Photographic Evidence Of A Canadian Good Time

Until I can fully recover from this weekend’s:

a. Lack of sleep

b. Amazing amount of fake (and very real) mustaches

c. Amazing amount of fake (and very Ed Hardy) tattoos

d. Hilarious border crossings

e. Poutine

e. All of the above

I am hereby leaving you with a teaser of my time in Vancouver for TequilaCon*, wherein “teaser” mostly means “my favorite pictures, that I have thus far looked at and managed to edit and upload before falling asleep sitting up at my desk I’m not even kidding right now.”

Brandon! (one of the founding fathers of TC) and Jen! (and Brandon!). This might be my favorite picture of Jen that I’ve ever taken, and my doubly favorite part is how she exclaimed, “Why do I always do that? I look like I’m having a seizure or something!” after noticing that she tilted her head for the shot (which happens to be my favorite part of the shot).

This picture makes me “Awwwh.” (Angella! & Vahid!)

This is Hillary! Hillary is fantastic.

LIKE BUTTON.

This is Dayna! Dayna is related to Angella, but she would be awesome even if she weren’t.

Where do I even start with this photo, and the story behind it? Suffice it to say this picture pretty perfectly embodies why I love Cayly (Hans!) with the fire of a thousand suns.

*I do not drink tequila. Ever. You can trust me on that being a very good thing, for everyone. I do, however, love to spend hours with great friends who make me laugh until my stomach is literally aching and then we all dance and sing to (highway to the) “Danger Zone” and “Footloose,” amen and the end.

The end, that is, until I come back to tell you more stories about this weekend, like the story featuring a U.S. border patrolman who (was a very big fan of himself, yes, and) dissed blogging. Oh no he didn’t. (Did you just picture me snapping my fingers while moving my arm in a downward zigzag motion with a very incredulous look on my face? OK, good.)

Oh, yes. He did. And it was hilarious.

Merry Mélange

It was here, while waiting for my brother, that I started this story, although, of course, at the time I did not know that stories of life are often more like rivers than books. But I knew a story had begun, perhaps long ago near the sound of water. And I sensed that ahead I would meet something that would never erode so there would be a sharp turn, deep circles, a deposit, and quietness.

-from A River Runs Through It → Read more...

Back Diving

I posted a picture of him for a silly Instagram-related game and found him waiting for me in my dreams, something which occurs so rarely it still explodes solidly-constructed dams inside me each time I see his face, mustached and smiling at mine just the way he always did, just the way I always remember him. As usual he didn’t say much, not anything I could hear or remember, but he was there and I knew it, and when I → Read more...

Hiking Into Green Valleys

I have words washed out to sea. Words ushered quietly from my lips to my fingertips, waiting patiently for the right tide, for the moon to bring my stories alive.

I have words being reviewed, words accepted and words rejected, and I’m clinging to my favorite lines, fighting for them, and it feels strange and new and exhilaratingly infuriating, this tug-of-war of wills and how the slightest bit of caving can make me feel like I’m flirting with abandoning the sanctity → Read more...

Rivers And Roads

[Alternately titled: Story, The Second: The Girl Who Moved To Washington State]

It began simply. A direct message on Twitter first, followed by texts; those texts, in turn, begat plans. With those plans came anxiety and apprehension – I didn’t know you, not your face or your voice or anything else, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to – but also something exciting, a strange and unexpected hope hovering quietly on the horizon. And then we met, conversed and laughed → Read more...