On this particular rainy Friday, I invite you to begin your weekend by reading a hilarious guest post by the fantastic Batgirl.
Here you go- and you are welcome!
In a world where participation ribbons are the norm, and everyone is told that they are special, too many people believe that theirs is a unique and stupendous talent. Many of these people are wrong. Case in point: “Taken by the T-Rex.” This is not a book that should exist. This is whatever the opposite of the apotheosis of literature is. I genuinely fear for humanity that there is someone (someone’s?) out there that believes that this drivel is worthy of being added to the pantheon of the written word.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love me some well written trash. But therein lies the key – well written. Not everything needs to be “War and Peace” levels of literature, but I have to at least feel like my brain cells aren’t killing themselves so as to avoid reading the words.
In fairness, I have no idea as to the quality of the writing of this “book,” and I never intend to find out. But I can surmise based on the blurb alone, which was rife with poor sentence construction and possibly a few grammatical errors, that this is the type of book that would make 50 shade of grey look like The Grapes of Wrath. I won’t even get into the “plot.”
My point is, we’ve taken making people feel good about themselves too far. Not everyone is a gifted writer. Not everyone should be published. Some people should be banned from writing entirely. But in an age of self-publishing and fan-fiction become a best-seller, I fear that this will only get worse.
In case you need to know more:
http://www.amazon.com/Taken-T-Rex-Dinosaur-Erotica-ebook/dp/B00FI9JFFO
And, in case you don’t want to click on that link, here is the synopsis- Drin is her tribe’s chief huntress; she lives for the thrill of the hunt. Men and sex hold no allure for her, as Drin has never found a partner to satisfy her. When a T-Rex descends upon her village, destroying it, Drin demands that the tribe’s hunters go in search of the beast and slaughter it. Opting for safety instead of revenge, the tribe moves to a new location, hoping that the big beast won’t follow them.
It does.
Drin taunts the beast, giving her tribes mates time to flee. As she runs, leading it through a gauntlet of traps, the thrill of the hunt soars through her blood, leaving her wet with desire. When the angry T-Rex corners the huntress in a box canyon, it seems more interested in her wet womanhood than in her flesh.
On that note, enjoy your weekends out and about- since it seems that nothing is taboo anymore, have fun... WHATEVER you are doing!
xo,
Batgirl and Jane.
Friday, October 4, 2013
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Jane Does Fitness- Morning glory #freshairdontcare
This morning I work up at 5:45 am ripe with terror. All night I had dreamt up excuses to stay in bed and loll about until the absolute last second possible to still be at work on time (like I always do). There was no way, in my dreams, that I was hauling my lazy ass out of bed to do anything when my alarm went off.
At 5:45, it is hella dark- there is no solace in your stepping out of bed. No morning sunrise to greet you for another hour, no wonderful reason for you to do anything but sleep. Yet, I found myself up, getting into clothes and walking out my door all before 6am.
A few months ago I found out that my office will be moving as a collective to a new building- this is amazing news and I am mega excited for my new neighborhood and space HOWEVER, I must bid adieu to my beloved office gym that has kept me from becoming an obese person for the past 2.5 years. Goodbye to spin classes, to my favorite Muscle Up noon class, to the Arc trainers I so diligently sweat onto and to the rowing machines where I fantasized about being a Yale rowing champion. Goodbye to the weight area filled with men who smirked as I dry heaved through my 15 pound bicep curls and a final goodbye to the glorious mats that always smelled bad- I loved you all the same.
I’m not a gym rat, that’s for sure but it is fair to say that fitness is a good part of my life and the stress of being gym-less is making me sweat.
Now, with my new office I am forced to either join a gym downtown, get home from work and pretend like I will ever go to my husband’s gym located just north of us, or think outside the box. I chose column C.
And so, with that in mind, my husband and I agreed to a one month challenge- 2 days per week- 6am- running.
Full circle back to my walking out of the door at 6am this morning- morning number 1 of our run-while-it-is-early-as-fuck program.
Overall, it was actually amazing. I watched the sunrise while sprinting a 5k through basically empty streets listening to Macklamore (because I just fucking love him) and Usher. I would have never thought about pop music pre noon- it is invigorating. Plus, the best perk of all is that I was home, showered and eating a wicked breakfast before I would usually even be awake. My only learning was DO NOT eat banana before running. I spent the end of my run trying not to barf banana on the road.
I just reread this post and I feel like one of those really annoying facebook friends who is all like, “ran 5k today and then saved a kitten from a burning house” which I read while I am shoveling my face full of ranch potato chips at my desk. I'm not that person. My cheerfulness is genuine- my wish that I could never run another inch in my life and still not look like Shamoo is too.
Happy trails to you,
J
At 5:45, it is hella dark- there is no solace in your stepping out of bed. No morning sunrise to greet you for another hour, no wonderful reason for you to do anything but sleep. Yet, I found myself up, getting into clothes and walking out my door all before 6am.
A few months ago I found out that my office will be moving as a collective to a new building- this is amazing news and I am mega excited for my new neighborhood and space HOWEVER, I must bid adieu to my beloved office gym that has kept me from becoming an obese person for the past 2.5 years. Goodbye to spin classes, to my favorite Muscle Up noon class, to the Arc trainers I so diligently sweat onto and to the rowing machines where I fantasized about being a Yale rowing champion. Goodbye to the weight area filled with men who smirked as I dry heaved through my 15 pound bicep curls and a final goodbye to the glorious mats that always smelled bad- I loved you all the same.
I’m not a gym rat, that’s for sure but it is fair to say that fitness is a good part of my life and the stress of being gym-less is making me sweat.
Now, with my new office I am forced to either join a gym downtown, get home from work and pretend like I will ever go to my husband’s gym located just north of us, or think outside the box. I chose column C.
And so, with that in mind, my husband and I agreed to a one month challenge- 2 days per week- 6am- running.
Full circle back to my walking out of the door at 6am this morning- morning number 1 of our run-while-it-is-early-as-fuck program.
Overall, it was actually amazing. I watched the sunrise while sprinting a 5k through basically empty streets listening to Macklamore (because I just fucking love him) and Usher. I would have never thought about pop music pre noon- it is invigorating. Plus, the best perk of all is that I was home, showered and eating a wicked breakfast before I would usually even be awake. My only learning was DO NOT eat banana before running. I spent the end of my run trying not to barf banana on the road.
I just reread this post and I feel like one of those really annoying facebook friends who is all like, “ran 5k today and then saved a kitten from a burning house” which I read while I am shoveling my face full of ranch potato chips at my desk. I'm not that person. My cheerfulness is genuine- my wish that I could never run another inch in my life and still not look like Shamoo is too.
Happy trails to you,
J
Monday, September 30, 2013
Jane Rants and Eats- Apples or not.
Happy Monday Readers,
Did you have a nice weekend? I did. It was the perfect weather for a weekend, don’t you think? Hot enough to be outside and enjoy the sun, cool enough to do so without dripping sweat from your back (or having to walk behind people with back sweat which is like, one of my biggest pet peeves ever.)
My husband and I are like, obsessed with the Fall- ok, I just am, he likes it, I live for it. I basically want to spend all of my time doing fall related activities. I want to swim in a sea of cider, frolic in changing leaves and snuggle into warm cotton sweaters. Sure I hate pumpkin flavored things and wool, but I don’t think that makes me the anti-Fall.
This Sunday, we had plans. Big plans. Apple picking kind of plans followed by 17 downloaded recipes on how to make everything in the world with apples including but limited to apple bourbon (that’s grown up apple cooking). We also had plans to hang with some friends and their daughter while apple picking. If I can bring a kid with me to a farm, it is way better for me. as I have mentioned before in posts, there is just something weird about playing on the jungle gym as a 31 year old with no kid- like going to Chuckie Cheese, but a little less creepy. With a kid, I can be free to pet the farm animals, play on the swings, enjoy the hay maze- it is a smorgasbord of fun without any hint of me being a super weird creep show.
In the AM, our friends, their kid and my dreams of feeding the goats left without us which brings me to my first point of today- why do people with kids not want to hang out with us? I honestly find it weird that my friends and people I know with kids don’t want to hang out with us- like, what? Am I getting fucked up before my trip to the apple farm? Will I not get to bring a flask of rum and coke to drink if your kid is there? Would I EVER do that anyways? All I can tell you is that the few parents we know that have encouraged a relationship between myself and their kid will reap the benefits one day when I am a parent. You know I’m going to throw the best birthday parties ever.
But hey, we are nothing if not excitable and resourceful so with apples in mind we decided to go picking anyways. The farm, like most, was 45 minutes outside of Toronto. Apple farms are basically the only time ever in my life that I wish I lived up North. It would be awesome if they took 10 minutes to get to but I guess for the one time per year I go I would basically be giving up everything I love about my life- ok, I take it back....
So we do the drive because not only are we hankering for apples, but my sister in law and nephews are also coming to this orchard so we are excited at the idea of apple picking and getting to hang with our family! This makes the drive up easy. We arrive at 1015. Obviously the orchard doesn’t take visa because it is not Chudleighs and is just like, one poor girl sitting there looking at us like we are complete morons for even suggesting that they would have some wireless payment contraption in the middle of a fucking field. She tells us we can go to the store, buy something and do cash back. Ok
So this farm is actually HUGE and much to my delight, is full of the coolest activities that I can actually do once my nephew is there- a train, a zip line, a maze- I was beyond excited at the possibilities.
It took us a while to get to their store which sold the following; pie. Considering I ate a full tub of butter last week on the vineyard, a pie was like, the last possible thing I wanted to purchase- I found pickles on a shelf and even though they were 8 fucking dollars for a small jar of pickles, I figured it was worth the extra calories to save myself the pie. 8 dollars and pickles to get some money to pick some apples. By now it was 10:45.
Back to the orchard, we get a bag for apples and make our way to the “orchard”. Now, I use quotation marks because to me, an orchard is a vast expanse filled with ruby red apples glistening on the tree tops. This was 9 rows of 10 trees with maybe 1 apple per tree rotting on the top branch. How on earth can you fill a bag with no apples. It is now 11. We shamefully refund our money and sulk over to the parking lot. At this point we have to head back to the city on 45 minutes, there are no apples, we don’t want pie and there is nothing else that 2 grown ups can do in this whole place that wont make people think we are pedophiles.
By then I had to pee- obviously, porta potty options only.
We left at 11:30 as our fam arrived for their day of fun.
Here’s a little tidbit of advice- if you want to go apple picking, don’t go to a farm that doesn’t have apples. If you want to be able to play in farms, find friends who like when you hang out with them and their kids and if you only have a 2 hour window, don’t bother driving up north.
Thankfully, the rest of the weekend was amazing making up for this super Sunday AM bust.
Happy Fall frolicking.
J
Did you have a nice weekend? I did. It was the perfect weather for a weekend, don’t you think? Hot enough to be outside and enjoy the sun, cool enough to do so without dripping sweat from your back (or having to walk behind people with back sweat which is like, one of my biggest pet peeves ever.)
My husband and I are like, obsessed with the Fall- ok, I just am, he likes it, I live for it. I basically want to spend all of my time doing fall related activities. I want to swim in a sea of cider, frolic in changing leaves and snuggle into warm cotton sweaters. Sure I hate pumpkin flavored things and wool, but I don’t think that makes me the anti-Fall.
This Sunday, we had plans. Big plans. Apple picking kind of plans followed by 17 downloaded recipes on how to make everything in the world with apples including but limited to apple bourbon (that’s grown up apple cooking). We also had plans to hang with some friends and their daughter while apple picking. If I can bring a kid with me to a farm, it is way better for me. as I have mentioned before in posts, there is just something weird about playing on the jungle gym as a 31 year old with no kid- like going to Chuckie Cheese, but a little less creepy. With a kid, I can be free to pet the farm animals, play on the swings, enjoy the hay maze- it is a smorgasbord of fun without any hint of me being a super weird creep show.
In the AM, our friends, their kid and my dreams of feeding the goats left without us which brings me to my first point of today- why do people with kids not want to hang out with us? I honestly find it weird that my friends and people I know with kids don’t want to hang out with us- like, what? Am I getting fucked up before my trip to the apple farm? Will I not get to bring a flask of rum and coke to drink if your kid is there? Would I EVER do that anyways? All I can tell you is that the few parents we know that have encouraged a relationship between myself and their kid will reap the benefits one day when I am a parent. You know I’m going to throw the best birthday parties ever.
But hey, we are nothing if not excitable and resourceful so with apples in mind we decided to go picking anyways. The farm, like most, was 45 minutes outside of Toronto. Apple farms are basically the only time ever in my life that I wish I lived up North. It would be awesome if they took 10 minutes to get to but I guess for the one time per year I go I would basically be giving up everything I love about my life- ok, I take it back....
So we do the drive because not only are we hankering for apples, but my sister in law and nephews are also coming to this orchard so we are excited at the idea of apple picking and getting to hang with our family! This makes the drive up easy. We arrive at 1015. Obviously the orchard doesn’t take visa because it is not Chudleighs and is just like, one poor girl sitting there looking at us like we are complete morons for even suggesting that they would have some wireless payment contraption in the middle of a fucking field. She tells us we can go to the store, buy something and do cash back. Ok
So this farm is actually HUGE and much to my delight, is full of the coolest activities that I can actually do once my nephew is there- a train, a zip line, a maze- I was beyond excited at the possibilities.
It took us a while to get to their store which sold the following; pie. Considering I ate a full tub of butter last week on the vineyard, a pie was like, the last possible thing I wanted to purchase- I found pickles on a shelf and even though they were 8 fucking dollars for a small jar of pickles, I figured it was worth the extra calories to save myself the pie. 8 dollars and pickles to get some money to pick some apples. By now it was 10:45.
Back to the orchard, we get a bag for apples and make our way to the “orchard”. Now, I use quotation marks because to me, an orchard is a vast expanse filled with ruby red apples glistening on the tree tops. This was 9 rows of 10 trees with maybe 1 apple per tree rotting on the top branch. How on earth can you fill a bag with no apples. It is now 11. We shamefully refund our money and sulk over to the parking lot. At this point we have to head back to the city on 45 minutes, there are no apples, we don’t want pie and there is nothing else that 2 grown ups can do in this whole place that wont make people think we are pedophiles.
By then I had to pee- obviously, porta potty options only.
We left at 11:30 as our fam arrived for their day of fun.
Here’s a little tidbit of advice- if you want to go apple picking, don’t go to a farm that doesn’t have apples. If you want to be able to play in farms, find friends who like when you hang out with them and their kids and if you only have a 2 hour window, don’t bother driving up north.
Thankfully, the rest of the weekend was amazing making up for this super Sunday AM bust.
Happy Fall frolicking.
J
Thursday, September 26, 2013
Jane Travels- Martha's Vineyard
Hi readers,
While I wish I was still on the vacation that I just returned home from, I am happy to be back, sharing with you some musings from my favorite place on earth, the Vineyard. If Bahamas and Halifax had sex and produced a love child, it would be Martha’s vineyard. Part Caribbean island living, part east coast hospitality with just enough Americana to remind you that you are neither in the Caribbean or Canada, MV is a totally cray vaca.
Sorry, to clarify, when I say cray, I don’t mean that we were acting cray- if there is a nightlife on the island after the summer months, I have yet to see it- also, we don’t leave our home away from home- but I digress.
MV is like the Hamptons of Boston- everything on the island is amazing, expensive and well manicured and during the summer it is bumpin with senators and vacationers alike. In fact, only 50-90,000 people reside on the island full time/ from coast to coast it is a 45 minute drive and the beaches that surround it all, like everything else, are fucking amazing.
