As you may have gathered I am moving tomorrow. The teeny, tiny memorabilia jammed shoebox I live in right now has been my home for the last 4 years. WHA? Four years spent in what was supposed to be a 6 month solution- oh how we veered off plan. And those of you who've seen this inner-child's cave have expressed that you wouldn't have been able to deal with living here- with your significant other plus dog plus cat+/- fish. So I just wanted to say nah-nah-nah-nah-nah I am better than you are:P Okay so maybe not better, but perhaps more tolerant, kind, patient, self-secure and well, better I guess. Whoa, I got away for a minute there. Can I say, I am quite elated that I managed not to shank, shiv or regular stab someone (mainly my loving Hubby). Being an "erratic personality" as I am the following list would have been just cause:
1. The washing machine that fits 3 pairs of undies, 2 pairs of socks and 1/2 cup of disappointment. It takes 3 hours to run a cycle of laundry and everything comes out ready for my american girl doll to wear.
2. One room- one room... one not very big room
3. Everything centres around the bed, and it's gotta be uncomfortable for people who visit us... I mean it's our bed. Hey everybody, come over and sit on our marital bed, that's your only option. Comfy yet?*insert creepy smile
4. One closet to rule them all- within this tiny condo closet all things must be stored- EVERYTHING: Winter coats, rain boots, kitty litter, anything that doesn't fit under the bathroom sink, extra dog poop bags, formal wear, paper towels, nautical ships wrecks, everything. Oh and did I mention half of that closet is a stacked washer/dryer? Yeah for 4 years two people used 1/2 of a closet.
5. The fire detector which is dangling precariously from our ceiling. One day 2 years ago it just let go, and now hangs there uselessly, it's given up, oh except if we're using the stove or the oven or making toast- then that lazy SOB screams bloody murder, and for what? the steam of an open oven door- All hands on deck- what a dick, you hear that fire detector, you're a dick.
6. The under the sink garbage that is too big and you have to open the right one before you can open the actual garbage and then close them in reverse order. Which doesn't sound like a big problem- except if you have a split bag of something leaking all over the GD place.
7. Eating dinner in my bedroom which is also my kitchen. We have a table straddling our bed which is our diningroom table, but it's really just a wood slab over our bed. Do you know how hard it is to eat every meal with your legs crossed? C'mon!
8. One room, did I already say that, well I really mean it. It's the worst, Micro-loft my ass.
With this scathing list of 8 items, it sounds all bad, but I will miss my rooftop patio with BBQs and Muskoka chairs and the CN Tower view, the park/dog toilet being next door, the quick walk to the Lakeshore, the Ossington bus, waiting at a King streetcar stop, being so close to my husband, cat and dog all the time and my fav Starbucks baristas who've finally mastered my customize Douche bag drink. Though what I will miss most is bitchin' about how much of a struggle it is living in this space:) But Pain+Time=Funny too bad it wasn't actually that painful.
This is a jam goes out to everybody's favourite party girl;) My beautiful Tambourine.
To all you sexy business women walking downtown, looking sexy in their grey- scratch that sexy charcoal business skirt with matching blazer over a collared pinstripe blouse. Usually your striding with great confidence. Legs clad in taupe pantyhose. What's that you're carrying? Oh, it looks like you're bringing work home tonight, something to do between dinner and This is the Voice. And though your short snappy haircut is shimmering in the nearly spring sunlight, I must raise my hand and ask you this...
WHat is up with those white New Balance runners?
Boo! Hiss! I mean you are rocking your shit otherwise. Make up- Check! Hair-did- Check! Job-requiring unpaid-overtime- Check! Lady-I mean it. There isn't a point in life when you have to give in to the Sneakers and skirt combo. You can find very comfortable, supportive and visually stunning shoes, it has become an attainable dream. Hurray for women's lib:) Whoa! With this new found feminism can I still remain feminine? "Oh Hell yes" *insert 3 cross body snaps. Colour me shocked. Somewhere, some woman put their hand up and said: "Can you try a litte harder? I am tired of my feet hurting." and then someone who knows the shoe folks said "Hey yeah, skirts look way better with pretty shoes." And so it was, shoes with straps to lock and load your feet. Heels with magic soles made of cloud. Boots that cradle your ankles, lullaby-ing them to sleep. Look around Beautiful, this dream can be yours. Your new spring shoes await you. Please, please, please, I know you can do it. You know you should do it. So do it, cause no one wants to be the Old woman who lived in the New Balance Shoe.
