and miles to go

Two days until Christmas, the skies are clear and the temp is hovering around -4C. Doesn't make it feel very... Christmassy.

I'm not wishing for a metre of snow or -40C wind chills. I'd just like to see a little snow. Just a little. A nice light dusting. Something. Anything.

I plan to have the fireplace going, giant cups of chai and later wine, a big juicy turkey roasting in the oven and lots of belly-padding sides ready to go. Some chocolates to indulge and maybe some old Christmas specials playing in the background, too.

Just need a little snow to help bring the merry...

baby, it's cold outside

Second consecutive day that I've awoken to a dusting of snow outside.

It's cold. I want a giant cup of chai.

End of story

lazy and carefree

I don't feel like making an effort these days. Not for many things and especially not for cooking.

I want things quick and easy. Short and simple. Short and sweet?

So why, when I do my regular grocery shopping every weekend, do I buy foods that require energy? Cleaning, chopping, seasoning, cooking and then cleaning the aftermath. Isn't that what takeout, pizza, canned chili and french fries are for? Oof, I can already feel my stomach percolating from just rambling off that list. Right. That's why.

Well, I've given in to the laziness as it's prompted me to start doing things like visiting the parental units in search of leftover chicken and then grabbing a bag of frozen sweet potato fries from the market to go with it -- the kind of behaviour I used to tsk tsk.

But I don't much care right now. It's cold and I want to bury myself in a bed full of pillows with a giant cup of chai within arm's reach. And if I can't do that, then the food I must eat needs to be done, done, done or take no more thought than turning a dial and walking away.

And, yes, I know that means a rapidly expanding waistline. Like I said. I don't care.

run down

If Mondays didn't already give me a reason to hate them, it's gone an added another. On my way home today, I almost got run over.

Don't know what, exactly, was wrong with me but I calmly knocked on the driver's window, told him he had to look both ways, then walked away.

That's it. No screaming, no obscene hand gestures, no knocking all over the car with my rings -- yes, I have done that a few times before.

When I finally arrived home, I rewarded myself with an ice cream.

So there, Monday. I win. I'm still sweet.

boo

There aren't many kiddies that come around the neighbourhood on Halloween, and only a handful of houses are draped in cobwebs, ghouls and pumpkins.

Tonight, there were no knocks on the door...

But I'd already decided to change it up a little this year, anyway. Instead of handing out candy to the kiddies, I thought it might be a good idea for them to bring me treats. Dark chocolate and/or red wine.

I left marked boxes by the door and thanked them in advance.

[kidding]

pho sho

You know the food is good when you're willing to make a public transit trek that requires at least three transfers.

Went for pho today at a little place in the west end that's loved by the locals and even local celebrity chefs. I was hungry well before arrival, but probably worked up a bigger appetite wandering around the neighbourhood trying to kill time before meeting my behind-schedule lunch buddies.

I ducked in an out of furniture shops looking at beautiful Scandinavian pieces, designer accessories and some vintage items but, really, my mind was elsewhere.

Pho on the brain. There are worse things, sure. I just don't know what they are...

cycle chic

I've had a small obsession with bicycles for a not so small time, and today was the perfect day for a ride on my new city glide.

Fall is my favourite time of year and going out for a spin amidst brightly-coloured leaves and under a warm sun can really take the bite out of an otherwise stressful work week.

I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride my bike. I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it where I like...

All I need now is a beret, some flowers and a French loaf in my basket and all will truly be well with the world.

good day

Any day that begins and ends with champagne is a good day.

The sun was out, there was a Spanish guitar-playing guy on my subway this morning, I had a bottle of champagne with my brunch, the food came fast and hot, my seats to a show at the theatre were upgraded to the next section, there was no wait in the lineup at the cafe afterwards, we got a window seat, jazz played all afternoon, we ran amok in the neighbourhood candy store...

