Fast Food Fraud

I am ashamed to admit that this Plantain has proven herself to be a fraud.
Where, not too long ago I boasted a bottomless pit of a stomach, ready to ingest french fries and stuffing galore from the Festive Special I found myself unable to live up to those assertions.

Last night, I am sad to say, I ordered the festive special.

Let me backtrack slightly and say that first of all, I am leaving on my beach vaca in 2 days- not exactly the time I want to be stuffing (pun.intended) my face with...stuffing right?
Secondly, we sit down to eat and are ready to order and I have just begun to rationalize how I need some oil in my meal and hey, potato is a vegetable too isn't it?
My father in law, who is sitting beside me, goes "I hear that the festive special has 3 times the calories of a Big Mac".

Well, that is a deterrent to my precious french fries if ever I heard one.

And so, regretfully I ordered the festive special, white meat, no skin, with steamed vegetables filling the void where heavenly fries would have occupied. I dipped into the chalet sauce cautiously, only just picked at the stuffing and cried on the inside that I have such food guilt that I would go ahead and deny myself these wonderful treats.

Anyways, I feel like I have cleared some air- I'm sorry for lying about my willingness to consume this dish- it really is my absolute favorite- which leads me to the topic of the day- food envy.

I would say that I experience food envy at least 90 percent of the time I eat out making my dining experience quite excruciating for my dining companions (this is usually my husband) who must relinquish their own well-chosen meal and give in to my stabbing fork awaiting bites of the meal I should have had.

Example:
This past weekend after getting physically abused by our travel doctor, we went to grab a quick brunch at Fire on the East Side. I love this place both because it serves amazing banana bread pre meal and the bathrooms are a full on gong show- they are connected to The Fly, a nightclub. I don't know if it is PC to say it is a gay nightclub and I would abso hate to offend anyone by labeling it as such, but it is and the bathroom walls- the only part of the club I have seen- are plastered with oiled up men in briefs and ads for safe sex. I always have thought this to be funny messaging to consider when enjoying your morning bacon hangover.

I digress.

So brunch, we go and first thing on the menu is a smoked turkey and sweet potato hash. This, to me, sounds like heaven on a plate- but of course, being perpetually concerned about "being healthy" I opt instead for the Poached eggs with salsa and salad.

This is the obvious wrong choice and I already know it- who the F can enjoy crappy poached eggs while breathing in the aromas of the melted cheddar, smokey hickory meat and perfectly mashed potato wafting over from the adjacent plate?

And so of course, I don't, and instead spend majority of my meal picking through my eggs and sneaking mouthfuls of savory turkey wonderfulness every time my husband turns his head- he wonders how is plate clears so fast- I giggle.

And this is just one of MANY times that I do this- why? It would seem so much more intelligent to just go ahead and eat what I want instead of stealing it from the mouths of my hungry co-diners right?

Either way, please don't read this and never want to eat with me again- I swear I won't eat of your plate or pick your scraps or force you to share with me*

*promise null and void upon ordering.

Scary doctors are scary

So, this past weekend was really fun- great Friday night, hilarious Saturday night, lovely Sunday- I could use a volume of positive adjectives to describe the weekend really.

However, every rose has its thorn, as they say (someone says that right??) and mine was in the form of Saturday morning at the travel doctor.

First of all, I hate going to the doctor with the explicit purpose of getting a needle. Call me a baby if you will but needles and me are not friends- not even distant acquaintances-  I only hate them and no lollypop makes them better.

But, alas, I knew I needed a Typhoid shot so feet-a-draggin I walked into the office at 9am ready to be pricked.

To my horror, I discovered that not only did I need Typhoid but also 2 other needles- that is 3 in total (I am good at math right?). 3!!!!!!!

So after the nurse gave our consultation aka. sentence to pain- we were asked to wait to meet the doctor. I spent that entire 10 minutes shitting bricks- could of built a small house yo. All the while of course with my husband hissing in my ear to stop being such a big poonany- thank.you.husband.

So, doctor calls us in and I am met with this giant man (not unlike Jabba the hut) sitting behind a huge desk, breathing heavy as if he is at Pancers eating an extra fatty corned beef tapping his sausage like fingers on our files while sweat begins to form small droplets on his half balding for-sure receding hairline. If you could picture a greasy accountant or private eye you would find in the classifieds, multiply by 100.

Never has a doctor been so appealing to me than one who looks like he would eat me for an appetizer.

This man just freaked us both right out- he basically didn't move at all in our "consultation" having his secretary write out the prescriptions which she then passed to him for his slovenly signature. He signed while the skin under his chins jiggled at the slight movement of the pen scrawling his name on the papers.

After a "thorough" 5 minutes we were dismissed and asked to wait for our shots- in the meantime, we got a bunch of prescriptions and the go ahead for 3 needles- 5 minutes, to me, doesn't seem like a sufficient amount of time to really be sure about the necessity of all said medicines- but, hey, if it says Doctor in front of your name, you must be right- right?

So about 3 seconds later we are being escorted by the original nurse to the back of the office for our shots. Enter Boris, the barely English speaking Russian shot administrator who guides us into the "examination room"- also known as the office in the back with a bookshelf of reading including Excel 2003 For Dummies. Nothing says needle safety like having your set of needles given to you while you sit on top of a desk next to a computer.

Now, bravery isn't my strong suit but I would say that me and my lollypop (oh ya, I still took one even though I am not 4- big whoop, wanna fight about it?) really held strong while my arm was violated over and over.

We finished up- bid our Russian torturer a thank you and ran out the door agreeing that this was by far one of the more odd places we had ever visited. Thank gosh for an afternoon of board games store and triple cream brie to numb the pain*

*pain was not actually numbed- I have slept like a mummy for the past 2 nights and quietly barf every time someone touches either arm- because, oh ya, he split them up into both arms- one would just not suffice this mad man.

Sketchy doctors- horray!

That's what friends are for

So, Happy Friday everyone,

The sun is shining, the super subway didn't super-suck this morning... everything is coming up plantains.

This weekend I am very much looking forward to a holiday get together with my favorite girls.
I have a really amazing group of friends that I have stayed consistently friends with since high school ish times- which doesn't sound like much except that by now it has been anywhere from 10- 15 years of friendship- which is a lot of time to really put up with someone.

I am lucky because these girls are not only wonderful, but we have allowed one another to grow up separately and yet still maintained a closeness that only really can exist between people who REALLY know one another.

No drama, no bullshit lots of laughing and lots of effort to do stuff together- just how I think a good friendship should be.... to me, once you have nothing to do with someone and you no longer laugh together, you may as well not really hang out. Who on earth has time for that?

And of course, having just gone through a tiny rough patch, I knew that these would be the girls to really be there for me, as they usually tend to be- they did not disappoint.

And the point of all of this is that I think a lot about relationships between people and how incredibly dynamic they are and how even more important they are. I think it is a strong testament to a person's character when you see their friends and lovers. I find myself weary of people who don't have long term friends- no matter how cool these people seem, there must be something weird about you if no one wants to stay your friend right?

I likewise find myself always drawn to people who have many close friends and value friendship in the same regard as I do- listen, truth be told, I was lucky enough to marry my best friend- there are VERY few people who know as much about me and my secrets as him BUT after a long week, during special times and then especially during the harder ones, I am damn lucky to have my best friends to celebrate/vent/cry/laugh with.

So, people, enjoy your friends, enjoy your days, and enjoy this weekend- last one before the holiday madness begins!!!

Holla,

I can hear you, cookies.

So, like a good 80 year old lady, this weekend, when under stress, I baked.

As I have mentioned, I am not the worlds best kitchen person and baking has always been an especially sore spot for my inability to make anything good.

But being that baking is ultra time consuming, and then you get cookies, I felt it the best remedy to my overabundance of adrenaline and uber anxiety. I was right.

Now the problem with baking is that my mom is a killer baker so I always aspire high with her in mind but without her patience and accuracy, don't quite meet the mark.

Growing up as a close relative to the cookie monster and having this full blown baker who lived with me I ate my fair share of sweets however always most memorable was gingerbread cookies with made-from-scratch icing.

yeeeeah buddy.

So with molasses on the brain, I sought out the ingredients to make the beloved cookies avec icing.

Dear grocery stores,
why must you be so hard to navigate sometimes? All I wanted was ground ginger...

Anyways since Saturday I have made 8 batches of cookies and eaten about 1 batch worth of cookie dough (thank you Toronto Life article for letting me know how detrimental to health dough can be- dear tapeworms to be...).

First of all, how on earth does one master the cookie- like an entity unto itself. I bake the first batch for 12 minutes as my mom's handwritten recipe suggests- too crispy, I bake the next round for 10 minutes- not crispy enough, 11 minutes- burnt, back to 10- raw in the middle. They are all cut in the same shape at around the same thickness- what. gives.

It's as if they get lined up on the baking sheet, get into the oven and then conspire with one another about how to fuck around. And yes, I realize that cookies don't talk- or do they? I mean, who is to say what goes on behind closed oven doors?
Perhaps the cookies think that if they work together to ruin the batch then they won't get eaten. Ha-ha my cookie friends- you are wrong.

Anyways, I have made about 6 successful cookies. total.

And then there is the delicate issue of the icing.

