This Is Not A Mummy Blog

While the little one sleeps, I'm stealing a moment to update my very loved and completely neglected blog. But if I loved it so, would I neglect it in this fashion? Sure. I think of it like long lost friends - the ones who, no matter how long you are apart, act the same when they see you again. Some bonds you simply cannot break. This blog is one of those bonds. For crying out loud, I've had this damn thing since 2006. That's ten years!

Ten years of blogging. Someone get me a medal. No seriously. Do you know how many people start blogs and abandon them without care or concern? Thousands. There are literally thousands of lost blogs floating around the interweb with one or two posts and then - nothing. How tragic. And yet, here I am. Still plugging away on what use to be That Girl Tyson. Sure, I only posted a handful of times last year, but I posted 339 times in 2014. That's almost a blog a day, which is actually what I was going for.

Trust me when I say there is a lot of hidden content on here. After ten years, there are probably close to a hundred posts I've turned to drafts again in hopes of them being forever forgotten. Not simply because there were riddled with poor grammar, which they were, but because they are too private or silly. Either or. The others I've gone back and re-edited, hoping to clear away the errors.

In fact, I just edited my last post and found four errors. Unacceptable. I can't believe I hit publish without correcting 'excitement' and 'friendships'. I even misspelled 'will'. It's a four letter word, how the hell did I misspell it? Probably something to do with sleep deprivation and carb-overdosing. Yes, I don't sleep enough and I am eating too much food. Some will say I need the food to create the milk to feed the babe, but the truth is my breasts are a big dodgy and have issues sustaining life. Long story short, this isn't a mummy blog. So we will end that right here. 

The point of this post is to tell you this isn't going to be all about my wee infant. I am not going to post photos and updates, and talk about the pros and cons of motherhood. There will be no tricks to putting a babe to sleep or ways to make the bitty one stop bawling, I don't know those types of things anyway. Isn't the best approach to simply repeat "please stop crying" and "please go to sleep" over and over? Or am I doing this wrong. 

So, this ins't a mummy blog, as the title states. Except, the problem is, he's currently my entire existence. Whenever I get to thinking about writing a little blip here, it's always about him. I have five drafts I simply didn't share with you because it's all about him and his perfect mouth and hands and bum and eyes. And then there are those times I want to write about the birth. Mostly, I think, because I still have PTSD from his entrance into the world and, well, I want to talk about all the gory details. Just to put them down somewhere. Because people always say you forget the details of the birth and, quite frankly, I don't want to. I want to remember everything, from the sound my waters made when they broke them to the poop I left behind on the floor. Too much information? Sorry not sorry. Birthing is beautiful. It's disgustingly beautiful. Horrifically beautiful. Batshit beautiful. 

Batshit beautiful. Now, that's a saying I can see catching on. I'm trademarking it. 

To clear things up, I don't have anything against mummy blogs, except for the fact that I don't think people really want to read them. I mean, I've read my fair share as I try to stumble through being a mom, but everything has already been said about parenting. I certainly don't have anything worthy to add. So, I promise I won't write about the Timbit all the time - but sometimes, yes, because I can't help myself! The thing is, just because he consumes my life right now doesn't mean I won't have other thoughts later. I suppose I am making a promise. Not just to you, but to myself as well. I promise to write again. Not only blogs but novels and stories too. I am determined to be creative. Maybe not right now, but it's coming. Big things are coming. I can feel it in my bones. And on that day, watch out.

Ten years and I am still toiling away. Labour of love, indeed. Actually, October is my true ten year anniversary here, according to my first posted blog. So, I suppose I'll throw a party then and someone will get me a tin gift. It's tin for ten years right? 

I'm sure I will have become a big, successful, household named author by then. Go ahead, laugh with me. 

Newsworthy - Or So I Think

The news is slowly creeping out, spreading to the far reaches of the world (a bit of a hyperbole), and is being met with astonishment, happiness, uncertainty and a bit of disbelief. Some people are over-the-moon, while there are those who are nursing hurt feelings, put off by being kept in the dark. It's hard to understand, I suppose, why one would keep the most wonderful thing they've ever done to themselves and their small inner circle. All these emotions are perfectly normal, but even though I can understand them, my little masterpiece is just that - my little masterpiece.

In the beginning, I wanted to keep it hush-hush because it was new and scary. I wasn't sure how it was going to turn out, what the outcome would be, and all that mattered was keeping it close to me. As time went by, I realized this was our experience, the Sidekick's and mine, and it wasn't necessary to share it with the entire world. Really, in the past nine months, the entire world has been just the two three of us. It didn't matter what other people thought. I didn't care to share it with everyone because I wanted to keep it to myself. It was my secret to revel in and enjoy. It was my journey. 

