else - Everybody Else
15. Monkey Business – Black Eyed Peas

In no particular order, I present to you the most awesome moments of the week…

The one with the guy at the stop light:

Thursday morning, it was too overcast (read that: cold/gray/miserable/freezing/depressing) to have the windows and sunroof open. I was, however, driving the SUV, which has a respectable sound system. This resulted in ear-throbbing levels of bass during my commute.  Upon rolling up to a stop light, the guy in the car next to mine began giving me over-zealous head nods. I admit I did look pretty hot. At the very least, I was having a good hair day.  A quick glance revealed that this young man was an East Indian chap dressed in thug apparel; he was driving a completely riced Honda Civic; he was a total wangster.  The more I ignored him, the louder he cranked his system. When I could take it no more, I cranked up the bass and rolled down my windows. My song of choice?  ”One Time” by Justin Bieber.  He tried to crank his system louder than mine, but it didn’t work.  Embarrassed, he was forced to concede that he spent too much money on his ridiculous aluminum wing and coffee-can muffler and not nearly enough to better  my stock CD-play and speakers.  Or Justin Bieber, for that matter…

This was almost as awesome as when I drowned out the neighbor guy’s Eminem album with almost 40 minutes of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird.”

The one with the employee discount at the store I don’t work at.

Tomorrow in Kids Unlimited, we’re talking about God’s plan for the Israelites and how he intended for them to live set apart for Him; I prefer the way my Bible college prof, Ken Esau, put it: “Wow-Weird!”  I thought glow sticks would be a cool object lesson. Moreover, I thought glow sticks would be ridiculously fun.  After  buying 150 glow sticks and six glow-in-the-dark batons, I ventured into the dollar store (insert shudder here) to pick up glow-in-the-dark balls.  The balls I found have flashing blue and red LEDs inside, and they’re awesome.  One of the sales associates helped me find an extra four balls, and, in the course of our conversation, she asked why I was buying insane amounts of glowing toys.  When I explained where I work and what I do, she told me that she has been teaching Sunday school for more than 30 years; she also gave me her employee discount.

The one with the thousand-foot roll of foil.

While a co-worker is out of town, I have taken it upon myself to ensure that all of his office things are thoroughly wrapped in foil.  By “thoroughly” I mean that I intend to wrap every singular object in foil, right down to the littlest push pin and loneliest business card.  I’m about 10% done. Monday might end up rather busy.  The best moment in this adventure [thus far]: flipping on the lights for the first time and realizing just how effective (and reflective) foil can be in a small space.  Next on the to-do list: figuring out how I shall best capture this fellow’s reaction.

Think I’m over reacting to the threat of pigeons?  Perhaps not!  I’m not the only one unwilling to sit idly by and let the sky rats run rampant.  Kings of Leon recently stopped a concert just three songs in because of the nasty creatures.  People magazine tells us:

Three songs into their St. Louis concert Friday night, the Kings of Leon had to shut down the show on account of some unexpected accompaniment that CNN pins on “pooping pigeons.”

“Jared [Followill, the band's bassist] was hit several times during the first two songs,” said Andy Mendelsohn of Vector Management. “It’s not only disgusting – it’s a toxic health hazard. They really tried to hang in there.”

The dirty birds were reported to have been lurking in the rafters of the Missouri city’s Verizon Amphitheatre and launching their aerial attack during the band’s opening number, “Closer.” Followill, 23, got it in the face.

“I was hit by pigeons on each of the first three songs,” said the musician and self-professed germophobe. “We had 20 songs on the set list. By the end of the show, I would have been covered from head to toe.”

Nor did he feel safe gazing skyward to see who his attackers were – or how many of them.

“The last thing I was going to do was look up,” he said, “but if that was only a couple, we must have caught them right after a big Thanksgiving dinner.”

After the cancelation – and, presumably, a good, hot shower – the band said in a statement through its manager, “We want to apologize to our fans in St. Louis and will come back as soon as we can.” Added the band’s publicist, “No fans got pooped on as far as we know.”

Kudos to Jared and the guys!  Next time, I hope they arm themselves with pellet guns and take more aggressive action against the sky rats.

This video of the concert popped up on youtube:

Towards the end, you can see the drummer and lead singer wipe sky rat scat from their faces. If I’m not mistaken, the singer’s shirt is also dotted with pigeon bomb shrapnel.

