It’s just a cake. It’s just a birthday cake.

Hey kids.

It’s my birthday in two days, and as such I’ve been gifted with some pretty sweet swag from Sephora:

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Seriously, all you need to do is purchase one expensive blush there ONE TIME, and two years later they’re still giving you free stuff!

Now that is the kind of relationship I can get behind.

So yes, this Sunday I turn twenty-eight years old, which officially vaults me into the “late-twenties” catagory.

This is fabulous, because it means that my actual age is finally catching up to what I feel to be my “inner age” – a number that I imagine hovers somewhere around seventy-two, give or take a few tubes of Polydent.

GET OFF MY LAWN YOU YOUNG WHIPPERSNAPPERS!

Ahem.

Meanwhile, my “outer age” seems to be suffering from a whacked-out case of Benjamin Buttons, as I can’t seem to go anywhere without getting IDed.

Just the other day I was carded at 7-11 while trying to buy a one dollar scratch and win.

(As you can imagine, my life is pretty much a continual stream of glitz and glamour.)

Of course, being me, I didn’t have any ID on me, (because who brings their whole wallet on a late-night jaunt about the neighbourhood?) so I wasn’t able to complete my purchase.

I was all: LOOK LADY – I’LL TAKE IT, BUT NEXT TIME GIVE ME THE DANG GOLD RUSH AND NO ONE GETS HURTS, YA DIG?

Then I took my can of coke and ran out of the joint laughing like a maniac.

(That didn’t actually happen.)

(OR DID IT?)

This weekend, Mr. M and I are going to gussy ourselves up for a fancy-schmancy dinner on Saturday night, and then it’s off to the familial units on Sunday afternoon for more pageantry and more importantly, some sweet, sweet Superbowl action.

(Or as myself and many others have taken to calling it: The SUPERBAUGH.)

To be honest though, I was so super (har har) bummed when Seattle was eliminated (WHY OH WHY DID YOU CALL THAT TIME OUT PETE!?) that I’m a little less than enthused about the two teams competing the finals. However, if I had to pick a team, I’m going for San Fran because I don’t think I have it in my being to actually cheer for Ray Lewis.

I cannot stand that guy.

I’ll have to wait a week to celebrate with friends, as VanComedy Fest is next Friday, but I figure what better time to jam that after some crack-up comedy?

And in the meantime…

Fry-up time!

Sister acts.

So I don’t know if you are all acquainted with the awesome Canadian power due that is Tegan and Sara (they are two sisters from Calgary, Alberta), but if you’re not, you should probably rectify this situation at once.

These gals have been making rad music for years, but their most recent release is much “poppier” than their older records, and being the pop-lover than I am, I really can’t get enough of it.

So if you have a hankering for some mad dancing about your house, please let me recommend the following:

Last weekend I was in full-on cleaning mode and I must have listened to this song well near twenty times.

Plus, this music video is pretty much exactly what I imagined every one of my birthday parties would be, during my years as a permanently love-struck, doe-eyed teenage girl.

(Unfortunately, it never did happen.)

(OR DID IT?)

Next!

Olive garden.

So the other night I returned home from work to a startlingly cold and very much empty house, what with my husband having to work late, and the temperatures hovering just above zero degree centigrade outside.

My whole neighbourhood was socked in with a low-hanging, thick, wet fog, and just walking home from skytrain had left me feeling well-soaked and completely ravenous.

After taking off my boots and putting on the fireplace, I immediately set about preparing a dinner that would both quell my hunger pains and warm-up my frigid little body.

(I may have taken a few minutes to cuddle with my kitten before commencing dinner preparations.)

The end result was a meal of spaghetti with tomatoes, olives, basil and fresh mozzarella, accompanied by crunchy French bread and a massive mug of earl grey tea (not exactly the most traditional drink, I know, but goodness knows if it wasn’t needed to rejig my sluggish circulation.)

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And it was absolutely, blooming glorious.

Onwards!

Part two.

So last week I wrote about Guy Ritchie and how much I liked Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

Well, I took many of my brilliant readers’ advice and watched Snatch, the quasi-following up to Lock Stock.

There I sat on the couch, with my spaghetti and tea, and there I laughed like a drain to end all drains.

Which is to be said, A LOT.

So thanks to you, beauty cats! Do keep the film recommendations coming – if there’s more laughing to be had, I WILL HAVE IT.