Dear icing,
you are not sweet- well, yes, you are sweet- you are made of 100% sugar for gosh sakes- but you are not nice- to me, when I frost, my shitty cookies.
Here is what I have learned.
Tye-Dye icing= bad/looks like someone barfed on your cookie
Icing faces= creepy, especially when the eyes drip
Purple Icing= as unappetizing as that purple ketchup that once came out which I thought was funny to buy and then made me ill every time I had to use it on my grilled cheeses.

It is all bad.

Fortunately, despite being under/over cooked and looking as though they were made by a 2 year old ADD child- nothing is quite as good as a homemade cookie and in between scraping icing off the ceiling and countertops, washing the cusinart over and again and dusting flour from every surface of the entire apartment I forgot to stress- so in the end..... winning.

Next up- I abandon gingerbread (for now) and move to savory shortbread for this weekends holiday fiesta- will it be melted cheese disaster or melt in your mouth goodness? Who can say folks. Who?

Going on a lion hunt....

So on Saturday I went with my mom and husband to MEC to get some gear for my upcoming honeymoon which inches closer every day (cant.wait.).

Mountain Equipment Coop is the most insane place ever.

So I needed a backpack having long lost whatever one I used on my last backpacking adventure some 5 years ago. I don't think I bought one for my last trip- I m sure I found or borrowed it so I have never really spent much time in the MEC backpack section (usually only hitting up the knife section for my hubby- don't ask, apparently he needs more than one size knife for his knifing needs- what are they? not sure but  will be grateful if we are ever trapped in the woods and he can rescue us via various knife sizes- boys are cute.)- wo-ha that section is massive.

How many different backpacks could one utilize? Apparently close to 100.
A lovely woman named Cheryl was my saviour and helped me to locate the bag for me- loaded it up with 25 pounds (yikes) and set me off around the store to see if I would tip over. I managed to stay upright- albeit hunched. Mission accomplished and backpack solved- and this thing is wicked- it has a fully detachable day bag, about a bazillion compartments (yes, people, a bazillion) and a foldy-over thing for the plane- foldy over- excuse my technical jargon.

Thank gosh for Cheryl in that dept because after I left her I was as lost as a person in a very dark room who just cant find the door.

How on earth would I know which level of hiking boot I would need? Um, the ones that look the best? That didn't bode well as an answer to the too-cool-to-care boy who got me a size in what I thought were the only pair that wouldn't make me look like a mountaineer asshole. Suffice to say, that was all the help he offered me after that.

But really, how would I know?

I opted to not even bother with hiking boots and go with my trusty running shoes- I hope they will get me by in the jungle.

When I finally tracked the boy down to inquire about the differences between the 6 models of fivefinger shoes (you know, those shoes with toe slots? like gloves?) he told me they were all the same. Um, obvi not. They wouldn't have 6 different types if they were all the same now would they? That is just stupid.

He failed to give me any useful information and I began to get irritable. I try and remove myself from irritating people when I get this way- no one needs to be told what a cock sucker they are just because I don't like them....

So fine, don't tell me about the different types of stupid toe shoes- you suck.

I chose the ones I saw my trainer wearing, since I am using them for training, seemed like a good idea. My husband is already embarrassed to be seen with me wearing them- they are pretty flagrant. Like frog-woman.

ribbit.

Anywho- thought I would also grab some more technical gear (yoga clothes) and was delighted to find a fairly good section of amazing prana clothing...however, in this department I was met with a girl who, when I asked about how the tops and sports bras fit- she said, one size fits all. I would say that would be the case if it actually fit once I bought it under her advisement and brought it home. Instead I had two hanging folds of fabric where my boobs would fit if I was a C cup. Liar.

Anyways- MEC, amazing store, super amazing gadgets and goods, but people, don't fucking judge me because I haven't done a jungle adventure trek before- it's like judging a fat person who starts at the gym- we all have to begin somewhere- so please, leave the pretension in the woods...

take that.

Food for thought

So last night after work, myself and 2 of my wicked co-workers walked down to College to check out the new Loblaws that opened at former Maple Leaf Gardens.

I admit in advance that I love grocery stores- the food, the classifying of the food, the touching, smelling- a full sensory experience that yields bags-o-plenty to come home with.

But oh-boy you should go to this Loblaws. So we will forget for a moment that the upstairs of this store houses a huge Joe Fresh (dear cheap and cheerful color coordinated clothing- le sigh) AND a ginormous LCBO and focus on main floor goodness beginning with the flower market that paves your entrance into the pre-made food and deli counter.

I would say, without exaggeration that there must have been over 100 different deli meats- there were like 30 kinds of salami. 30!!

There was a pre-made food in containers section, a pre-made food behind the counter section, and a pre-made food salad bar esque thing too.

Moving along to the produce... it was the brightest produce I have ever seen. Did the exceptional lighting and meticulously clean floors make the green peppers glow even greener? Perhaps.... perhaps.

I was looking for some side dishes to go with our chicken dinner and almost passed the fuck out when I came to a wall of baby food. I totally don't mean like mashed peas by Gerber either- I mean regular food in baby sizes- like carrots as long as my fingers, cauliflowers that fit in the palm of your hand, and brussel sprouts that were the size of a penny. I bought every baby thing I could find- you just can't say no to cute food. I freakin dare you to reject the brocollini.

I meandered past the Ace bakery counter and towards the candy counter which had caught my eye when  I passed the wall of cheese.

Oh yes people, the pictures and stories are true- this bitch has a full out wall of cheese that reaches up to ceiling and houses some rarer and more amazing cheeses within its glass doors. I shat myself.

They not only had a full out health food section but one that categorized the health foods into international distinctions. A whole section of Mexican health food.... woa-ha

I remembered about the candy and headed over to that section to find gourmet candy, cupcakes, tarts, pastries, gelato, coffee- basically anything sexy and desserty.

If my husband had not called at that moment waiting outside to pick me up on his way home from work I would have just tweaked out all over those blue menu boxes.

Anywho- realize this isn't such a biting and or sarcastic or really funny blog- I had a bad end of day- but wanted to seriously endorse this place. This puts all other grocery shops to shame- the Superman of groceries, some may say.... someone says that right??????

I feel it in my fingers....

Well holy moly, it is December 7th. Where does time go?
Don't get me wrong, not complaining one bit as I am off across the world on my almost-month-long honeymoon is just 2 weeks but still, time flies.

December through to New Years is my second favorite time of the year next to Halloween- I don't celebrate the holidays but I certainly enjoy them.

Holiday Season = best.stuff.
First and foremost, the Festive Special. If you find yourself stumped at this concept then you are a total weirdo because the Festive Special has been a go-to Holiday staple for the past 29 years of my life... ok, well probs not all 29 years as I am sure my mom wasn't pureeing baby food out of the quarter chicken dinner... but let's not nitpick ok??

Damn Swiss Chalet, you make one fine side of stuffing. Don't care if the nickname "dirty bird" is legit, don't care how much cellulite I will incur as a result of your oil drenched fries- only care about how delicious you are and how much I die for your dipping sauce.
Hot dang I love that stuff.

I will say that ever since they replaced Toblerone with Lindor I have been less excited by the dessert portion but still, chocolate in a paper house- how can you go that wrong- I endure*
(*shovel my face so fast that you would question whether I am or the speed of light is in fact faster)

Second, every single drink they have at Starbucks. Gingerbread latte? Yes please. Mint Chocolate Chritmas something something- yes to that too. Heck, if you poured regular coffee and called it the Christmas blend I would line up for that shit also (oh wait....)

Third, those super delicious chocolate orange balls- you know, the ones that you crack open and then eat in slices? B-yond.

Anyways, I could go on and on about the lights, the kitchy decorations, the mulled wine, the cookies, the festive feelings, the mall displays...

blah blah blah, holiday season is nice.

So? What is your favorite part of the holidays?
What are you looking forward to?

You in a sentence

So back to the weekend folks, because, as I mentioned, it was jam packed.
Saturday after a wicked day of shopping- hello new velvet shoes- My husband and I headed to an engagement party to celebrate the upcoming nuptials of a very close friend.

Now, I seriously love weddings and everything that goes with them but one thing I dread is the engagement party. Showers are girly and silly, Bachelorettes are drunk, weddings are dancing, drinking, eating hilarity- but engagement parties are civil, mingling events where long conversations spawn up way more than they do at their wedding counterpart (after-all, who is leaving the macarena to chat politics- am I right people? Ah, the macarena- I am so old... cotton eye joe anyone?)

Anyways, although much better with age, I am still pretty damn awkward and so subsequently, I cower in the face of a mingling event because it means I am going to be forced into long conversations with people I don't necessarily know.

Which brings me to the point of this post. So, I work in a creative hybrid agency where my day-to-day changes by the minute and I work on anything from one end of the spectrum to another. And so, how do I explain myself when asked the inevitable question of "So, what do you do?"

What do I do??? Can I say I am like Wonderwoman? A Jill of all trades?
Do I say where I work? My ambiguous job title? My department? A full-out description of my job? A general field in which I subscribe to as a professional?

It is hard yo.

So it got me thinking as to how people go about "selling" themselves. I watched a youtube video on the topic and sweat from my palms trying to figure out how to use this video and apply it to myself- the guy was an engineer- so totally relatable (not).