These birds must die!

My war with the pigeons started several months ago.  I was soaking in the tub, but I had left the window open. It was a nice sunny evening, and I was enjoying the neighborhood sounds as I relaxed. The window, when opened, creates a hole sized about one square foot in the bathroom wall, facing our neighbor’s house. The neighbors have no windows on the east side of their house, so this is safe enough – especially as the window is considerably higher than the tub. In other words, one can soak quite happily without fear of creating a neighborhood peep show. Especially if one uses copious amounts of bubbles and keeps the shower curtain drawn.  I feel the need to explain this quite thoroughly, lest some of you take to driving by my house. You wont see anything. Not that I bathe with the window open any more. No. The pigeons put an end to that.

There was I, soaking blissfully, when some great flappery interrupted my musings. A pigeon actually tried to fly into the window. Naturally, I sprung to action and successfully deterred said sky rat. None the less, I felt the sky rats had robbed me of one of my simplest pleasures. Sigh. I do not wish to offer them entrance to our home.

Since that day, I have regarded the pigeons with resentment. Those heathen sky rats have not been satisfied to rob me of open-window baths. They’ve taking to roosting under the eaves of the neighbor’s house, as well as sitting outside by bedroom window. They rob me of sleep as they coo and chatter in their pigeony way.

One Sunday morning, perhaps three weeks ago now, I awoke to the sound of their vocalization. Still groggy, I was infuriated that they had woken me before 6:00. Without truly considering the repercussions, I began to look for something – anything, really – to throw at the sky rats. My still-sleepy eyes locked onto a rubber band, and my mind was made up.  Slowly, almost painfully slow, I raised my blinds. The brazen birds did not scatter! I proceeded to lean out the window, as far as I could, and then I took aim.  I must interject that I possibly have the worst aim of all time. I didn’t truly expect to hit a sky rat; I simply hoped to frighten and scatter them in a satisfying fashion. But I did. I hit a sky rat. I nailed him with my rubber band. The whole pack (alright, there were three or four) took flight. They didn’t, however, fly the coop for long.

Instead, they have returned in greater numbers.

Pigeons, I once assumed, are a lazy, loafy type of bird. These seditious sky rats use their harmless appearance to infiltrate our society, and then they wait for an opportunity to do their worst. Even Disney has proliferated this pigeon propaganda, encouraging children to offer their few tuppence to support the sky rats!

Once welcomed into our parks and neighborhoods, the sky rats begin to bomb aggressively. They are not happy to drop the occasional load; they carpet bomb.  My car, and, more recently, our folding camp chairs and patio, have been the unhappy recipients.  This was an inconvenience and an annoyance. But the pigeons didn’t stop there. They waged a heavy assault on something near and dear to my heart – my Toy Story 3 Action Heroes wading pool!

Friday, I spent an hour draining and scrubbing my pool with bleach wipes until the smell of chorine was deeply ingrained in the surface. Granted, this shall create a more authentic pool experience, but I can’t honestly say that I’m thrilled about it.  Those pigeons stole something from me – something sacred.  I’m not taking this sitting down.

Today, I shall take my first strike against the pigeons.  Sky rats apparently hate the smell of strong spices. I’ll be mixing a disgusting mixture of garlic, cayenne, and everything else in my spice cupboard, and then venturing out onto the roof to distribute the mixture. With any luck, this will provide temporary relief. Should the sky rats return, I’m fully prepared to take more drastic measures.  A family friend has graciously offered the use of his airsoft gun; I fully intend to borrow it and take whatever means necessary to defend my family and our pool.

I’ll let you know how it goes…

1. Ate breakfast in the shower. How have I not been doing this for YEARS? Epic. Seriously.
2. Fought the addiction and won! I did not buy $tarbucks today!
3. Drank at least two litres of water.
4. Had the will power to not buy at least three different cardigans I was thoroughly convinced had been taylor made for me.
5. Stuck to the my diet unflinchingly. With exception to a handful of M&M’s during a rough patch this afternoon.
6. Got some good exercise power walking at the mall and Grandview. Shopping is hardcore. Seriously.
7. Watched the first half of A Very Potter Sequel.
8. Greek Yogurt + Fresh Blueberries = Totally Awesome. (Refer to number one)
9. Devoured the fabulous fish tacos I made with the cantaloupe salsa I made last night.
10. Wore my favorite black shirt.
11. Caught up with some awesome GP people I haven’t seen in ages.
12. Checked out our new college group.
13. Flossed. Twice. This is common, but awesome no less. Dental hygiene FTW!
14. Cut back on the number of times I used the word “Seriously.” Seriously.