Yes, I could have posted belly photos and foetal updates, which many people do and is perfectly fine, except it was intimate for me. It was something I wanted to experience without the pressure of other opinions. Besides, I've always felt to live happily and healthily in this world one must keep a modicum of anonymity. Sounds crazy, huh? The girl who blogs and vlogs, who puts her face and words out into the world, actually advocates the power of privacy. This isn't a new thing. I've always felt this way and worked diligently to protect the privacy of friends, family and myself.    

We are so accustomed to seeing every part of everyone's lives and it's weird when we aren't in the loop. But I am a firm believer the loop isn't for everyone. The loop isn't intended for every Tom, Dick and Henry. The loop isn't made for all the people you have ever known, ever will know, and may know in the future. With social media comes responsibility. We are responsible for what we post, who we allow to see it, how safe we keep ourselves, and some of us open ourselves to be vulnerable in a space where vulnerability can be exploited. We've all seen someone (or many someones) post about the lack of support, love, responses, attention their updates receive. That's because even when you have nine billion friends on Facebook, you can still be overlooked, missed, and ignored. Quantity really is no replacement for quality, and that applies to social media and networking too. In private moments of need we turn to those people in our loop and if your loop includes everyone then you are going to end up being disappointed and, probably, feeling alone.  

My loop is reserved for those who have supported and loved me, shown me friendship in the dark times and celebrated in the light with me. 

Maybe this is hard for people to understand. Or maybe I'm making complete sense, for once in my life. But if anyone is taking it personally, please don't. It isn't personal - not for you. For me, it is. Very personal. For the Sidekick, too. And the Timbit, who came three weeks early and is utter perfection. Like I said, this is the most wonderful (and hard) thing I have ever done and I cannot tell you how incredible it has been. I am proud to be a mother. Incredibly in love with the little man who is sleeping soundly on my right side as I write this. And thoroughly amazed our family unit has grown. It's all so surreal. 

It's all so amazing. 

Slacker

What might first appear to be slacking here on the blog is actually a result of productivity. (Doesn't that seem like such a dirty word?) When I signed up to do this 365 Day Blogging challenge, I didn't really take into account November and whether or not I would try to complete NANO. Honestly, after last year's feeble attempt, I kind of resigned myself to not doing it. You know, because I don't work under pressure and writing hasn't exactly been my forte as of late.

Then inspiration struck.

And while I am OK with losing (I do it every day in one way or another) it turns out I want to be a winner this year. I want to WIN. Currently, I have twelve thousand words to write in the next three days. Some of you might argue and say there are four, but November 30th is, in fact, my birthday, so I will actually be eating cake on that day.

But surely I can eat cake and write?

No, I can't. I will only be eating cake on that day. End of argument.

So, yeah, twelve thousand words to write in three days, which might not seem like a lot. I mean, who can't write four thousand words a day and have a full time job, and sleep, and eat, and knit all the Christmas things? I know this past week has been a bit of a dip in quality here on the blog, but I promise it isn't because I don't love you. Actually, just between the two of us, I am so tired of blogging. This whole writing a blog every day thing has turned out to be quite an experience. I would love to tell you it's been an amazing experience, but for the most part it has become a burden, but I am determined. Even though I have already failed.

Failed I say?

Yes, failed. I went through to count out the blogs I've done and apparently I missed three in August, which I have no idea how that happened. I don't foresee myself writing enough blogs to catch up, so I've failed the blogging challenge, which is why I am more determined to win the NANO.

The NANO must be won. For no other reason than my own damn goals.

Great Expectations

It's been awhile since we've chatted about anything serious, so I'm making a point to put a bit of substance here. This isn't only for you, either. Writing my thoughts out helps order them, thus making them more concise and less confusing to myself. The fun stuff can be entertaining, but aren't most of us here to learn and grow? I certainly am. The last twenty years of my life has involved some serious growth, internally and externally. Yes, there have been missteps, mistakes, and miscalculations, but for the most part, I've been diligent about finding the light and embracing love.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not quite the ray of sunshine or shard of rainbow that I'd love to be. There are some days I am the epitome of grumpy and I get disappointed and sad and angry too. In fact, I probably experience at least one, if not all three, of those emotions every single day of my life. But I have goals. And I am working towards letting my baggage go, because the wheels on one of the bags are shot and the other one's a rucksack and carrying it around on my back all the time is starting to mess with my posture.

I once heard nothing really matters as long as you keep moving forward. So, that's what I'm doing. And I make a point of checking-in with myself and making sure I'm still on the right path. I am trying my best to carry the light within. And I am also trying to love freely, myself and all of you as well, without demanding too much of either of us.

Here is where expectations enter.

In my most humble of opinions, expectations are for the birds. Meaning, they are pointless and, if I'm being honest, counterproductive to the whole happiness thing. Expecting things from someone else seems to unfair, especially since expectations often come without vocalization. Expectations come with an unrealistic amount of expectation. Confusing, right? You betcha. It's so befuddling that we expect people to know what our expectations are. On top of not actually telling people what we want and need, we also overlook the fact that these people also have lives of their own, their own struggles, and their own wants and needs. And, sadly, their own expectations as well.

