Tag: Food

A year of ranting and rolling

Can you believe it?

One hundred and eighty-odd posts later and here we are – looking back on a year of blogging.

I started Rant and Roll because I love to write and because I am easily destroyed by issues that either break my heart or force steam out of my ears.

My amazing friend Sherie encouraged me to write down my rants, mostly due to the fact that she would absolutely kill herself laughing any time I was on the warpath, orating and gesticulating widely (like the modern day – severely pissed off – Pericles that I can be.)

And so I did.

At first all of my posts really were rants – calling out injustices, lamenting social ills, and waxing long on my huge beef with institutionalized sexism.

Pfft. If it’s not cutting at least 50 lbs, I can’t even be bothered.

But then, little, by little, my small corner of the internet began to evolve.

Sure, I still wrote about issues near and dear to my heart (I don’t think I could stop even if I tried.)

However, I also started to write about other things – my relationship with the brilliant man whom I share my heart and home; our kitty cat who rules the roost; and my travels both near and far, new and old.

Ms. Nymeria cuddling with Mr. M.

I began sharing pieces of fiction and poems.

My tricky relationship with the fashion industry has been well documented (as have the very good and very bad pieces I’ve stumbled across whilst playing dress-up on my lunch breaks.)

I’ve written about my past struggles with eating disorders and an experience from my youth that has left me scarred, but not broken.

I’ve written about my rocky relationship with hockey and my slow-building courtship with soccer.

CONCACAF action.

In April I was Freshly Pressed and it was pretty much the COOLEST THING EVER.

There were days that I was so tired coming home from work that I cried.

But I also drooled on the metro.

I made pea soup and I cooked breakfast for dinner.

I hiked a mountain in California, and came third in my third ever half-marathon.

Beautiful Haystack Mt.

I was a Tough Mudder.

All that mud covered a crap load of bruises and cuts!

I took on the “I don’t watch TV” crowd.

I laughed a lot.

It has been simply smashing.

So what have I learned from this brilliant experience? What do I take away from three hundred and sixty-five days of blogging?

Well, the first thing is that I am darn proud of my little R&R.

On day one I swore to myself that I would write three times a week, no excuses.

At first it was hard – I wanted each piece to be INTELLIGENT, and THOUGHT PROVOKING.

High brow or die! FIRE AT WILL COMMANDER.

But then I just started to sit back and let it flow. I made sure not to force any one post into being something that it wasn’t – that it couldn’t be.

Looking back, there were some weeks where I wrote four, even five posts – not because I felt like I had to, but because I was inspired, and passionate, and excited, and so so happy to feel my fingers a-tap-tapping, flying across the keyboard, just trying to keep up to the pace of my frantic thoughts that were just spilling out of my head, onto the desk, and all over the floor.

I’ve learned that pictures and media are a good way of adding colour to your blog (no pun intended).

Palm trees at night, a visual delight.

(Or just to drive home the point of how truly bonkers you really are.)

I’ve learned that spam bots will leave comments that leave me breathless from laughter, and that real life people will leave comments that melt my heart into a puddle of mush.

(This is a good thing.)

But it the end, what I first and foremost take away from this crazy year of blogging is the opportunity to make my way through the remarkable WordPress community, read some outstanding blogs, and get to know some truly phenomenal people.

To all of my brilliant and beautiful blog friends, I wouldn’t want to do this without you.

You make me laugh at your fantastic wit.

You make me cry with your profound prose.

You make me fall in love with your children and your pets.

You make me jealous of all your amazing fashion pieces, and your delicate eyes for mixing and patching different patterns and palates.

You make me run faster, and work out harder.

You make me marvel at your art, your photography, your writing.

You make me want to be a better blogger.

You make me want to be better.

So thank you. Thank you all.

Here’s to another year of blogging.

Till next time champs!

So everyone buckle up – here come the terrible twos.

Stirring up trouble

Hey dudes.

Do you want to know what is the absolute worst thing ever? Like, in the world?

I’ll tell you what: FIRE ALARM TESTING.

Yeah, I’m about two shrill shrieks away from a murderous rampage to end all murderous rampages.

Not to mention the fact that my poor cat is utterly traumatized.