Today's hot topic is implied value. "Wha? What's that you ask?" Whoa gun-jumper, let me tell you....
Implied values are the "special" rates that Groupon offers or the "Prix Fixe" of Winterlicious/Summerlicious/every-other-possible-licious, except Melicious of course:)
First the Groupon:
These spas, resorts and all vendors in general are approached by a company- Dealfind, WagJag, Groupon etc... and asked to offer goods or services at a discounted rate. A discount of 50% or more to members who subscribe to their Coupon-ing services... So they want a full brazilian wax- not an inside leg lame one strip waxing, or perhaps they want a .5 carat pair of zirconium earrings, maybe a trip to Bermuda to sleep in a plane in a tree for 3 nights with dinner included. These are bargain basement prices on occasionally decent items...depending on what rings your bell. What you don't know is that of the slashed-everything-must-go-price-tag only 50% goes to the actual spa or resort. So when you look at it as a business model it's really all about generating a new client base.
Second the Winterliciou/Everything-licious epidemic
These restaurants apply for the honour of being on the Winterlicious map, menu and website. They are given a price point between $20-35 for lunch, and $35-50 for dinner, and must provide a prix fixe menu with multiple options for app, main and dessert. Again these prices may not reflect the actual cost, it is a promotion used as a tool to stimulate a new clientele.
So, where do they go so wrong?
Oh right, by taking it out on the customer bending them over, taking out their ladles and....oh wait, that's the graphic (graphic, but not images) novel I am working on... That's right, the staff bad mouth us as cheap, US, how very dare they. Trying their services or meals or whatever with a coupon, a GD coupon they agreed to! (mid-sentence exclamation means business) and they rip us off. Small portions, rushed dry food, plunked onto tables, no cares as to which lips you're getting waxed or where you're bleeding. As a business owner (I am currently CEO of this Website) I would suggest add-ons at the store level, I mean hello? Resorts could offer breakfast in bed with their local movie star? OR a spa could ask if you wanted that huge blackhead dealt with or if you just wanted to keep walking around like that. Not so hard, be innovative, I want to want to come back, but I am not going to with these shenanigans, strong words but I think you understand. You sold a full body massage, facial and manicure for 55 cents, that's not my fault. And even though it is a hell of a deal, just do it right would'ya? Don't you want me to come back and pay full price? Wouldn't you like me to tell my friends how great your Steak Tartare is? Cause I have a huge mouth and big neck, with a lot of breath support from my genetically modified lungs. I can dish with the best of them, I just wish you could too.
Shall we disgust the topic of Morbid Obesity? Yes, I think we shall. Where to begin?
The morbidly obese of the world are a sensory overload, with bodies that look like a train wreck, smell so strongly like a rotten Iron Chef episode you can taste it, the laborious wheezing after any kind of physical activity, the touch of their sweaty chocolate coated hands leaving marks on handrails and my sixth sense telling me that I don't think the human body was designed to carry that much extra, we could call it fat, but I think I'll just call it human jellyroll filling, cause it's the same gooey red stuff.
Now, all grossness aside, I don't understand how Really Really fat people, people who would benefit from walking or even standing get a motorized scooter. That's like saying "Well Jackie boy, you made a lot of bad decisions, ate yourself into a new handicap parking space, a shiny set of wheels, and you've developed type 2 Diabetes because you drink modified corn sirop. Congratulations!" Cue the confetti, marching band and balloons, oh wait this isn't a celebration it's an abomination. Attn: Scooter riders going the posted street speed limit on the sidewalk is not acceptable, heaven forbid I be strolling, as they pass me, shrieking for to "get out of the way" or "move it". It would have been great to have some of that need for speed before they became an angry scooter-bound manic. I think these scooters of the dumpy-damned should be calibrated to travel no faster than a brisk walking pace, agreed? That would make sense, unless, as a motorized vehicle they should be on the road... Oh, it's almost Darwinian* insert greedy hand rubbing
And since when did being a jerk become a prerequisite to being beyond fat? I mean it used to be called pleasantly plump for crying out loud. What happened to all the sweet super-fatties, who used to compensate for their outward appearance with their inner beauty? (Science debates inner beauty as a non-quantifiable entity) Of all the world's dying breeds, I miss the pleasantly plump the most. They were a group I once counted myself in, but there are too many reflective surfaces in this city and I am a dedicated student of vanity. Although I wouldn't mind a free scooter and I love jellyrolls...it's food for thought.