Then I came home to a sumptuous dinner of roast beef tenderloin with green beans, asparagus and salad, more champagne, then cheese and grapes. And more champagne.

It was a very good day.

If only life was like this all the time.

an evening with

Oh, Anthony. You make me a little ashamed of documenting my food bliss... But only a little.

I haven't always been that way -- documenting everything I eat. In fact, it seems mostly to be an affectation of travelling and only lately of the dinners I've been assembling for Mr. Man. It was not always this way. Really.

No, when I'm truly in the moment I don't stop to pull out the camera. No. No, no, no. But that's how you make your living, so I'm happy to hear you realize the hypocrisy of judging those of us that do.

I still love you.

I indulged in brains, tongue, marrow and other sweetbreads for you. And I'd do it again.

No reservations...

medium raw

Going to see God tonight... Anthony Bourdain.

I. Can. Hardly. Contain. Myself.

He's here flogging his new book, Medium Raw: A Bloody Valentine to the World of Food and the People Who Cook.

I've been watching and reading him for years and fear one of two things this evening, should I get the chance to actually speak with the man. I will either be dumbstruck or be stricken with a case of verbally diarrhea.

blah blah blah blah, blah BLAH blah...

Lord, help me.

Details soon

getting fresh

Last weekend, while wandering down the street, we happened upon a Live Green event. Among the displays was a booth for produce. Big and beautiful... Mmmm, me likey.

I love outdoor markets and while this was just a one-time weekend event, it was lovely to see tables packed with locally-grown peppers, carrots, peas, potatoes, onions and tomatoes in the middle of the street with city lights, crowded sidewalks and towering buildings around. Concrete vs. colour. Interesting juxtaposition.

My mouth waters just looking at these things. I forget where I am and want to start shopping for dinner. If there was seasoning around, I would have heard sizzling in my ears. And every time someone says this magic combination of words -- onions and garlic -- I can instantly smell and hear it. Every time.

Ah, the sights and sounds of love...

warm and fuzzy

I've joked before (and maybe a little too seriously) about drowning my stress in alcohol. It isn't for the purpose of trying to forget or distracting myself from the real problem, but it can take the edge off.

Nothing wrong with wanting to feel a little warm and fuzzy every once in a while, right?

Well instead of consuming large amounts of alcohol during times of need, I've taken to enjoying an overpriced cuppa with a dear friend. It's time spent in good company. It doesn't involve having tiered trays of sandwiches with the crusts cut off, just large pots of tea and a little cookie for good measure.

We sit in the window, discuss whatever is on our minds, watch passersby run between buildings under colourful umbrellas, see a bride and groom stroll around the corner after the rain has passed.

Warm and fuzzy, sans alcool. Lovely.

keep calm

Paddle on...

Went on a 20-kilometre canoe trip last weekend. Haven't found peace like that in a long while, yet it was fun too. Need to do more of those.

It was 4.5 hours of cruising down the Grand observing feathered friends (Canada geese, blue herons and peregrine falcons), long wisps of kelp and finding various ways to stretch without interrupting our flow.

Throughout, we also spent time foraging for food from the bottom of our backpacks. Don't know what possessed us but we packed as if we were trekking across land: granola bars, trail mix and bottles of brightly-coloured drinks filled with electrolites. Never had those before. Thought they tasted salty. Is it just me?

Broke for lunch when the sun became ridiculously hot and we were in desperate need of both shade and a bathroom break. We found a place to disembark and inhale our pasta salads, although entirely without shade but with just enough strategic cover for, you know. B - R - U - S - H. That's how we spell relief.

Time seemed to pass quickly once we arrived at our destination. Never would have thought I'd be keen on paddling an entire day away but I would love to do it again. And again and again and again.

Nothing quite beats the quiet and calm of floating down a river in a vessel made for two.

easy

More and more I'm liking things quick and easy.

[Yeah, yeah. Insert joke here.]

My patience isn't what it used to be and I just don't feel like making much time for things these days, cooking included.