At first, when it started this morning, she was all, “MOM! WHY!?”:

And as the day progressed, she morphed into a fragile shell of her former amazon-Dorne self, until I found her like this in our upstairs office:

The poor thing had eyes as big as saucers.

Urg. It’s now 5:08pm and THEY ARE STILL TESTING THE DARN THINGS.

If these bastards aren’t finished soon, I’m going to take a dump in their boot and cut the brake lines in their van. Don’t think I won’t do it!!!

WOAH.

Erm.

Okay. That was too much. Dial it back there Eth, you’ve gone too far.

Sorry folks, I don’t know what got over me there.

But seriously, my head is pounding, my ears are ringing – even my heartbeat seems all off.

In short, I feel like utter rubbish, and I look like it too.

(But not smell. I smell like vanilla deliciousness.)

About an hour ago, peering at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I instinctively recoiled.

“FIE! AWAY FOUL BEAST AND DIE!” I shouted (because as you know, I live in a Shakespeare play.)

Either way, things were circling the drain, AND QUICK. So what did I do to combat this malaise? This lethargy of the soul, and hideousness of the face?

I did what any (semi) sane vegetarian would do.

I made a vegetable stirfy.

Pics or it didn’t happen you say?

GOOD THING I BROUGHT THE BIG GUNS. Let’s dive in, shall we?

 

Eat some carrot pieces if you so wish. I often do.

Don’t forget the onion!

Or the garlic for that matter.

Preeeeety colours.

Add the eggplant early because it takes the longest to cook.

Muuuuushroooooooms.

Definitely take time to be a weirdo.

Sgt. Peppers

Why I’m so strong.

So saucy!

The final product.

Dig in!

p.s. I have a secret. I want to tell you all, but I must keep it safe until the time is right. FRODO BAGGINS!

Yep. Officially mad.

Now open your eyes

Things are happening.

I can feel it in the crackle of the early autumn air.

…

Just breathe:

He lay upon the red clay, and the world shook to swallow him. Under his father’s sodden cloak, eyes closed, he heard nothing, saw nothing. All was sensation, cool knuckles of the thick riverbed gripping his back and arms; he sank a little more before the tremors stopped.

He waited for the cloak to be husked off, ripped from his body. They would find him, soon. He lay yards from cover under this pathetic shroud; they were toying with him. His weeping eyes stared open expecting the clouded night sky, and the coppery anticipation of death coated his own tongue – made his breath stink like the earth.

The silence was all.

He waited for strangers.

His breaths grew shallow under the thick material, slowed with the cold of it and he remembered reaching that point finally, where the immensity of fear was devoured by a monstrous finality, a sense of end, and he decided to die.

The small arm that pulled clear of the muck was stiff and unfamiliar, as if another boy hid there with him, was betraying him.

Then the cloak fell aside, and all was a screaming panorama of the looming forest and the angry darkness, and a total emptiness – their absence. His sniveling helplessness spurred to quicken his blood; he saw himself as if from the edge of the trees, a shaking unreality.

And that was all, his earliest memory.

…

And see:
Sunset.
Bridge.
Mural.
Food.
Cat.
Love. (And one of my favourites of the summer.)
…
Happy Wednesday to you all.

I am so smart. S-M-R-T.

Hey you beauty cats.

Today the sky is filled with sunshine, and it is glorious.

I have been a bit knackered as of late, as for most of the week I have been staying up way past my bedtime and knocking about the place like a social butterfly with vertigo.

On Monday Mr. M and I kicked some serious general knowledge butt with our friend A’s pub quiz team (otherwise known as Taking Care of Quizness. And hey! Don’t hate. With a team jam packed full of physics PhD’s, literature masters, classics keeners, and poli-sci pros, our nerd quota was so high that Steve Urkel actually showed up and put in an application to join the group.)

We ended up winning the top prize (and fifty bucks!), much to the chagrin of the Philoso-rapters, and the Sandy Vaginas.

(What a name. Doesn’t really make you want to head to the beach anytime soon, does it?)

Also, I couldn’t help but wonder if every time the former team answered a question correctly they would look at each other and say, “Clever giiiiiiiirl.”

(Before, you know, ripping that person apart, and eating their dismembered corpse.)

Erm, just in case you don’t know what I’m talking about, please see exhibit A:

Onwards!