 Well hello there, do you like desserts? Have you heard of Cherpumple?
It is a (top to bottom) Apple Pie in a yellow cake mix, Cherry Pie in a white cake mix & Pumpkin Pie in a spice cake mix. A moment of melt-down, if you will.
This fiasco of fantastic culinary fusion unites the long feuding Cake with Pie. While watching a heated debate erupt betweem the two sides on twitter this article was posted by another fan of choosing all of the above. What a wonderful world it really must be if these two enemies can put their differences aside for the sake of all dessert kind. My chef's hat is off to you, could I have one delivered to my house? Yowsa! Does it come with pant extenders and a skinny mirror?
 Jilly wearing a faux Fox stole Have you met my dog Jilly? I know I talk about her as if I actually gave birth to her, now that would be hairy baby! Though her breath stinks and she smells a lot of bums. She is indeed my fur baby. I think living in a teeny space with hubby and I has warped her a bit... though not in an entirely dangerous way. This beautiful little Peagle- a 3/4 beagle, 1/4 pugg is stubborn like a me and loyal like hubby. She is also deathly afraid of being locked out of the bathroom and street signs that spin and plastic bags blowing in the wind (which are the most beautiful things in the world)- and men with hats and men in puffy jackets and people coming around corners and anyone trying to pet her and tell her she's a good girl. She is in fact a good girl, she just has low self-esteem, and gets embarrassed when people mention it. Oh but if she knows you have a treat, she will risk life and paw, to ensure that she gets it, dragging me to the bank and the concierge and the pet store and every dog walker in the city. As for nature vs. nurture, Hubby and I have nurtured the heck out her, perhaps too much? Whoa, whoa is that what people mean by spoiled? Oh snap. I spoiled my dog, I mean she sleeps curled up between my legs, pawing at me to create her ideal diamond shape sleep tank, my poor Mama while minding her over Christmas found this out the hard way, when my stinkeroo-puppa wouldn't sleep anywhere than with her: JILLY DOWN! At my parent's house she is obsessed with running the stairs- thundering down only to reach the bottom and speed through the room then bury her head shoulders deep in Reba's toy basket (Reba is my parent's huge Basset Hound. We call her the Big Lady), pulling out the deepest toy she can get a chomp on, sending the rest flying. Shaking the pink pig with the squeaker until she's dizzy and panting, collapsing onto the floor, after a brief rest period, she musters the strength trudging to the couch where Papa Bru has been all evening, steals his blanket and burrows into the split between the cushions and the couch, wrapped in his pre-warmed blanket. Oh my Jill-Bean she's a snuggle bug, though if cuddling was your idea, she lets out a sigh/grunt/whine to ensure you know she will tolerate your affection though she's not happy about it. Can I also mention her rawhide-ing problem? The Big Lady loves untying the knots in rawhide, so Jilly finds these long, generally pointy pieces of gross smelling half chewed whatever it is and buries them. She hides it in corners behind cabinets, and buries it deep between cushions, any super secret space she can find. My favourite is the invisible dirt she thinks the carpet is made of, nosing the fibers trying to cover her dirty stinky secret treasure, treasures my Mama will keep finding for weeks after our visit. As for her dog park antics, she has created a complex game requiring many players, where she runs in a circle, growling at herself, hoping others will take up the chase and when they do she turns the tables, changing directions, usually causing a 10 dog pile up. Also interesting when she really gets growl-running she sneezes, a lot, which I would think she gets from me, cause I only sneeze 5-7 times if I sneeze once, which I get from my Papa Bru, aren't genetics something?
