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This morning as I was perusing the Globe and Mail, I read something that very nearly caused me to spit out my Organics Flax N’Oats instant oatmeal.
The header of the front page of the Life section was trying to convince me to flip to page 7 to read an article entitled, “Feist is Nice”.
Feist is Nice?
Nice!?
NICE?!?!?!?!?
If there was ever a more asinine use of the word nice, I never heard of it.
Having been AT Tuesday night’s concert at the Orpheum here in Vancouver, I can state with absolute certainty that it was not nice.
It was gosh darn AMAZING!!!
(Sorry Mama, Bella and Aunt Nan for the swearing, but it was very necessary.)
Feist is incredible enough on her own; I have been lucky to have been able to see her twice before. But Feist singing Lonely Lonely while being accompanied by the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra (the recent recipients of a Grammy award, no less) was incredibly beautiful/powerful/emotive beyond words.
The rest of the concert had its own highlights; Jorane’s voice made me think of peach-coloured velvet and I couldn’t get the melancholy-slash- “hi!-my-name-is-Christopher-Robin-and-it’s-my-birthday!!!” quality of Ron Sexsmith’s songs out of my mind.
Though they may have messed up the headline, the Globe did an OK job of sharing some of the details of the concert. Of course, Feist stole the show completely.
Well, Feist and my Benny, of course.
And yes I’m talking about Ben Mulroney. He hosted the event (which was supposed to be some sort of “Cultural Olympiad” thingy which I’m still trying to figure out) in his usual charming way.
But he stole the show – at least for me – right before intermission.
That’s when he got up to the podium right after Ron Sexsmith to say a few words as people started to stir in their seats in anticipation of a much needed break, and said something to the effect of: “…and I’ll be in the lobby, posing for pictures with all my fans and friends, especially my friend Kasia who’s in the audience, so hey Kasia, see you in a bit…”…
… or SOMETHING like that…. I was so totally and completely kerflumuxed that I’m not even sure of the words anymore – all I know is that when I heard my name booming over the sound system of the Orpheum across the audience of 2,700 people, my head snapped up and I had to massively resist the urge to flap my hands and stand up shrieking, “That’s ME!!! HE’S TALKING ABOUT ME!!! Ohmygod that’s meeeeeeeeeee!!!”.
(I did, by the way. Resist shrieking, that is.)
Moments later, I got a text message from my Rob: “Did you like that?”
To which I responded: “OMG I ALMOST PASSED OUT.”
And Rob replied: “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
Aren’t I the luckiest girl in the world? I mean seriously, how amazing is my fiance??
I’ve been completely surrounded by all the things I love most in the world the last couple of days – Feist, Rob, good friends, great sisters-in-law, amazing family (mostly by phone, but still!), hilarious co-workers, new purses, and red wine.
Does it GET any better? I don’t think so.
So Happy Valentine’s Day!
I hope you’re also surrounded by all the things you love most in the world today.
(And if you are so inclined, leave a comment and let us know what those things are!)
I turned 30 the day before yesterday and already, I’ve lost count of the number of times someone’s asked me: “So are you scared about turning thirty? Are you going to have a melt-down?”
A melt-down?!?
I guess it’s not surprising that they ask. It happens a lot, or so I hear. But I don’t think it’s actually turning the big three-oh that makes some people fall apart. I think it’s the same force that’s behind New Years melt-downs and Valentine’s melt-downs and yes, even Christmas melt-downs. It’s that they’re moments which are especially conducive to introspection. And not just any introspection – that nasty, melancholy, super-critical and depressing introspection during which you look around you and only notice the shiny happy people. Everyone goes there at some point in their lives.
As for me… I visited that place a long time ago (and yes, more than once) but not on my thirtieth birthday. The closest I came to a melt-down was eating a scrumptious grilled-cheese sandwich in Chilliwack the day before. (Ha ha, get it? I kill me.)
The thing is, there are so many things that I am so NOT going to miss! So without further ado…
Top 20 Things About My 20s That I’m Looking Forward
To Saying Goodbye To
***********************************************
20. Awkward first dates, especially the fighting-over-the-bill part.
My daddy taught me that nothing comes for free and that boys are bad.
19. Worrying about wearing the right thing.
Screw it, I’m gonna wear what I wanna to wear. If you don’t like it, don’t look.
18. Zits.
17. Trying to “find myself” by leaving the country.
Nope, I’m not there, either.
