What I Did On Saturday, Plus There Might Be A Free T-Shirt At The End If I Like Your Idea

Not to sound insensitive or anything, but death is a real bummer, so I'm going to switch gears and tell you what I did on Saturday.

Shanan and I went to the University of Regina Theatre Department's costume sale, where we tried on many ridiculous things from medieval wench costumes to skin-tight, fuzzy, blue bear costumes to fluffy hats:



I walked around in this princess outfit for a while until I realized that I looked like an artsy member of the KKK:



I couldn't leave empty-handed, though, so I bought three, yes THREE, of these The Disciples of James Dean jackets:



Then, we went to the farmers' market, where we hmmmed over produce.



I got ripped off by this one vendor again. He's this one particular Hutterite farmer. He'll tell you that it's four dollars for the carrots and five for the corn, and then after you talk to him for a while longer, he'll ask for ten. I give it to him because I like the way his accent turns the word hope into hoop.

Then, Shanan and I went for coffee at Tangerine, and it wasn't one of those namby pamby coffees where we talk about work and hobbies, no. We talked about atheism and the afterlife and the evils of dairy:



I love coffees like that. Something about getting older seems to rob us of the willingness to throw it all out there. We have so many guarded conversations where we talk about everything we agree on, whether it's how nice such and such is or how crappy such and such is, and it's delicious to dig into stuff that, although we want to preface it with you might think I'm crazy, but..., we put it out there anyway.



We're safer than we think we are.



Then, we hit Value Village, where we wondered at what might possess someone to buy a platter commemorating Bridlington:



Not that I've ever been to Bridlington, mind you, and it might be a city worth remembering through pictorial platters. I shouldn't judge just because I don't get the allure of commemorative platters.

I do, though. I'm a jerk sometimes.

And then, because we were trying to go everywhere in one afternoon, we stopped at the Golden Willow to buy buttons for the fantastic vintage coat that fit Shanan and not me because the universe is a sick place that doesn't give me what I want, except for when I find grapefruit jujube slices for free at the till. Then, the universe is less sick and more delicious.



So, in short, Saturday's purchases were, in no particular order: Creamo half & half, Starbucks ground coffee, DayQuil, three ceramic doll heads with two arms, a bag of potatoes, a bag of corn, four bags of carrots, and three The Disciples of James Dean jackets:



I'm not sure what the jackets are for. One just barely fits me, and then there are two smaller ones, so I think I need a small gang of small people who, if they don't hate James Dean, can at least pretend that they like James Dean. And red silk jackets. Bonus points if they can sculpt their hair into pompadours. Motherbumper?

And, because there is no tidy way to wrap this up, BAM! Here's my morning face:



PS. I am getting about ten free t-shirts, and I get to print whatever I want on them. What should I put on them? I'm at a loss. I thought about putting my head on them, only with Mr. T hair, with the line "Quit your jibba jabba!" underneath, but then I worried that his lines mights be trademarked or something.

So, help me out. If I like one of your ideas, you get a free shirt!

Ten Things I Saw Today

1.  The True Knit Art Show



2.  Shanan



3.  Yellow hair



4.   An elderly stairwell



5.  Religious leaders



6.  A giant nipple



7.  A hippie wall



8.  Candied bacon vanilla ice cream with salty buttercaramel topping



9.  Really smug aluminum foil



10.  Onion's feet

Vitamin Deficiency And Carpet Inspections

It's Hang Out With Shanan Week! Or at least it's a week in which I hang out with Shanan more than usual.


This is Shanan buying produce from Heliotrope at the Regina Farmers' Market.

She's all up on the vegetarianism and how to do it well, and, because she's been at it half her life, she's a little walking encyclopedia of nutritional know-how, which is how we ended up talking about vitamin B12 deficiency.

She started listing symptoms of vitamin B12 deficiency, and I started realizing that all those times I thought HOLY CRAP, I AM GOING TO DIE over the last year, I was probably wrong.


I wish I had seen what he did with that creepy doll sticking out of his banjo case.

I mean, I am going to die, and nothing is going to stop this anxiety-ridden insomniac from sitting bolt upright in bed at two in the morning and shouting PALINODE, I AM GOING TO DIE. That's one of my favourite activities right after making melted crayon shavings and pill bottle brooches for my mom and right before sunset walks on the beach.

(Here's a weird aside that has almost nothing to do with the above paragraph, except that the above paragraph reminded me of summer camp, which is where a camp counsellor unsuccessfully tried to teach me how to use a bow and arrow: Geena Davis vied for a spot on the United States Olympic archery team for the Sydney 2000 Summer Olympics. True fact.)


Sacred Earth has the best soaps ever. You should have some.

Anyway, Shanan helped me to realize that I'm probably not going to die, at least right away. Heart palpitations, confusion and memory loss, constipation, depression, dizziness and trouble maintaining balance, fatigue, numbness in my hands, pale skin, and my sore tongue are not all colluding to seal my fate as worm food. I could, in all likelihood, have a vitamin B12 deficiency.


Summer!

I actually have a blood test requisition form in my purse that my doctor gave me so that I can have my iron and B12 levels tested. I will get that done in order to make sure that this is, indeed, what is up with me, but I am waiting for a time when it seems convenient to fast and forego caffeinated beverages.


A mail carrier! At work! The strike is over!

Wait.

Did I just tell you that I feel like crap and lie awake nights worrying about my imminent death and then say that actually getting tested for what might be wrong with me is inconvenient?

I'm an idiot. Or I was an idiot. Now I have seen the folly of my ways. I'll go in tomorrow.


Tangerine celebrated its first birthday!

In the meantime, I bought some time-release B12 vitamins. They're pink. They make me feel proactive.


Shanan's face missed the party memo.

Take a moment to laugh too long and too loud about how sad Shanan looks behind the party cupcake.


This photo has managed to insinuate a 1970s porn flavour into itself with a strong Dacron sidenote. Dirk Diggler, anyone?

Sometimes a bottle of pop is just a bottle of pop.


This pink is cuh-razy.

I've been having these highly detailed dreams in which I am invited over to the homes of famous female bloggers, and I spend my entire visit in each home trying to covertly inspect the undersides of their carpets. I peel back the top layer, which is anything from a practical berber to an antique Persian, I pick at the padding beneath, and I investigate the quality of the floorboards.

In one blogger's home, I kept picking bits of blue underlay from beneath a throw rug, and I was trying to hide the evidence inside a delicious martini slushie my hostess had made.


This is a roasted red pepper tart.

And sometimes carpet is just carpet, right?


The tangerine icing on these cupcakes had just enough butter in it to make me pat my muffin top fondly and secretly give it the pet name "Butter".

Party cupcakes!