Bloorp.

At first, I couldn’t help but admire the “ugly sweater” charm of my colleague’s suspenders (never mind that I loved he was wearing suspenders in the first place): birds, dogs…guns…?

Admiration was soon replaced by curiosity upon closer inspection.

“Is…is the dog eating that bird?”

Some things just aren’t as they seem.

When you said ‘Warren Buffett,’ I thought you said, ‘warm butt-fucking.’

—

I won’t reveal who said this during lunch at the Whistler Film Festival, but I will give context, even though it could be just as fun and inappropriate to leave it be as I’ve done in the past. (Or the times I probably went into far too much detail.)

A person at my table commented that the chocolate cake for dessert was quite rich, to which someone else piped up, “Rich like Warren Buffett.”

The man on my left looked up for a moment, gave his head a slight shake and said, “…I totally thought you said something else and you really don’t want me to repeat what I thought it was.”

Of course when someone says that, you do want him to repeat it. So he did.  And I thought my hearing was bad…

I never thought I’d be so enamoured by mountains. Then again, I never thought I’d be standing on one, either.

Spending time in B.C. during December (for this) is perhaps the antithesis of what some may call “getting away.” I’m not one for escaping to warmer climates in the winter and I can say without hesitation that I really enjoy snow, even though I’m not a skiier or snowboarder.

And when you’re in Whistler, how could you not enjoy snow? Watching falling flakes dusting the village stirred up the romantic, dreamy sensations that give me the right kind of chills.

If I sound in love with snow, it’s because I am. Whistler deepened that love affair, especially when I was whisked away to Whistler Blackcomb and was almost literally stunned by the surrounding beauty. Who could tear their eyes away from the cloudless sky, the tops of the snow-capped evergreens, the neverending blanket of white?

Not me, that’s for sure.