Google told me that I am not alone in this What-on-earth-do-I-say-to-all-these-people. Nice to feel like there is other life on this planet right?

So please please please- I emplore and challenge you to tell me what you do in one short sentence so that I may learn a thing or two from my valuable readers.

905 in the 416

Hi- how was your weekends readers?

Mine was.... good... felt really long which is always nice right?

Ok, so I think I must separate the topics I wish to address into 2 posts- but read both. ok?
Seriously, I am going to google stat you to make sure you read both- or do you think 1 is more boring than the other?

You think I am boring!!!???? No you don't.

Anyways,
So I guess we will go chronologically and begin with my Friday at that new (ish) bowling place at John and Richmond.

Dear patrons of the nightclubs and bars in "Clubland",
Ew.
Ew,ew,ew.
Oh, hey dudes- Jersey Shore is calling, wants the reeking smell of CKOne and the hair gel back.
Does nothing change?
It has been a long time since I set foot near Clubland- in fact, so long that I think the last time I was there, Fez Batik was a club and not a homeless shelter.
Did I date myself just now?

Anyways, once upon a time when I used a fake ID with a girl's name that I could not even pronounce, I used to LURVE clubbing. In my mind, along with being a Grammy calibre singer, I am a front backup dancer to JLO. That good. (In reality I think I usually look constipated- I always fucking look constipated when I try to look sexy- so know, if I look like I am shitting bricks, I am just trying to impress you?).

What I remember most- and I seem to remember a lot which is indicative of a night drinking peach schnapps- not quite the drunk level of vodka shots are they?- so I remember the guys at clubs. They all felt moist, they all had bad hair and gel dripping on their sideburns, they all stunk like cheap hooker men and they all wore those awful pumas. They would slink through the dance floor finding that opportune moment to grab at your behind and sort of thrust themselves into you. You were left with the option to either play along and pray they didn't get a boner on your back OR pretend to be in an exclusive relationship with one of the girls you came in.

Either way, shit hasn't changed much- same dudes, different year. Sorry ladies.

But the Ladies- you are just as bad come to think of it.
Dear girls,
I can see your vaginas.
No, seriously, I can see your vaginas.
Girls, some of you are cute, no need to show your whole sundae to these dudes. Ever heard the expression less is more? It is not just something your mom says. Ever heard the one about the cow and the milk? That one holds true too.
What more than a boner in the back can you possibly expect when you wear shoes you can't walk in and a skirt that is too short for a prostitute?

Just saying.

Either way, Clubland= gross. Between the odor of barf, the cheap cigarettes and the underages lingering in parking lots drinking out of plastic bottles, I could never go there agin and be contented.

Getting old, makes shit so much less glam.

Bowling for Bananas and Birthdays- and Bubbles

Oh hi. Happy Friday y'all.

Got weekend plans?
I am celebrating my fabulous friend's dirty 30 with a bowling night.

Oh man, do I love bowling.

Like most things requiring the slightest of athletic ability, I suck at it- mind you, since training so hard these last few months- who knows, maybe my newfound strength will amount to my being a fabulous bowler (didn't help me much in dodgeball, but you never know)....

I have this really longstanding love for bowling and when it reappears in my life, as it often does, I revel in it.

A million years ago when I worked at a small resort in butfuck Michigan, my "days off" were limited to going into "town". I put town in quotations not because it wasn't a town, it was- not like we were in some crazy alterna-town or anything, but it consisted of a fireworks/gun/convenience store (all in one!), a bar/a seafood restaurant (combi-what), a community center, and a bowling alley.

To say I became a bowling pro during that summer away would be an understatement. I was balling (hahah- get it, with balls, like in bowling?)

But my summer ended and with it the popularity of bowling as a recreational option. Sure, over the years, as I mentioned, bowling has popped up here and there- usually as a hack date idea or something kind of ironic you do with friends at one of the shitty bowling alleys up north (and by shitty I mean amazing as they only play Dance Mix '92 and have neon glo lights that serve only to show you how unbelievably dirty their floors are while you drink warm American beer- a-maze-balls).

I would say about 2 years ago we started bowling again- it began as something funny to do while semi drunk on a Saturday night after dinner with a whole bunch of friends and turned into a desired activity of choice that we did more than a few times since.

I can't say that it is a direct result of this resurgence in the love for the pins among my friends that inspired someone to open a retro themed alley in the heart of downtown Toronto making bowling THE cool thing to do among the downtown sceney crowd- but, ya, what the fuck, I will. I think it no coincidence that our bowling adventure spawned into this rage- because, thats how we roll- inspiring trends all over the world.

Anyways- I digress. So, now I find myself attending the birthday of one of my more savvy and trendy friends and, voila, we are bowling.

Only now, years after my glory days- I really do suck. I tend to do the following;

      Trip/slip on the actual alley

      Throw my all into an adjacent alley- just to make sure that whoever is beside us hates immediately

      Throw my ball into the gutter about 50 times in a row

      Throw a tantrum

      Rage internally as my husband tries to give me expert pointers 

      Rage externally when, after being yelled at to "aim to the right" I do so and end up throwing my ball  onto that sides alley- nothing like 2 neighbors who are counting down the minutes until you leave

      Throw the ball backwards and almost kill someone

      Get a strike late in the game and spend the rest of my time there gloating about how I used to be a great bowler.

Anywho- can't wait to play with those waxed balls- big and heavy- just how I like them

Have a great weekend everyone- see you Monday.

Volume Control

co- workers conversations can be funny
#iamalwayslistening.

Holla back girl

I am not such a phone person and in fact, there are few people who I will humor with long conversations via telephone- if you want to have a long chat, I would rather see you- or never see you- you know what I mean?

I hate the phone for several reasons;

First, although you are not doing anything, you cant do anything. Last night I received a phone call while writing my thank you cards and I could not continue with this mundane task (how many different words are there to express gratitude- even a self proclaimed writer feels the struggle in this one....)- so you have to just sit there and doodle or something mindless while you listen to this voice on this box put up to your ear.

Second, it is rude to pee, even ruder to number 2, and rude to eat ion the phone so while doing nothing, you also have to starve and incur bladder infections. Mmmmm-k.

Third, are we friends?
Do you live in another city/town/country? No, you don't? Then why should I have to catch up with you like a robot. I have tons of friends who I do check in withs via the phone just to say hi, to say that everything is ok, to make a plan to see each other to actually catch up- call me to catch up- you suck.

But these qualms don't even begin to sum up my hatred for the phone-

I hate wrong numbers or people who call and ask who they are speaking to (um, really?).

I hate dial tones and ringtones and ringbacks.

I hate voicemail. I hate when people ask me if I listened to their voicemail- no, I didn't- I can't opt out of having it but along with it comes call display so trust, I know if you called.

I hate obligatory phone calls, I hate random calls that you answer and then wish you hadn't.

And, above all, I fucking hate call-blocking.

Who invented call blocking? For sure a psycho stalker right?

I got a blocked call the other day and of course answered it out of sheer curiosity- it was a service that has been trying to get my business and has been calling me nonstop all week.

So, now, I digress slightly to say that my number one most hated phone thing is the multi call- if I don't answer my phone, I am not available- I may be screening, I may be busy, either way, I am not there. If we know each other, I will see you called and call you back when I can, if we don't know each other, leave a message and I will also call you back when I can- unless someone is dying or going into labour- don't just fucking call me incessantly- I won't answer on principle and I will deem you mega hyper annoying.

And then, if you dare to stalk me- don't you DARE block call me to try and get me on the phone after I very obviously did not return your call. Now you are blacklisted.

So there you go.

- Oh, and all this being said, when I get no phone calls, I cry- there is just no pleasing me so don't be afraid to dial my digits...
xo

Got a Dyson?

Vacuums on crack.

This past weekend as the wedding settles down and life goes back to normal, my hubby and I went to start collecting our amazing and generous gifts from the Bay.

First- Bay is the bomb. Fer Realz- this place is not to be overlooked. I have done 90 percent of my everything shopping there for the past little while and I back that joint hard. Am I sporting a feather necklace today purchased at the Bay- and on Bayday no less for a 25% discount- Hell ya I am. And each time I get a compliment, I kvell.

So Saturday we went to the Bay to grab our new stuff- getting married rules. We have a full stocked wicked kitchen and all the gizmos and gadgets that go with it. Number one on our wishlist, however, was the Dyson so we bit the bullet- used our gift card and spent almost 1000 dollars on a cleaning product. I have never been happier.

You see, we have a bad history of vacuums- which, you would think, would make us not purchase the same brand time and again up to now- but that's another story- well, it is actually the same story- but different- you know? (mind.blown)

We originally bought a Dirt Devil mini- we reveled in the size and power of this little sucker (pun intended). It took us about a month or so to break it- and by break it I mean that one day we plugged it in and gasped at the sound of a broken machine chain and the smells of burning.

We replaced it with a Dirt Devil regular size and it took us about a month or so to break it- and by break it I mean that one day we plugged it in and gasped at the sound of a broken machine chain and the smells of burning.

Dear Dirt Devil- you suck.

We then borrowed my mom's vacuum- had it for 1 day- plugged it in the next day and gasped at the sound of a broken machine chain and the smells of burning. Are you following the pattern here?