A quick island tour;
The main ferry port takes you to Vineyard Haven. Name. accurate. Or better yet, Vineyard heaven. Here is the only main “chain” grocery store and a bevy of shops and little homeware places, a gallery owned by Carly Simon’s brother, a bazillion boutiques that put Anthropology to shame, a store that had the best balsamic vinegar I have ever had- seriously, I was drinking this shit in a cup. Moving East, you get to Oaks Bluffs. So, in MV, a lot of the areas are “dry” meaning that there is no booze to be found. Oak Bluffs, by contrast is wet making it A. somewhere we went often and B. more touristy. OB boasts North Americas oldest carousel, a lot of shops that sell Jaws stuff (Jaws was primarily shot in MV making MV Amnity Island, in essence) and some really beautiful old houses. Moving South East you get to Edgartown, the yuppie area of the Vineyard. You can tell. The houses here vary only in being either Classic American or Dutch mansions. Seriously, I would live in some of these houses garages and be happy. Majority of residents here curiously drive Mini Coopers. This is a true white, Waspy area. The stores are boutiquey and it is bustling with tourists. Oh, and you can buy booze here too and unlike the booze store in OB, this one doesn't not smell like cat vomit. From Etown, you can take a 2 second ferry over to Chappaquiddick aka where Kennedy killed a hooker. If you make your way now West across State road you will pass all these yummy bakeries, restaurants, places to buy Alpaca wool, farms, and artisan galleries until you reach Chilmark. This was our home for the week. Chilmark is... Well... Chill. It is way more cottagey and rustic and gorgeous plus, the Gylenhalls live there. Enough said. Further West and North is Aqquina home to the Gay Head cliffs- we did a lot of Gay head on that trip. Stop it. You are immature.
Finally circling back toward vineyard haven from the other side is Menemsha.
That’s the island, in summation.
Now here is what we did on it.
Eat a boatload of seafood- pun intended.
Seafood that actually has come right out of the water and is in your pan a few hours later cannot be matched. You can actually taste the sea-ness of it all which, if you like seafood is a good thing- if you don’t I guess it would be like, the grossest thing you could ever eat. The specialties on the island are full fat and friggin amazeballs. Lobster rolls- oh hi totally fresh, just peeled lobster mixed with green onion and mayo on a buttery hot roll, I will eat the shit out of you. Clam Chowder- oh hi delicious cream soup with chunks of fresh clams and potatoes, yup, I will eat you too. Lobster bisque- oh, oh hey same as clam chowder but red and filled with lobster chunks, you can hop into my belly too. Those coupled with daily fresh oysters, shrimp, scallops, fish and squid made up the 99 percent of what I ate. Sure, I gained 5 pounds easily in 5 days. It was worth it.
Walked around the gorgeous natural scenery.
Every inch of this island is pretty. Like you can be walking by a ditch lined with porta potties on route to the beach, and it is pretty. We walked the beach, the Gay Head cliffs, all the towns, 2 arboretums, a farmers market and biked through E-town and Chappy.
Drink wine and laugh a LOT.
My husband and I have been to the vineyard alone before back when we got engaged and it was wicked, as was the day we had before our friends arrived from NYC to spend the weekend with us in MV. I love alone time with him- it is romantic and nice and a great way to just be together- but time with our besties in the best place on earth is priceless. I laughed for 3 days straight. We drank enough wine that I could go wine free for a few months, and talked so much that I am all out of what to say now.
Unplugged- more on this to come but this was one of the highlights.
Swam in the ocean.
Heck ya it was warm enough to swim. The water was cold but the sun was shining and there is nothing as splendid as savoring those last moments of summer in late September in the ocean.
Overall, this was actually one of the best vacations of my life. It didn’t have to be super exotic or action packed or even hot and beachy all the time which goes to show that great company is really the spice of life.
Cheers to the end of the summer and to a new annual tradition of saying goodbye to summer in MV. YOMVO (if you aren't lucky)
Xo,
J
While I wish I was still on the vacation that I just returned home from, I am happy to be back, sharing with you some musings from my favorite place on earth, the Vineyard. If Bahamas and Halifax had sex and produced a love child, it would be Martha’s vineyard. Part Caribbean island living, part east coast hospitality with just enough Americana to remind you that you are neither in the Caribbean or Canada, MV is a totally cray vaca.
Sorry, to clarify, when I say cray, I don’t mean that we were acting cray- if there is a nightlife on the island after the summer months, I have yet to see it- also, we don’t leave our home away from home- but I digress.
MV is like the Hamptons of Boston- everything on the island is amazing, expensive and well manicured and during the summer it is bumpin with senators and vacationers alike. In fact, only 50-90,000 people reside on the island full time/ from coast to coast it is a 45 minute drive and the beaches that surround it all, like everything else, are fucking amazing.
A quick island tour;
The main ferry port takes you to Vineyard Haven. Name. accurate. Or better yet, Vineyard heaven. Here is the only main “chain” grocery store and a bevy of shops and little homeware places, a gallery owned by Carly Simon’s brother, a bazillion boutiques that put Anthropology to shame, a store that had the best balsamic vinegar I have ever had- seriously, I was drinking this shit in a cup. Moving East, you get to Oaks Bluffs. So, in MV, a lot of the areas are “dry” meaning that there is no booze to be found. Oak Bluffs, by contrast is wet making it A. somewhere we went often and B. more touristy. OB boasts North Americas oldest carousel, a lot of shops that sell Jaws stuff (Jaws was primarily shot in MV making MV Amnity Island, in essence) and some really beautiful old houses. Moving South East you get to Edgartown, the yuppie area of the Vineyard. You can tell. The houses here vary only in being either Classic American or Dutch mansions. Seriously, I would live in some of these houses garages and be happy. Majority of residents here curiously drive Mini Coopers. This is a true white, Waspy area. The stores are boutiquey and it is bustling with tourists. Oh, and you can buy booze here too and unlike the booze store in OB, this one doesn't not smell like cat vomit. From Etown, you can take a 2 second ferry over to Chappaquiddick aka where Kennedy killed a hooker. If you make your way now West across State road you will pass all these yummy bakeries, restaurants, places to buy Alpaca wool, farms, and artisan galleries until you reach Chilmark. This was our home for the week. Chilmark is... Well... Chill. It is way more cottagey and rustic and gorgeous plus, the Gylenhalls live there. Enough said. Further West and North is Aqquina home to the Gay Head cliffs- we did a lot of Gay head on that trip. Stop it. You are immature.
Finally circling back toward vineyard haven from the other side is Menemsha.
That’s the island, in summation.
Now here is what we did on it.
Eat a boatload of seafood- pun intended.
Seafood that actually has come right out of the water and is in your pan a few hours later cannot be matched. You can actually taste the sea-ness of it all which, if you like seafood is a good thing- if you don’t I guess it would be like, the grossest thing you could ever eat. The specialties on the island are full fat and friggin amazeballs. Lobster rolls- oh hi totally fresh, just peeled lobster mixed with green onion and mayo on a buttery hot roll, I will eat the shit out of you. Clam Chowder- oh hi delicious cream soup with chunks of fresh clams and potatoes, yup, I will eat you too. Lobster bisque- oh, oh hey same as clam chowder but red and filled with lobster chunks, you can hop into my belly too. Those coupled with daily fresh oysters, shrimp, scallops, fish and squid made up the 99 percent of what I ate. Sure, I gained 5 pounds easily in 5 days. It was worth it.
Walked around the gorgeous natural scenery.
Every inch of this island is pretty. Like you can be walking by a ditch lined with porta potties on route to the beach, and it is pretty. We walked the beach, the Gay Head cliffs, all the towns, 2 arboretums, a farmers market and biked through E-town and Chappy.
Drink wine and laugh a LOT.
My husband and I have been to the vineyard alone before back when we got engaged and it was wicked, as was the day we had before our friends arrived from NYC to spend the weekend with us in MV. I love alone time with him- it is romantic and nice and a great way to just be together- but time with our besties in the best place on earth is priceless. I laughed for 3 days straight. We drank enough wine that I could go wine free for a few months, and talked so much that I am all out of what to say now.
Unplugged- more on this to come but this was one of the highlights.
Swam in the ocean.
Heck ya it was warm enough to swim. The water was cold but the sun was shining and there is nothing as splendid as savoring those last moments of summer in late September in the ocean.
Overall, this was actually one of the best vacations of my life. It didn’t have to be super exotic or action packed or even hot and beachy all the time which goes to show that great company is really the spice of life.
Cheers to the end of the summer and to a new annual tradition of saying goodbye to summer in MV. YOMVO (if you aren't lucky)
Xo,
J
Monday, August 26, 2013
Jane Rants: Protection when you most need it
Working in advertising does things to you. I use the phrase “to ____’s point” or “my POV is” way more than I should in casual conversation and I scrutinize ads to an extreme degree. It is a function of the job and it never turns off.
Case in point- please watch the below link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AH4qMhB_f9E
When Kotex came to life with those wicked ads they had with the messaging that was poking fun at all other tampon ads, they tore the feminie hygiene product worlkd a new asshole. Talking about periods so casually and in a fresh, "real" way was revolutionary. You laughed, you cried, and the people at Tampax scrambled to remind you that you can't judge a tampon by it's neon cover.
Enter Tampax's new ads- a subtle reminder that "at a moment like this" (this being when you are doing a back flip in a white bikini) she is glad to wear Tampax. Why? well, at this moment in her life, she doesn't care for fancy packaging and witty lines, she cares that she does not have a giant red mark on her white bikini bottoms in front of all her friends- thus positioning Tampax as the lead in leak protection. Let the "other guys" be he flash, Tampax will still emerge victorious. Substance over style.
But here is the thing- Tampax, while you win for your overall messaging and priorities, you lose for this shitty ad.
I am a fairly normal girl, I am in my 30s and I am totally comfortable with my body in terms of getting my period, like, really not a big deal at this point. HOWEVER, I really do still try to avoid bathing suit situations when I know it is coming and even at the best of times when I am period free, I avoid white bikinis.
So this girl is on her period and she is like, "oh, I am going to a pool party and I shall wear a skimpy white bikini". She didn’t have anything else in her closet? Just one white bikini? I don’t think I buy that.
Furthermore, lets say, for arguments sake, that she does in fact own only one small white bikini and she is too broke to even go out and buy like, an H&M bikini which is on sale for 4 dollars and she just HAS to attend a pool party on the day of her period- DO YOU HAVE TO SHOW THE WHOLE PARTY HOW YOU CAN BACKFLIP ON THAT PARTICULAR DAY????????????? Like, maybe just tell your friends that you are a great back flipper and promise to show them some other time how awesome you are at it OR, just keep quiet. No one likes a show off anyways.
If it is time to “Get real” about periods then let’s all agree that the best you can hope for in terms of good solid protection is to not leak through your “period/granny panties” that you are wearing under a strategically DARK dress or jeans. If you dare to wear your smallest and most revealing bikini, you deserve whatever Mother Nature flings your way.
Can I get an amen ladies?
Xo
J
Case in point- please watch the below link
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AH4qMhB_f9E
When Kotex came to life with those wicked ads they had with the messaging that was poking fun at all other tampon ads, they tore the feminie hygiene product worlkd a new asshole. Talking about periods so casually and in a fresh, "real" way was revolutionary. You laughed, you cried, and the people at Tampax scrambled to remind you that you can't judge a tampon by it's neon cover.
Enter Tampax's new ads- a subtle reminder that "at a moment like this" (this being when you are doing a back flip in a white bikini) she is glad to wear Tampax. Why? well, at this moment in her life, she doesn't care for fancy packaging and witty lines, she cares that she does not have a giant red mark on her white bikini bottoms in front of all her friends- thus positioning Tampax as the lead in leak protection. Let the "other guys" be he flash, Tampax will still emerge victorious. Substance over style.
But here is the thing- Tampax, while you win for your overall messaging and priorities, you lose for this shitty ad.
I am a fairly normal girl, I am in my 30s and I am totally comfortable with my body in terms of getting my period, like, really not a big deal at this point. HOWEVER, I really do still try to avoid bathing suit situations when I know it is coming and even at the best of times when I am period free, I avoid white bikinis.
So this girl is on her period and she is like, "oh, I am going to a pool party and I shall wear a skimpy white bikini". She didn’t have anything else in her closet? Just one white bikini? I don’t think I buy that.
Furthermore, lets say, for arguments sake, that she does in fact own only one small white bikini and she is too broke to even go out and buy like, an H&M bikini which is on sale for 4 dollars and she just HAS to attend a pool party on the day of her period- DO YOU HAVE TO SHOW THE WHOLE PARTY HOW YOU CAN BACKFLIP ON THAT PARTICULAR DAY????????????? Like, maybe just tell your friends that you are a great back flipper and promise to show them some other time how awesome you are at it OR, just keep quiet. No one likes a show off anyways.
If it is time to “Get real” about periods then let’s all agree that the best you can hope for in terms of good solid protection is to not leak through your “period/granny panties” that you are wearing under a strategically DARK dress or jeans. If you dare to wear your smallest and most revealing bikini, you deserve whatever Mother Nature flings your way.
Can I get an amen ladies?
Xo
J
Friday, August 9, 2013
Jane Muses- Take 30
Dear readers,
I read this Olivia Wilde article about being 30- people actually reposted this all over Facebook so I was intrigued. What could a 29-year-old on the cusp of being 30-year-old famous actress marrying a famous actor have in common with me?
Turns out that we are both thinking about turning 30 and we both think you shouldn’t get Botox or facelifts. Who knew we had so much similarities in our thinking? Seems we agree that doing work to yourself in the ripe years of your 30s is just f-ing gross. I was recently with a group of girls who were patiently waiting to try Botox and I thought to myself how, like tanning, this is going to make them look ridiculous in a few years. Ladies, Olivia and I both urge you to chill the fuck out on your appearance. At your funerals, which I hope don’t come for a very very long time, no one will give a shit that you had no wrinkles, fit into a size zero or had a facelift- and if they do, you should probably get new people in your life. People will remember you for being wonderful and for being you! Trust, I see tons of ladies when I visit my parents in Florida who, I am sure, in their prime had killer bodies and gorgeous faces. Later in life, no matter how much work you do, you will look old. You may look old and skinny but you will still look old- old and tanned= still old, old with liposuction stomach=still old. No one will ever care and if anything people will make fun of your over bloated lips behind your backs. A cautionary tale.
We also agree that you shouldn’t feel pressure to get married. I know a whole heap of people who are already getting divorced. If you don’t want to be one of those people, a good way to try and combat it is to not rush into marriage. Notwithstanding staunch religious people who save themselves until marriage and all that, marriage really changes nothing for a modern couple. I got married and got a much nicer set of dishes and a great party to look back on. That is all. And everything I ever wanted to do, including children, I could have done without my Dansk set and memories of a certain Cotton Eyed Joe remix.
Finally, we agree that you should learn a new skill. Why not. You're not dead yet. You can even add this to the other Do, enjoying your sexual prime- your partner or future partner will thank you.
Then she makes some points which, to be kind, seem a bit self indulgent and fucking stupid. Some of the other gems though, which I doth protest, include the following: Don’t freak out about all the brilliant people who accomplish more than you by 30, Do travel, Don’t be bogged down by your past. Very well when you are a multimillionaire actress who people named “sexiest woman alive”. Until the day when I can boast both of those accomplishments, I’m going to go right ahead and be jealous. Jealous of the 30 year old CEO of a company I wish I had started, the 25 year old fashion maven who was noted as “the next big thing” and the author of every good book I read. Is it to say I will not be those things one day? No, I can be whatever I want to be and so can you but a little envy can be a good driver to actually get off your ass and get what you so greenly eye. I guess if I was a smoking hot superstar, it would be easy to brush that dirt off my shoulders- unfortunately, the average 30 year old has just spent their 20’s figuring their shit out, not being all famous and stuff. I appreciate the sentiment, Olivia, but it is easy to preach when you are high on a tower... Or something.
Don’t feel pressure to pop out kids- PLEASE TELL THAT TO MY BODY!!! Would not a lot be solved if this wasn’t a pressure you had to face in your 30’s??? This would be a nice one to just be all cool about- like, ya man, no pressure except for that if you don’t have kids by a certain age, you cant and if you wait until you are Hollywood norm age like Halle Berry, you had better have her superhuman genes or be prepared for a lot of issues. Again, if I was a millionaire famous person, I may not worry about not getting pregnant later in my 30s when it gets harder, there would be IV and the price tag on every treatment would be a total breeze. Don’t make all of us 30 year olds who actually worry a lot about having a baby in the near future feel like freaks. Unfair, Olivia.
Do travel? Pay for my motherfucking flights.
