Thoughts for Company

Sometimes you never know how much you care for something until that unexpected moment when the light bulb goes off in your head and suddenly everything you’ve ever questioned in life, everything you thought you’d never fully understand, the burdens that you’d resigned to bearing alone… that weight miraculously lifts off your shoulders and nothing else in the world matters, and you freeze in that time and space as the haze instantly clears - and you just know.

Sometimes that trigger is a great, fortuitous coincidence, a chance alignment of all your lucky stars, the culmination of years of willful thoughts shot out into the universe.

Sometimes it’s much more simple.

Like earlier today, when I was prepping a snack for the road - tofu sesame snacks, in this case.  Those of you who know me well will know that I almost never leave the house without some sort of food on my person.  I don’t like to be hungry, and (most) others certainly don’t deserve to see me hangry.  (And this gives me a reason - as if I needed another - to purchase progressively larger and more extravagant handbags.  But I digress.)

So you can imagine how this episode caught me off guard.  I knew I enjoyed tofu, as I do lots of yummy food. But nothing could prepare me for this.

In a rush, I haphazardly threw the sticks into a Ziploc bag, courteously leaving the top open to allow the heat to escape from the suffocating plastic confines.  I thought nothing of this act, and proceeded with my preparations for an afternoon appointment.

But then - alas!  I looked over to check on the steamy fugitives and the bars of solid gold they abandoned, and discovered an explicit message, delivered unconsciously from myself - to myself - about my feelings for tofu.

A true love affair, decades in the making, cultivated by many a gigantic family dinner in a noisy Chinese restaurant; many a variation, be it silken or stiff, steamed or stir-fried, savoury or sweet, or even “stinky”; many a bucket of tofu pudding (not as gross as it might sound, trust me!); and finally celebrated this afternoon.

A true love embodied by the fluid dance of blue and pink seal on the innocent Ziploc bag.

I looked at my tofu, and my tofu looked back at me.

And now, it delights me to announce that my tofu and I…

…well, we had a nice run.  *rubs belly*

THIS POST CONTAINS MATURE SUBJECT MATTER. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

Who says the Olympics are all fun and games?  The party’s gotta end some time, and perhaps not soon enough for the young, bushy-haired hooligans wreaking havoc on our beautiful city.

The merciless civilian justice system handed down the sentence of decapitation to the cake form of Vancouver 2010 Olympic Winter Games mascot, Quatchi.

The tasteless crime?

Public deliciousness.  (No appeals were heard - because who could argue?)

Watch as Quatchi pays the ultimate price.

Miga, Sumi, and Mukmuk - Quatchi’s closest friends - chose not to attend the event, likely for fear of the same fate.

In a eulogy delivered on the Vancouver 2010 website, Quatchi was portrayed as an adventurous, fun-loving creature who would never have the opportunity to realize his dreams.

Oh, another life cut short by gluttony…

RIP Quatchi.  It was nice eating - I mean, meeting - you.

NOTE: Not that anyone was wondering, but no - I cannot take credit for this fabulous creation.  (Unfortunately for us all, this is not the latent super talent I’ve been waiting for.)  Cake hobbyist extraordinaire / master photographer Alyssa Fahlman is responsible for this Quatchi (cake and pics!), and though she doesn’t yet have her own TLC show, I don’t expect it will be long before she does - if she wants it.

Somebody stop me - I’m out of control!

Try as I might to beat this topic to death, it refuses to die.  So here’s just one last mention… and this time, I mean it.

The Snuggie’s 15 minutes of fame are starting to seem more like 15 years, but somehow the novelty has yet to wear off on many Americans.  And if you’re still a fan, Cleveland is the place to be.

Guinness World Records is sending an adjudicator to Quicken Loans Arena to bestow the honour of “Largest Gathering of People Wearing Fleece Blankets” when the Cleveland Cavaliers tip off against the Detroit Pistons on March 5.  Each of the 20,000+ fans in attendance will be given a free burgundy Snuggie emblazoned with the logo of their home team and promotion sponsor KeyBank, and will be required to drape themselves in the snuggly goodness for the first 5 minutes of the game.

Word on the street is that the folks at Snuggie even custom-made gigantic Snuggies for the NBA players themselves, though I wouldn’t count on LeBron and co. to help pad the Guinness stats - official NBA uniform supplier Adidas likely wouldn’t be so fond of the switch.

Which is too bad, ladies, because you may recall that the Snuggies are backless…

The sheen of the Snuggies in question suggest a more luxurious fabric than fleece - velour perhaps?  George Costanza would be proud.