My friend Simon is a lot of things. He is a filmmaker, a chocolate cake enthusiast, a critic, a cynic, and a button-up wearer. He is also right. Not all the time, but a good chunk of the time.  Last night, he was right. He suggested I respond to a young man’s invitation by simply writing, “No Thanks.” I have never been good at harsh, solid responses to men. I try to be polite and ladylike. So I buffered my response with an, “I don’t really know you.”  Simon was right.  A simple “No Thanks” would have been better.

In my own defense, the guy said, “I know you live in Canada and all, but I think we should start doing something.” I wasn’t sure if that was a euphemism for something else, so, despite the thousand other reasons I felt no inclination to respond positively, I felt that I ought to decline the offer. That and I don’t respond to facebook messages that begin with the words, “hey mama.” Especially not from a white guy.

Of course the guy followed up, insisting that we could get to know each other, and I found myself responding with a classic bull-filled response about being so over long distance relationships and being too busy with school and work.  Well, I suppose my response was honest enough. I am “so over” long distance relationships. And I am very busy with work and school and trying to finish a damn novel. But would those things really matter if I met someone with whom I had real chemistry? No. They just wouldn’t stand up as a real reason to not pursue the elusive Mr. Right. Or someone that seemed awfully right, for that matter. If I met someone I really hit it off with, distance and busyness would seem like very small obstacles.

Last summer’s brief spell dating a man that shall only be known as “Jersey Shore” (total guido!) was enough to remind me that I should only get involved with someone I really click with. Over the past year, I’ve also learned that I need to stop looking for Kevin 2.0. It would be so easy to continue looking for someone “just like Kevin, only he doesn’t do [insert frustrating thing] and actually likes [thing I like].”  I’m over it. I’ve moved on. And I need another Kevin about as much as he needs another Naomi. I’m pretty sure that amount roughly equates to “not at all, not even a little.”

So where does that leave me?  Single.

Sometimes I feel like I have become incredibly picky, but looking at the guys I’ve been involved with in the past, I know I haven’t been picky enough. I’d rather spend a lengthy period watching all my friends pair off and settle down than to keep dating for the sake of dating. It’s just frustrating. I feel like I’m finally at a place where I’m emotionally ready for another serious relationship, but I’m just not meeting any one that catches my fancy.

I still believe in fairytales and true love and being swept of my feet. Actually, the problem is that I’m just not willing to settle for anything less.

Now, if you excuse me, I shall go find my copy of Sense and Sensibility; perhaps Jane Austen will hold the answers.

Tonight I write about cardigans. Josh requested I write about cardigans, and, as I have little else to write about, I shall offer you a few thoughts about cardigans.

I have a long history with cardigans. As a Scottish school girl, the cardigan was an integral part of my identity. And uniform.  That formative period of my life left me with a general distaste for cardigans. I’ve always been the rebellious type; thus, I felt it necessary to rebel against cardigans for a long time. This led me to embrace several alternative fashion faux pas from the mid 90′s until about 2003. I’m talking about serious faux pas. On many a day, I left the house wearing denim from head to toe. I even carried a denim purse. I owned denim shirts and skirts and jackets and pants, and I wore them all in some sort of ridiculous blue ensemble. Don’t even get me started on the strange color combinations that I paired with my Old Navy tech vest. Although I courted cardigans upon occasion, I was bullied out of my openness to the garments by a giant, butch pain in my ass, who gave me hell for wearing pink.  Looking back, I see nothing wrong with my hot pink sweater, but I suppose anything from the Gap or Old Navy would intimidate a 13-year-old who grew up on a basketball court and lived in over-sized sweat pants.

So it seems strange that cardigans have become a staple of my clothing diet.

In the past six months, I bought at least 5 or 6 cardigans, all of which I’ve over worn to the point of destruction. I love cardigans. Two of said cardigans are pink, and I’m sure everyone I know is sick of seeing me in pink cardigans. On a particularly bad day, I found myself waiting in line at the Tommy Hilfiger outlet, baby pink cardigan in hand. It took every ounce of will power I had to put it back and walk out of the store. I own black cardigans. I own grey cardigans. I have biscuit coloured cardigans. Yes. Plural. Three biscuit coloured cardigans, to be exact. Beige, if you prefer.