So perhaps it isn't Dirt Devil that sucks, maybe it is us? But let's blame Dirt Devil- way more fun.

Of course, since we break every vacuum that comes within a 90 foot radius of us, we thought it responsible and obvious to buy the Dyson- thank god for the 5 year bonus warranty- just saying.

So here is what we discovered about Dyson so far:
1. we bought the "Animal" version- it had an animal grooming attachment. Dyson has taught us to buy a dog- soon- value for your money people, value.
2. Dyson vacuums are recognized by the Asthma society- they fucking clean your air as they clean your floor- the air that comes out of them is actually cleaner than the air in your home. And then they wipe your ass in the bathroom and emit a light floral scent. BOOYA.
3. They clean. We vacuumed one tiny spot and it is hella cleaner than anywhere else in our home.
4. They cuddle- we love ours so much we let it sleep in our bed- it gives one mean spoon.

So what? You think I am super lameity lame because I just posted about a vacuum? Go get one- I dare you to NOT talk about it endlessly when you do.

Or, enjoy your unasthma society approved air. sucka

Happy wife happy life

I am simply put- not cut out to be a housewife.
Here's why;

First, as you may or may not know- I can't clean for shit. I can iron, I can do laundry and my skills end there. Washing dishes- only if you want to eat off dishes with old semi caked on food. Get my drift?
I also reject ideas about cleaning such as wiping your plate off before putting it into the dishwasher.

Ok, Dish-Washer- by name, would suggest that it does that job for you- not that you have to do it and then it will do it again. It is like when my husband asks me to clean the house before the cleaning lady- again- would name alone not suggest that the cleaning would NOT be my job?

One would think- but isn't that just our funny English language...

Anywho- cannot clean- first problem

So, yesterday, trying hard to take my wife duties seriously, I got home and spent the next 2 hours preparing a wholesome, full meal so that my hubby would have something delicious to come home to. He went to play dodgeball. How can I even try to be the cook I could be when I have such bad scheduling issues?

I am doomed to a life of every-time-I-bother-cooking-my-family-wont-be-home. Like Polkaroo- "oh Shit hunny, I made dinner, and you missed it again"

Soon enough (next time), I am just going to pretend I cooked a feast and then shovel KD into my pie hole while watching Slice TV. It will be like "Oh, you are working late? Well shoot, I made this wicked rack of lamb- guess I will just eat it all"- I can mess up a plate or two to make it seem like there was a rack of lamb once on it- right? right? that seems totally viable right?

Finally, heaven help me that I should have to fill my days with nonsense. Aside from loving my job, it gives me some purpose, something to make sure my days are functional, meaningful, and full.
Here is what happens on my days off:
I wake up at 8am- as I promised myself the night before I would- then I think to myself, self, why are you up so damn early- go back to bed
then I wake up at around 11am and feel like shit for having overslept
Then I eat breakfast and continue to eat my morning away.
Then I run and errand or 2 or go to an appointment
Then I come home and kill 2 hours
Then it is dinnertime and I go back to "cooking" dinner

How on earth could one do that everyday?
And I don't even have friends to enjoy the days with since all of my girls are smart, self sufficient working women who would prefer nothing else than to stay that way.
I think it helps to be surrounded by people who view staying at home as akin to torture. Go getting women- hear us roar

roar

My final reason against being a housewife- I love sweatpants. Like, I seriously love them. I am almost 30 and will still wear them in public with no personal shame- not withstanding the shame felt by those with me when I wear them.

Can you imagine the gross human being I would turn into if I could wear sweats all the time?

It would be bad. real bad.

Want to be a housewife- fuck, all the power to you- that is what feminism and all that shit is about.
not.for.this.plantain.

holla

Public Service.

So in the aftermath of the wedding I vegged out a LOT- recuperation was more than needed. Of course, vegging out means watching the Food Network in abundance with my husband- clap clap clap for the Chopped marathon.

Chopped, you rule.

Seen it? 4 chefs battle through Apps, mains and dessert- one being kicked off at each stop until 1 remaining person is crowned chopped champion. They get this basket filled with 4 random ingredients and set off to create culinary masterpieces. holla. so wicked.

Anyways, brings me to my point- watching Chopped the other night and the introduce the chefs. Chef Smith, Chef other-generic name, Chef Jones, and Chef Dickinsheets.

Yes, you are reading it correctly, and I know because I rewinded twice to make sure I was reading it right. Dick-in-sheets. That was dude's name.

So, married- changed my name right away- I have a new last name- and this made me think, when I saw Dickinsheets, that being that I now know first hand how easy it is to change your name, why would he leave it as that?

You could be Dickins- and just loose the heets- trust, people would respond far better to a dignified English name than a totally sexual one.
And what? He doesn't know that his name makes people laugh?? He must.
And how can he justify having kids with that name? There is no good first name to justify that last name and the lifetime of giggles and torture you will incur with it.

Anyways, point. Dickinsheets- terrible last name- makes me think of cutting a hole in a sheet- or that dick in a box skit.

Save the future of all generations to marry into or gain the name. No one should have to go through life as a Dickinsheets- literally.

Thank you.

A wedding memo.

I have spent a grand total of 13 month planning my wedding- and I really was the planner. I chose everything and did so with a meticulous eye and uncompromising vision.

This past weekend I got to see the fruits of my labour.

So here is my debrief.

First, I have to say that my memory is a bit hazy as I felt like I was high on the best drugs available in all of the world all night long. It was like floating through a dream.

But this brings me to the second thing- all that bullshit I spent hours agonizing over didn't matter at all.
Sure, I was happy to have the details as I wanted them but I probably wouldn't have even noticed if the whole room was glittery and white instead of rustic and dark. Wouldn't have cared if the band played Sesame Street all night instead of my carefully orchestrated set list. Could have served late night anything instead of shwarma- none of it would have mattered.

The thing that makes a wedding is not the venue, nor the food, nor the flowers, nor the dress- it is the love- and not just the love between the bride and groom but the love that surrounds them in their journey.

This is something I of course knew, but didn't realize just how immensely important it would be until I saw and felt the night.

First of all, people gasped when I announced 10 bridesmaids. Best decision I made. 10 girls who would have ensured I was having the time of my life regardless of the fact that I was. 10 girls who I got to share all the nuances like a rehearsal dinner and showers with and who I now have an even stronger bond with as a result. 10 girls who got a deeper glimpse into not only my life and family but also the lives and family of my HUSBAND (what what). That was one of the best parts about the wedding- having all my friends there right beside me through all the different parts.

Second,We were so so so happy to watch our parents actually like each other and it made the wedding so amazing. Throughout the year we have all done so much stuff together that by wedding time, all our family and their friends were familiar with both sides- no strangers. My parents have spent time with his parents friends and vice versa- that is wicked.

Finally, marry the right person. I had ZERO fear, nervousness, or anxiety on that day. ZERO- and this is coming from the girl who didn't sleep for days before, riddles with a million thoughts and worries- they disappeared the day i woke up and knew I was marrying him. Everyone had told me this would happen- that I would feel so serene and peaceful once the day came but I never expected it to be so true. I guess when you are marrying the perfect person there is nothing to worry about. My wedding planner said that jitters always make her worry that there is something wrong with the bride and grooms relationship- I understand that now. It was the calmest I have ever felt and the easiest decision I have ever made and the most perfectly worry free moment I think I will ever get!

So, overall, though the details of the night are a blur, it was perfect.

I am so happy to be a married woman and can't wait for the next adventures to come. and future brides, relax, marry the right guy and I promise you will also have the perfect day.

One Fine Day

This past weekend was like a dream come true- spring weather in November! (much nicer than next weekends predicted rain- not that I am dying inside at the thought of it).

So after a mega morning sleep-in on Saturday and a delicious Boom breakfast with my man, we picked up some friends and headed out of town to enjoy the day.

Finding people who you like to hike with is a challenge unto itself. Like vacationing, you need to be able to really get along through the course of your adventure and while I love all my friends, I would take few on vaca with me, and maybe fewer to Georgetown Ontario to hike it up. (Did you like what I just did there? Hike it up... Making hiking cool since 1999).

BUT, to our fortune, we have been blessed (yes, blessed) to have 2 friends who we love to do everything with, (less watch pseudo porn all together on the couch at the end of a long night- that happened. It was as awkward as it sounds).

The 4 of us have hit up a lot of paths together in our time..... geez is there any way for me to write this without sounding SO lame?

Anyways, they are moving to a new country (fine, it is only the US, but it feels far and scary) so we decided to take hem to our special spot that I discovered a few years back on the Bruce Trails.

Tucked away off a long long road and in a baseball diamond is a path that leads to a good hour trail that passes amazing rocks and caves as well as remnants from when the area was a Mill so it is basically amazing.
It was like Choose Your Own Adventure- but in rocks....
and our adventure was epic.

So, what is a requirement about your hiking friends? like I was saying before, is that they be good shit. My fiance and I once travelled with friends who we LOVED. I don't think we ever used the word LOVE about them again after said trip. Nothing went wrong but it also wasn't right and subsequently, I think we secretly hated them both.