Work is wearing me down and while not as busy as it used to be, it's still draining. Not feeling engaged doesn't help, but being unplugged certainly keeps the stress levels to a minimum. Defense mechanism. Self preservation. Call it what you want, it's how I'm getting by.

But back to convenient food fixes. I need to find more of those 30-minute and under meals. You know, anything to keep me out of fastfoodland.

I've got my favourite maple-glazed salmon and wasabi-laced soba noodles, and lately I've been making these char sui style pork chops...

Swift and savoury. They're just too easy and too tasty not to slip them into the rotation. But I want more or others, I should say. More, more, more. That's how I like it, that's how I like it.

let us eat cake

Yesterday I binged on cake for lunch. I was not alone, so it wasn't some desperate kind of emotional eating episode -- not that such things should be taken lightly.

It was one of those perfect, lazy summer days where the entire city seemed to be out strolling in the sun. So out I went to meet people (family) for lunch. Cake, specifically. There were no other options.

Who else can you eat boxes full of sugar with and not feel judged?

They're family. They'll still love you even after you've eaten directly from the box, have icing smeared all over your face, are laughing uncontrollably at any and everything because of the sugar high, and who'll be sure to point out the drool running down your chin when you wake up from your cake-enduced coma.

Ah, yes, family.

We had two cakes between the three of us: a lemon raspberry cakelet and chocolate suicide.

We managed to finish the lemon cake and were only half successful with the suicide. If we were truly serious about it, we would have attempted suicide first...

We'll need a better plan of execution next time.

Didn't eat dinner that night and, today, didn't have breakfast and wasn't particularly hungry for lunch either. Hm... loss of appetite after attempted suicide. Go figure.

breakfast of champions

Once in a while we like to have a big breakfast, one that we would really only ever have if we were travelling but that we occasionally manage at home to satisfy the gluttons in us. Today was just such a day.

Why? No particular reason except that it's a long weekend and why the hell not?

I made pancakes (clearly miscalculated on the volume, oh well) and Mr. Man made the bacon. There were also some scrambled eggs but they didn't look very pretty (because, yes, that matters) and they wouldn't fit after I already plated everything else, along with a garnish of fruit.

It was delicious and filling and, as expected, we didn't finish everything but that's okay. We'll have the leftovers during the week -- although it's not the same as when it comes steaming from the griddle right onto your plate. What's that? You say you can hear your arteries clogging as we speak? Oh well, again.

Having another big breakfast like this probably won't come for a while. They say it's the most important meal of the day, yet it's the one which we often neglect or that we only execute half-heartedly. I try. I'm usually a yogurt, banana and granola girl but we all have our moments of weakness.

Sometimes... sometimes... submission is good.

veggie connection

On a veggie bender for the past few weeks and it's all good.

We eat with our eyes, or so they say, and I do find myself gravitating toward a colourful mix of produce like red, orange and yellow peppers, zucchini, eggplant and tomatoes.

Who doesn't love a rainbow in their kitchen?

the good fight

I keep talking about eating properly and having some discipline when it comes to food but I think I may be... a fraud.

Went to an outdoor art exhibit last weekend and wouldn't shut up about stuffing myself with street meat. It was hot out and I had a craving for carbs -- specifically, a giant helping of hand-cut french fries -- and maybe a spicy sausage from one of the trucks parked on the street.

Only one choice: the Original Bavarian Bratwurst Wagon. Oh. So. Good.

But rather than ordering the sausage I'd been craving, I caved to the idea that it might be too messy to eat then have to walk among the art with wurst-and-condiment-stained clothing, so I opted for a burger instead.

It was all good. All of it. The fries were still steaming for a good 10 minutes after she forked them over and they didn't leave a giant pool of grease collecting in the bottom of the container. Always a good sign. Talking about it now makes me want more. And maybe a sausage next time, too.

[sigh] Me likes me carbs. Why do I even fight it?

calamari says what?