 So yesterday if you were out and about or you have a window or a smart phone or a short wave radio you probably know that it was 13 degrees. And let's not pretend that 13 degrees isn't a BIG deal the first time it rolls around in our home and native land. Welcome lucky 13 with a low of 6, Yahoo triple cherries Jackpot! So being the brave optimist that I am I was easily convinced to sit up on my rooftop patio and enjoy this warm snap, now I may have over shot with no socks in my ballet flats, and just my thermal vest with a hoodie- but it's 13 dammit! and I am going to enjoy it. Get some much needed vitamin D and try to ignore that obnoxious blustery wind. Well, I was able to cope un-fortified for 23 mins. Then in a tiny voice I finally admitted- I think I need more layers to a chorus of unanimous agreement. So the three of us hobbled on frozen feet inside to insulate. Adding knee high socks, a scarf, mitts, and a under layer long john shirt- I was "Ah toasty" in no time. Now, the wind? I mean seriously, was he feeling left out that his much nicer cousin Sunshine was getting all the attention? Is that why he had to come around with his bad attitude and dusty breath and push us around. I don't mean to sound wind-ist- as I usually love him- he's such pleasant company on a hot summer day, winter though affects his disposition- and boy was he dis-posed yesterday. Take exhibit A the above photo is an example of Mr. Wind's handy work. He's such a jerk, although on the plus side I look like a grown up version of a hard-living Pebbles Flintstone. Regardless, I would not admit defeat and sat upon my rooftop for a total of 78 mins, which is pretty impressive, though it was more to prove I wouldn't be pushed around by that snotty Mr. Wind. After a quick warm up, I was on my way to Why-not-Wednesdays- where it was decided we'd sit on the patio- though we were no where near the heaters that called to us their flaming siren song. Oh and of course the special of the day was Raspberry Slush! Whoa wait it's only a blustery 13 degrees- who do we think we are? Slush? Oh alright, Why-not-Wednesdays unfold for themselves. As we watched the people around us gobble their food and get the heck inside I realized that you can't hurry love, no, you just have to wait. Patio season is coming, it just isn't here yet, that being said the next day it's over 10 you'll probably find me on a patio- I just won't learn, I miss you summer, Mr Groundhog said you'd be here soon. I don't think spring would mind if you came early, she's pretty temperate:)
I awoke this morning stretched and thought after all my hard work yesterday, hard work, HA, that I would take a day off. Then my fabu hubby told me that might be best, that I might be getting in too deep, and I have an addictive personality and he worries about me sometimes. Well, as soon as someone tells me to be careful I climb into my Evil Kenevil bathing suit, which is flame retardant (though so is water, but you never can be too cautious) and dive right back in again. So ladies and gents I am here once again sitting at my computer creating something semi-permanent. Hubby may have a point and even though I may agree with him, I will not admit that this is a passing fancy. Damnber- my BBFF has confirmed that I am a Master of being Jack of all Trades. But THIS, this is different, I have always written, and I have always thought I was hilarious, even if I was the only one laughing. The pleasure I derive from this- and I mean instant gratification. Not the pleasure I get from a way too hard Crosswords I cheat my way through, or waiting at the corner of New Development Ave and Not yet Gentrified Blvd for the streetcar, I mean actual pleasure- the minute I post these words. So as far as addiction goes, this seems relatively benign. A few words, some secrets, a story, a panic attack and a laugh. What so addictive about that? Other than the sharp pain and burning itch to post again, just to see if I can do it, I need it. Just for a second, I can quit anytime I want to, I just don't want to. So much for my day off, sorry Hubby:) But he does love the daredevil bathing cap.
For the record my passing fancies include but are not limited to: Jewellery making, a line of snappy greeting cards, comic book collecting, painting- both acrylic and oil, calligraphy, crosswords, writing, catering, massage therapy, sketch comedy, aesthetics, working at an advertising agency, staffing agency, marketing firm, mortgage broker, restaurant, event planner, spa and trying to run them all.