So the first thing I need in a hike mate is good conversation, and then- just to confuse you, I need someone who knows when to shut the fuck up and enjoy nature. You must also have a plethora of random facts about flora and fauna, specifically Canadian.
To much to ask? You wouldn't believe. But our adventure duo partners in crime are the fucking bomb. I would seriously go for months of travel with these 2. So low maintenance and lots of environmental knowledge to share. (Don't leave us).

After spelunking around the caves (we totes didn't speluk, I just like that word) we headed home to keep the good times rolling ( I have given up trying to sound cool here ok?).

Did you know that if you go to the Market late in the day they just give you shit for free?
Like bones. Animal bones. For soups. And sword-fights.
and then all the little grocery store people offer you fruit and veg for a dollar- AND, you can haggle the seafood people. Pretty sure we bought enough seafood to feed 10 and about 25 too many octopus tentacles. 20 bucks, all in.
We made an amazing seafood bouillabaisse, stuffed our faces with cured meats.

Moral of the story- make friends you can hike with.
Amen.

Passport to Prana

Oh hi. Happy Friday everyone.

I want to begin this post by reminding you that I am still about 600 plus views away from my 3000 goal by end of next week. Time is ticking people.

Anywho. I have had a really crap few days. Having some yucky things happen to me coupled with the fact that I am not drinking and or eating carbs is making me an insane person. To me, the only remedy to sadness is pasta. Different shapes for different sadnesses.

I'm kidding- I don't eat my feelings (except sometimes when I do) but I am just moody to begin with, and have been going through dramz.

My point is that today, despite complaining about money endlessly, I took myself on a feel better shopping trip. Guess what? I feel much better. A blazer, tank and blouse was all it took to wipe the scowl off my face. A pair of shoes and I would have been humping lamp posts.

It also doesn't hurt that the weekend is here!
What are you doing all weekend?

Holla

Holla bitches. Read this blog.

So, I plan to change my name when I get married. I totally hate hyphenation and I am happy to honor the old school tradition of taking my man's name. Doesn't bother me in the slightest and I have no strong feministic feelings or notions about being a modern woman and practicing less than modern rituals.

So why am I sharing my ambivalence with you all today?
Here goes. I have about a week or so left as who I am now- this name I have carried for almost 30 years and while Jane Plantain will always remain the same, the girl behind it won't.

And so what? You are saying again....

So, before I become the brand new-named me I want to have 3000 reads on this blog. Holla bitches. Read this blog.

A while ago I illustrated some points about why reading my blog would be good for you to do. Now, here are some more reasons why you should, subscribe, read, follow, and comment.

In no particular order:

1. My wedding is in a short while and that means that oh-so soon I will have so much more free time to actually have a life. Having a life= more stories to share with you that do not involve anything wedding related (unless it's someone else's hilarious story). You want to read my random thoughts, I know you do.

2. You deserve a break. What do you do for a living dear reader? Are you the CEO of a major company? Are you homeless and reading this from the public library? I don't discriminate. I think you all deserve a good break in your day. I can be that break you take. Think about that.

3. If you promise to read my blog, I will put up more pictures. Pictures of funny things that will make you smile.

4. I won't bash that awful super subway anymore.

5. Until I hit this 3000 number I will harass you endlessly. Ever been harassed by a tropical fruit? It ain't pretty

Are these not reasons enough???

3000 is a wicked number and I would totally do this for you if you asked*

*actual likelihood of me doing this for you is minimal.

Thank you for your time, 3000 by end of next week- Let's make this happen

Say yes to your dress

So in the now days leading to my upcoming wedding I have heard some real sweet pearls of wisdom.... perhaps from people who have totally forgotten their experience getting married.

My favorite so far is "enjoy this last little bit of unwedded bliss, it is the funnest time"

Are you a fucking sadist or what?

If by funnest you mean most incredibly stressful-don't have time for this shit-too much to do-I still have a full time job that really is way more important. Then yes- barrels of fun.

Now, I watch Say Yes to the Dress and all that crap and I know how annoying a self- righteous bride can be- and most are, right? SO self absorbed, everything is hard, poor me... all that shiat- finding a dress= not hard, booking a venue= not hard. Managing the stress levels of your entire family while trying to get your notes ready for your 9am meeting at the office knowing that after a late day of work you must go home and reorganize seating charts because someone is unhappy that Aunt Mildred isn't sitting front and center by the dance floor where she will likely look away from the whole night=not hard, but SO SO fucking annoying.

Ok, ok, boo fucking hoo to my stupid problems- a girl just needs to vent sometimes ok?
Thanks for that folks.

Ok, to the nitty gritty- and semi on-topic, I bring you back to bridal shows.
I watch them like they are crack. I watched them way before getting engaged so you can only imagine how my love has grown since.

I think I get off a bit on watching these self important women (not unlike myself in the above blurb) women go insane about their wedding dresses- and the ones that throw tantrums. O.M.G. I LIVE for that shit.

I saw one the other night where the woman had a full out temper tantrum because she had ginormous boobs and wanted the skimpiest dresses available and was then fully shocked that these dresses couldn't hold her boobs.

Wedding gowns are pretty dresses ladies, not miracle workers.

A long time ago I used to design custom wedding gowns- a career I recommend if you long to lose your mind in poufs of Shantang silk and Swarovski Crystals. Just saying. Anywho, I actually was fortunate enough that most of my brides were lovely- like, really lovely people. Pleasures to work with and gracious beyond belief. However, there is always one rotten raspberry in every basket (if you buy them at Sobeys at least).

So this bride was fat. She was also hella ugly but obviously someone wanted to marry her so her physical misfortune was not dire- just pretty ug-o. Anyways, she was as I mentioned, a large large large girl and since she could not find a dress in her size she wanted a custom dress. Amazing- that was exaclty why I wanted to make gowns- to make all brides feel beautiful regardless of their size and shape- and this bride would have been beautiful- except that she was a horraneouos bitch.

Anyways- we designed this dress that was really pretty, made it, fit it, it was so pretty and at the end she informed me that it made her look fat and she didn't want to pay for it.

uh.uh.

You don't mess with my money. It occurred to me then, as it does when I see women like the boob monster that many women have this irrational notion that the dress makes the girl- not so ladies, you make the dress. You don't look fat in the dress, I yearned to inform this bitch, you are fat. And the truth is if she had felt skinny, she would have instantly looked 20 pounds lighter.

So, as you know, I long have retired my sewing machine- this woman being the real catalyst to my distaste for working with psycho brides- and now I just laugh at them on TV/am one.

Isn't it ironic? Doncha think? (totally not ironic- but def funny)

And so, if I may impart some words of wisdom that are actually relevant to the bride to be- know yourself. Take inventory in what you have and what you don't. We are all really beautiful in our own ways and if you can focus on the beauty, no one, including you will ever notice the flaws....

and elope. Seriously.

Manic Monday

Oh Hi,

Sorry for my absence in your reading lives but I have been taken with this really annoying and really overbearing cold, or flu, or flold, or virus, or infection...who knows really? Needless to say, I am sick- and moreover, sick of being sick.

Being sick does many things to me, the least of which is that it turns me into a little baby. I am quite possibly the whiniest, sniffliest sick person to ever grace our germ rideen planet. A normal person might take a pill for a cold like this and go about their days normally, I wince my way through and end with a bedtime of 7.

Did going to bed 4 hours early help me in this case? Not at all folks, not.at.all.
Being sick also makes me acutely aware of anyone who is around me within a 40000 mile radius who is capable of making me more sick.

This morning, aboard the rocket, I found myself unable to hear anything (except the ridiculously loud Persian women who seemed to only be able to converse by screaming at each other despite sitting right next to each other) except coughing. If you coughed from 8 cars over, I heard you and cringed each time.
I imagine your tiny germ molecules making their ways into my mouth and reinfecting me.
I also hate the movie Outbreak- are you surprised.

Anyways, thanks for letting me vent that out- more non sick related nonsense to follow- soon...

The Cover Up

So,
as you know, I play recreational dodgeball on Wednesday nights at some school I have never heard of that is always dirty and smells like dirty children.

If you know me, you would know that any team willing to accept me as a member is just for fun-plus, the obvious, it's dodgeball. Your skill level necessity for dodgeball is basically that you can stand and hold a ball- not exactly the sport of the gods- know what I mean?

So we play on this league and I'm not sure if this was on the pre-requisite form but majority of the guys we play against have seriously small dicks.

It isn't a naked league so you may wonder how I know so much about my oppositions penis size. Simple. When it walks like a dick and talks like a dick and looks like a dick, it is a small one.

I knew we were in for some trouble last night when we walked in to see our opposition getting their team T-Shirts. So, the T shirts are absolutely standard if not big- like I got a Medium and it is a men's medium size. So the biggest of the douches goes "man, i hate new T shirts, so hard for my arms to fit in"

OOOOOKKKKKK buddy. (and to note- although he was quite large- those "bulging" biceps he boasted were much less than impressive and much more than able to fit in his stupid T Shirt)

Anyways. game begins and as usual both teams begin chirping at one another. I think that the shit talk makes the game really fun. I love getting mouthy on the court (since I suck at everything else) HOWEVER- the past 2 teams we have played with have really crossed the line.

What is going on with todays boys? It really must suck to have a less than average size in your pants but no need to take it out on your female opponents. We didn't cut off half of what would be an average dick did we? Not our fucking faults.