Mr. Man is enjoying cervezas while rooting for the Dutch. He says it makes him extra continental.

It's mid-afternoon and, really, there are only a few things one can be expected to reasonably prepare and consume on a hot summer's day -- especially when there's a World Cup match on.

Will it be cervezas y paella o tapas? Or maybe kaas en toast of frikenadel en frieten?

With a score of 0-0 and only minutes to go, we could be looking at sudden death OT. I know there are enough cervezas in the house (there always are) but we can only consume so many chips, dip and veggies. We may have to move on to something more substantial if somebody doesn't score soon.

Do we wait for a final World Cup decision or do we initiate a Spanish or Dutch food fest and see if these gastro vibes reach all the way to South Africa? If calamari can predict the outcome, who's to say my cooking can't alter the futbol universe?

upset stomach

My stomach is acting up again. Not the way it was last week. This is different.

For hours now, we've been watching coverage of the riots surrounding the G20. What started as peaceful protest has turned into violence and chaos. Bricks are being thrown through windows, cars are being set on fire and, for the first time in our city, police are using tear gas.

Watching what's happening angers and upsets me, and I'm looking forward to it ending soon. I don't have an appetite for destruction.

rumblings

Today we had a baby shower for a colleague and filled ourselves with two kinds of lasagna (meat and veg), coleslaw, macaroni salad, garlic bread, strawberries, melon, cantaloupe and pineapple. We were stuffed.

And I don't know where the expectant mother would have put all her food as the present occupant takes up the majority of her belly.

Well, it wasn't long after our little party that we all experienced some major rumbling. At first, I thought someone was moving large furniture around. Then the floor began moving and my chair started to bounce, my desk was shaking and my computer screen was vibrating.

Any more movement and I would have to get myself a thesaurus.

With these prolonged rumblings, I finally just yelled out to my colleagues and asked if anyone else was shaking. Yes! was the cry from the chorus. It wasn't, as someone joked to mama-to-be, premature labour or indigestion.

What's worse, though? Thinking your building is about to collapse or the idea of recalling the lunch you just ate and competing for a stall in the bathroom?

reservations

Yesterday evening was an exercise in reserve.

Mr. Man and I attended a party for a friend who had just completed his PhD. It was at a couple's pied-a-terre... in a luxury neighbourhood... where people have their own financial advisors... and architects...

My stomach had been acting up all day and it's difficult to play the game of interest and amusement when your body won't cooperate. What a beautiful home you have [sigh], is that an Eileen Gray [wince], champagne would be lovely [gag].

There were some interesting people, the guest of honour was funny and articulate, and the drinks and conversation ever flowing. Discussion ranged from business (I'm working on my second career and want to start my own interior design company) to travel (the wife and I wanted to go somewhere different but aren't sure now, what with that whole flotilla incident), to G20 environmentalism (they uprooted saplings because they might be used as weapons, can you imagine) and FIFA World Cup football (I see a Germany-Brazil final, it would be spectacular, a phenomenal acrobatic ballet).

The food was delicious. Hors d'oeuvres of smoked salmon and cream cheese crostini and a roasted red pepper, cream cheese and tapenade on baguette; arugula salad with strawberries and candied walnuts; halibut with lemon caper sauce, green beans, grape tomatoes and new potatoes; and a scrumptious strawberry short cake. And, of course, lots and lots of wine.

It was a lovely evening, actually. Although, a little like waking up in the middle of a Woody Allen film.

There are worse things. But, at least, nothing that can't be cured with Prozac and a mallet.

goodbye laziness

Maybe it was the salt and vinegar potato chips we snacked on. Or maybe it was the chilli we decided to have for dinner. Whatever it was, I feel... blah

Ours was a lazy choice and one made after a long day. A decision borne of the convenience of buying tortilla chips at the corner store where the lottery ticket that would take us to eternal bliss was waiting. We are paying for our lazy decision today. And the dream of eternal monetary bliss is no more -- not that it was a realistic or necessary one. Boo

How is it that we've gone from fresh, healthy foods to ones packed with artificial everythings, prolonged shelf life preservatives and polysaccharide-jammed dishes that we know are going to offend our stomachs? Oh right. Laziness.