While working in the aesthetic industry I was entranced by a multi-step dermal care system. Like a un-exfoliated snake charmed by the sweet sounds of the skin flute (oh wait, that's a different story) I bought into the practice of wash-rinse-remove-cleanse-massage-rinse-exfoliate-massage-rinse-re-rinse-spot treat-age target-moisturize and seal. Though I have all these products with their various accessories scattered, stacked and stored in my teeny condo bathroom, none of these products are the same shape or size, oh no, they are as irregularly shaped as they are infrequently used, stacking, tumbling and taking up space much to the cha-grin of my hubby. And surprise, surprise, I am not easily motivated to do un-fungrueling things for myself (ie: gym, taxes, multi-step systems of any kind), especially after a grueling day of thinking about what I will write for you tomorrow, I can barely muster the enthusiasm to rinse and remove my under eye concealer, which has become a crutch, spackling my newly acquired uber-dark-bags, though it was not long ago I could go without a stich of make-up *implied shocked mock-cheerleader voice (I say mock as I worry about someone actually remember I wasn't a cheerleader, or that my high school didn't actually had a squad). Speaking of cheerleaders, I could start wearing football eye blacks- they might actually create the perfect diversion to what's happening up here* implies a circular gesture to dilapidated** face area. It seems I might actually be getting older, though I thought older/wiser were part and parcel- in fact not so, just the older part is ensured, Older/wiser requires pre-registration. Soooo....let's get a bit more honest than you might like, while watching "THIS is tha Vo-ICE!" I was picking, one might even say digging, at my dead dull lifeless skin, each cell precariously clinging to my face, snuggled up against the winter winds and displaying a serious lack of vitamin D, why? Why won't it just go away, slough off would ya? With you gone I am free to reveal the radiant creature my 3D dermal-dimension-insert D-word here, product line promises is underneath many-MANY layers of contaminated surface skin, I'm like an old gas station, applying for a building permit. Hazzah, I realize with relish- step 7 is my only hope, though step 7 alone cannot rescue this post-February-still-Blah-late-Mardi Gras-early Leprechaun mask, it will take the Tenacious Twelve to save me now. Twelve time consuming steps to the rescue, swooping in to save the day. With this team of super-stringents at my side and on my bathroom counter, I begin grooming the H-E-double hockey stick out of myself! Plucking and prodding, massaging and scrubbing, moulting layers of dead snake skin, finally unveiling the skin within, my face renewed and dewey, which my mother says is the key to youthful beauty. Soft, satisfied and sealed I slither into bed, ready to Face (see what I did there?) the coming morning. With a theme song I awake- a bright and cheerful morning- Whoa wait, what do I spy? Three white-headed friends who've taken up residence: Olivia, Janice and Pusie, which I feel is grossly fitting. Are you kidding me? Alas no joke, though today's theme song continues reminding me 4 heads are better than one... and they are growing on me:) though hopefully not for long.
**Side note: I thought the word was delapitated, it's not, your welcome.
WHAAAt? My father found out I was moving through my blog. Well, there goes that big shiny smart idea that my parents wouldn't be interested in reading my silly little blog. Turns out they do in fact read my blog, which means they do in fact read my facebook, which might also mean they read my twitter... oh the many implications. I wasn't actually sure that people would read this. I mean who am I and what do I do? *Austrian accent implied. Oh yeah, I am Melicious (see home page) and I write a blog sometimes. Sorry, all that Quantum Leaping has given me a swiss cheese memory. I knew that people thought I was amusing, I mean slightly less interesting than a real personality, but more informative- shall we say, opinionated than most strangers shouting their opinions from soap boxes or on streetcars.
Dang! swiss cheese- Here we go, BEA-ack to the 'rents reading this blog: Well, my parents have always been supportive, and I never wanted to hurt their feelings, but they're the reason I am who I am- take it as you will Pops. But in a book I am reading which should be called "Teach me to be funny, cause I'm not", the author is teaching me to make fun of my dearest most supportive fans, and she says they'll actually appreciate it. Now, my family relishes a good roast, but what's good for the goose ain't always so good for the gander, if you catch my drift. I guess what I really want to know is...boom ba doom boom... Are you gonna go my way? *Kravitz accent implied. I think I would like to make fun of me and my parents, and me and my brother and my husband and I, my dog, the cat, their owner (me), my living situation and struggling career, cause I don't really know anything else, and eventually branch out to making fun of well still mostly myself, boy I have got material! So, I guess the question is daddy, if you're reading this, is it still mean if you mean well?
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