I have sand in my underwear.

Yup. That kind of summarizes life in Vancouver. Except in addition to underwear ("Under where?!?" "Ah ha ha ha.... Seriously. You're going in a home now."), there is sand in one's shoes, socks, eyes, teeth ("Take that, Dr. Doom!" That's what I call my dentist), toes, ears, belly button... er... other places... Places where no one should have sand...
I took my iPod for a swim in the Pacific yesterday. It was dumb. I know this. But I went for a really long run, and I hit the ocean, and it was quite warm, and I was quite sweaty, and the ocean looked so inviting....
So I carefully removed my shirt (you can stop screaming, Mom, I had a jog bra on), shoes, socks, sunglasses, and without further ado, went plunging into the ocean, up to my waist.
It was cool. It was refreshing. It was about this time I realized I was still wearing my iPod. I feel it's important to point out that this isn't just any iPod. This iPod, my brother, who is the best brother in the world (the world! Sorry, kidney-donating guy, competition is now closed) bought for me. He had it engraved for me. This puts it squarely into the category of "Things I will save in the event of a fire". Hell, most of my ex-boyfriends aren't in that category. Some of them are definitely not (cut to scene of me cheerily roasting marshmallows... You know who you are). So I staged a one woman homage to that scene in Jaws where everyone is running out of the water in a panic, while the perfect, beautiful (did I mention EVERYONE in Vancouver is like, a model or something? It's ri-damn-diculous!) people languidly observed me. Because they were high.
It turns out that, as I suspected all along, God loves me the most. And my iPod. And probably how it symbolizes love and friendship between siblings and blah blah blah who cares... Anyway, the iPod emerged from the briny depths of the Pacific completely unscathed (no one from the Vatican needs to know that it was in its little protective plastic case, okay?)! Isn't it a miracle? Isn't that kind of up there with the fishes and loaves thing? By the way, fun fact about B.C.... While it is legal to be topless here, the people who exercise this right usually aren't the ones you're hoping for. I mean, I am constantly walking by men with biceps bigger than my head, the sleeves of their massively overstretched shirts making little ripping noises with every ripple of their taut, flawless muscle, and do they even once think about how I would like them to be shirtless? What is the point of working out to look like that if you're just going to cover up? Honestly... Who knew massively ripped buff men were such prudes?