And finally, don’t be bogged down by your past. This is one I both agree and disagree with. Yes, your past is your past. It is over and you have probably learned a lot from it HOWEVER, I will contest that there a re more than a few people out there who could stand to remember a bit about what has happened to them in hopes that it will make them a better person. Par example, if you did something really shitty- you should remember so you don’t do it again, if you have succeeded in losing all your good friends, you should probably remember so that you can be a better friend to your new ones, everyone always dumps you? Try thinking about why. Reflecting on one’s past never hurt anyone- living in it def can.
So, in summation enjoy your 30’s and do whatever you can to best live them to their fullest before you start dealing with the perils of real aging. If you are lucky you will find yourself a better, more secure and wealthy version of yourself in your 20’s. You will have cut all the crap from your life (whatever that means to you) and you will be surrounded with love, goodness and positivity. Plus, they say 30 is the new 20 anyways.
Happy Friday all you 30 year olds out there (and all the rest of you too)
Xo,
J
I read this Olivia Wilde article about being 30- people actually reposted this all over Facebook so I was intrigued. What could a 29-year-old on the cusp of being 30-year-old famous actress marrying a famous actor have in common with me?
Turns out that we are both thinking about turning 30 and we both think you shouldn’t get Botox or facelifts. Who knew we had so much similarities in our thinking? Seems we agree that doing work to yourself in the ripe years of your 30s is just f-ing gross. I was recently with a group of girls who were patiently waiting to try Botox and I thought to myself how, like tanning, this is going to make them look ridiculous in a few years. Ladies, Olivia and I both urge you to chill the fuck out on your appearance. At your funerals, which I hope don’t come for a very very long time, no one will give a shit that you had no wrinkles, fit into a size zero or had a facelift- and if they do, you should probably get new people in your life. People will remember you for being wonderful and for being you! Trust, I see tons of ladies when I visit my parents in Florida who, I am sure, in their prime had killer bodies and gorgeous faces. Later in life, no matter how much work you do, you will look old. You may look old and skinny but you will still look old- old and tanned= still old, old with liposuction stomach=still old. No one will ever care and if anything people will make fun of your over bloated lips behind your backs. A cautionary tale.
We also agree that you shouldn’t feel pressure to get married. I know a whole heap of people who are already getting divorced. If you don’t want to be one of those people, a good way to try and combat it is to not rush into marriage. Notwithstanding staunch religious people who save themselves until marriage and all that, marriage really changes nothing for a modern couple. I got married and got a much nicer set of dishes and a great party to look back on. That is all. And everything I ever wanted to do, including children, I could have done without my Dansk set and memories of a certain Cotton Eyed Joe remix.
Finally, we agree that you should learn a new skill. Why not. You're not dead yet. You can even add this to the other Do, enjoying your sexual prime- your partner or future partner will thank you.
Then she makes some points which, to be kind, seem a bit self indulgent and fucking stupid. Some of the other gems though, which I doth protest, include the following: Don’t freak out about all the brilliant people who accomplish more than you by 30, Do travel, Don’t be bogged down by your past. Very well when you are a multimillionaire actress who people named “sexiest woman alive”. Until the day when I can boast both of those accomplishments, I’m going to go right ahead and be jealous. Jealous of the 30 year old CEO of a company I wish I had started, the 25 year old fashion maven who was noted as “the next big thing” and the author of every good book I read. Is it to say I will not be those things one day? No, I can be whatever I want to be and so can you but a little envy can be a good driver to actually get off your ass and get what you so greenly eye. I guess if I was a smoking hot superstar, it would be easy to brush that dirt off my shoulders- unfortunately, the average 30 year old has just spent their 20’s figuring their shit out, not being all famous and stuff. I appreciate the sentiment, Olivia, but it is easy to preach when you are high on a tower... Or something.
Don’t feel pressure to pop out kids- PLEASE TELL THAT TO MY BODY!!! Would not a lot be solved if this wasn’t a pressure you had to face in your 30’s??? This would be a nice one to just be all cool about- like, ya man, no pressure except for that if you don’t have kids by a certain age, you cant and if you wait until you are Hollywood norm age like Halle Berry, you had better have her superhuman genes or be prepared for a lot of issues. Again, if I was a millionaire famous person, I may not worry about not getting pregnant later in my 30s when it gets harder, there would be IV and the price tag on every treatment would be a total breeze. Don’t make all of us 30 year olds who actually worry a lot about having a baby in the near future feel like freaks. Unfair, Olivia.
Do travel? Pay for my motherfucking flights.
And finally, don’t be bogged down by your past. This is one I both agree and disagree with. Yes, your past is your past. It is over and you have probably learned a lot from it HOWEVER, I will contest that there a re more than a few people out there who could stand to remember a bit about what has happened to them in hopes that it will make them a better person. Par example, if you did something really shitty- you should remember so you don’t do it again, if you have succeeded in losing all your good friends, you should probably remember so that you can be a better friend to your new ones, everyone always dumps you? Try thinking about why. Reflecting on one’s past never hurt anyone- living in it def can.
So, in summation enjoy your 30’s and do whatever you can to best live them to their fullest before you start dealing with the perils of real aging. If you are lucky you will find yourself a better, more secure and wealthy version of yourself in your 20’s. You will have cut all the crap from your life (whatever that means to you) and you will be surrounded with love, goodness and positivity. Plus, they say 30 is the new 20 anyways.
Happy Friday all you 30 year olds out there (and all the rest of you too)
Xo,
J
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Jane Eats- like a vegan, touched for the very first time
I went to Fresh for dinner last night with my group of girlfriends. Here is what I can say about Fresh. First of all, if you want a nice meal to catch up with old friends, this may not be your place. I love it there, like, LOVE it but shoveling salad into your face isn't super conducive to a good conversation. There were a lot of flying lettuce bits.
Also, and this goes beyond Fresh because I seemingly do this to myself all the time, I ordered the wrong thing. I don’t know why I stray from food when I know how much I love it but I abandoned my beloved Beach bowl with rice and opted for a kale salad. My body is currently saying fuck you very much for that choice. Who needs a full bowl of hemp seeds? Not this girl apparently.
I don’t know why I do it to myself. Like, I feel too adventurous as a person to eat the same thing all the time but then I just get food envy for the 2 other people at my table who got exactly what I wanted and yummed their way all through dinner while I chewed kale by the bushel.
I think earlier that day I had read how Jennifer Aniston got her 40 year old six pack with eating kale so I was all like, if I eat kale, I might develop an overnight six pack too. Obviously I am to cut out to read celebrity diet tricks.
Also, I have basically eaten tofu all week long- this is what happens when my husband leaves me to cook my own protein. I am obviously terrifed of the idea of cooking meat tofu is my sole sustenance- or tempeh, which is equi weird/ gross.
Mix some tofu with some shiritaki noodles and some of my overabundant Jamaican Caliloo (the best growing plant in my garden by far) and you have my dinner food for a week.
What do vegans do? I always thought I would be a great vegan given my ambivalence to meat but after my week of beans for that 4 hour diet and this week of tofu, I cannot imagine living like this. It’s not even like I crave meat, I just crave anything that isn't a salad. Whomever came up with the line “you don’t make friends with salad” was spot on.
Anywho, I digress. Fresh- delicious if you haven't eaten tofu for 3 days straight and want more than an hour over salad to talk.
Veganism- I applaud you if you can but this plantain needs something to eat that isn't a leaf or made from soy.
The end.
J
Also, and this goes beyond Fresh because I seemingly do this to myself all the time, I ordered the wrong thing. I don’t know why I stray from food when I know how much I love it but I abandoned my beloved Beach bowl with rice and opted for a kale salad. My body is currently saying fuck you very much for that choice. Who needs a full bowl of hemp seeds? Not this girl apparently.
I don’t know why I do it to myself. Like, I feel too adventurous as a person to eat the same thing all the time but then I just get food envy for the 2 other people at my table who got exactly what I wanted and yummed their way all through dinner while I chewed kale by the bushel.
I think earlier that day I had read how Jennifer Aniston got her 40 year old six pack with eating kale so I was all like, if I eat kale, I might develop an overnight six pack too. Obviously I am to cut out to read celebrity diet tricks.
Also, I have basically eaten tofu all week long- this is what happens when my husband leaves me to cook my own protein. I am obviously terrifed of the idea of cooking meat tofu is my sole sustenance- or tempeh, which is equi weird/ gross.
Mix some tofu with some shiritaki noodles and some of my overabundant Jamaican Caliloo (the best growing plant in my garden by far) and you have my dinner food for a week.
What do vegans do? I always thought I would be a great vegan given my ambivalence to meat but after my week of beans for that 4 hour diet and this week of tofu, I cannot imagine living like this. It’s not even like I crave meat, I just crave anything that isn't a salad. Whomever came up with the line “you don’t make friends with salad” was spot on.
Anywho, I digress. Fresh- delicious if you haven't eaten tofu for 3 days straight and want more than an hour over salad to talk.
Veganism- I applaud you if you can but this plantain needs something to eat that isn't a leaf or made from soy.
The end.
J
Monday, July 29, 2013
Jane Eats- or not
My husband’s thing about eating out is the service. He is a huge proponent of good service musing that if he is bothering to leave the house (when, to be honest, he can cook better than most restaurants do) he wants to be treated well. This doesn’t mean being catered to like you are a baller at North 44 but more just like, friendly, nice and attentive people. He hates lines and the “we are too cool for reservations” policy and despises pretension in dining.
I could care less. Be pretentious, make me wait just as long as when I sit down, the food is wicked and the server is polite. I am not hard to please when it comes to service.
Which is why I felt the need to voice my complaint about not one but 2 Toronto dining establishments that I encountered this past weekend. Now, I need to reiterate- I am so easy to please like, if you smile and bring me a water, that’s cool by me.
What isn't cool?
Saturday night I had reservations at the Drake hotel for dinner to celebrate my friend’s birthday. Made the reservations weeks prior and although I had not been there for dinner in 7 years (which I don’t remember fondly at all), I was looking forward to a fun night out with my girls. When they called me to confirm the reservation, they noted in the voicemail that we would have a 2 hour sitting and then we could move to the bar. When we arrived, the rude man host informed us that we would actually be “kicked out” in 1 hour and 20 minutes because they were without as much space as usual due to some water damage.
Ok, so first of all who tells patrons that they will be kicked out? Those were his words- not like, “sorry ladies, but we MAY have to ask you to move at 10 due to blah blah blah”. Not like, sorry for this total inconvenience- just a flat “you will be kicked out”.
Drake hotel, you suck so bad. How incredibly annoying and frustrating is that? Why wouldn’t you call us to tell us this before we arrived? What if we had come special from out of the city to have dinner at your establishment and further to that, what makes you think that someone needs our space at 10? We obviously left and headed elsewhere (to Delux on Ossington where the service was phenomenal and the food was even better thanks to our adorbs waiter and some wicked steak frites).
Not that they probably care much and not that I go out all that much anyways but you could literally not pay me to ever go to the Drake again. My bad memories from years ago there were solidified and this plantain gives you a super thumbs down. Oh, and the foyer smelled like mold and the rude host had food in his teeth and bad breath.
Onward.
So Sunday morning I went to meet my cousin and her bro’s GF for some brunch at Hogtown Vegan. She is vegan and I personally don’t mind eating vegan. I actually usually really like it and find it tasty. Case in point. My Ranchero breakfast was awesome! Sure, my tofu eggs were weird and there was about 4000 too many tasteless black beans on my plate- but since my expectations are usually not sky high, I was impressed. Then, the bill came. Then it was 15 minutes later and we were still sitting there as the waitress walked by looking at all of us holding our cards ready to pay and leave. Then it was 20 minutes later and we asked on of the other waitresses if perhaps we were meant to pay up at the counter to which she replied “no- you just sit here and wait until she has some time to come take your cards- we are not in any rush here so she will be around when she gets to it”. OR REALLY? Sorry my fair vegan but do you not like money? Don’t feel like getting paid?? The staff may not have been in a rush but a) we were and b) I hardly consider waiting for 20 minutes to pay a bill making her “rush” so thanks for the attitude missy.
We finally did go up to pay at the counter where the waitress told us (without making eye contact or smiling) that we could not pay separately- all of the money had to go on one card. Ok 1999. You can have your system back now. Who does that? Why can’t I put the desired amount on one card and share it with another?
The waitress literally rolled her eyes at us about 400 times and all I can deduce from this is that she was probably smelled that we were not all true vegans and got vegan mad on our asses. Otherwise, I don’t get it.
So dear you- it is pretty simple to just be a polite person and smile. My suggestion would be that if you cant muster that kind of normal human engagement, don’t go into customer service and save us all the eye rolls and headache.
Thanks,
J
I could care less. Be pretentious, make me wait just as long as when I sit down, the food is wicked and the server is polite. I am not hard to please when it comes to service.
Which is why I felt the need to voice my complaint about not one but 2 Toronto dining establishments that I encountered this past weekend. Now, I need to reiterate- I am so easy to please like, if you smile and bring me a water, that’s cool by me.
What isn't cool?
Saturday night I had reservations at the Drake hotel for dinner to celebrate my friend’s birthday. Made the reservations weeks prior and although I had not been there for dinner in 7 years (which I don’t remember fondly at all), I was looking forward to a fun night out with my girls. When they called me to confirm the reservation, they noted in the voicemail that we would have a 2 hour sitting and then we could move to the bar. When we arrived, the rude man host informed us that we would actually be “kicked out” in 1 hour and 20 minutes because they were without as much space as usual due to some water damage.
Ok, so first of all who tells patrons that they will be kicked out? Those were his words- not like, “sorry ladies, but we MAY have to ask you to move at 10 due to blah blah blah”. Not like, sorry for this total inconvenience- just a flat “you will be kicked out”.
Drake hotel, you suck so bad. How incredibly annoying and frustrating is that? Why wouldn’t you call us to tell us this before we arrived? What if we had come special from out of the city to have dinner at your establishment and further to that, what makes you think that someone needs our space at 10? We obviously left and headed elsewhere (to Delux on Ossington where the service was phenomenal and the food was even better thanks to our adorbs waiter and some wicked steak frites).
Not that they probably care much and not that I go out all that much anyways but you could literally not pay me to ever go to the Drake again. My bad memories from years ago there were solidified and this plantain gives you a super thumbs down. Oh, and the foyer smelled like mold and the rude host had food in his teeth and bad breath.
Onward.
So Sunday morning I went to meet my cousin and her bro’s GF for some brunch at Hogtown Vegan. She is vegan and I personally don’t mind eating vegan. I actually usually really like it and find it tasty. Case in point. My Ranchero breakfast was awesome! Sure, my tofu eggs were weird and there was about 4000 too many tasteless black beans on my plate- but since my expectations are usually not sky high, I was impressed. Then, the bill came. Then it was 15 minutes later and we were still sitting there as the waitress walked by looking at all of us holding our cards ready to pay and leave. Then it was 20 minutes later and we asked on of the other waitresses if perhaps we were meant to pay up at the counter to which she replied “no- you just sit here and wait until she has some time to come take your cards- we are not in any rush here so she will be around when she gets to it”. OR REALLY? Sorry my fair vegan but do you not like money? Don’t feel like getting paid?? The staff may not have been in a rush but a) we were and b) I hardly consider waiting for 20 minutes to pay a bill making her “rush” so thanks for the attitude missy.
We finally did go up to pay at the counter where the waitress told us (without making eye contact or smiling) that we could not pay separately- all of the money had to go on one card. Ok 1999. You can have your system back now. Who does that? Why can’t I put the desired amount on one card and share it with another?
The waitress literally rolled her eyes at us about 400 times and all I can deduce from this is that she was probably smelled that we were not all true vegans and got vegan mad on our asses. Otherwise, I don’t get it.
So dear you- it is pretty simple to just be a polite person and smile. My suggestion would be that if you cant muster that kind of normal human engagement, don’t go into customer service and save us all the eye rolls and headache.
Thanks,
J
Friday, July 26, 2013
Jane Rambles- Rants for Friday
I am a terrible sleeper. My sleep habits range from not being able to fall asleep, falling asleep early and then waking up a million times, not sleeping at all or sleeping and then being utterly unable to wake up in the morning.