No word on the current record, though I suspect it might be 1 (unless you count your dog).

Because friends don’t let friends wear Snuggies in the presence of other human beings.

Has a nice ring to it, eh?

Unless you’ve been living in an igloo somewhere far, far away from Cypress Mountain, you’d have noticed by now how insanely, uncharacteristically, fantastically festive the city of Vancouver has been over the last 13 days of the 2010 Olympic Winter Games.

I dare you to try walking down Robson Street at any hour of the day without feeling like the lone west coast salmon swimming upstream.  Vancouver is known for its seafood, after all.

Some revellers might even describe the international sporting shindig as a zoo.  And perhaps they’d be right, judging by the photograph below.  We snapped this one last Thursday outside the Richmond O Zone after a rockin’ set of classic 90’s hits by Canadian band Our Lady Peace.

Why a zoo?  Because animals don’t wear mom jeans, silly!

Obviously.

So whatever animal came to the party in the wrong outfit quickly learned the error of his ways and found redemption in the form of indecent exposure.  Isn’t it amazing what a little Heineken can do?

Now, watch as I cleverly sidestep the obvious pants-on-the-ground joke…

I so badly wanted to blog on this topic last week, when I first learned about the latest, greatest, unnecessary invention.  But since I planned to make it a doggie shower gift without the recipient - or recipient’s owners, rather - knowing in advance, I had to keep it on the DL.  You never know who’s reading.

And how excruciatingly difficult this was!

You may be familiar with my take on the Snuggie (see here and here to catch up) - perhaps even sick of all the Snuggie talk - but hear me out, just this once.

Have you heard of…

…the Snuggie for Dogs?!

I visited the mall recently to pick up some Vancouver 2010 Olympics gear, so I figured I’d pop into Zellers to check if they had the Snuggie for Dogs in stock (I was told they carried the human variety).  The task seemed simple enough.

Until the clueless employee asked me, “What’s that?”

“Duh, it’s a Snuggie but for dogs…” I remarked sarcastically to myself, but clearly this wouldn’t have helped.

So I had to say it.  Out loud.  To another human being.

“It’s like a big blanket… made of fleece… but with sleeves… and for dogs…”

*awkward, blank stare*

She responded politely enough, but she might as well have had me committed at that point.

I eventually struck gold at good ol’ Canadian Tire, where I learned that the Snuggie for Dogs could be found in - get this! - aisle 61.  (61+ aisles?!  Canadian Tire = random home gadgets heaven!)

So the lucky puppy got his new, blue blanket with sleeves over the weekend! Hopefully he is enjoying a mind-boggling game of backgammon as we speak…

I wish they made the Snuggie for Dogs in size 10XL (maybe 11).  Then I could try it out myself, since I am as yet dogless, and provide a meaningful review.  What I know already: the best part - and this is where the human Snuggie is lacking - is that the dog version comes with handy velcro strips in the back so that it doesn’t fall off when one runs around the yard - err, sits at one’s desk.  Right.

I’m going to campaign for this improvement in the Snuggie 2.0.  “Dear Mr. Snuggie…”

Who’s with me?

At what age can one no longer qualify to be a child prodigy?

Because I’m still waiting anxiously for my special talent to reveal itself - everyone’s supposed to have something, right? - and being a child prodigy is much, much more fascinating than being a ho-hum, regular prodigy.

I just hope I’m not running out of time.

Fortunately for this 4-year-old boy from China, he won’t have to grow up with the same, debilitating sense of anticipation.  He already knows what his calling is.  (He’s likely also a math whiz and concert pianist, so his curse will be choosing which one to pursue!)

Check out his recent performance on The Ellen Degeneres Show.

And, of course, here’s the video that started it all.

I hope never to meet him at the annual family Christmas party dance off.

And yes, this is an actual event…

Not sure how to fill in that blank, so I thought I’d ask you!

Found this while cleaning up (company was coming…).  And in true hoarder fashion, I’m not going to chuck it - at least until we confirm that I won’t someday need it.

Any guesses?

I thought I had finally found my niche.

Bloggers are supposed to have a niche.  That’s how you earn a steady following - by appealing to a specific group of readers who share the same interest and find value in what you have to say.  And that’s how you might one day, in about a gazillion years, earn a steady income from it.

Whenever someone asks me what my blog is about, I always reply, somewhat uncomfortably, after pretending that this is the first time I’ve ever been asked the question, “Me, I suppose.”