So the guys start shit talking all the girls and shit gets out of control and my team ends up walking out of the game after almost getting into a physical fight with them. Because, you know what, NOT WORTH IT. I'm going to go ahead and say that any guy who bullies girls has obvious problems and punching them in their stupid faces really won't help matters any.

Hey guys, you can still get some with your eeny weenys- you just have to go the nice guy route. Like a Hummer driving mofo, you disgusting attitude isn't helping your cause any and is in fact showcasing your issues like an XRay machine.

Mouth off to me again and I will fucking pants you.

The End.

Bless You

So, as flu season inches closer- or is it here? I never know... I find myself increasingly perturbed by the freaks on the subway, in the office and in life who seem like virus carrying germ infested orbs just waiting to release their mass destruction onto my precious body.

Do you know how many people do grossly unhygenic things around me? And forget the usual not washing hands after bathroom nonsense- no, I am talking full out pick your nose and touch a door handle or cough withour even trying to cover your mouth.

I may be ulta paranoid but gross is gross people.

So, imagine my utter disgust when yesterday, aboard the SuperSubway (and PS. Fuck you SuperSubway. You are a terrible subway that somehow causes people to behave even worse than usual) I encountered the biggest perp of them all.

So we are all crammed in like cattle to slaughter- actually, totally crammed, not able to move an inch around you with some fat bitch screaming for everyone to pack in a little tighter so she can get in- or you can stop yelling at everyone and just fucking wait for the next car like a normal human being- either or.

Anyways, I am lodged between a woman who is making idle chatter and a bald hairy man who is housing my face in his armpit- unable to move or even breath for fear that I wont have the room to properly expand my lungs and dude sneezes, without covering his mouth, onto my face.

Now, I have seen my fair share of gross crap- this, the grossest. and so........

Dear sir,
Thank you so very much for sneezing on my face aboard the 5:15 Northbound ride home on the subway. You may not remember me as I spent the majority of the trip in your armpit (which was a welcome refuge from your fucking sneeze but otherwise a less than pleasant place to reside for my 10 minute commute).
Perhaps you have never heard of the way colds and diseases spread but I would say that other than you french kissing me right there and then, you basically did the next best thing to transmit your cold. Why would you do that? Do you watch TV sir? Don't you know the flu commercials? Moreover, you went to school for at least a bit right? Did you never learn to cover your nose and mouth?
In case you are the very unique and special case who happened to not receive an education or have a parent or elder person to help you out with basic human interactions- don't sneeze on people. It is beyond disgusting.
If I get a cold I will directly blame you and curse you in my head. will you ever feel effect of said cursing- maybe, if I am indeed part witch as I have sometimes suspected- more likely, no- but if I ever see you again, I horking into your mouth.

The End.

Love and Marriage.

So it has been a while- so sorry. Life has this way of really grabbing hold of you and making your time pass without warning.

And so, with that, I find myself on the cusp of getting married in but a few weeks.
I remember when the calendar showed 3 months away I was floored- now, it is a handful of days until I become a Mrs.

This has been a really wonderful time for me. I certainly have loved all the love I felt from all those around me and of course, I get to marry my bestie. After 4 and a bit years together it is hard to believe that I can still wake up and feel more in love- but such is the nature of a really great union. And 4 years has afforded us the time to really get to know each other and develop this very real and very meaningful thing.

That withstanding, I am delighted to be finishing this year where I have spoken about my wedding more than any other thing in the world.

Again, I must really emphasize how fun it all was- I loved planning this day and making it really important.

But seriously, one more conversation about cake or candles and I will seriously kill myself.

Having never really been the type of girl who dreamed of her fairy tale wedding all her pink filled pony playing with days, I was really taken aback by this obsession with "the wedding"- but I, like most brides to be, found myself suddenly plagued with fear that the deep eggplant florals I had chosen might just not go perfectly with the cream colors on the doors of the reception hall- and then I found myself spending sleepless nights weighing the pros and cons of registering for a Kitchenaid stand mixer or the Artisan mixer- and then I realized that I was deep deep in big time loserville and that if I donated but one more microsecond to the merits of fine china, I would have disown myself (can you do that?)

The amount of time/ energy exerted by myself and like- brides would blow your fucking mind. I'm sure if you bottled this ever growing momentum in feelings, you could power a large country. Think I am over exaggerating the point? Try debating photographers and which photo package to purchase with a soon to be married person- you would probably never guess that such a mundane and ridiculous thing could occupy 4 hours of conversation....

Anywho- alls I can say is that I actually forget what I spoke about before getting engaged and I imagine this is close to how you feel after having a baby and being off work and away from adults- then you come back and go into shell shock from not spending your days imitating sesame street characters (ug, do kids still watch Sesame Street? Do babies watch TV? Am I a horrible parent already without a child?)

My advice- marry the man/woman that you love- and elope.

the end.

ps. So excited to get married, just had to repeat that- and will likely go into wedding withdrawal once it is over- just watch. the grass is always greener.

Halloweeny

So, seriously obsessed with Halloween, like, super mega into it. Did I dream of a Halloween wedding?
Yes, maybe I did (although I didn't get my wish- but in hindsight maybe for the best? Don't know that my elder relatives would love spider centerpieces- le sigh).

Anywho, as a runner up prize, all my girlfriends put together a stagette for me on Halloween weekend. It is a surprise so I don't have much (know much) to say about it BUT we are all dressing as zombies- I get to be zombie bride!!!!!!

So this past weekend I kicked off my Halloween month in style with my costume shop. Hell-a-fun.

Dear Value Village. You are so great. 1 stop shop for everything I needed plus some fabulous finds that don't have to do with Halloween (I'm looking at you amazing beaded top). I found the most skankalicious and amazing costume evah. I think it was called "mummy ballerina" and was in the kids section- well, kids costumes are amazing for someone like me who is just looking to barely squeeze into some kind of getup. DONE. Got a zombie wig, fake blood and a truckload of makeup and voila- I am zombie bride.

The best was that a few friends came with me and picked out pseudo zombie bridesmaids costumes! How cute will we be in our matching wigs of terror and tutus (they got themselves red and black ones). I am SO SO SO excited for this.

But aside from that weekend, there is more Halloween to be celebrated. Truly no season is complete without Canada's Wonderland Halloween Haunt. So, I love this place for 3 fundamental reasons.
First. I am a ride warrior. Enough said.
Second. You get to ride all the rides AND they have really amazing haunted houses to play in- double whammy!
Third. This place holds a pretty special significance for my fiance and I- This was one of our first dates back 4 years ago. It was the best. I totally fell in love with him that night. When he shoved me into the man roaming the park with a mask on carrying a chainsaw and laughed while he ran away- I knew he was the one. It's the little things.

Anywho- you should go. But don't go this weekend because we don't need the extra crowd.

So ya, Halloween. Love that shit.

I spy with my little eye something that is pie.

What is more depressing than waking up to the rain and dark grey skies?

So it is Friday- yeehaw. I wish it was a sunny Friday but beggars can't be choosers.

So I am on this new "meal plan". Getting married in almost 1 month from now- crazy right? and my most wonderful trainer and friend has got me on a strict regimen- and one that i have surprisingly not broken yet (less some tootsie rolls- but they hardly count right?)
So along with working out every single day including 4 days of weights and 4 of cardio I must eat a shit ton of meat and protien.

Yes, I am now that girl who has protein shakes. I really do. They are so raunch.

BUT, when you eat chicken at every meal 5 times a day, you are forced to be a bit creative and after 1 week of breasts baked by my finace, I decided that if I am going to last the next bunch of weeks it is time to get creative and cooking.

And so, with no recipe, no skills and a debilitating fear of raw meat I set out to make something with ground chicken (I always think ground meat is the way to go in terms of being easy)- so, I was left with the obvious choices- meatball, burger, taco....I chose Shepherds pie.

Damn shepherds pie, you remind me of childhood and camp all mixed up into one scrumptious memory topped with frozen peas.

I am just going to go ahead and say that I made the most delicious, and healthiest shepards pie in all the land- and usually I wouldn't use this forum to preach my recipes BUT this one is so F-ing good and when I say share a recipe- I just mean I'm going to tell you how I made it ish and you can take it from there.

Ok- ground chicken with some onion, garlic, cumin, oregano (or whatever you grab), blob of ketchup, bigger blob of dijon, frozen peas- or whatever.
The meat is really to your own liking, it was the topping that took the cake.
Pureed cauliflower instead of potato- which I am not allowed to eat- you would never fucking know that it wasn't potato- it is amazeballs. I could have easily eaten just the blender full of the mush. Truffle salt and pepper- cook for a bit and voila- BEST.MEAL.EVER.

Your ass will thank me later.

My- Grain

My apologize faithful readers but I was absent all week with a terrible ailment.
Migraines. Do you get them? They blow.
I have never in life had such a heinous experience as I did last Wednesday when my migraines raged leaving me barfing up the food I couldn't eat and eventually in the ER.

Now, first of all, migraines- my arch enemies. They leave me such a hot mess- and by hot mess I mean totally un-hot mess. On times that I don't end up violently ill- which was really unusual for me- I end up still quite pretarded looking.

There is some old European wives thing that you should tie a bendaleh (which is a fancy word for fabric ribbon) around your head super tight- this puts some good pressure onto your temples which are no doubt throbbing like little.... um... throbbing things?
This usually aids the pain but results in my having ribbon marks across my forehead for a good 24 hours after (my face really takes to creasing).