I usually find that when I am anxious or excited, it is hard to "shut off" and just fall asleep but that one seems pretty normal to me. Falling asleep early and waking up a million times is both because I sleep so erratically and have to pee all the time. Not sleeping at all happens from time to time and it the abso-fucking-lutely worst thing ever and even though my husband thinks I am just super lazy, I find myself so tired some mornings that getting out of bed is the most arduous chore imaginable.
None of these things make me feel confident that I get the best out of my sleep.
Enter Sleep Cycle. Sleep Cycle is an app for... you guessed it, helping with sleep. It's "about me" section describes it as "using a wake up phase that ends at your desired alarm time... will monitor signals from your body to wake you up softly when you are in the lightest possible sleep state". It uses a sensitive accelerometer to determine your sleep state and then it tallies up your whole night and ranks how well you slept.
In terms of an alarm, it is actually pretty good. Maybe (likely) it is placebo effect but when I hear the gentle waves of my morning alarm, I usually am in fact ready to wake up. This is vastly different from my former alarm that would often literally shake me out of sleep. neither options stop me from using the snooze button but with Sleep Cycle, it allows you 10 minutes of snooze and then you have to physically turn it off or it wont shut up and while gentle waves are lovely, nonstop on and on, they are insanity provoking.
That is the upside to the alarm, since using it I have been up earlier and easier and feeling less like someone just hit me over the head with bells.
The downside is that first off, I have to sleep with my phone. I am sure that sleeping in bed with your phone is bad for you. There is the all the electronic waves and stuff like that that is probably not healthy for you long term and there is the notion that in order to decompress and shut down, you should not bring your cell phone into bed. It is true that since sleeping with it, our relationship has intensified and it is the last thing I do before bed and the first thing I do when I wake up. My husband is jealous.
The other downside to this app is that seriously, how is it watching me when I sleep? Like, how creepy is that? AND, it is doing the worst job ever because last night, for example, it gave my sleep an 83%. 83!!?? I literally took 2 hours to just fall asleep, peed twice in the night and spent from 5am until 6:30am being uncomfortable and wishing for the morning to come. I would give that sleep a 50%. Max.
Summation is that I don't think I get the Sleep Cycle as a sleep monitoring device. I feel like it is impossible to monitor me effectively when you are just an iphone/ I hope that it is impossible to monitor me effectively when you ate just an iphone- or the end is sooner than we think.
Sweet dreams,
J
I usually find that when I am anxious or excited, it is hard to "shut off" and just fall asleep but that one seems pretty normal to me. Falling asleep early and waking up a million times is both because I sleep so erratically and have to pee all the time. Not sleeping at all happens from time to time and it the abso-fucking-lutely worst thing ever and even though my husband thinks I am just super lazy, I find myself so tired some mornings that getting out of bed is the most arduous chore imaginable.
None of these things make me feel confident that I get the best out of my sleep.
Enter Sleep Cycle. Sleep Cycle is an app for... you guessed it, helping with sleep. It's "about me" section describes it as "using a wake up phase that ends at your desired alarm time... will monitor signals from your body to wake you up softly when you are in the lightest possible sleep state". It uses a sensitive accelerometer to determine your sleep state and then it tallies up your whole night and ranks how well you slept.
In terms of an alarm, it is actually pretty good. Maybe (likely) it is placebo effect but when I hear the gentle waves of my morning alarm, I usually am in fact ready to wake up. This is vastly different from my former alarm that would often literally shake me out of sleep. neither options stop me from using the snooze button but with Sleep Cycle, it allows you 10 minutes of snooze and then you have to physically turn it off or it wont shut up and while gentle waves are lovely, nonstop on and on, they are insanity provoking.
That is the upside to the alarm, since using it I have been up earlier and easier and feeling less like someone just hit me over the head with bells.
The downside is that first off, I have to sleep with my phone. I am sure that sleeping in bed with your phone is bad for you. There is the all the electronic waves and stuff like that that is probably not healthy for you long term and there is the notion that in order to decompress and shut down, you should not bring your cell phone into bed. It is true that since sleeping with it, our relationship has intensified and it is the last thing I do before bed and the first thing I do when I wake up. My husband is jealous.
The other downside to this app is that seriously, how is it watching me when I sleep? Like, how creepy is that? AND, it is doing the worst job ever because last night, for example, it gave my sleep an 83%. 83!!?? I literally took 2 hours to just fall asleep, peed twice in the night and spent from 5am until 6:30am being uncomfortable and wishing for the morning to come. I would give that sleep a 50%. Max.
Summation is that I don't think I get the Sleep Cycle as a sleep monitoring device. I feel like it is impossible to monitor me effectively when you are just an iphone/ I hope that it is impossible to monitor me effectively when you ate just an iphone- or the end is sooner than we think.
Sweet dreams,
J
Jane Eats- The trendiest diet around
Happy Friday readers!
If you have been following me for the last while you know I am something of a yo-yo dieter. It is true that I spend an inordinate amount fo time reading on and trying out fad diets. I cant help myself! I keep thinking that if I remove gluten/cut out dairy/ never again look at refined sugar or just eat soup for a week, I will solve the mystery of being a supermodel.
My gorgeous and wonderful trainer slapped some sense into me the other day during a dinner where I was regaling her with my most recent attempt at the 4 hour body diet. I can say this for sure. 2 weeks, no fruit and all those beans made me somewhat unpleasant to be around. Plus, much like I guessed, my husband (who did the diet with me) lost about what seemed like at least 10 pounds in those 2 weeks while I seemed to gain weight!
Her valid response to my complaint was to try a brand new revolutionary food movement. STOP DIETING.
Being “gluten free” unless you are celiac is not necessary nor is being “dairy free” if you are not lactose intolerant. In face, the elimination of anything from your diet just messes around with your system and since there is no one tried and true diet that all scientists and nutritionists can agree on, it probably means that there is no one way for you to achieve the weight and health results you want with a turn-key solution.
With that ladies and gents, I put forward for your consideration, a diet of not dieting. It is called “eating a healthy balanced diet of good shit” and I think you will find that it is 100 percent successful in making you feel great!
Here are your parameters.
That was pretty much it.
Here are the inherent benefits to eating well.
First of all, your body is super smart and if you choose to listen closely, it will tell you exactly what it needs and wants to fuel you so likely, you will be eating everything you need to be eating.
There is no deprivation, no cheat days and no guilt. If you want something badly, you can have it. Your metabolism will pick up because it is getting what it needs and you will find yourself hungrier more often thus eating more often thus satatied more often. Its pretty sweet.
You will never again be that annoying person who is all like, “oh, can I have that in gluten free” even though everyone around you knows that you are not Celiac or the person being like “can you please make my eggs with PAM”- why would you even go out for eggs if you are cooking them in mother f-ing PAM?? Make that shit at home. Again, your body tells you what is good and what isn't so if milk makes you bloat stay away from milk or drink it if it feels good. You know, all hippy like.
And finally, one day in the future when you realize that you need to eat a balanced diet your body wont FREAK OUT at you for re-introducing carbs etc. your body will thank you and smile.
I’m going on the 100 year challenge of eating healthy good stuff and working out less but making the time I spend more effective and better. I plan to use my free time to have a life and stop obsessing about food and diet. Anyone else care to join me?
Xo,
Jane
If you have been following me for the last while you know I am something of a yo-yo dieter. It is true that I spend an inordinate amount fo time reading on and trying out fad diets. I cant help myself! I keep thinking that if I remove gluten/cut out dairy/ never again look at refined sugar or just eat soup for a week, I will solve the mystery of being a supermodel.
My gorgeous and wonderful trainer slapped some sense into me the other day during a dinner where I was regaling her with my most recent attempt at the 4 hour body diet. I can say this for sure. 2 weeks, no fruit and all those beans made me somewhat unpleasant to be around. Plus, much like I guessed, my husband (who did the diet with me) lost about what seemed like at least 10 pounds in those 2 weeks while I seemed to gain weight!
Her valid response to my complaint was to try a brand new revolutionary food movement. STOP DIETING.
Being “gluten free” unless you are celiac is not necessary nor is being “dairy free” if you are not lactose intolerant. In face, the elimination of anything from your diet just messes around with your system and since there is no one tried and true diet that all scientists and nutritionists can agree on, it probably means that there is no one way for you to achieve the weight and health results you want with a turn-key solution.
With that ladies and gents, I put forward for your consideration, a diet of not dieting. It is called “eating a healthy balanced diet of good shit” and I think you will find that it is 100 percent successful in making you feel great!
Here are your parameters.
- Eat healthy things- this means try to eat local, non processed crap. No one can agree on a diet that is the be-all for dieting but everyone can agree that ingesting chemicals is just gross. Brown rice breaks down better than white so if you have the choice, whole grain is less processed and more filling, and fruits and veg as well as healthy fat are crucial to your body.
- Cut out gluten if you have an intolerance otherwise, don’t. Gluten free is not a diet, it is a food allergy and gluten free food is not healthier, it is just different. Same goes for any fad allergy related food things.
- Be reasonable and honest with yourself. If you eat ice cream every day, you will gain weight. If you don’t care, eat ice cream, if you do, limit yourself.
- Pick and choose your indulgences wisely so you maximize your enjoyment.
That was pretty much it.
Here are the inherent benefits to eating well.
First of all, your body is super smart and if you choose to listen closely, it will tell you exactly what it needs and wants to fuel you so likely, you will be eating everything you need to be eating.
There is no deprivation, no cheat days and no guilt. If you want something badly, you can have it. Your metabolism will pick up because it is getting what it needs and you will find yourself hungrier more often thus eating more often thus satatied more often. Its pretty sweet.
You will never again be that annoying person who is all like, “oh, can I have that in gluten free” even though everyone around you knows that you are not Celiac or the person being like “can you please make my eggs with PAM”- why would you even go out for eggs if you are cooking them in mother f-ing PAM?? Make that shit at home. Again, your body tells you what is good and what isn't so if milk makes you bloat stay away from milk or drink it if it feels good. You know, all hippy like.
And finally, one day in the future when you realize that you need to eat a balanced diet your body wont FREAK OUT at you for re-introducing carbs etc. your body will thank you and smile.
I’m going on the 100 year challenge of eating healthy good stuff and working out less but making the time I spend more effective and better. I plan to use my free time to have a life and stop obsessing about food and diet. Anyone else care to join me?
Xo,
Jane
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
I'm with you for all the right reasons.
I am 3 episodes deep with no chance of rescue.
I have such a love/hate relationship to this show because the sane part of me knows that it is 2 hours of my life that I am wasting on actual crap TV that is of absolutely no benefit to the bettering of my life. On the other hand, it is so incredibly entertaining to watch 30 men behave like like princess girls for 2 hours fighting for a girl and “true love”. The fact that only 4 of the 24 couples from this show have successfully made it and remained together does nothing for their cause.
I have had to decide each season to either vehemently ignore the show or dive right in and embrace the horrific and embarrassing episodes that comprise the show. There is no grey area for me and reality TV. Like with chocolate, I have no self control.
So first and foremost- I don’t know if I like the bachelorette Desiree. I mean, she hasn’t done anything to offend me per say (minus the rap video- that was just awful) but I have yet to “get” what she is all about beside being smiley and positive all the fucking time. Like, why don’t you be a little nicer and MORE sickly sweet?
Not that the show has even been a beacon for fashion but Desiree’s wardrobe is straight out of Urban Behavior. Those pale peach legging jeans of yesterday? I don’t care who you are or what your legs look like, just.dont.wear.pastel.leggings.as.pants.ever.
Which brings me to the dudes.
There is no denying that muscle was a prerequisite for getting on this show. I can see the form to enter now; the entrant must have very large muscles and neatly trimmed to non-existent chest hair- must be willing to display both in inappropriate times throughout the duration of the show and must own neon swim trunks- pink is preferable.
Boys, put on a shirt. If you want us to ogle your chiseled chests, make us work for it! Or at least make us believe that you really are the sweet soul that you claim to be- the humble men who are “just looking for love”. Humble men do not converse int he kitchen with other men all topless for no reason. There was no pool party, no ban on T-shirts that the viewer was made aware of- shtappppppppp. I like me some pecs and abs the same as the next girl but it is really hard to take you seriously when you are half naked at any moment of any given day.
Mind you, with the questionable wardrobe some men have brought with them- I am not sure that being dressed is any better. Unless you are a member of the Scarface mafia or Miami Vice (and then, even still) it is best you button up your shirt to a reasonable level. If your bellybutton is showing, suffice to say you are not buttoned up enough.
Also, I love a man in color. It can be sexy as hell. BUT if your shirt is a primary color of the rainbow and/or you have a matching tie- just no. plaid shirts worn as dress shirts- just no and shiny shirts- just no. when she gave a rose last night to Mikey T who donned a black and white large checkered shirt with tie and blazer, I questioned her taste (ok, I began that questioning when she wore that hideous blue dress).
Clothing aside, I totally love some of these guys- and by love I mean like and by like, I mostly mean like to watch and laugh at.
Brooks- so cute- such a poonany. Sorry but I have broken a finger before and I certainly did not require ER and oxygen.
Michael “Type 1 diabetes”- I really like this one and he is a lawyer (WAY better than the college pro painter who told her he loved her last night after 2 weeks). He totes talks about his diabetes a bit too much for my personal taste but then, I am not looking for love on a trashy dating show.
Juan Pablo- former football pro. Yes please.
The rest of the guys make me barf in my mouth a bit. When James went to kiss her I def dry heaved. If Mikey T tries it I may full out hurl.
The rest bore me- lying Ben- who the F cares?
Alls I can tell you is that they better be there for the “right reasons, right reasons” (anyone else rapping in their heads???)
So, ya. The Bachelorette. Totes watching it. FML.
J
I have such a love/hate relationship to this show because the sane part of me knows that it is 2 hours of my life that I am wasting on actual crap TV that is of absolutely no benefit to the bettering of my life. On the other hand, it is so incredibly entertaining to watch 30 men behave like like princess girls for 2 hours fighting for a girl and “true love”. The fact that only 4 of the 24 couples from this show have successfully made it and remained together does nothing for their cause.
I have had to decide each season to either vehemently ignore the show or dive right in and embrace the horrific and embarrassing episodes that comprise the show. There is no grey area for me and reality TV. Like with chocolate, I have no self control.
So first and foremost- I don’t know if I like the bachelorette Desiree. I mean, she hasn’t done anything to offend me per say (minus the rap video- that was just awful) but I have yet to “get” what she is all about beside being smiley and positive all the fucking time. Like, why don’t you be a little nicer and MORE sickly sweet?
Not that the show has even been a beacon for fashion but Desiree’s wardrobe is straight out of Urban Behavior. Those pale peach legging jeans of yesterday? I don’t care who you are or what your legs look like, just.dont.wear.pastel.leggings.as.pants.ever.
Which brings me to the dudes.
There is no denying that muscle was a prerequisite for getting on this show. I can see the form to enter now; the entrant must have very large muscles and neatly trimmed to non-existent chest hair- must be willing to display both in inappropriate times throughout the duration of the show and must own neon swim trunks- pink is preferable.
Boys, put on a shirt. If you want us to ogle your chiseled chests, make us work for it! Or at least make us believe that you really are the sweet soul that you claim to be- the humble men who are “just looking for love”. Humble men do not converse int he kitchen with other men all topless for no reason. There was no pool party, no ban on T-shirts that the viewer was made aware of- shtappppppppp. I like me some pecs and abs the same as the next girl but it is really hard to take you seriously when you are half naked at any moment of any given day.
Mind you, with the questionable wardrobe some men have brought with them- I am not sure that being dressed is any better. Unless you are a member of the Scarface mafia or Miami Vice (and then, even still) it is best you button up your shirt to a reasonable level. If your bellybutton is showing, suffice to say you are not buttoned up enough.
Also, I love a man in color. It can be sexy as hell. BUT if your shirt is a primary color of the rainbow and/or you have a matching tie- just no. plaid shirts worn as dress shirts- just no and shiny shirts- just no. when she gave a rose last night to Mikey T who donned a black and white large checkered shirt with tie and blazer, I questioned her taste (ok, I began that questioning when she wore that hideous blue dress).
Clothing aside, I totally love some of these guys- and by love I mean like and by like, I mostly mean like to watch and laugh at.