Time to get back to making an effort.

So this morning, we began with a bowl of yogurt topped with fresh blueberries, strawberries and kiwi.

Onward we go.

triple the fun

How could I forget?

On one of our last nights in Athens, we patronized the grocery store across from where we were staying and off-loaded some coin. We were looking for munchies and bought champagne croissants, which were sooo good, and a small box of cookies.

But these weren't just any cookies. They were Soft Kings triple chocolate cookies with dark chocolate, white chocolate and milk chocolate chunks. drool

I actually wasn't even interested in the cookies as much as I was in the packaging. It was the first thing that caught my eye while scanning the shelves.

Soft Kings -- Cookies were not what immediately jumped to mind when I read that. And the choice of graphics was also questionable. Don't they remind you of, well, a little sumthin' sumthin' else? But who am I to judge? I did buy them, after all, so clearly someone knows what they're doing.

XXX chocolate? Mmmmm... yes!

ah, yum

Okay, so it's been a long time away.

The trip to Greece was quite the whirlwind and with so much to see, do and eat, I suppose it shouldn't be a surprise that it kept me away for so long... even though I've travelled elsewhere since returning home.

Calamari, small fry, chips, bread and zucchini. Yum!

Where to begin? The food in Greece was fabulous. Probably the best seafood I've had to date, eating by the waterfront in very good company, stuffing myself with soft crabs, small fry, shrimp, squid, clams and fresh veggies and, of course, lots and lots of wine.

Mussels, crabs, small fry, greens, mixed salad, feta and so much more...

It was the best holiday I've ever had and would go back in a heartbeat. I get it, the romance of Greece, but it seems to far away now. sigh

yes. no?

Everything is backwards here. Oh, and here would be Greece...

Yes sounds like no. No sounds like yes. A green light doesn't mean it's safe to cross the street, you have to wave down trolleys and cabs only stop if you look like you don't need one.

And I was under the impression that I'd be pretty plump by now but the opposite has happened. Really.

For dinner yesterday we had a tableful of lamb pork chops, fries, beets, fava beans, Greek salad, saganaki, spanakopita, spinach, fried zucchini and dessert. And wine. Lots and lots of wine.

And tonight we had half a loaf of bread, fried zucchini, saganaki, some wine and Greek salad followed by lamb with potatoes.




The waiter kept stopping by to chat and, I'm sure, pontificate with his colleagues about where we were putting all the food. Witnessing two petite ladies ordering and eating a family's worth of food must be quite the curiosity to these men.

There was even a stray cat who sat by our table the entire evening waiting like an obedient dog for some scraps to be thrown its way. Even the animal world can't believe we'd have such bottomless pits.

So there you have it.

We eat. We drink. We are merry. And all the while, the pants aren't getting any tighter.

Life is awful, isn't it...

we don't need another

gyro

Actually, that's a lie. I love these. Just had a nicely toasted pork gyro with fries and a side of sauce. Don't know what kind of sauce but it was very tasty. Very.

Or maybe everything just seems better when you're travelling.

If that "special sauce" had found its way to my table at a restaurant back home, I might have found it suspect. Put it in a little ceramic bowl on a table in Greece and suddenly it's very continental.

Also very continental, my friend tells me, is how likely we are to gain some good poundage while we're here. But I'm okay with that. The amount of weight I lost from getting sick and being so stressed over the past month should be addressed, anyway. I say, this is the way to do it -- abroad!

So bring on the European food challenge. I have yet to meet a gyro, souvlaki, calamari, cheese pie or seafood I don't like.

where you at?