Why am I telling you all of this? It just serves to illustrate that we’re a product our journeys. It might be my nature, after all, I come from a long line of cardigan-wearing women. It might be nurture; I was raised with cardigans, sweater sets, and films in which Doris Day wore cardigans. Whatever the reason, cardigans are in my blood.

The sooner we embrace our roots, the living history in us, the better. You can runaway from who you are and your past, but it’s still going to be there. When you finally confront it, it will hit you with a vengeance. You will wake up one day with a closet full of cardigans.

I’m a girl who wears cardigans. I’m not even cool enough to rock a hipster look. I am a Gap poster child reject. And I’m happy with that.

Sarah Palin is easily the most recognizable woman in North American politics. While Palin has little experience and few accomplishments under her belt, the former governor of Alaska has become iconic. Despite my love of – nay, obsession with – Tina Fey, I feel that the comedian is partially to blame for the over-exposure Palin has received. For weeks leading up to the 2008 election, I devoured every Palin-impersonation Tina Fey performed. Admit it; you did too. It was pure gold. And just a little bit frightening.  The  more ridiculous Fey’s impersonations became, the closer they seemed to Palin’s actual appearances. It was much like trying to figure out whether it was Oprah or Joel Osteen that coined recognizable inspirational statements.

Recently, Palin hit the headlines again. This time, she’s following in the footsteps of George W. Bush and creating her own words and pronunciations. Check out this clip:

That’s right. The Obama’s are yet to “refudiate” claims that the Tea Party movement is innately racist. Refudiate.

Had the woman any grace or poise, she would have moved on, unfazed, instead of trying to make “refudiate” a word. Instead, Palin tweeted the following:

“‘Refudiate,’ ‘misunderestimate,’ ‘wee-wee’d up.’ English is a living language. Shakespeare liked to coin new words too. Got to celebrate it!”

She actually dug herself deeper into the whole by using a phrase I’ve personally never heard before – “wee-wee’d up.” Such abuse of the English language is enough to convince me that Palin is a harbinger of the apocalypse. Unless Harry, Ron, and Hermione can find and destroy all of Dick Cheney’s horcruxes, this might just be the end of the world as we know it.

But I digress!

I think Palin sends several negative messages to young women:

1. It’s okay to be stupid. As long as you look pretty.
2. Playing down any shred of intelligence you may have is alright. People find stupid women charming!
3. Be more concerned with what you’re putting on top of your head than what you’re putting inside.
4. Never take ownership of your mistakes or accept constructive criticism.
5. Be quick to speak and slow to think.

She’s a terrible role model.  And our world is seriously lacking strong female role models for young girls.

It’s not funny anymore. I can’t honestly say I find a single thing about her amusing. I would really, really, REALLY like the Republican party to front one intelligent, educated, articulate female figurehead just to prove that it’s possible. Until then, we’re stuck with Palin and Coulter. That’s enough to keep my feet firmly planted in the Democrats’ camp.

Let’s all ignore her and hope that she goes away. That always worked in grade school…

• Walking city streets unobstructed by umbrellas.
• Good drip coffee. Almost everywhere.
• Quality used bookstores.
• Knowing exactly where to buy obscure groceries.
• Or Chinese take-out.
• Bottles of wine for $5 or less.
• The smell of garlic fries filling Safeco.
• And pouring out of the stadium, onto the street, where it mingles with that of popcorn and beer.
• Poseidon, Lord of the Sea – otherwise know as the Edmonds water temperature guy.
• Mac & Jack’s.
• Bumping into old friends.
• Bumping into new friends.
• Bumping. Generally.
• 24-hour fast food chains.
• Ferry rides in the rain.
• Blustery days.
• Walks through old wood growth on familiar paths.
• Waves from the sound, surging over the breakwater.
• Watching pink sunsets from rooftops.
• Front porch nights bleeding into morning over a smoldering hookah.
• Shoe sales.
• Seashells.
• Soft-serve.
• Rockabilly shows in the park.
• Driving too fast.
• Learning too slow.
• And You.
• All of you.