Brooks- so cute- such a poonany. Sorry but I have broken a finger before and I certainly did not require ER and oxygen.
Michael “Type 1 diabetes”- I really like this one and he is a lawyer (WAY better than the college pro painter who told her he loved her last night after 2 weeks). He totes talks about his diabetes a bit too much for my personal taste but then, I am not looking for love on a trashy dating show.
Juan Pablo- former football pro. Yes please.
The rest of the guys make me barf in my mouth a bit. When James went to kiss her I def dry heaved. If Mikey T tries it I may full out hurl.
The rest bore me- lying Ben- who the F cares?
Alls I can tell you is that they better be there for the “right reasons, right reasons” (anyone else rapping in their heads???)
So, ya. The Bachelorette. Totes watching it. FML.
J
Unveiling a new chapter
Death is a funny thing. By being the opposite of life, death has a funny way of bringing to light the aspects of life which we sometimes miss. This past weekend was my grandfather’s unveiling. The meaning of this, in case you don’t know, if that they reveal the tombstone and engraved message in it as the physical reminder of the passing of a person.
His stood near the rest of my family and beside his late wife, my grandmother. It is a simple tomb, as he was never one for frivolous or ostentatious things and for the ceremony his and my grandmother’s graves were marked with flowers. When the service was over we were invited to place stones atop the tombstone and we decorated both of them with a plethora of rocks in all shapes and sizes.
At one point, when the prayers were being recited, I looked up around the gravesite and felt life all around me. more than 40 people were gathered around to witness this, really, unceremonious event. You do not have to come to an unveiling- it is not “the right thing to do”, it is not the funeral and you are disrespectful for missing it- but nevertheless, they came. And I thought about what that means and how important his life was to these people who bothered to get up early on a Sunday morning, drive far north to stand by his grave and share in the service that lasted but 20 minutes. Some were family and many were friends of my parents who probably didn’t know my grandfather well but who love my dad and therefore were impacted by my grandfather just in virtue of him being the father of a man they care about.
I thought how life is like that- how much of our parents and our parent’s parents we carry with us. How they shape us and make us and do things to our person that we cant even begin to understand. I thought about all my friends that came to see me when he died last summer- how many of them probably had only met him at my wedding and yet the kindness they shared with me and my family by acknowledging his life.
I keep thinking how hard it must be for my dad to be without his parents- I cannot even imagine the emptiness that remains when you lose a loved one and then I think how having 40 plus people surrounding you when you mourn and conversely when you laugh and celebrate (for other things) is how people survive this crazy ride.
I felt proud to be the daughter of 2 people who have such great love in their lives. They make it easy (easier) to grow up. Watching how full our home was when the group came back for the usual lunch of bagels and cream cheese you cant help but feel alive and hopeful- something you never think that death will create for you.
My grandmother was such a bubbly and warm lady and I am sure that she worried when she died 13 years ago that she was leaving my grandfather to fend for himself as a man of few words and less inclination to be the life of the party- if there is any way they were watching on Sunday, I’ll bet she was overwhelmed at the amount of people that this quiet and reserved man impacted through being such a great person, through his family and through his art.
Anyways, realizing that this is a pretty somber post and that I haven't attacked a subway passenger or creep in a while, I will post a follow up shortly but sometimes a plantain just needs to say what is on her mind.
J
His stood near the rest of my family and beside his late wife, my grandmother. It is a simple tomb, as he was never one for frivolous or ostentatious things and for the ceremony his and my grandmother’s graves were marked with flowers. When the service was over we were invited to place stones atop the tombstone and we decorated both of them with a plethora of rocks in all shapes and sizes.
At one point, when the prayers were being recited, I looked up around the gravesite and felt life all around me. more than 40 people were gathered around to witness this, really, unceremonious event. You do not have to come to an unveiling- it is not “the right thing to do”, it is not the funeral and you are disrespectful for missing it- but nevertheless, they came. And I thought about what that means and how important his life was to these people who bothered to get up early on a Sunday morning, drive far north to stand by his grave and share in the service that lasted but 20 minutes. Some were family and many were friends of my parents who probably didn’t know my grandfather well but who love my dad and therefore were impacted by my grandfather just in virtue of him being the father of a man they care about.
I thought how life is like that- how much of our parents and our parent’s parents we carry with us. How they shape us and make us and do things to our person that we cant even begin to understand. I thought about all my friends that came to see me when he died last summer- how many of them probably had only met him at my wedding and yet the kindness they shared with me and my family by acknowledging his life.
I keep thinking how hard it must be for my dad to be without his parents- I cannot even imagine the emptiness that remains when you lose a loved one and then I think how having 40 plus people surrounding you when you mourn and conversely when you laugh and celebrate (for other things) is how people survive this crazy ride.
I felt proud to be the daughter of 2 people who have such great love in their lives. They make it easy (easier) to grow up. Watching how full our home was when the group came back for the usual lunch of bagels and cream cheese you cant help but feel alive and hopeful- something you never think that death will create for you.
My grandmother was such a bubbly and warm lady and I am sure that she worried when she died 13 years ago that she was leaving my grandfather to fend for himself as a man of few words and less inclination to be the life of the party- if there is any way they were watching on Sunday, I’ll bet she was overwhelmed at the amount of people that this quiet and reserved man impacted through being such a great person, through his family and through his art.
Anyways, realizing that this is a pretty somber post and that I haven't attacked a subway passenger or creep in a while, I will post a follow up shortly but sometimes a plantain just needs to say what is on her mind.
J
Friday, May 31, 2013
An Ode to the Garden
A few months ago, I sunk into a writing funk and abandoned my blog- for what I thought would be for good.
For a few weeks, no one even noticed, reaffirming to me that mine was a lonely, unappreciated art.
And then, just as I began to reject the notion of “blogging” forever, something wonderful happened. In the span of but a few weeks I had 6 individual requests for more content.
Now 6 is no huge feat and frankly, I wish that I had 6000000 people banging down my doors to write (would certainly solve my dream to be a writer) but 6 is a start and a fairly encouraging one at that.
So, with that, I urge you to pretty please tell your friends and spread the word about these little musings.
Again, I reiterate that it only benefits us all if I become a famous person from this blog. Since the only people who really read this are family and friends, I can make the personal guarantee to buy you all cars with my fortunes should I blow up. And shit, you can have new houses too.
Deal?
So, with that.... My first post in a while....An Ode to the Garden.
This past weekend, this coming weekend and like the past 3 weekends, I have been knee deep in shit. Gardening has become in my 30’s what hangover days were in my 20’s- a great way to spend a quality Saturday.
So, knee deep in shit is an exaggeration, of course, because although I did in fact manure my lawn and garden, it was certainly not knee deep. Do you know how exhausting it is to even dig a few inches deep??
That being said, the overall crux of my statement above is that I spent Saturday gardening. We dedicated this past weekend to our vegetable garden since our flower garden is complete filled with color coordinated purple, blue and yellow flowers whose names I am never sure of.
Thankfully, amid the new Targets, the ever expanding Yorkdale malls and the Starbuck stores, there are some hidden gems in this city. allow me to introduce you to Plantworld. Located in the west end, this store’s name is not exactly an exaggeration- it is literally its own planet in size and also carries a world of plants. They has 45 tomatoes varieties. I didn’t even know there was mor than 5. It was one of the best mornings I have ever spent wandering those aisles filled with 16 kinds of Oregano varieties in parenial and annual forms. They even carried gargoyles for the yard and the best selection of garden gnomes I have ever seen. If I were not destined to be an old cat lady, you can bet your bottom dollar I would be that weird garden chatchka person with a thousand wind catchers and fake butterflies adorning my iris and creeping ivies.
So flower garden first. If you have a low chain fence and neighbors who rent their basement to kids who look like they belong in Juvy, then might I recommend cheap and cheerful bamboo reed fences? For 30 dollars per 16 feet, these fences are a saving grace to those of us who don’t want to have to see anyone with their shirt off in their neighboring yard, especially an unattractive, overweight guy who is unfriendly and smokes butts like they are going out of style.
Once we had the fence up (and some peace) we tackled the question of what to plant. Like a virgin, you just don’t know where to put it, will it fit and will it grow? So, like a virgin, we stabbed away and hope for an explosion of color and life! We planted 3 kinds of lavender including the kind you can pick and dry out- which would be awesome if it grew since I spend a lot of unnecessary money on dried lavender for my bathroom... Anyways, we also planted a bunch of peonies, bear claws and lambs ears.
Like a good mom, I watch my little flowers every day and take the greatest delight when I see a new bud and weep when a flower gets damaged or pulled off. It is obsessive, sure, but isnt that the pre-requisite to a good new hobby?
For veggies, my goal is to have enough growing that we don’t have to hit up the grocery store all summer long. So far we have planted arugula, radicchio, chard, cucumber, tomatoes, lavender (obvi), oregano, thyme, mint, cilantro, rosemary and raspberries. Again, I watch these obsessively and drag my husband out to see the plants nightly insisting that the rainbow chard has certainly grown at least an inch since the night before (or has it?). I squealed out loud last night when I noticed my raspberry bush was beginning to spout thorns- as a side note, I have been aggressively warned about raspberry bushes as being really bad- apparently they basically vomit other raspberry bushes everywhere so buyer beware.
In the same way I feel about my flowers, I figure that my vegetables will do what they will. Not being a seasoned farmer, I have no idea what to expect so I guess we will see what happens and then know more for next year....
In the meantime, we have also been doing a bit of DIY landscaping. There is nothing more satisfying that getting down and dirty with your yard. Maybe in a few years when we are older and jaded (and less poor), we will go ahead and hire a gardener and landscaper but for now, I cant imagine paying someone to do something that is just so damn fun.
Of course, with every yin, comes a yang and the bane of my gardening existence- ironically enough- is the huge, very old and very beautiful cherry trees I have growing in my backyard. These 2 trees are the never-ending source of delightful shade, gorgeous blossoms and (fingers crossed) sweet cherry fruit. They are also the source of having my entire yard covered in blossoms that have blown off the trees, an inordinate amount of cherry stems that have also blown off the trees and nightly terrors when it storms worrying that they will fall over and cause millions in damages to our neighborhood (yup, they are that big)
Anyways- I am slowly learning why gardening is a seriously committed activity- we cleaned the whole garden up, mowed the lawn and picked the weeds last weekend so imagine my surprise when I went outside last night to BBQ and found the yard in a state of disarray that seemingly happened overnight! You can guess what I will be doing this weekend now too....
Gardening, the new Saturday night at the clubs. Mark my words. If you are rolling your eyes at this- wait until you turn 30 and buy your first house. You will be singing the praises of daisy varieties and tomato stakes in no time.
Happy planting,
Jane
For a few weeks, no one even noticed, reaffirming to me that mine was a lonely, unappreciated art.
And then, just as I began to reject the notion of “blogging” forever, something wonderful happened. In the span of but a few weeks I had 6 individual requests for more content.
Now 6 is no huge feat and frankly, I wish that I had 6000000 people banging down my doors to write (would certainly solve my dream to be a writer) but 6 is a start and a fairly encouraging one at that.
So, with that, I urge you to pretty please tell your friends and spread the word about these little musings.
Again, I reiterate that it only benefits us all if I become a famous person from this blog. Since the only people who really read this are family and friends, I can make the personal guarantee to buy you all cars with my fortunes should I blow up. And shit, you can have new houses too.
Deal?
So, with that.... My first post in a while....An Ode to the Garden.
This past weekend, this coming weekend and like the past 3 weekends, I have been knee deep in shit. Gardening has become in my 30’s what hangover days were in my 20’s- a great way to spend a quality Saturday.
So, knee deep in shit is an exaggeration, of course, because although I did in fact manure my lawn and garden, it was certainly not knee deep. Do you know how exhausting it is to even dig a few inches deep??
That being said, the overall crux of my statement above is that I spent Saturday gardening. We dedicated this past weekend to our vegetable garden since our flower garden is complete filled with color coordinated purple, blue and yellow flowers whose names I am never sure of.
Thankfully, amid the new Targets, the ever expanding Yorkdale malls and the Starbuck stores, there are some hidden gems in this city. allow me to introduce you to Plantworld. Located in the west end, this store’s name is not exactly an exaggeration- it is literally its own planet in size and also carries a world of plants. They has 45 tomatoes varieties. I didn’t even know there was mor than 5. It was one of the best mornings I have ever spent wandering those aisles filled with 16 kinds of Oregano varieties in parenial and annual forms. They even carried gargoyles for the yard and the best selection of garden gnomes I have ever seen. If I were not destined to be an old cat lady, you can bet your bottom dollar I would be that weird garden chatchka person with a thousand wind catchers and fake butterflies adorning my iris and creeping ivies.
So flower garden first. If you have a low chain fence and neighbors who rent their basement to kids who look like they belong in Juvy, then might I recommend cheap and cheerful bamboo reed fences? For 30 dollars per 16 feet, these fences are a saving grace to those of us who don’t want to have to see anyone with their shirt off in their neighboring yard, especially an unattractive, overweight guy who is unfriendly and smokes butts like they are going out of style.
Once we had the fence up (and some peace) we tackled the question of what to plant. Like a virgin, you just don’t know where to put it, will it fit and will it grow? So, like a virgin, we stabbed away and hope for an explosion of color and life! We planted 3 kinds of lavender including the kind you can pick and dry out- which would be awesome if it grew since I spend a lot of unnecessary money on dried lavender for my bathroom... Anyways, we also planted a bunch of peonies, bear claws and lambs ears.
Like a good mom, I watch my little flowers every day and take the greatest delight when I see a new bud and weep when a flower gets damaged or pulled off. It is obsessive, sure, but isnt that the pre-requisite to a good new hobby?
For veggies, my goal is to have enough growing that we don’t have to hit up the grocery store all summer long. So far we have planted arugula, radicchio, chard, cucumber, tomatoes, lavender (obvi), oregano, thyme, mint, cilantro, rosemary and raspberries. Again, I watch these obsessively and drag my husband out to see the plants nightly insisting that the rainbow chard has certainly grown at least an inch since the night before (or has it?). I squealed out loud last night when I noticed my raspberry bush was beginning to spout thorns- as a side note, I have been aggressively warned about raspberry bushes as being really bad- apparently they basically vomit other raspberry bushes everywhere so buyer beware.
In the same way I feel about my flowers, I figure that my vegetables will do what they will. Not being a seasoned farmer, I have no idea what to expect so I guess we will see what happens and then know more for next year....
In the meantime, we have also been doing a bit of DIY landscaping. There is nothing more satisfying that getting down and dirty with your yard. Maybe in a few years when we are older and jaded (and less poor), we will go ahead and hire a gardener and landscaper but for now, I cant imagine paying someone to do something that is just so damn fun.
Of course, with every yin, comes a yang and the bane of my gardening existence- ironically enough- is the huge, very old and very beautiful cherry trees I have growing in my backyard. These 2 trees are the never-ending source of delightful shade, gorgeous blossoms and (fingers crossed) sweet cherry fruit. They are also the source of having my entire yard covered in blossoms that have blown off the trees, an inordinate amount of cherry stems that have also blown off the trees and nightly terrors when it storms worrying that they will fall over and cause millions in damages to our neighborhood (yup, they are that big)
Anyways- I am slowly learning why gardening is a seriously committed activity- we cleaned the whole garden up, mowed the lawn and picked the weeds last weekend so imagine my surprise when I went outside last night to BBQ and found the yard in a state of disarray that seemingly happened overnight! You can guess what I will be doing this weekend now too....
Gardening, the new Saturday night at the clubs. Mark my words. If you are rolling your eyes at this- wait until you turn 30 and buy your first house. You will be singing the praises of daisy varieties and tomato stakes in no time.
Happy planting,
Jane
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Thank my lucky stars
I’m going to admit something to you today- after posting about my wonderful, amazing 31st birthday it seemed only right to disclose something fresh- I have a problem.
I don’t want to say that you should go ahead and call up TLC to get me on the next episode of extreme obsessions (yet) but I have taken up contesting, and now I cant stop.