The only person we should be competing with is yesterday's version of ourselves.

Seems I've forgotten about this and haven't been managing myself very well lately. My fuse is short -- non-existent, really -- and I'm getting more drained fighting things that just aren't worth the battle. I need a drink.

Correction: drinks.

And a reminder, perhaps. I miss my old laid-back self. Where'd she go? She was much more fun and less weighed down by the general stupidity of the office. In her place is a lady of rage. She demands a lot of time and energy and, quite honestly, she needs to go.

So, methinks it's time for a buffet.

You know, to settle and ground my appetite-diminished, alcohol-seeking self. Food is love and I haven't been feeling much of that at the office these days. It's time I remember that only I can feed and satisfy myself.

work it out

The universe is conspiring to reduce me to a skeletal drunk.

I haven't quite been the same since getting sick a few weeks ago. My diminished appetite isn't yet fully restored and the circus that is my job is driving me to think more about when I can next go out for drinks.

I joke about self-medicating, but it feels like I'm becoming the joke these days. Not funny...

After today's assembly of the motley crew that is my department, it's clear that giant bowls of ice cream, bottomless teapots and lunchtime rants aren't going to cut it. And forget the wooly mammoth. I need something to address my anger and disappointment with the way things have turned at the office. Because, apparently, I can't reconcile these things myself.

Getting drunk with colleagues seems a fun and easy distraction. We'll probably exchange inappropriate thoughts and encourage each other to behave badly, but when we're back in the office next week we'll surely return to our dark, little corners and continue muttering under our collective breath.

And what will we be muttering? When's the next outing?

lunch and learn

Had sushi for lunch on Friday with some colleagues. Probably the most fun I've had out to lunch in a very long time. Clearly, it was a much needed outing for us all.

We were two women, two men and a table full of opinion. You can learn a lot about your colleagues when they're having a good time. Defences come down and out comes the truth. If only there was sake, too. Can you imagine?

Can't wait to see what this week's after-work outing will produce, as alcohol will surely be involved. It's a short work week and everyone is looking forward to letting off a little more steam. And we haven't invited the boss so people should feel more free to express themselves -- not that we're a shy bunch around each other.

Could get ugly. Or fantastically entertaining. I'm voting for the latter, of course. Either way, transcripts the following day... [kidding]

searing mad

If yesterday was a day for poultry and fries, today was the kind of day that called for a wooly mammoth and an ocean's worth of alcohol.

I could have seared some mammoth sirloins with the rage I felt today. Easily.

[breathe]

Anger isn't fun. It's draining and distracting and, worst of all, makes me lose my appetite. That's not something I care to lose.

And anyone who can make that happen ought to watch out. Forget that hell hath no fury business.

Ever try making nice with an appetite-depressed woman?

feed me

I've been out to lunch for two consecutive days now. Let me rephrase that. I've gone out for lunch with colleagues over the past two days, and I have another date this Friday. I feel so popular.

As my month of RFP hell comes to a close, it's starting to feel like the chain that binds me to my desk has a few more links than I thought. I'm not just limited to visiting the kitchen or bathroom anymore. I can actually leave the building. Hallelujah!

Yesterday, we went for Chinese food. We shared a giant platter of chow mein and drank from what seemed to be a bottomless teapot. And as busy as my day was, going out really helped take the edge off. That's a luxury usually only reserved for wine -- a true and constant love. I returned feeling lighter and refuelled.

And today I finally felt like I could breathe again. So off we went to the chalet to vent over rotisserie chicken, french fries and bowls of special sauce.

Because when you're expressing frustration, let's face it, a salad just doesn't cut it.

out to lunch

When the ladies go out to lunch, the stereotypical image is one of a bunch of girlies sitting around gossiping about boys and other juicy topics. The gathering is loud and filled with whispers, laughter and gasps. Oh, and drinks. Lots of drinks. Nearby, other tables are collectively rolling their eyes at Table Estrogen.