Today I had an amazing lunch – a calamari sub from the absolutely dee-lish travelling wagon of culinary delights know as “Slingers.” It’s a food truck that specializes in gourmet sandwiches, and this offering near but knocked my socks off.

If any of you folks are kicking about Vancity in the next little bit (Ms. Audrey I am looking at you my darling) do yourselves a favour and tickle those tastes buds of yours at this here joint.

I promise that you won’t regret it.

Speaking of which, I was skulking around the hallowed halls of H&M yesterday, trying on far too many sundresses for my own good, when I came across a little blue and white number, with a fitted bodice and a hem line that wasn’t completely scandalous.

I tried it on, but wasn’t feeling it one hundred percent, so I ended up leaving the store empty handed.

Well, I woke up this morning unable to get it out of my mind. So as I threw back the blankets and jumped out of bed I exclaimed (just like General MacArthur before me), “I SHALL RETURN!”

Okay. So that didn’t happen at all. (Wouldn’t that have scared the crap-ola out of poor, unassuming Mr. M.)

But I did return, and I did buy the dress.

I plan on wearing it all weekend long, paired with this fabulous grey cardigan I picked up at Zara earlier in the week.

It has elbow patches guys. ELBOW PATHCES!

Meep.

The only ever fly in the ointment about going away (for any length of time really) is that I always hate saying goodbye to our little gal.

This is how I found her this morning before heading out to work:

Good grief, she is so adorable, I actually sometimes feel as though I grow drunk on her cuteness.

It’s a liability man! She could rule the world if only she could 1.) speak and 2.) sleep less than fifteen hours a day.

Cor. What a life.

I gave her as many chin scratches and belly rubs as I possibly could, before my elaborate love-in made me late for the train.

There will be extra snuggles when we arrive home on Sunday night.

What are you fabulous folks up to for the weekend?

I wish you nothing but love and laughter, always.

These sounds of summer

Friends!

I have but one summer wish for you all. It is for every single one of you to be given the chance to enjoy the hilarity and joy that is The Merry Wives of Windsor at Bard on the Beach.

Talk about an inspired performance. I was actually clutching my sides with laughter during some of the scenes.

I believe the correct words are: gut and busting.

If you can, go, go, GO! (In the parlance of Joseph and the yadayadayada, if you will.)

It will not disappoint.

I have been spending as much time outside as possible, in an aim to soak up all the golden goodness that the weather gods have finally unleashed on our fair land (after much coaxing from us mere mortals let me assure you!)

This weekend M and I are off to the cabin for one last solo hurrah before all the friends and family you can possibly imagine descend upon our humble abode until, well, basically the end of August.

We shall be whooping it on the hiking trails, running the hilly roads, and swimming like wee fishes in the cool and briny deep of the ever mysterious Pacific Ocean.

Actually, one of my most favourite things do to in the whole wide world whilst up on the Sunshine Coast, is to go for a run in the early morning and upon my return, fly down to the dock, strip down to my unmentionables, and plunge straight into the bay.

There is nothing quite like hitting that water, the sweat and salt sliding off of your skin, wriggling, diving, turning – legs a cool grey-green just below the surface, refracted by the suns bright rays.

This, this I promise you.

Plus the folks in the neighbouring houses who watch think me to be abso-bloody-bonkers.

Which, of course, I love.

Speaking of which, here are some photos from this weekend past:

Amazing noms.

Meat platter for M. Feta, black pepper, and parsley fries for me.
It’s always a good time for gelato.
Homemade greek salad. Pellegrino. Book. YES.

Shake(speare) your groove thang.

The entrance to Bard.

Sweatin’ to the oldies.

Though I love the heat, it makes me perspire like a mad-woman when I run.

Views for the ages.

English bay.
Duck armada.
Sunset from our balcony.

Et tu, Brute?

The classic Canadian Caeser + NYT Crossword? Oh yeah baby.

Tonight M and I are off to a local pub for trivia with some sweet, sweet friends.

I hope they will still be sweet, sweet friends by the end of the night, goodness knows how competitive I get when it comes to games (and in particular those that revolve around the answering of general knowledge questions.)

It should be a grand time.

What did you fancy cats get up to over the weekend?

I want to hear all about it.