Like its counterpart, extreme couponing, contesting is the act of seeking out viable contests in your region and compulsively entering them with a strong feeling that you are “meant” to win. I actually believe that I am destined to go to Antarctica (a place I never before even gave thought to visiting) for 10 days on an all inclusive vacation courtesy of the movie Revolution, I am supposed to get the $1000 dollar prepaid mastercard from the BC museum of natural history and of course, the brand new TV from LG is as good as mine.
This is why I don’t go to casinos. My sense of entitlement to things that are not and were never mine is just insane. I am not addicted to the “rush” of the gamble but rather I have an unnatural attachment to prizes- whether I want them, or whether I don’t.
So ya, just bought a lotto ticket for the 43 million dollar draw and I have already spent 1 million in my mind of the money that is bound to be mine.
To date, I have only ever accidentally won something when I filled out a survey not knowing it would enter me to win a package of Khiel’s products. Like a watched pot that wont boil.
Wish me luck,
Xo
Jane
I don’t want to say that you should go ahead and call up TLC to get me on the next episode of extreme obsessions (yet) but I have taken up contesting, and now I cant stop.
Like its counterpart, extreme couponing, contesting is the act of seeking out viable contests in your region and compulsively entering them with a strong feeling that you are “meant” to win. I actually believe that I am destined to go to Antarctica (a place I never before even gave thought to visiting) for 10 days on an all inclusive vacation courtesy of the movie Revolution, I am supposed to get the $1000 dollar prepaid mastercard from the BC museum of natural history and of course, the brand new TV from LG is as good as mine.
This is why I don’t go to casinos. My sense of entitlement to things that are not and were never mine is just insane. I am not addicted to the “rush” of the gamble but rather I have an unnatural attachment to prizes- whether I want them, or whether I don’t.
So ya, just bought a lotto ticket for the 43 million dollar draw and I have already spent 1 million in my mind of the money that is bound to be mine.
To date, I have only ever accidentally won something when I filled out a survey not knowing it would enter me to win a package of Khiel’s products. Like a watched pot that wont boil.
Wish me luck,
Xo
Jane
Thirty One
This past Sunday I turned 31. Most of my previous birthdays have revolved around my crying like a small child, lamenting the passing of years and generally throwing tantrums that rival anything I did as a “terrible two”.
In the years past, my husband has watched me cry and fling myself through every wonderful meal that he has treated me to celebrate. I have, as such, enjoyed tears and pork, tears and pasta, just tears....
I did not have high hopes for this year. I was especially feeling the gloom and doom set in when I went to buy a birthday outfit and was force fed the idea of a crop top by an overly smiley sales person. Crop tops- the bane of my adult existence- like the blue lips of Ke$ha, the half shaved head and ombre pink hair that I so wish was popular in my heyday. What sis I get other than T shirts as dresses and a mullet... But I digress....
So, upon even hearing the word crop top, I panicked. Panicked for my age, panicked for my sanity and prepared myself emotionally for a roller coaster of a weekend. I did so in vain.
Instead of the output of unnecessary emotions, I only felt 2. Joy and gratitude. Basically the opposite of the past 30 years of my life.
Friday at work I was treated to a little décor and a whole bowl of fresh berries (my co-workers know me well) and my night consisted of going out with my in-laws for 1 of 3 dinner extravaganzas.
Dear Frank’s Kitchen, you are yummy. Less the neurotic host who seemed like he was going to just lie down and die when we had to wait 5 minutes for our reservation due to some confusion with the tables, the experience was amazing. I had the most delicious pickerel fish dish with razor clams, scallop and some kind of fish cake which I let my husband pick at. Fish cakes, the Buffalo of seafood. I have never gotten on board with these creations. It tastes like canned tuna heated up/ aka not delicious.
Saturday night my hubs treated me to a dinner at Ursa (easiest way to my heart is through good food). It was just F-ing delicious. Our server was cute, the drinks were plentiful and my rainbow trout was just insane.
We spent the remainder of the night there with friends who came to meet us and proceeded to drink as if I were turning 21 instead of 31.
Suffice to say, I was not thrilled to have y alarm go off the next morning, my real birthday, at 7:30am. Hangovers physically hurt me.
We spent the day hosting a brunch which was exactly, precisely, definitely how I wanted to spend my day- sarcasm is not present in any of these words. I took a moment to step back nd look around this room filled with my friends, my hubs friends, our family, little people who belong to the friends and family, and I felt like the luckiest 31 year old on the planet. I love feeling loved (who doesn’t?) and I would say that this day certainly delivered that and then some.
Once most of our friends left, we spent the afternoon playing board games with a few remaining people and by the time I blinked, it was dinner.
My parents, who rounded out our company for dinner #3, are dificult to eat with. Not because they are picky or weird but they are kosher and my mom, much like me, has 4 million allergies to everything. Having had a disastrous meal there for my 29th birthday, it was with great apprehension that I chose Woodlot for the meal. All things aside, Woodlot does a great job offering amazing vegetarian food- I figured with all things considered, that was a good choice.
I wish I could say that my mind was blown and that I fell in love with the place. The meal was great and obviously the company was fun but I can safely say now that I would not make an effort to return. After such a crap time 2 years ago, I needed to have a mouth-gasm to make me love again. Let’s say I have forgiven the past but left it at a civil/ polite relationship.
All in all, I spent my last precious birthday hours in a state of glee. If this is any indication of how 31 will be- I can anticipate a year of great food, friends, love and celebrations with amazing, wonderful people. And hey, even a cray cray like me cant complain about that.
Xo
Jane.
In the years past, my husband has watched me cry and fling myself through every wonderful meal that he has treated me to celebrate. I have, as such, enjoyed tears and pork, tears and pasta, just tears....
I did not have high hopes for this year. I was especially feeling the gloom and doom set in when I went to buy a birthday outfit and was force fed the idea of a crop top by an overly smiley sales person. Crop tops- the bane of my adult existence- like the blue lips of Ke$ha, the half shaved head and ombre pink hair that I so wish was popular in my heyday. What sis I get other than T shirts as dresses and a mullet... But I digress....
So, upon even hearing the word crop top, I panicked. Panicked for my age, panicked for my sanity and prepared myself emotionally for a roller coaster of a weekend. I did so in vain.
Instead of the output of unnecessary emotions, I only felt 2. Joy and gratitude. Basically the opposite of the past 30 years of my life.
Friday at work I was treated to a little décor and a whole bowl of fresh berries (my co-workers know me well) and my night consisted of going out with my in-laws for 1 of 3 dinner extravaganzas.
Dear Frank’s Kitchen, you are yummy. Less the neurotic host who seemed like he was going to just lie down and die when we had to wait 5 minutes for our reservation due to some confusion with the tables, the experience was amazing. I had the most delicious pickerel fish dish with razor clams, scallop and some kind of fish cake which I let my husband pick at. Fish cakes, the Buffalo of seafood. I have never gotten on board with these creations. It tastes like canned tuna heated up/ aka not delicious.
Saturday night my hubs treated me to a dinner at Ursa (easiest way to my heart is through good food). It was just F-ing delicious. Our server was cute, the drinks were plentiful and my rainbow trout was just insane.
We spent the remainder of the night there with friends who came to meet us and proceeded to drink as if I were turning 21 instead of 31.
Suffice to say, I was not thrilled to have y alarm go off the next morning, my real birthday, at 7:30am. Hangovers physically hurt me.
We spent the day hosting a brunch which was exactly, precisely, definitely how I wanted to spend my day- sarcasm is not present in any of these words. I took a moment to step back nd look around this room filled with my friends, my hubs friends, our family, little people who belong to the friends and family, and I felt like the luckiest 31 year old on the planet. I love feeling loved (who doesn’t?) and I would say that this day certainly delivered that and then some.
Once most of our friends left, we spent the afternoon playing board games with a few remaining people and by the time I blinked, it was dinner.
My parents, who rounded out our company for dinner #3, are dificult to eat with. Not because they are picky or weird but they are kosher and my mom, much like me, has 4 million allergies to everything. Having had a disastrous meal there for my 29th birthday, it was with great apprehension that I chose Woodlot for the meal. All things aside, Woodlot does a great job offering amazing vegetarian food- I figured with all things considered, that was a good choice.
I wish I could say that my mind was blown and that I fell in love with the place. The meal was great and obviously the company was fun but I can safely say now that I would not make an effort to return. After such a crap time 2 years ago, I needed to have a mouth-gasm to make me love again. Let’s say I have forgiven the past but left it at a civil/ polite relationship.
All in all, I spent my last precious birthday hours in a state of glee. If this is any indication of how 31 will be- I can anticipate a year of great food, friends, love and celebrations with amazing, wonderful people. And hey, even a cray cray like me cant complain about that.
Xo
Jane.
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Fab Feb
Hi readers,
As February rolls to an end in just 9 more days, I think it worthwhile to review the month.
My first admission is that I totes didn’t hand in my sketchbook this year. I feel like such a hack for the amount of time I spend doodling and the lack of time I put towards just doing it in the confines of the brown paper pages they provide. So for the first time in 3 years, I will not have a tiny slot in the vast library of people who draw shit- my book and it’s under-developed story will live in my own color coded bookshelves always amiss for the absence of a full brown section (because OCD dictates that a rust brown be categorized with oranges, obviously).
I actually even thought my story was pretty damn good but never with an opportunity to really fluff out the details. If I hate anything in life (I hate lots of things- this is just a dramatic line for no one) it is a story that has an unsatisfying ending. Where my main character, Saucer Eyes, lost her panache was in the conclusion because I was just powering through the final 4 pages. Lesson learned folks, lesson learned.
Second point was the second gathering of my new book club. I have this (endearing????) tendency to coo over people when I am drunk. Like, put some wine into me and if I like you, you are sure to know it. This was a totally plague in my high school/university days when boys were involved because it is impossible to play hard-to-get when you just word vomit love on people the second alcohol touches your lips. Frankly, I still word puke on people all the time- it makes me thankful that I am scared of confrontations because I can only imagine that if I wasn’t, the word bile could be dangerous to my health and well-being. As it stands, no one ever wants to punch you for telling them how great they are and how much you value them- although I did once accidentally tell a boy I loved him when I was drunk (it was a total “I totally love you man” moment) and I probs broke his heart when he said it back, and meant it- I digress....
Book club- right, that’s where we were. If I had not been super careful with my vino consumption I would have totally love-sploded on these girls- new friends are the best.
So this month we read The Marriage Plot. I loved this book. Yes, the female character was weak, pathetic and totally driven by a need to be accepted and loved by a man but is that honestly so unfathomable? Have I myself not been said girl and do I not know a slew of fellow love fools who have gone off the deep end for the sake of love- in fact, I would assert that love would be so much less exciting if not for the craziness that it instills in people- I like that it turns you into a maniac, that it is unreliable and gut wrenching at times- makes it real yo.
Anywho, it obviously made me think about both mine and my friends various relationships throughout our younger years and how many times I did stupid shit in the name of a dude- how much I put up with in the name of a dude. It was so easy to read this book and judge the character’s flaws and misgivings as it is to judge people around you who you think are in crappy relationships. Alls I can tell you is that in hindsight- if everyone around you hates your partner or has cray stuff to say about them, they probably suck. I would only wish that when I told my friend who was dating a pseudo homeless guy, married guy, total loser guy, insert shitty quality here they had listened to me- likewise, when my mom and dad/ friends used to tell me how totally crap my bf was- I wish I had listened to them- teenagers, always learning shit the hard way.
Love. My favorite topic of all time was pretty much the theme of the whole month following the reading of The Marriage Plot. Craving book, I read The Rules of Civility- a love story set in jazz era NYC about a love triangle, love lost and how love lingers. This was followed by The Paris Wife- the love story of Ernest Hemingway and his first wife- both touched on the idea of the love that you will always and never have- I like that idea- that people exist in your life that you will always and never love- somewhere out there someone always and never loves you- think about it.
And, on the topic of love, I bring you Valentine’s day- Plantain style. Any holiday that involves candy- in. I really don’t care for all that crap about not wanting to participate in a Hallmark holiday or that Valentines Day is depressing for single people or annoying for couples who have to go out and spend unnecessary money on flowers. Hot daym scrooges- get with the love fest.
Who ever said anything about Valentines Day being for couples???
A day of love should celebrate just that. Love. If you have no love in your life, then fine- you deserve to bitch about Valentines day but I would redirect your efforts into becoming a nicer person- just saying.
For V day this year, I took myself on a mini shopping spree and treated myself to new yoga clothes, I volunteered, I ate something yummy and bought presents for upcoming celebrations in the lives of people around me because you know what? I love myself (and clothes) love yoga, love doing good for the greater good, love food, and love the special people in my life. Sure, my hubby was with me for the evening and yes- I bought him a book I knew he would like but I felt more grateful to have so much love in my life period than to be married- shit, I celebrate being married to a wonderful man every single day.
Oh, and I wore read the whole 24 hours. Booya.
And finally, February was the month of giving up on my wake-up-early-everyday thing. Honestly, if anyone has a tip or trick related to getting my ass out of bed at a time that allows me room to breath before running out the door- please share. I will consider it community service- you can think of yourself as a good deed doer.
Yours very truly- in the February spirit,
Jane.
As February rolls to an end in just 9 more days, I think it worthwhile to review the month.
My first admission is that I totes didn’t hand in my sketchbook this year. I feel like such a hack for the amount of time I spend doodling and the lack of time I put towards just doing it in the confines of the brown paper pages they provide. So for the first time in 3 years, I will not have a tiny slot in the vast library of people who draw shit- my book and it’s under-developed story will live in my own color coded bookshelves always amiss for the absence of a full brown section (because OCD dictates that a rust brown be categorized with oranges, obviously).
I actually even thought my story was pretty damn good but never with an opportunity to really fluff out the details. If I hate anything in life (I hate lots of things- this is just a dramatic line for no one) it is a story that has an unsatisfying ending. Where my main character, Saucer Eyes, lost her panache was in the conclusion because I was just powering through the final 4 pages. Lesson learned folks, lesson learned.
Second point was the second gathering of my new book club. I have this (endearing????) tendency to coo over people when I am drunk. Like, put some wine into me and if I like you, you are sure to know it. This was a totally plague in my high school/university days when boys were involved because it is impossible to play hard-to-get when you just word vomit love on people the second alcohol touches your lips. Frankly, I still word puke on people all the time- it makes me thankful that I am scared of confrontations because I can only imagine that if I wasn’t, the word bile could be dangerous to my health and well-being. As it stands, no one ever wants to punch you for telling them how great they are and how much you value them- although I did once accidentally tell a boy I loved him when I was drunk (it was a total “I totally love you man” moment) and I probs broke his heart when he said it back, and meant it- I digress....
Book club- right, that’s where we were. If I had not been super careful with my vino consumption I would have totally love-sploded on these girls- new friends are the best.
So this month we read The Marriage Plot. I loved this book. Yes, the female character was weak, pathetic and totally driven by a need to be accepted and loved by a man but is that honestly so unfathomable? Have I myself not been said girl and do I not know a slew of fellow love fools who have gone off the deep end for the sake of love- in fact, I would assert that love would be so much less exciting if not for the craziness that it instills in people- I like that it turns you into a maniac, that it is unreliable and gut wrenching at times- makes it real yo.
Anywho, it obviously made me think about both mine and my friends various relationships throughout our younger years and how many times I did stupid shit in the name of a dude- how much I put up with in the name of a dude. It was so easy to read this book and judge the character’s flaws and misgivings as it is to judge people around you who you think are in crappy relationships. Alls I can tell you is that in hindsight- if everyone around you hates your partner or has cray stuff to say about them, they probably suck. I would only wish that when I told my friend who was dating a pseudo homeless guy, married guy, total loser guy, insert shitty quality here they had listened to me- likewise, when my mom and dad/ friends used to tell me how totally crap my bf was- I wish I had listened to them- teenagers, always learning shit the hard way.
Love. My favorite topic of all time was pretty much the theme of the whole month following the reading of The Marriage Plot. Craving book, I read The Rules of Civility- a love story set in jazz era NYC about a love triangle, love lost and how love lingers. This was followed by The Paris Wife- the love story of Ernest Hemingway and his first wife- both touched on the idea of the love that you will always and never have- I like that idea- that people exist in your life that you will always and never love- somewhere out there someone always and never loves you- think about it.