My next step is to drug myself. My fiance is the type who takes an Advil as the absolute last resort to pain in any given circumstance- I am they type who takes an Advil at breakfast should the mood strike me- will I end up with ulcers? Who knows. Anywho- I have this incredibly substantial pharmacy in my bathroom- anything that ails you, my bag of goodies can fix. and there are tricks that you can employ when dealing with a bad headache- such as, you can mix Tylenol and Advil into a really good pain fighting combi OR you can import the illegal-in-canada Excedrin (my best friend) which is a concoction of Tylenol, Asprin and caffeine- never underestimate the value of caffeine. OR, you can take any of the above with an actual migraine pill. Please don't report me to intervention.

Finally, I like to wrap a blanket around my face and shut down- this is perhaps the only times in my life that I achieve true serenity less the headache itself. No noise, no light, no people, no stimulus, nothing- just a dark room, deep breathing and prayer for relief.

Anyways, I implore you to share your experiences with headaches here with me. Maybe you can teach me something new in my fight against pain.

Remembering White Night.

So this year, unlike the years past filled with aimless wandering, Nuit Blanche had a purpose. That single mission: Food Trucks.
Our plan- get there on time, divide, conquer, eat and drink then begin aimless wandering.
Success rate- 10.

Here's the lowdown. I have a few friends who share my unnatural love of food that comes from vendors- in fact my partner in truck crime was also present to witness my face-shovelling at the Underground Food Market- she is the bomb.

So we agreed to meet at another friend's distillery condo and attack the food trucks for dinner.
So here's what we had;

We began at Cava and had some Chorizo Paella and some cod, bacon and avocado fritters- both were incredible- then we saw the mother ship- Gorilla Cheese. If you have cheese in your title, I want you and the super long line only made the trucks fare more enticing- people don't line up for crap now do they? ( well, yes, the technically do- but still). We got ourselves in line and then took turns perusing the neighbouring vendors spending our whole 20 minute line up shoving shit into our mouths.

We got Bacon Maple glazed doughnuts from Beast, our men brought us baby Chorizo dogs and tamales from an unnamed vendor- or perhaps it was named but the food coma was setting in, we got Peameal Bacon sandwiches from the line up beside us from some other truck, and a Wood burned pizza topped with meat and potatoes. Finally, after 20 minutes of waiting (read: eating) we decided that we would do the unthinkable and bud the line.

So shady, I know but drugged with grease and pork we were not thinking clearly and to cut in 3 people from the front of the Gorilla Cheese line was just too easy for our food manic minds. We did it. I will one day just let people bud me in a long line to balance karma.

Worth.It.

nom nom nom. This grilled cheese was the bomb- we got the OG, and original cheese and bread combi, a bacon and apple grilled cheese and a pesto and mozzarella grilled cheese. D-lish.

I unfortunately spent the whole rest of my night walking around like a pregnant woman clutching her belly and waddling down streets.

After a few more hours sharing drinks with our friends my fiance and I decided to break away from the group and go out on our own exploring. This was our best Nuit Blanche decision to date.

Every year we have a huge crew that we go out with, every year we spend the majority of the night rounding up said wicked crew and trying to move on without losing anyone....

Although the spectacle of trying to keep us all together and moving is worthy of an exhibition itself, it never yields in more than us giving up and getting way too drunk in lieu of the art we miss. Being alone with just him by my side made it possible to actually see things- and things were pretty cool.

We saw The Heart Machine- a pyros wet dream, the tennis match, Soon- my favorite as it felt like an apocalypse approaching, and a few more random exhibits as we walked from the distillery up to Yonge and Bloor.

Of course, as is every year, the true spectacle and the true "art" is watching hundreds of very different people come together and walk around in relative peace (although I read that a man got shot at Trinity Bellwoods so peace would certainly be relative) and enjoying their city.

I love shit like that.

Until next year.....

Sex with your parents

If you are reading this for the title- you are gross.
Like, mega gross.
Like Stop-reading-my-blog-you-fucking-pervert-blog.

Ok, so in my 20's I went through this new phase where I actually became friends with my parents- like suddenly they were no longer only on this earth to yield to my every whim and were actual people who had thought and feelings that went outside the realm of me. It took some getting used to, thats for sure, but overall they became my best friends (stop barfing) and things changed.

Casual swearing became acceptable, as did frank shit talking, but in the midst of all these new developments, one thing remained the same- I still just cannot watch movies that have sex scenes in them with my parents comfortably.
ever.

Even the insinuation of sex makes me pretty uncomfortable around them.

This is not uncommon right? I mean most people i speak to share this inability to watch 2 people going at it while sitting on the couch sharing popcorn with mom and dad- because it is weird.

but why? obviously I am not the one having the sex, and we all know about sex at this point- right?

Anyways- one of life's mysteries to ponder over your weekend.

Yum Tum in my Tum

So this morning I realized that it is October this week. Dear time, please slow down- I am so incredibly overwhelmed in the best way possible by the constant passing of minutes, days weeks, months...eeeeeeeeeeee.

So people, what you should be doing today is getting your grubby hands on a ticket to the Toronto Underground Food Festival- because I went on Saturday night and had Super.Food.Orgasm.

Here’s the lowdown, This past Saturday was the first of hopefully many events to come. You pay 5 bucks at the door (but you MUST pre-order tickets as they sell out fast) and then are treated to a bevy of booths boasting foods that will blow your mind. The foods themselves are about 2-5 dollars per plate and there were 4 custom craft breweries and 1 Vineyard represented- I can only imagine the roster will grow with the event itself.

The event is at the Brickworks- Holy crap have I rekindled my love for that spot- the other weekend I did that mega hike over to it and wandered around it a bit and then got to be there Saturday night. It is a seriously cool venue- there are so many relics and preserved areas of the grounds.

Anyways- let’s get to the food because you should all know what I ate.

So, we began with a trio of vegetarian rice- one was a spicy eggplant, one was a lemon lime rice and one was a coriander rice. To say this was the highlight of the night would be untrue but it was ok- maybe took a spot that pork could have filled but cest la vie.
Next we got into an inordinately long line for what promised to be grilled cheese. When we finally got to the counter, it turned out that you could get some kind of sandwich, a tamale and a ticket for a grilled cheese which you had to stand in another long line for. We got all 3 and took our food to the next line to wait and eat.
Sandwich- pulled meat with coleslaw on a Portuguese pastry bun. This was fucking good.

Tamale- made with chocolate- tasted like Chalva. Don’t know what Chalva is? Consider yourself lucky.

In the middle of our line we ran into friends who were also at the event and they were kind enough to bring us Chorizo tacos in line. Hel-a-good.

The Grilled cheese was a Cornbread grilled cheese with ample cheddar smothered in guac, sour cream and cilantro- this dish received mixed reviews among my friends- some of whom really didn’t enjoy- I thought it was amazeballs.the sweet bread with the tangy cheese and the toppings- a full mouth experience.

Next up was the dumplings. Like a dim sum esque dumpling stuffed with bacon and an egg- American fusion maybe- dare I make that assertion?

I know this is going to sound stupid but the yolk was like heaven- I think cooking an egg is an art form- to make the yolk of perfect consistency is a big deal- too runny is gross, too cooked missed the mark but a perfect egg is like yellow delish. This yolk had some texture but also ran into your mouth and contrasted with the bacon (um, always there should be bacon in shit) and the fried dumpling- So good.

THEN, we had a pork belly sandwich called the Auld Spot- pork anything is fine by me any time, any day.

At that point, despite encouraging from my co-eater, I had to tap out- I literally looked pregnant and my belly was a firm solid. But, by that time there were no lines and the venue had cleared substantially- although some fares were sold out at this point, we both noted that if we came again (which I would have loved to in 2011 but alas the next 2 dates- October 22 and November 19th are already occupied for me)we would come later.

So run, don’t walk tot he following website http://yumtum.ca/ and get your tickets before they sell out- your tastebuds will thank you- for reals.

Quick Question

I wonder how many people have gotten into crazy car accidents because they found a spider crawling on the inside of their car.

This is what I was thinking last night as I drove home in the dark along Mt. Pleasant with a spider crawling right over my head in my car.

I am totally not scared of spiders. Sure, if there was a tarantula lying in my bed, I may feel differently but for the most part- unless they are huge and black and ooze green when you crunch them to death- the regular house spider doesn't faze me.

Maybe it was Charlotte's web all those years back that created this soft spot for them- but I always feel like they are my creepy crawly helping friends and my "need" to kill them is solely dependant on the lack of any other options.

But, nonetheless, there is just something unsavory about having them in your car- and especially on your roof- they could just drop into your hair, your shirt- ug that is such a gross idea- I am now itchy- must pause.

Ok, back. Anyways- so even if you, like me, are not terrified by spiders, how can you not watch where they crawl to in your car- and if you are watching the spider, you sure are not watching the road- right?

When I saw the little dude last night my initial reaction was to pull over- except that I was driving on the farthest lane from the side- did I even think to look and see that I would not be merging into other cars? Oh no- I just went for it not taking my eyes of Spidey for a second- i killed him with a CD case (thank god i still keep old technology handy) and went about my merry way when I realized how reckless i had just been.