At least, that's what comes to my mind. I've been to a few of those. Some are for emotional hand-holding and others are meant to encourage naughtiness and fun.

I choose door # 2, please and thank you.

So what do men talk about when they eat together? According to Mr. Man, they primarily meet to discuss business, complain about work or talk sports. Yawn.

I picture a bunch of well-dressed men, posturing about how well things are going and offering unsolicited opinions about what the other attendees should be doing with their business. I see chests getting puffed up and men on the verge of pounding their pectoral muscles. I see food being inhaled without much thought for chewing. Maybe a business card or two gets passed around. Double yawn.

My curiosity about what men talk about was prompted by seeing a generally anti-social colleague go out to lunch with a very social one. What could they possibly have to talk about? And, perhaps more notably, why do I even care? I don't, normally.

It must be that it's a distraction from the overwhelming and ever-growing work amassing itself on my desk. Maybe a little jealousy, too? They have time to go out and I don't. Who cares if it's just about comparing notes? It's an opportunity to leave the stress of the office (although temporarily) and spend some time playing with other people.

And I like to play. It's something I should do more often. Just wish my sandbox wasn't filled with all this paperwork.

3-second abs

Mr. Man bought lozenges for my sore throat. He insisted I bring a bag of them to the office to help provide relief throughout the day. Isn't he thoughtful?

Of course, I would much rather fill myself with tea but then half my day would be spent in the loo so I suppose there's some merit to his offering. But these lozenges are nasty. Let me say that again. Na-sty. They're that foul, lemony medicinal flavour that makes me feel like every time I speak a nearby plant may collapse from the fumes. Ugh.

Come to think of it, the smell is not unlike that other unholy lemon-scented dishwashing soap that I can't stand. It's just so unnatural. Funny because I love lemons and sour things, but these days I much prefer the scent of green apple. Ah, fruit... but I digress.

These lozenges are so strong that I'd almost prefer to keep coughing. In fact, I think my abs are starting to firm up from all the extra involuntary muscle contractions.

Did you know coughing involves the abs, ribs and diaphragm? And how many coughs does it take to get a six pack these days? Hm. Something to consider.

c is for cooties

Woke up in the middle of the night yesterday with a sore throat. It was that raw, hurts to swallow kind of sore throat that makes you want to stay home and curl up on the sofa with a giant cup of tea and an oversized blanket.

Or maybe you'd prefer a hot toddy. Whatever.

I just hate that my first thought was that I couldn't be sick right now because I had so much work to do -- because sickness, as we all know, can be sooo inconvenient. Why can't my first reaction to the onset of illness be: Yay, sick day!

And I don't even know how I caught whatever it is that I have.

The new guy at the office has been coughing, the guy in the cubicle next to him called in sick yesterday, and the woman in the office next to mine has a chronic bronchial problem. Could have been any one of them.

It could even have been the toddler that visited the office the other day with his mama. The cute little guy waddled right up to my candy jar and poked and pawed at the glass trying to get to those vibrant sour cherry balls. [This is MY candy, kid... don't you read?]

You see? This is why sharing is bad.

new food order

Sometimes the world calls for a different order.

Winter wasn't so wintery this year. There were more mild days than snowy ones, and even though that celebrity rodent said we'd have six more weeks of winter, it's really only snowed a day and a half since that proclamation.

This past Saturday was more evidence of this change. It was a great day for walking off the week's stresses -- one of those in-between days, with the sun out and a slight breeze to remind us that spring really is on its way. I went out with my brother, ran some errands, had lunch, did a little shopping and then decided I wanted to have dessert before heading home for dinner. Yes, dessert before dinner.

I wasn't looking for anything fancy. No flan, no fancy cake with chocolate curls and raspberry coulis. No, no. I wanted something down and dirty. Something like a chocolate sundae from a franchise I normally avoid.