And, on the topic of love, I bring you Valentine’s day- Plantain style. Any holiday that involves candy- in. I really don’t care for all that crap about not wanting to participate in a Hallmark holiday or that Valentines Day is depressing for single people or annoying for couples who have to go out and spend unnecessary money on flowers. Hot daym scrooges- get with the love fest.
Who ever said anything about Valentines Day being for couples???
A day of love should celebrate just that. Love. If you have no love in your life, then fine- you deserve to bitch about Valentines day but I would redirect your efforts into becoming a nicer person- just saying.
For V day this year, I took myself on a mini shopping spree and treated myself to new yoga clothes, I volunteered, I ate something yummy and bought presents for upcoming celebrations in the lives of people around me because you know what? I love myself (and clothes) love yoga, love doing good for the greater good, love food, and love the special people in my life. Sure, my hubby was with me for the evening and yes- I bought him a book I knew he would like but I felt more grateful to have so much love in my life period than to be married- shit, I celebrate being married to a wonderful man every single day.
Oh, and I wore read the whole 24 hours. Booya.
And finally, February was the month of giving up on my wake-up-early-everyday thing. Honestly, if anyone has a tip or trick related to getting my ass out of bed at a time that allows me room to breath before running out the door- please share. I will consider it community service- you can think of yourself as a good deed doer.
Yours very truly- in the February spirit,
Jane.
Monday, February 4, 2013
13 going on 30
This past weekend was a perfect example of why I feel like a child and adult wrapped in a big package.
The kid in me was elated to be going (for my third time- don’t judge me) to Medieval Times. Yes, the very Medieval Times Dinner and Tournament that you have seen in the commercials- the site of my first Valentine’s date with my now-husband. It was my great fortune that his office decided to rent out the venue as the site of their office kids party.
With a mixture of favorable nostalgia and a 3 year old level of enthusiasm I tried to contain myself during the car-ride down. I spoke not of my strong, almost crazy desire to get my face painted blue to match out assigned knight- 30 year old women don’t paint their face- unless it is with an excess of cover up to hide the ever-growing wrinkles.
It was thankful that we had our nephew there with us to legitimize our running alongside hundreds of children and pushing our way to see the falcon and horses before the show. There is nothing weirder than realizing you are a lone adult in a kid’s environment (ie. When my husband and I, one year at Chudleigh’s Apple Farm found ourselves alone with a bunch of kids in the hay maze- you feel like a creep despite not being one at all).
The tournament itself was hilarious- made all the more so by watching my little nephew watch in awe as the horses and knights and falcon performed their act- I think his mouth was agape for 2 whole hours staring. It was adorbs.
I was slightly disappointed that the 5 year old girl sitting next to me was awarded the “fairest maiden” flower.
From the lunch and jousting, my hubs and I went to Liberty Village to get some lights at EQ3- nothing juxtaposes your child and adult tendencies like spending one hour eating with your hands and being jealous of 5 year old to putting sensible (but so cute) light fixtures on your Visa and considering the merits of exposed versus closed shelving units.
And just as quick as adult-tasks came in, they left and I took a wicked afternoon nap. Naps to me have always been a huge player in the kid vs. adult battle. It is so childlike to need a nap in order to function for a night out- kids have full nap schedules in fact and napping is a huge part of being a kid- however, napping also signifys to me, a sense of what an adult is all about- being tired. When I was in high school and university I slept until the afternoon rendering naps useless. Now in this period of my life when I am perpetually awake before 8am every day, when I loose sleep on the regular due to stress and when I just cant hack going out for a whole night on the little overnight sleep I had- I feel entitled and due to nap. It is a great adult luxury and a great kid necessity.
Waking up from a nap when it is dark outside is hard. You almost feel a moments inclination to just say F-it and sleep the rest of the night away. Unless you have a super fun night ahead of you and then, like us this past weekend, you get ready and out the door lickity split. Saturday night was filled with 2 birthdays sharing a birthday feast- there is nothing I love to do more than have a long, luxurious, delicious, drunk dinner that goes into the wee hours of the night and leaves all attendant satiated and hammered. I was not disappointed. But again found myself feeling like a kid- going outside with no coat on, licking the sauce from the wicked meat pie off my fingers with no regard for table decorum and generally running around the resto like I ran shit- I don’t run anything.
Morning time came and if there is any time in life you feel quite like an adult it is when you realize that you can’t spend a night indulging without paying the price. AND nothing puts the cherry on that sundae like attending the bday party of your friend’s 2 year old daughter, cleaning your house from top to bottom and grocery shopping a sensible shop for the week to come.
All this said, I was thankful (albeit tired) to end my night in the perfect blend of the 2 juxtaposing Plantains that I was facing all weekend. Amid candy, popcorn, fruit and chocolate I spent my night with 10 amazing girls laughing our faces off. Sure, the jokes were juvenile and the junk food indicative of a time when candy didn’t go straight to my second and third asses but looking around the room at the wonderful friends I have who are such amazing beautiful and accomplished women, I was happy to be a grown up. (Except for the 15 minutes when Beyonce performed in that amazing leather lace number and I thought to myself that I wished I could go back to being 21 with a body like that- not that I ever looked like that but pre- 3 asses right?_
The kid in me was elated to be going (for my third time- don’t judge me) to Medieval Times. Yes, the very Medieval Times Dinner and Tournament that you have seen in the commercials- the site of my first Valentine’s date with my now-husband. It was my great fortune that his office decided to rent out the venue as the site of their office kids party.
With a mixture of favorable nostalgia and a 3 year old level of enthusiasm I tried to contain myself during the car-ride down. I spoke not of my strong, almost crazy desire to get my face painted blue to match out assigned knight- 30 year old women don’t paint their face- unless it is with an excess of cover up to hide the ever-growing wrinkles.
It was thankful that we had our nephew there with us to legitimize our running alongside hundreds of children and pushing our way to see the falcon and horses before the show. There is nothing weirder than realizing you are a lone adult in a kid’s environment (ie. When my husband and I, one year at Chudleigh’s Apple Farm found ourselves alone with a bunch of kids in the hay maze- you feel like a creep despite not being one at all).
The tournament itself was hilarious- made all the more so by watching my little nephew watch in awe as the horses and knights and falcon performed their act- I think his mouth was agape for 2 whole hours staring. It was adorbs.
I was slightly disappointed that the 5 year old girl sitting next to me was awarded the “fairest maiden” flower.
From the lunch and jousting, my hubs and I went to Liberty Village to get some lights at EQ3- nothing juxtaposes your child and adult tendencies like spending one hour eating with your hands and being jealous of 5 year old to putting sensible (but so cute) light fixtures on your Visa and considering the merits of exposed versus closed shelving units.
And just as quick as adult-tasks came in, they left and I took a wicked afternoon nap. Naps to me have always been a huge player in the kid vs. adult battle. It is so childlike to need a nap in order to function for a night out- kids have full nap schedules in fact and napping is a huge part of being a kid- however, napping also signifys to me, a sense of what an adult is all about- being tired. When I was in high school and university I slept until the afternoon rendering naps useless. Now in this period of my life when I am perpetually awake before 8am every day, when I loose sleep on the regular due to stress and when I just cant hack going out for a whole night on the little overnight sleep I had- I feel entitled and due to nap. It is a great adult luxury and a great kid necessity.
Waking up from a nap when it is dark outside is hard. You almost feel a moments inclination to just say F-it and sleep the rest of the night away. Unless you have a super fun night ahead of you and then, like us this past weekend, you get ready and out the door lickity split. Saturday night was filled with 2 birthdays sharing a birthday feast- there is nothing I love to do more than have a long, luxurious, delicious, drunk dinner that goes into the wee hours of the night and leaves all attendant satiated and hammered. I was not disappointed. But again found myself feeling like a kid- going outside with no coat on, licking the sauce from the wicked meat pie off my fingers with no regard for table decorum and generally running around the resto like I ran shit- I don’t run anything.
Morning time came and if there is any time in life you feel quite like an adult it is when you realize that you can’t spend a night indulging without paying the price. AND nothing puts the cherry on that sundae like attending the bday party of your friend’s 2 year old daughter, cleaning your house from top to bottom and grocery shopping a sensible shop for the week to come.
All this said, I was thankful (albeit tired) to end my night in the perfect blend of the 2 juxtaposing Plantains that I was facing all weekend. Amid candy, popcorn, fruit and chocolate I spent my night with 10 amazing girls laughing our faces off. Sure, the jokes were juvenile and the junk food indicative of a time when candy didn’t go straight to my second and third asses but looking around the room at the wonderful friends I have who are such amazing beautiful and accomplished women, I was happy to be a grown up. (Except for the 15 minutes when Beyonce performed in that amazing leather lace number and I thought to myself that I wished I could go back to being 21 with a body like that- not that I ever looked like that but pre- 3 asses right?_
Tuesday, January 22, 2013
Mr. Rogers
Hi readers,
Sorry for my recent 2 week hiatus. The days have been busy and I spent a whole week over stimulated by a visit to the movies- every time I forget why I hate going, I remember as I cross and uncross my legs until they are sore in a stale popcorn smelling seat wearing jeans.
Plus, it took me a grand total of 2 full days to decompress and relax and on the night of the movie, I cried myself to sleep- it was Les Mis. I cried in the movie Ted too. I am ashamed.
Anywho, I digress.
After a whirlwind weekend spent with good friends and family (and a massive hangover thanks to a pretty stellar engagement party), it was nice to get back to routine last night. You will all be pleased to hear that 3 weeks in, my hubs is still loving hot yoga. I am actually floored. There is no words for how happy I was/ how cute it was when, as we were walking to the car last night (yes, we drove the 3 minute walk. It was cold ok?), he goes “you know, I was really having trouble in pigeon today”. What is better than that?
But we are totally loving the Monday night class- the super hairy teacher and the sweat that comes with it. Plus, being a part of the studio is just another connection to our hood and peeps, the hood is good.
This past Friday night we had some hood love too- Friday night we dined in with our across the street neighbors. Having neighbors as friends= awesomeness and certainly makes up for both homeless Japanese Santa who trolls our streets daily and the strange Chinese woman who screams at herself every morning heading towards the bus- plus it makes us forget that but 2 houses away lives someone who collects lawn ornaments and gnomes and displays them, willingly, on his/her lawn (ambiguous gender reference due to NEVER actually seeing them despite their colorful surroundings).
Then, whilst at yoga, we ran into other neighborhood friends and THEN, we met some other friends at a resto nearby for a late bite. Pretty sure there is nothing cuter in the world than having cute neighborhood nights- it makes me SO happy that we bought where we did and even happier that we have made the effort to make new and keep old friends who live nearby- obv I don’t discriminate if you chose Thornhill as your home base- one of my besties even chose Thornhill Woods, but the thought of the upcoming summer night spent strolling the streets with friends or popping in for visits to everyone who lives nearby, that is pretty awesome.
Point being. Loves my hood.
Sorry for my recent 2 week hiatus. The days have been busy and I spent a whole week over stimulated by a visit to the movies- every time I forget why I hate going, I remember as I cross and uncross my legs until they are sore in a stale popcorn smelling seat wearing jeans.
Plus, it took me a grand total of 2 full days to decompress and relax and on the night of the movie, I cried myself to sleep- it was Les Mis. I cried in the movie Ted too. I am ashamed.
Anywho, I digress.
After a whirlwind weekend spent with good friends and family (and a massive hangover thanks to a pretty stellar engagement party), it was nice to get back to routine last night. You will all be pleased to hear that 3 weeks in, my hubs is still loving hot yoga. I am actually floored. There is no words for how happy I was/ how cute it was when, as we were walking to the car last night (yes, we drove the 3 minute walk. It was cold ok?), he goes “you know, I was really having trouble in pigeon today”. What is better than that?
But we are totally loving the Monday night class- the super hairy teacher and the sweat that comes with it. Plus, being a part of the studio is just another connection to our hood and peeps, the hood is good.
This past Friday night we had some hood love too- Friday night we dined in with our across the street neighbors. Having neighbors as friends= awesomeness and certainly makes up for both homeless Japanese Santa who trolls our streets daily and the strange Chinese woman who screams at herself every morning heading towards the bus- plus it makes us forget that but 2 houses away lives someone who collects lawn ornaments and gnomes and displays them, willingly, on his/her lawn (ambiguous gender reference due to NEVER actually seeing them despite their colorful surroundings).
Then, whilst at yoga, we ran into other neighborhood friends and THEN, we met some other friends at a resto nearby for a late bite. Pretty sure there is nothing cuter in the world than having cute neighborhood nights- it makes me SO happy that we bought where we did and even happier that we have made the effort to make new and keep old friends who live nearby- obv I don’t discriminate if you chose Thornhill as your home base- one of my besties even chose Thornhill Woods, but the thought of the upcoming summer night spent strolling the streets with friends or popping in for visits to everyone who lives nearby, that is pretty awesome.
Point being. Loves my hood.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
YOLO
In an effort to support my “new year resolution” I woke up Sunday with a whiskey hangover and dragged my ass to yoga.
No, my resolution was not to work out more or to lose weight or get back in to yoga. It was, plain and simple, to spend more time for me.
One of the manageable things that plagued my 2012 was an overwhelming amount of time spent doing stuff that I didn’t want to. Obligatory crap that no one wants to do aside, I felt that a lot of my time was being taken up with plans I didn’t want to have, activities I didn’t want to do and obligations I wished I hadn't made. By the end of the year my weeks were so heavily scheduled that I knew not only what I was doing on the Wednesday approaching but the next 4 Wednesdays to come.
While I, and most people thrive on routine, stability and planning, this over-planned and overstretched kind of life was crappy. Who wants to be busy planning a month in advance? And, by planning so far in advance, I ended up spending a lot of time doing things that, when the time finally came, I didn’t want to do.
How can I say that I want to see a movie 3 Thursdays from now? I don’t even know if I would want to see a movie tonight!
Spending more time for me also means having the capacity to enjoy my time. Throwing stuff into a calendar for a month in advance effectively eliminates my ability to live in the moment. It is hard to enjoy the weekend to come when I am busy worrying about the first weekend of February.
And moreover, I don’t want to be an over planner. I pride myself on being pretty relaxed (for a total crazy person) and the more tightly wound I get, the worse my chances are of being a relaxed parent, lover, friend and peer as time goes on.
So with that and bearing in mind that some situations do not fall into this encompassing resolution (ie. Making dinner plans with my oldest and best friends who live all over the city and have their own million obligations to work and families of their own- yes, whenever date we pick, I’m happy to see you- these are not the kinds of plans I will resent when they come up) I decided to quit planning and start living.
So, when I awoke Sunday morning with a need to be active, I went. I was a bit groggy, nervous to try a new studio after such a long hiatus from my practice, and lazy but it was genuinely what I wanted to do, so I did it.
It was a great call.
First of all, this studio is, timed, 6 minutes from my house when speed walking. It is cozy and clean and the reception desk knew each of the names of the patrons including myself by the time I left. They are environmentally conscious (they rent out mason jars for water unlike my last studio that had plastic water bottles) and the air smelled good despite it being a small studio which practices only hot yoga.
I have only ever once been to a Moksha studio and I did a regular class (not hot) so I was a bit nervy about taking this class- I am used to infra-red heat for hot yoga and had visions of passing out or hyperventilating because of the sauna like steam heat. I successfully remained upright, steady breathing and conscious for the 75 minute class which was, in a word, awesome.
I felt sweaty and rejuvenated and had a great day and a subsequent great night sleep.
The best part, and the part that gave me that fuzzy feeling of a “meant to be” moment was when the teacher introduced herself and the class and gave the pep talk/ inspirational motivation message to begin the class. She said, “there are many reasons you may be here today- for a workout, to relieve your stress or just to take some time to do something special for yourself whatever it is, embrace this and thank yourself for allowing yourself to take the time.”
Well hell to the yes on that. She nailed it in the head and made me feel really gratified about my decision to take time for myself and come. The funny thing about doing what you want is that we have this innate sense of feeling selfish- like we should do less for our own happiness and more for others. We also tend to all be gratification seekers and therefore get a lot more “thank yous” from doing stuff for other people. When was the last time you thanked yourself for having a healthy meal or finishing a chore you meant to get done?