And there you have it you fab chaps! Are any of you celebrating a birthday this weekend?

I will be partying it up with my (day of birth) twin Alexei Kostitsyn.

That Belarusian doesn’t know how lucky he is.

Such a smooth operator

Yesterday I drank a beet-berry smoothie.

It was weird.

I really like beets. And I really like berries.

But mixing the two together in a smoothie was a little like drinking a (strangely sweet) emulsified garden.

That is definitely one sentence I never really imagined I would ever be writing.

Thank goodness that the drink was at least red, because goodness knows I cannot abide a green smoothie. Anytime I see someone sucking down some horrid kale-spinach concoction, I always think the same thing:

“It looks like they are drinking a salad’s tears!!”

JUST SAYING.

So anyway, the following facial expression pretty well sums up how I felt the entire time I was consuming the beverage:

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Not good. But not bad either.

Just strange. Really, really strange.

I’m fairly certain all of you are staring at your computer screens thinking: WHAT THE HECK IS SHE TALKING ABOUT?

To which I reply: BACK OFF YOU KALE MURDERING BASTARDS!!

Erm.

I mean, what I’m trying to say – in the most roundabout way possible – is that my life at the moment feels like one massive beet smoothie.

Ya know what I mean?

I’ve been feeling all over the place of late, stretched a little too thin by the GIANT ROLLING PIN OF LIFE and I’m having a little trouble trying to keep myself together.

And I really hate it.

I really hate feeling like I don’t have my stuff together.

But mostly I despise feeling like I don’t have my stuff together when my stuff IS actually together – all neatly folded away in colour-coordinated drawers (or hung on sweet plastic hangers, and not those awful cheap wire ones that always end up sagging in the middle) if you get my clothing-storage-focused drift.

Seriously friends – WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?

It’s like my Type A insanity is at an all time high.

Yeesh.

For all you other TAers out there, how do you cope when you’re certain your manic perfectionism is taking over your life?

Normally a solid week of 9 pm bedtimes has me feeling right as rain, but I’ve having a hard time getting myself together this time. Any advice you have to help me stop BEETing (heh) myself up would be much appreciated.

In the interim, shall we see what’s frying up on YE OLDE FRIDAY STOVE?

Forsooth, and forthwith my good chaps!

Clean as a whistle.

Exhibit A:

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Now, normally I wouldn’t get all shirty over a pre-washed bag of lettuce, but TRIPLE WASHED?!

Come on.

How dirty were the leaves to begin with? And how anemic was the water spray that they were using? Where you using something other than water to begin with? Who was doing this washing?

This notation had me so freaked out that the entire time I was eating my salad all I could think of was: I AM TOTALLY EATING ALL THE RADIATION AND OR COMPOST.

Compost salad!! AHHHHHHH!

Side note: Am I the only one who eats the entire bag whenever picking up one of these things for dinner? I always think that it will last me at least two servings, but nope! I hoover that stuff down like it’s a beet-berry smoothie.

Next!

Guns a-blazing.

So just the other night I finally sat down and watched Guy Ritchie’s Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels.

I remember when it came out and it was THE FILM amongst all of my guy friends (it, and Boondock Saints.) I don’t know what exactly it was that made me so resistant in the first place, but for some reason I just never got around to viewing it.

Over the years I somehow began conflate it (and other works by GR) with the films made by Quentin Tarantino, which only hardened my resolve never to watch it.

I won’t get into a diatribe on the subject, suffice to say that I don’t and most likely will never enjoy Mr. Tarantino’s films, as I believe him to be a psychopath.

Anywho, back to Lock Stock – this film is hilarious! Great acting, awesome directing, and really interesting cinematography.

I loved how every scene looked as though it filmed through the filter of a really dirty window. Or the bottom of a wine bottle.

Also, Jason Statham is hot.

Like, a lot.

Next!

Nap nap nap.

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OH HAI THERE!

TIME TO SLEEP FOR THE NEXT TWO DAYS?

ALSO NOMS PLS & THANX!

KBYE!

I don’t know about you folks, but I think I’m going to be following Nymeria’s lead.

What are your thoughts on squeaky clean lettuce leaves? Are you a fan of Guy Ritchie’s cinematic oeuvre? And what are you plans for the weekend?

Put up your feet, and rest awhile.