16. Not knowing how to feed myself.
The Freshman Fifteen phase was real bad… or in my case, the France Fifteen. Damn baguettes.
15. Being too timid to make a new friend/point out an error/demand to see the manager.
14. Curling irons.
I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I will never have that lovely, full, messy, curly look. Ever.
13. Student loans.
12. Bad makeup.
Blue eyeliner, sparkles and orange cover-up went out for a reason.
11. Roommates.
For the most part, I lucked out with mine except for the times I had to pretend not to hear heads thumping on walls. You know who you are.
10. The pain of trying to figure out how to do those boring but necessary things that parents used to do for you: taxes, passports, hydro set-ups, banking, change of address forms, health insurance, etc.
At least it’s like riding a bike – once you do it, you won’t forget.
9. Having to include my high school info / clubs / volunteer work on my resume.
Thank God I can finally forget those Okotoks days… and bury that 2nd Prize in the Annual Typing Competition award.
8. Mediocre to downright sucky make-out sessions.
7. Silly friend dramas.
6. Obsessing about how small my boobs are.
Yay Shakira.
5. Agonizing over what I want to be when I grow up.
It’s more important to agonize over ‘who’ you want to be. I finally get it.
4. Not knowing how to say sorry and when to say thank you.
3. Undervaluing the advice of my parents.
Contrary to popular belief, 9.5 times out of 10, they’re right.
2. Worrying about what “Other People” will say.
I never did figure out exactly who these phantom people were.
… and the number one thing to say goodbye to from my twenties:
1. Underestimating myself!
Bye Twenties! And Hello, Thirties. Bring it on.
Boots courtesy of Mama K who was quite the diva and, on top of that,
had the foresight to save her butt-kickin’ boots to pass down to me.
Last night I had the last party of my twenties. I thought I spend today being all nostalgic and weepy and hungover but I wasn’t any of those things.
Could it be I really am all growned up??
Mine and Robbie’s double bday extravaganza at Zin was spectacular and perfect in every way. The lounge was divine, the service was superb, the friends were plentiful and the laughs abundant.
We are so incredibly lucky to be surrounded by so many amazingly wonderful, funny and caring people. (Except for the ones who ordered the Muff-diver, those ones are a little less wonderful. Ha ha.)
It was the perfect way to end off my twenties… and for Rob to embark on the last year of his (kindly keep your cougar comments to yourselves 
)
Thanks for everything, guys. We love you!
*click on photos to enlarge*
Last 2 photos by our great photographer friend, Duaner
We heard the whole story straight from the source today. My Benny – of Canadian Idol and CTV’s eTalk Daily fame – has joined the Fiance Club of which, bien sur, Robbie and I are also newly minted members.
Oh Benny, you were my fall-back plan… now what am I going to do??
(Just kidding. Although it might be true that I spent almost twenty-five minutes once trying to convince a certain store to sell me a poster from their front window featuring the man with the stellar smile: “Oui mais… eez not for zale, madame.” “I know, but I really want it. I’ll buy it. How much do you want for it?” “Euh, bien…mais… eet eez not for zale.” “Twenty? Thirty?” “Boot eet eez juss poster in window.” “Fifty. I’ll give you fifty bucks for it. S’il vous plait??” “Madame, we weel hav to ask yoo to leeve now.”)
We’re very thrilled for them both and wish them a lovely happy engagement.
This brings the wedding count for 2008 to three… theirs, the Lewins’ and of course, our own. It’s shaping up to be an exciting year already, and it’s only day two.
I couldn’t resist googling the news and came up with this cute article from the Globe and Mail entitled, Meet the new Mulroneys.
Which, of course, led me to joke around, “Hey!! Where was our article? Meet the new Finkelsteins??”
To which Google replied, here it is. There’s also the song – to be sung to the tune of the Flintstones theme.
Close. Real close.
But not quite.
About 20 (or so) times a day, I open a folder on my computer labeled TOP SECRET and gaze in rapture at a picture of my white dress. THE white dress. That I bought last weekend! If you think that’s compulsive, consider that I actually resist the urge approximately a thousand times a day. How’s that for will power?
Just yesterday I stumbled upon the knowledge that you can, in fact, “sew and wear the same wedding dress as Anne” … that’s right, as in ANNE OF GREEN GABLES.
I mean, yes I know she’s fictional and sure, it’s the dress from the movies. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it.
(Just for a moment.)
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