There is a huge difference between being a selfish person and a person who takes care of themselves and makes their happiness a top priority- I think that this distinction gets blurred because people are just so crazy but it has been really helpful to me to try and make those distinctions in my activities. It is never selfish to do things to help make yourself a happier person- you will only radiate that happiness in every other aspect of your life as a result.
And, we should all try and thank ourselves a little more for the mundane things. If you cleaned someone else's room, made their bed, washed their dishes or mopped their floors, you would expect and deserve a “thank you”. If you made time for someone else to have a wonderful hour to themselves to work out or do an activity, if you bought someone else a little gift or treated them to a yummy lunch, they would thank you- think about that next time you do these things for yourself and give yourself a hug.
We are all way to hard on ourselves and everyone needs a little love.
So, yes, the combination of having gone back to yoga since (and I even got my hubs to come too, and he really liked it) and reading a book about happiness and the quest towards it has made me a little preachy, a little idealistic and a little sappy but I think 2013 should be the year for you and me.
YOLO- right people?? (omg I fucking hate YOLO)
XO
Jane
No, my resolution was not to work out more or to lose weight or get back in to yoga. It was, plain and simple, to spend more time for me.
One of the manageable things that plagued my 2012 was an overwhelming amount of time spent doing stuff that I didn’t want to. Obligatory crap that no one wants to do aside, I felt that a lot of my time was being taken up with plans I didn’t want to have, activities I didn’t want to do and obligations I wished I hadn't made. By the end of the year my weeks were so heavily scheduled that I knew not only what I was doing on the Wednesday approaching but the next 4 Wednesdays to come.
While I, and most people thrive on routine, stability and planning, this over-planned and overstretched kind of life was crappy. Who wants to be busy planning a month in advance? And, by planning so far in advance, I ended up spending a lot of time doing things that, when the time finally came, I didn’t want to do.
How can I say that I want to see a movie 3 Thursdays from now? I don’t even know if I would want to see a movie tonight!
Spending more time for me also means having the capacity to enjoy my time. Throwing stuff into a calendar for a month in advance effectively eliminates my ability to live in the moment. It is hard to enjoy the weekend to come when I am busy worrying about the first weekend of February.
And moreover, I don’t want to be an over planner. I pride myself on being pretty relaxed (for a total crazy person) and the more tightly wound I get, the worse my chances are of being a relaxed parent, lover, friend and peer as time goes on.
So with that and bearing in mind that some situations do not fall into this encompassing resolution (ie. Making dinner plans with my oldest and best friends who live all over the city and have their own million obligations to work and families of their own- yes, whenever date we pick, I’m happy to see you- these are not the kinds of plans I will resent when they come up) I decided to quit planning and start living.
So, when I awoke Sunday morning with a need to be active, I went. I was a bit groggy, nervous to try a new studio after such a long hiatus from my practice, and lazy but it was genuinely what I wanted to do, so I did it.
It was a great call.
First of all, this studio is, timed, 6 minutes from my house when speed walking. It is cozy and clean and the reception desk knew each of the names of the patrons including myself by the time I left. They are environmentally conscious (they rent out mason jars for water unlike my last studio that had plastic water bottles) and the air smelled good despite it being a small studio which practices only hot yoga.
I have only ever once been to a Moksha studio and I did a regular class (not hot) so I was a bit nervy about taking this class- I am used to infra-red heat for hot yoga and had visions of passing out or hyperventilating because of the sauna like steam heat. I successfully remained upright, steady breathing and conscious for the 75 minute class which was, in a word, awesome.
I felt sweaty and rejuvenated and had a great day and a subsequent great night sleep.
The best part, and the part that gave me that fuzzy feeling of a “meant to be” moment was when the teacher introduced herself and the class and gave the pep talk/ inspirational motivation message to begin the class. She said, “there are many reasons you may be here today- for a workout, to relieve your stress or just to take some time to do something special for yourself whatever it is, embrace this and thank yourself for allowing yourself to take the time.”
Well hell to the yes on that. She nailed it in the head and made me feel really gratified about my decision to take time for myself and come. The funny thing about doing what you want is that we have this innate sense of feeling selfish- like we should do less for our own happiness and more for others. We also tend to all be gratification seekers and therefore get a lot more “thank yous” from doing stuff for other people. When was the last time you thanked yourself for having a healthy meal or finishing a chore you meant to get done?
There is a huge difference between being a selfish person and a person who takes care of themselves and makes their happiness a top priority- I think that this distinction gets blurred because people are just so crazy but it has been really helpful to me to try and make those distinctions in my activities. It is never selfish to do things to help make yourself a happier person- you will only radiate that happiness in every other aspect of your life as a result.
And, we should all try and thank ourselves a little more for the mundane things. If you cleaned someone else's room, made their bed, washed their dishes or mopped their floors, you would expect and deserve a “thank you”. If you made time for someone else to have a wonderful hour to themselves to work out or do an activity, if you bought someone else a little gift or treated them to a yummy lunch, they would thank you- think about that next time you do these things for yourself and give yourself a hug.
We are all way to hard on ourselves and everyone needs a little love.
So, yes, the combination of having gone back to yoga since (and I even got my hubs to come too, and he really liked it) and reading a book about happiness and the quest towards it has made me a little preachy, a little idealistic and a little sappy but I think 2013 should be the year for you and me.
YOLO- right people?? (omg I fucking hate YOLO)
XO
Jane
Friday, January 4, 2013
It's a dog eat dog world- and I am a plantain kind of girl
It’s Friday, Friday, Friday.....
Oh hey, it is Friday and that can only mean one thing. It is Friday.
This has been the shortest long week of ever and while I was aching for some routine and normality after my vacation, being back at work without those things (because they haven't quite sunk in yet) is way worse than being on vacation without them.
But enough of me complaining.
So for this past week we have been dog sitting for the f-ing cutest dog in the world of dogs, Billie. Billie is a super small Boston terrier with the most fun-loving personality. Did I cry out loud on the subway this morning after leaving her? Yes, I sure did. Because, you know what? I learned a valuable lesson this week. I love dogs.
I have never been 100 percent sure that I would be eternally happy having a pet dog, but now I am certain that not only would I be super happy, I would increase my overall level of happiness by having one.
My husband, who is amazing in every way, is not a man who loves being pampered. When he is sick, he likes to be left alone. When he is down, he likes to deal with it himself. If he hurts himself, he can take of himself and honestly, unless he is asking about the exact location of Advil in the house, I know nothing of his everyday maladies.
I find this one of the more frustrating characteristics of his personality. I love taking care of people- it is just something I do. Feeling and probably actually being not needed is something I have had to learn to deal with as a part of the compromise of marriage. Enter dog.
Dog needs me all the time, wants to follow me around the house and give me kisses, wants to cuddle, wants to play, loves being chased around rooms, never gets annoyed with me and is cute as fuck. Dog successfully makes me feel needed ALL THE TIME!!! Plus, dog never grows up into a sullen teenager who will hate me and be ashamed to hold my hand in public. Dog doesn’t give a shit what I look like and dog makes me do double the amount of physical activity per day.
And, as a friend pointed out when she came over a bit sad- dogs are the perfect therapy. They are distracting and cute.
You can dress them up in stupid clothing.
They are always warm.
I woke up to take the dog out, spent time with her, fed her, cleaned her paw when she got salt stuck in it and put up with her terrible farts and snoring that rivals my hubs. I think I have proven myself more than worthy and capable of dog ownership.
I could go on but suffice to say that by volunteering our puppy sitting skills, my husband successfully turned me into an obsessive psycho with one, and only one end goal.
Dog 2013. Let the campaign begin.
Oh hey, it is Friday and that can only mean one thing. It is Friday.
This has been the shortest long week of ever and while I was aching for some routine and normality after my vacation, being back at work without those things (because they haven't quite sunk in yet) is way worse than being on vacation without them.
But enough of me complaining.
So for this past week we have been dog sitting for the f-ing cutest dog in the world of dogs, Billie. Billie is a super small Boston terrier with the most fun-loving personality. Did I cry out loud on the subway this morning after leaving her? Yes, I sure did. Because, you know what? I learned a valuable lesson this week. I love dogs.
I have never been 100 percent sure that I would be eternally happy having a pet dog, but now I am certain that not only would I be super happy, I would increase my overall level of happiness by having one.
My husband, who is amazing in every way, is not a man who loves being pampered. When he is sick, he likes to be left alone. When he is down, he likes to deal with it himself. If he hurts himself, he can take of himself and honestly, unless he is asking about the exact location of Advil in the house, I know nothing of his everyday maladies.
I find this one of the more frustrating characteristics of his personality. I love taking care of people- it is just something I do. Feeling and probably actually being not needed is something I have had to learn to deal with as a part of the compromise of marriage. Enter dog.
Dog needs me all the time, wants to follow me around the house and give me kisses, wants to cuddle, wants to play, loves being chased around rooms, never gets annoyed with me and is cute as fuck. Dog successfully makes me feel needed ALL THE TIME!!! Plus, dog never grows up into a sullen teenager who will hate me and be ashamed to hold my hand in public. Dog doesn’t give a shit what I look like and dog makes me do double the amount of physical activity per day.
And, as a friend pointed out when she came over a bit sad- dogs are the perfect therapy. They are distracting and cute.
You can dress them up in stupid clothing.
They are always warm.
I woke up to take the dog out, spent time with her, fed her, cleaned her paw when she got salt stuck in it and put up with her terrible farts and snoring that rivals my hubs. I think I have proven myself more than worthy and capable of dog ownership.
I could go on but suffice to say that by volunteering our puppy sitting skills, my husband successfully turned me into an obsessive psycho with one, and only one end goal.
Dog 2013. Let the campaign begin.
Thursday, January 3, 2013
Dick in its natural habitat.
So, now that we
are all back to the grind and real life has taken over the blissful
days of Christmas break, I find myself here, in front of the computer
with a fair amount to share with you all. That is the theme of today’s
Post, sharing.
So first, and shamelessly, I implore you to share me. if you are reading this post, can you please take some time and tell 2 other people about it? Share my words so I can become famous and retire early. I swear I will share my fortunes with you if that happens*. Plus, you get a good laugh out of me often enough, right? Share the gift of laughter with your friends or family. It is very selfish to hog all the laughter in the world- that is what grinches are made of.
Ok, so you have shared me now- thank you.
Now allow me to share some great moments from my Floridian vacation. Florida is paradise if you like to laugh at ridiculous people in the sun. It is unlike anywhere else on earth. The rules of the road are sort of iffy and in one sweep across the I95 you can see an old lady driving at 30MPH, a person eating a cheeseburger while drinking a coke and smoking a cigarette and steering with their knees to someone on a cell phone with their top down texting at the same time. Laws? What laws?
It is also the home to tracksuits, people who really love American flag stuff and fat people. BUT, in all my life, of all the weirdos I have seen and had a chuckle courtesy of, it was on this trip that I encountered the weirdest of them all.
We spent Christmas day at the wildlife sanctuary located about 30 minutes from our place and it was a truly awesome way to enjoy what beauty (outside the malls and outlets) Florida can offer. I chuckled my way inside because back a few years ago, this was the exact place where I encountered that man Jordan (whose name I know from having walked behind him as he talked, nay, screamed into his cell phone for the entire duration of our visit).
Jordan, by comparison, was normal.
In one of those, "what came first, the laughter or the man" moments, I saw him. A 40 something year old man in full Safari hat carrying a paparazzi esque camera, wearing very sensible teva shoes with a mild to medium tan wearing a neon teal short short sleeveless onesie.
Yes, you could see his ass cheeks flex as he walked, and his nipple erection from the light breeze running through the park. And yes, every single detail of his junk was out on display overtaking the awesomeness of the alligators basking in the sun. 2 alligators and a baby alligator moving around and flashing their impressive teeth seemed just less impressive next to this man's unit.
He didn't see to be fazed by the fact that people around him burst into laughter all throughout the park- in fact, he seemed rather comfortable in his getup- I suppose I should applaud this moment of confidence except for that it was actually vulgar and if I had a kid with me that day, I would have to shield their eyes from the snake in his pants that no one came to see. Penis in its natural habitat?? No thank you.
Suffice to say that this image burned into my retinas at an alarming speed and became both the joke and cause for shuddering for the remainder of our vacation.
Sure, I spent days poolside with a man who had fake hair and felt that screaming at the top of his lungs instead of simply just speaking to his fat ass wife and kids was acceptable. Sure, there was a plethora of wildly inappropriate racism such as one of our valet drivers asking another valet driver if a car he pulled up "looked like it belonged to a black person". Sure my mother got a weird sexual advance in the form of a Kiss impersonator wagging his tongue at her. And sure, my airplane seat mates got wasted on vodka and OF even though they were about 200 years old combined.
But ol' onesie was the best of the bunch (and when I type bunch I immediately think of his do dah)
Anyways. SO happy to be beginning 2013! Happy to be back and happy to spend another year with you, my readers.
Thank you all again for spreading the love.
Jane.
*swearing to share not guaranteed
So first, and shamelessly, I implore you to share me. if you are reading this post, can you please take some time and tell 2 other people about it? Share my words so I can become famous and retire early. I swear I will share my fortunes with you if that happens*. Plus, you get a good laugh out of me often enough, right? Share the gift of laughter with your friends or family. It is very selfish to hog all the laughter in the world- that is what grinches are made of.
Ok, so you have shared me now- thank you.
Now allow me to share some great moments from my Floridian vacation. Florida is paradise if you like to laugh at ridiculous people in the sun. It is unlike anywhere else on earth. The rules of the road are sort of iffy and in one sweep across the I95 you can see an old lady driving at 30MPH, a person eating a cheeseburger while drinking a coke and smoking a cigarette and steering with their knees to someone on a cell phone with their top down texting at the same time. Laws? What laws?
It is also the home to tracksuits, people who really love American flag stuff and fat people. BUT, in all my life, of all the weirdos I have seen and had a chuckle courtesy of, it was on this trip that I encountered the weirdest of them all.
We spent Christmas day at the wildlife sanctuary located about 30 minutes from our place and it was a truly awesome way to enjoy what beauty (outside the malls and outlets) Florida can offer. I chuckled my way inside because back a few years ago, this was the exact place where I encountered that man Jordan (whose name I know from having walked behind him as he talked, nay, screamed into his cell phone for the entire duration of our visit).
Jordan, by comparison, was normal.
In one of those, "what came first, the laughter or the man" moments, I saw him. A 40 something year old man in full Safari hat carrying a paparazzi esque camera, wearing very sensible teva shoes with a mild to medium tan wearing a neon teal short short sleeveless onesie.
Yes, you could see his ass cheeks flex as he walked, and his nipple erection from the light breeze running through the park. And yes, every single detail of his junk was out on display overtaking the awesomeness of the alligators basking in the sun. 2 alligators and a baby alligator moving around and flashing their impressive teeth seemed just less impressive next to this man's unit.
He didn't see to be fazed by the fact that people around him burst into laughter all throughout the park- in fact, he seemed rather comfortable in his getup- I suppose I should applaud this moment of confidence except for that it was actually vulgar and if I had a kid with me that day, I would have to shield their eyes from the snake in his pants that no one came to see. Penis in its natural habitat?? No thank you.
Suffice to say that this image burned into my retinas at an alarming speed and became both the joke and cause for shuddering for the remainder of our vacation.
Sure, I spent days poolside with a man who had fake hair and felt that screaming at the top of his lungs instead of simply just speaking to his fat ass wife and kids was acceptable. Sure, there was a plethora of wildly inappropriate racism such as one of our valet drivers asking another valet driver if a car he pulled up "looked like it belonged to a black person". Sure my mother got a weird sexual advance in the form of a Kiss impersonator wagging his tongue at her. And sure, my airplane seat mates got wasted on vodka and OF even though they were about 200 years old combined.
But ol' onesie was the best of the bunch (and when I type bunch I immediately think of his do dah)
Anyways. SO happy to be beginning 2013! Happy to be back and happy to spend another year with you, my readers.
Thank you all again for spreading the love.
Jane.
*swearing to share not guaranteed
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