Like most Torontonians, I am only too aware of the fact that our fellow Canadians think we’re all a big bunch of wimpy winter snow sissies. Well, STICKS AND STONES PEOPLE! (Actually, we’re not really well equipped to handle that kind of flying branch and rock debris, so … you know, please don’t.) Read more
I like to think of myself as a reasonably rational person, not prone to hysterics. I also like to think I’m Tori Amos or a veiled wood nymph at times, but neither persona would have saved me from myself last night as I drove my car alone in the dark.
(ATTN: If you’ve NEVER thought to yourself, “Mother of God, I must be getting old”, then ditch this post, slip into your stilettos and go find a booze can somewhere. You just won’t get it.) Read more
When your bed is thrusting and vibrating and you’re the only one in it, something’s not quite right.
Today is my birthday, but it’s not just any old run-of-the-mill anniversary. At 7:00 this morning as consciousness broke I rolled over into my 50’s. However instead of gently greeting the new decade, this was the alarm clock parked outside my front door: Read more
Ants. The word itself invokes that “who invited YOU?” feeling as you lift your feet. But unlike Wilma Flintstone, I can basically deal as long as they don’t show up in my potato salad or my bed sheets.
But this morning they really crossed the line. As I grabbed my laptop off the table of the v-e-r-y rustic cottage we’re currently vacationing in, I saw an ant run for his life directly into the vent holes at the back of my Macbook Pro. For real.
Great. Thanks ant. He’s now taken full control of my cursor AND my keyboooord asdfiej af (oops, there he goes …)
Asfoewen laas wefk … ANTS RULE!
(Ok, he is SO getting the service bill for this.)
Summer 2013 is barreling down on me fast. Beyond the usual “How in God’s name am I going to fill TWO WHOLE MONTHS with my kids?”, I’m consumed this year by a far greater lament. On July 30th, I will turn fifty years old. F-I-F-T-Y years old.
I’m not sure who coined the phrase “fifty is the new thirty”, but chances are they were pretty hopped up on Botox when they said it. Believe me, I’m happy to have reached this milestone in one piece, but my chassis could sure use an oil n’ lube at this point.
When I look back on my mother at this age, she was squeezing herself into a latex girdle and shellacking her beige hair into a carbon fiber dome every morning, so I guess by comparison, I’m keepin’ it real. Of course, I have been known to use a little hairspray from time to time… Read more
If you’re anything like me and haven’t used your bike as a means of transportation since you were in grade school, then hold onto your handle bars; the cycling culture has changed a bit since we were kids.
Two months ago I was driving my car up a gentle mid-town incline when the accelerator began to choke, sending clouds of blue smog billowing out the tailpipe. Within an hour, my car was up on the hoist at our dealership, receiving its dismal diagnosis: defective crank case, possible new piston rings and head gasket, blah, blah, car talk, car talk. What was clear to me was the fact that I was going to have to find an alternate means of transportation until the coverage on my warranty, painstakingly outlined in 6pt font, could actually be deciphered, and hopefully, bled dry. Read more
For the 40+ baker, this pick-me-up patisserie is sure to please. It can be made in either muffin top tins or a loaf around pan, depending on your mood swing.
In bitterly segregated bowls, combine the following:
Wet
3 flaccid bananas
2 ovum
1/2 cup vegetable lubrication
Dry
EVERYTHING
1 cup brown spots rice flour
1 cup granulated mood enhancer
1 tsp baking stimulant
½ tsp salty tears
4 cups chocolate chips or ¼ cup Amoxapine