And clearly, the people who patronized before us were thinking the same. That place was so down and dirty that they left their little friend behind. He didn't seem to mind, though, and remained at the table during our stay.

The only thing that bothered me -- other than the shockingly bad lighting, questionable decor and rowdy patrons?


Being stared at while enjoying my treat. It can be unnerving, you know?

at the very most

"I like to have a martini,

Two at the very most.

After three I’m under the table,

after four I’m under my host."

                                    Dorothy Parker

Went for drinks after work today to welcome the new guy into the fold. He hasn't even been with us for two solid weeks -- after the first, he was already on vacation -- but off we went to pickle ourselves.

I had two martinis. Two Bailey's mintinis. Why not experiment, right? It seemed an appropriate choice given it's winter and it reminded me of having hot chocolate (yes, with Bailey's) after a day of ice skating with Mr. Man. Maybe not the best option for pickling one's self, but it seemed like a good idea at the time.

[insert lesson here]

When the first one arrived, it looked like frothy, warm milk with a hint of cocoa. It was served in a stemless martini glass. With my youthful looks and this would-be glass of milk in front of me, they might as well have given me my blankie and a giant straw to slurp it up.

[insert wooden ruler to rap knuckles after not learning first lesson here]

Well, the second one arrived with a maraschino cherry wedged to the rim and a stumpy, fat straw bobbing in it. I hate maraschino cherries -- not that they would have known -- but what's up with the inconsistent presentation and, more importantly, with the blasphemous addition of a straw to this drink?

They just stopped short of topping it with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles. Maybe some cake and a pony ride when I'm done? Blah...

better than ice cream

Not that I make resolutions, but I have been pretty lax with my exercise regime for the past 17 days. Watching the Olympics will do that to you. Well, to me anyway.

I've been living vicariously through these athletes, watching them glide at dizzying speeds feet and head first down an icy slide, skating up and down a rink and taking shots on goal and, my personal favourite, whipping around that slick short track ice with legs burning. Seriously, all that activity really got my heart racing.

Add to that all the jumping up and down, screaming with fists clenched and running back and forth between the living room and the kitchen every time I heard the announcers ask, will it be a new world record?! and I must have burned a few hundred calories (not that I'm counting). You?

All told, it was the best Olympics ever. Ev-er. Canada won 14 gold medals, making us the most successful nation at the Olympic Winter Games. Go Canada Go!

And my favourite moment? Seeing Charles Hamelin win the gold and watching his love Marianne St-Gelais jump the barriers to get to him. There goes my heart again...

This was an ice cream moment if ever I saw one and I was without. Boooo... Instead, I clasped my hands together, cooed and cocked my head to one side like a dippy, lovesick teenager. They could have played that over and over and I'd never get sick of watching. It was an ooey gooey moment and I loved every ooey gooey moment of it.

Life should be filled with more of those don't you think?

it's official

I'm old.

Okay, so I may look about 20 years younger than I actually am and I haven't quite hit middle age, but the old lady in me is showing.

I look forward to getting that bundle of weekly flyers and delight in pouring over the deals. I'm not talking about half-price markdowns on designer fashions; I'm talking about 40 rolls of double-ply toilet paper for $5.99. Did you hear me? Five ninety-nine! That's 15 cents a roll! Vitamins are 2 for 1, my favourite Yali pears are on sale and yogurt is $2.99 for a 16-pack. That's right, 19 cents each! I can hardly contain my excitement. I am making a list as I go...

So I call my brother and share the news. Just the other day he texted me in the middle of the afternoon to say:

Yep. We old. Who cares? Frankly, I would have been more upset if he hadn't told me and I found out later that I could have been washing twice as many loads for the usual price.

And when I come home with enough toilet paper to wipe the entire neighbourhood's behinds, Mr. Man just grins at me. He's heard the explanation many many times. If we need this stuff anyway, we might as well take advantage of it whenever we can. And, yes, that also applies to the sale on ice cream.

Mom would be so proud.