I mean, if I‘m interested in me, shouldn’t everyone else be?  Now, won’t you please excuse me while I have one of my servants brush aside the single wayward strand of hair that has escaped from my up-do and landed rebelliously upon my right cheek?  Sigh, that I even have to snap my fingers at all…

But I digress.

I thought I had finally found my niche: making fun of things, like the Snuggie and PajamaJeans, which seem to have captured the heart of the nation, or at least fascinated consumers enough for them to fork over their recession-worn dollars and buy… $40+ million worth of Snuggies - according to year-old figures?!  That can’t be right.

So you can imagine my excitement when my mom generously offered me the choice of either the NeilMed SinusRinse or Neti Pot.

But first, some background: a few nights ago, we had mistakenly left the central heating system running full blast all night.  And for some reason, the consequences of this was more pronounced in particular areas of the house (i.e. my bedroom).  The heat made the night almost unbearable.  I barely got a wink of sleep, and I “woke up” (a term that erroneously assumes one actually slept) with horribly clogged sinuses.

I’m not a doctor and therefore have no idea how exactly this situation transpired.  Likely something to do with allergens circulating in a confined area over a prolonged period of time, but in any case, I was stuck with enough (funky-coloured!) mucous to give the Nanny a good run for her money.

There are perks to being a Pharmacist’s Daughter (besides what NOFX would have you think).  I have access to random sample- and full-sized treatments and gadgets that wouldn’t normally be found bursting out of your kitchen drawers.

Which explains why my mom had more than one of each of the SinusRinse and Neti Pots on standby should this situation ever arise.

When she first offered them to me, it was hard not to laugh at the stupid-looking blue plastic teapot.  After all, it made me feel like a giant, which rarely (if ever) happens.

I asked her if she was kidding.

I asked her why anyone in the right mind would prefer to lean over and pour tea into their nose when they could just as easily use a squirt bottle and remain upright (and dignified) through the process?

I asked her how retailers could afford to waste precious shelf space on the Neti Pot when - obviously! - no one would be buying it.  (Spoken like a true business grad.)  It probably just sat there, looking cheerful (as teapots do) but also pathetic, next to the regal SinusRinse, like the younger brother who could never quite fill the shoes of his elder sibling.

“Oh,” she said, “but people loooooove the Neti Pot.  It was on Oprah!”

Ahh, Oprah… What the woman says, goes.  (Consumers dare not disagree with Oprah!)  Who did I think I was, slamming the Neti Pot when the Queen of America is a believer?

So I announced to my mother, triumphantly, “I shall try your Neti Pot!”  (True story… Guess you had to be there.)

But it sat on the counter for a couple days until it caught the eye of my brother, who asked me if that was his Neti Pot.  “Back off, get your own Neti Pot!” I replied, suddenly overprotective of something I don’t even want.  (Much like the trendy dress you’re trying on, the one that looks absolutely hideous on you but you still consider buying because another girl that looks a lot like you is eyeing it from the next change room, and, well, we can’t have that happen, now can we?)

Anyway, it turns out that my brother is a fan of the Neti Pot - a true believer.  Squirting solution up into the nose, SinusRinse-style, is too aggressive for his tastes… just goes against gravity and everything he stands for, I suppose.

And I guess pouring nose tea is much more civilized (like the British).

So I inspected the package, which has a novel’s worth of text.  How anyone could stand to read the whole darn thing is beyond me.  Fortunately, the folks over at NeilMed realized this and created their very own cheesy infomercial video to teach consumers how to use the Neti Pot.

Because people don’t like to read.  Watching is much easier.

As I write this, I am preparing my concoction while listening to the friendly female voice instructing me to keep my mouth open.  I have to admit, I’m a little put off by her warning: It shouldn’t come in your mouth unless you are tilting your head backwards. Eww, but good to know.

The first attempt is not successful.

Neither is the second.

Or the third.

Frantically, I call my mom at work.  (Hey, it’s pharmacy related!)  I explain the problem.  I’m pouring it into my right nostril, leaning to my left, and waiting anxiously for the stream to come through the other end - except it doesn’t.  It just builds on the right side until it feels like my brain is about to explode (sort of like when you’re “doing” an impossible Sudoku).  “Did you put the solution in?” she asks.  (Ohh, I thought I was supposed to pour air!)  “Did you watch the video?”  (Yes, mother.)  “Try going from the other side.”

I tell ya, the woman is a genius!