So, if this was my reaction and I don't hate spiders, I can only imagine the panic of someone who does. Hands off the wheel, cursing up a storm and shrieking like a manic panic-mode.

Solution: Spiders, stay the fuck out of the car- you don't even have a license.

Oink oink my fellow riders.

So, as my fiancé noted this morning as we rode the rocket together (like, the subway- did that sound sexual to anyone else?) I write a lot about the subway. The truth is that the subway emphasizes the most horrible qualities in people so it would be negligent for me to overlook what awful things said people do.

But the true climax of the experience can be found at Bloor Station. I will forget the most certainly fake blond in cheap wannabe leather who shoved her way into me at St. Clair station, I will ignore my total embarrassment for the short and angry dude at the same station who bellowed out that he needed to get off the car as the doors were opening (that is why subways stop, stupid) and pay no notice to the guy who spent the whole 10 minute ride giving me dirty looks after my vocal fiance asked him to move in a bit more to accommodate all the people throwing elbows into my back (sigh- my hero) and I will focus instead on why we should all, collectively be ashamed of ourselves.

Dear people,
If you have been to Bloor station in rush hour, then you know the drill- half or more of every single person on every single car gets off here and for everyone that disembarks, there is someone waiting to get on and continue south. so the doors open, people rush like mad cattle off the train, the people who are waiting to get on often begin the shoving too and if you touch only 10 people in this whole charade, you are a lucky one.

All the while a voice on the intercom tells you to wait for people to get off the car before loading on, to wait for the next car which is seconds away instead of swarming the one present, to follow some kind of line procedure as to not concuss your fellow man, and to walk one way on one side and the other way on the other side so that you don't have to smash your body into everyone else in the entire station.

Um, who else is totally embarrassed that despite the fact that;
a. we are all, for the most part, professional adults in the station during this time and we should be able to maneuver around one another in some kind of respectable manner without the guidance of an intercom
b. there is a fucking intercom and we still can't get it right
c. there are even policemen and guards around and we STILL can't get it right.... oh and don't even get me started on these police man guard people- why are you even there? Do you actually do anything besides talk to the guard next to you???? Thats.not.helping.

SO.BAD.

Everyday without fail people behave like monsters and without fail manage to subsequently make the whole process longer by inserting their stupidity.

People, what is the matter here?
Is there not some way we can manage to all get off and on the subway without elbowing my boobs? Call it selfish but  just don't want to be trampled anymore.

Yours Truly,
Jane.

PS. If you were on the subway at around 8:20 this morning and thought it would be cute to do all the above mentioned atrocities, a special fuck you to you my friends.

Sorry about your penis.

So, is it just me or is anyone else totally put off by the fact that today is September 20th????
- I don't think I am ok with that. Dear Time, Please slow down- yours Truly, me.

I have offish busted out the boots, the hats, even the decorative scarves and packed away all my summer gear (although, not too far as I will need it for my month long vaca- what what).

Anyways- point I am getting at is that fall is here. Just in case you are seasonally challenged.

So donned in full jacket, boots and warm accessories, I spent a most wonderful long weekend on the town.
Thursday night one of my oldest friends got married so my fiance and I took Friday off both so that we could enjoy the night and so we could tackle a bunch of wedding stuff that needed to get done.

So, one thing we needed was our marriage license so we had to head tot he most romantic place in the universe- the government offices. There we were greeted with a waiting room full of people either signing up for a wedding or to change their birth certificate- the ultimate setting for romance.

Some lady decked out as a clown- at least, i think she was trying to look like a clown...possible that she just actually looked like that- unfortunate, but possible.... anyways- some lady got all our stuff together and just like that we have a license to wed- it is a pretty crazy idea if you think about it- if we had but 3 other signatures on that paper, we would be husband and wife- it is merely pen ink separating us from matrimony...

Anyways, after our ultra romantical jaunt we had an appetite (for love- just kidding) so we meandered over to the Eaton Center to check out the much anticipated new food court.

So here's the deal. It's a food court, but a mega awesome one. Some highlights in food include, Big House Smoke Burger, Liberty Noodle (nomnomnom), Urban Herbivoire, Amaya and Aroma. There were so many nice healthy options.

Too bad there were not so many nice healthy people to go with it. Zoom in on the McDonalds lineup as it swirls around the entire circumference of the room as if there isn't another McDonalds on the top floor of the mall and 2 blocks away respectively. I promise that the Big Macs taste the same on every floor.

Zoom in on the fatty bombatty sitting beside the salad bar stuffing her face with KFC. Really? KFC- a whole bucket to yourself? Would you like a side of bacon with that? Some lard dipping sauce?

Obviously I darted straight over to the Urban Herbivore (I realize how off this will sound but they have the best Tempeh). Here's the thing- I just don't believe that if you are lining up to eat at a vegan friendly salad bar, that you should be a total dick face. Again, the food court proved me wrong because I got yelled at by a grown man who claimed he was in front of me in line- I mean, sure, when you step in front of someone in their line you are technically in front of them, so he wasn't wrong per say- but he was also totally wrong.


So anyways, I can only say that Eaton Center is a total gong show. I don't dare set foot in there again soon for fear of sanity lost.

So I was going to post a whole other blog, but while I am on the topic of douchebag men, please let me fast forward to Sunday. Sunday was spent hiking down to the Brickworks with one of my very best friends. Me and her love going for walks together in our neighbourhood as we always seem to have several hours of things to discuss so suggesting this hike seemed like a great idea- it was. This is a seriously nice hike- highly recommended.

Anyways- to get there, and back, you can go through my most favorite of waling paths, the Mount Pleasant Cemetery. `So we are in the cemetery and whilst it is a walking path enjoyed by many, and whilst there were an abundance of loud children on bikes anyways, I tend to try and keep my voice low as to be somewhat considerate of the sanctity of the dead.

So the Cemetery is comprised of roads that you can walk down and although they are true roads with 2 lanes I don't know that the "rules of the road" really apply- so when we found ourselves walking on the wrong side with a bicyclist about 2 minutes away, we figured that, like a normal person, he would just go right around us since the whole rest of the road was void of cars.

But no. Alas he instead chose to verbally harass us as he flew by almost nailing us right onto the lawn- and not to worry stupid dick, not like that lawn is sacred or anything- who shouldn't have to jump on the burial site of Sir Thomas to avoid you?

I watched this South Park episode recently that was about the correlation of small penises to anger. All I can conclude with is that this guy and the food court guy were mighty angry. Just Saying.

Thoughts for today.

If I am allergic to Strawberries am I also allergic to strawberry flavored filling?

I wish I could wear crop tops more often

I laughed really hard at the girl in my gym class who mouthed the words and made gestures to every single rap song that was played as she pumped iron (oh, and she is white)- then I realized i was also gesturing- do you think this means we should be friends?

I had a really crap few days and love the friends who have been my pillars- friends make you rich, in people, which, if you were trading in the black market would make you actually rich.

I am venturing out to play dodgeball tomorrow- in the event that I break my hands (even though they said we are only using a nerf ball) here is how it went- I came, I saw, I played, I got out. My fiance has assured me that dodgeball is a game where you are only as good as your best player, not as bad as your worst. That's reassuring.

Happy hump day.

I waste so much time

My hilarious sister sent me a hilarious page this morning- Please love:
iwastesomuchtime.com

If you don't laugh out loud, you have a bad sense of humor.

A violation of the code.

So what you may already know about me is that I really hate centipedes. I found this out when I found them in my home and watched them scuttle across rooms at the speed of light with their ridiculous 400000 legs- not an accurate amount of legs but still.

So this summer I made a deal with myself to buck up and grow a pair- I mean, not literally obviously, because that would be gross, but I swore I would not hire another exterminator in 2011. I stuck to my guns.
I also felt that I had made a silent pact with the Centipedes in my house- I will not kill you in a mass genocide, you will stay out of my sight. We can live together in the same house without interacting- after all, I don't care much for small dark corners in closets so I thought it was a great arrangement.

That was until I met the super-centipedes and now I feel more terrified than ever and saddened to learn that my cherished Centi-pact is null and void. Now I have to start killing you all again (read: getting my fiance to kill you).

I have seen 3 this summer prior to last night. 2 in the sink- i killed them by drowning- and by accident really. And 1 on a wall that I just left alone to go back to wherever it was hiding and not return. My.Bad.

So last night I got home super late and was trying hard to wait up for my fiance who had been delayed on the flight home from his Stag trip- because, oh ya, we are totally getting married soon- so I am sitting up in bed, watching some TMZ when out of the corner of my eye I see a really fucking big Centi running across my windowsill. I remained calm, breather deep until the little bugger leapt off the sill- this thing seriously jumped off the sill onto my bedroom floor.

Are.You.Shitting.Me?????????????????????????????????????

Do they pump iron in their spare time too? How can they jump? How is that possible?

And, of course, where did he run to once he landed??????? Under my bed- and then I barfed (I didn't barf really).

This is so not ok. Around my bed was WAY off limits to my Centi co- habitants. Truce is over bitches and just like last summer, I will attack you with bleach and shoes and I will be ruthless.

Super Centi or not- I am about to go apeshit on your leggy little bodies.

Be warned. It is on.