I’m clear from the left, and then the right works too.  But it really isn’t as pleasant a process for me as it appears to be for the woman in the video, or the one who demonstrated on Oprah.  It’s like I accidentally got a noseful of chlorinated public pool water after “swimming” through a suspiciously warm and murky green patch.  (Get it out, get it out!)

My nasal passages seem clearer, though.  I can breathe again!  I don’t have to blow my nose as frequently - or violently.  And luckily, none of the solution made its way into my mouth.

This is one strange product I can’t really ridicule too much, because it works… and kind of makes sense?

And while I don’t think I’ll make it part of my daily routine, as the video suggests, I’ll certainly use it on special occasions (like when I need to breathe).

Until then: tea, anyone?

I know, I know… I look like I’m barely old enough to be driving, let alone masterminding my defense against wrinkles.  I still get asked when I’ll be graduating from high school, and if I were to frequent night clubs and/or liquor stores, I’d definitely get carded.

But hey, if I can take simple steps now - why not?  I already get my share (and probably yours, too) of fruits, veggies and omega-3s; slather on the SPF every single day (which says a lot, considering Vancouver’s ubiquitous cloud cover); and gag within 100 metres of someone smoking.

And while I may look as though I’d be able to pull consecutive all-nighters, the truth is I sleep like an 90-year-old - minus the dentures floating in the glass on the nightstand next to my bed.

Which I thought was a good thing, until I read that I’ve been getting it wrong all these years!

The American Academy of Dermatology warns against sleeping in any position besides face up.  Sleep on your front, and you’ll get wrinkles permanently etched into your skin, plus a furrowed brow.  Side sleeper?  Sorry, but it’s only a matter of time before the skin on your cheek and chin starts to flop to your favoured side.

Your best bet is to sleep on your back, which I can only assume allows gravity to distribute your sagging skin evenly to both sides, thus making it easier for your plastic surgeon to one day pin those suckers right back without too much help from the yard stick.

So I tried it last night - the on-your-back sleeping, that is.  A very foreign feeling indeed!  I gave it a shot for all of two minutes before giving up.  It just wasn’t comfortable, and something kept telling me I should be counting sheep.  (No one counts sheep in any other position than on one’s back.)  Probably should have chewed up a pacifier while I was at it, too; I’m sure I haven’t slept that way since the good ol’ days of being unable to turn myself over.

Call me a quitter, but I’ve resigned to take whatever consequences result from my bad habits.  I figure I spend about 1/3 of my life getting my beauty sleep (it’s gotta start working some day, right?), so why deprive myself of the pleasure of digging my face into the pillow?

Speaking of which, that ass groove we all wear into the couch after prolonged dates with the TV?  Likely not doing much for the wrinkles on the other cheeks, eh?  Just sayin’…

Sure, I may end up looking like a shar pei (especially after a bowl of blueberries!), but at least I’ll be well-rested.

Besides, word on the street is that there’s a new product on the market that will take care of this problem…

The Snuggie being backless and open and all, I used to struggle every single day with deciding what to wear underneath it when it came time to leave the privacy of my home office/sound laboratory and venture out to the grocery store, the park, the gym, the city’s finest dining establishments, etc.

Everyone has been so blinded by the wonders of the Snuggie since its debut that there is rarely mention of its curse - that the rest of one’s wardrobe is essentially rendered useless once it enters your life.  After all, what regular item of clothing could compete with that big, beautiful blanket with sleeves?  Nothing could do the Snuggie justice.  It’s just so comfortable, so versatile - and, most importantly, so stylish.  (What do you think yours truly wore to yesterday’s Super Bowl party?)

It’s not as though one could realistically go commando under there.  It’s still the middle of winter (despite what you hear about Vancouver hosting the 2010 Olympic “Spring” Games).  And let’s face it - no one wants this peep show, even if it’s free.

So, for your own good (and the good of those around you), I beseech thee - please send me PajamaJeans.

Hey, it worked last time with the Snuggie…

If you haven’t yet had the pleasure of participating in the latest cultural phenomenon, I highly recommend that you take the next two minutes to educate yourself:

Now, in the interest of upholding journalistic integrity, I must reserve judgment until I have actually donned a pair of these hideous bottoms myself.

They’re only $39.95 + $5.00 shipping and handling - but wait, there’s more!  They’ll throw in a 100% brushed cotton t-shirt too?  As if they hadn’t already convinced me…

I only wish I had blogged about this 6-8 weeks ago, as that’s how long it takes for the life-changing garment to ship.  What’s a girl to do until then?!

PS I’m an XS.