Are you fulfilling all of the expectations people have of you? An even better question is, are you fulfilling all the expectations you have of yourself? I am guessing the answer is no. At least, not all of them. So, if you can't live up to your own expectations, how can you expect it of others?

I am of the firm belief that people come into our lives for different reasons and will give us what we need if we allow them to. In the grand scheme of things, we are here to help each other out, to lend support, and provide one another mental, physical and emotional stimulation. Sure, there are yahoos and nimrods along the road who try to throw a wrench in the spanner of our journey to find happiness and enlightenment, but they are far and few between. And as we meet on the path of life, we have to understand that not every person is going to fulfill all our needs and wants. One person might pick us up when we fall down and another might deliver the tough love we need when we're being foolish.

Not every relationship is the same and we need to be aware what our friends and family members individually provide us. The key is not to expect of them something they are not capable of giving. It make take awhile to figure out what it is you get from the people in your lives, or what they are there to give you, but once you do puzzle it out, you probably will find the need for expectations diminishes, and eventually you are only holding one person accountable - yourself.

From my experiences, expectations are the leading cause of disappointments. Sure, it seems cynical, but we constantly set ourselves up to be let down because we demand unrealistic things from people we love. What a predicament.  Simply put, people change, relationships change, dynamics change and life is tiring. At any given time, you are not the only one going through a rough patch, or in need of help. I can safely say, someone you know could use a break and a little love right this very minute.

For the most part, we are all exhausted and struggling and broke and dealing with the chaos of living. So, let's take away the added pressure of expectations. After all, isn't it more heartwarming to have someone give a little love unexpectedly? Doesn't it feel more rewarding when it comes with out demands or expectation?

Same Old

It feels as if every time I sit down to write to you all I can think about is how tired I am. Those kinds of posts are getting tedious. Promise this will be the last one to mention how incredibly exhausted I am for at least a month or two. This is a tall promise, but I anticipate doing nothing for the next quarter of the year. If anyone asks, I am taking the Fall off from any form of physical labour, asides working (because I've gots ta pay the bills, y'all).

So, we have officially moved. Goodbye, small blue house in cute little village. Hello, retro home in the heart of a sweet hamlet. I am nearly ocean front with a mountain view and, after only five nights sleeping here, am in love. Not everything is perfect, but there are perfect parts, and that's really all I can ask for.

There are things I want to tell you. Thoughts I have been pondering. Blogs I have been mulling over as I drive, walk, pack, unpack, lift, clean, bake and create. There is a wealth of information share, like moments and events and, most importantly, recipes. And I have deep revelations I want to talk out, mostly great expectations and being beautiful. The problem has been time management, which mostly has come down to me not having any extra time to manage. Between work, moving, and trying to help out with my boss' surprise birthday party, I haven't had a moment to sit down and chat.

This is why I am happy to report the craziness is drawing to a close.

Almost all the things are done.

Tomorrow I will hit you with something with a little more length, a bit deeper and, perhaps, some sort of moral or life lesson I have learned. Until then, here is a selfie I took in my car today. Sometimes I get bored and make faces.

Do These Words Count?

These days, I can't be arsed to write. The creative juices aren't dried up (that sounds really wrong). In fact, I come up with wonderful ideas for novels and short stories all the time. It's the actual act of sitting down at my computer and hammering out a few thousand words that seems so tedious right now. 

The only writing I've been doing are these posts. Do they count? Since January, I've published at least a hundred thousand. I'm guessing. I really can't be certain how many words I've actually typed out here. More, maybe? Certainly not less. We are over halfway through the year, which means I'd only have to average five hundred words a day in order to make a hundred thousand of them. Now, some of my posts aren't very wordy, but I have been known to get ranty, or wordy. Yeah, wordy. It sounds far more pleasing to my ear. 

Anyhow, they say you need to make room for what you love. There's one of those motivational Facebook posts everyone is sharing and no one is following. Something along the lines of doing the thing you love for at least fifteen minutes every day. The conclusion being you won't believe how life-changing only fifteen minutes a day can be. 

So, I love writing. Creating is exciting for me. And when I set out to do a blog-a-day for a year, I thought it would be a great way to stick to writing every day. This was supposed to be my fifteen minutes, I guess. Except, these take way longer than fifteen minutes. But the thought was there. This was me making room for what I love. 

The problem is, most of all my other writing has ground to halt. This makes me wonder, has this blog-a-day for a year been detrimental to my other more creative writing? Is making time for blogging cutting into me penning the next great Canadian masterpiece? I like to think I have it in me to write more than a blog a day. There was a time when I was churning out books every other month. Ah, the good old days when I used to write at work. 

There are excuses. It's been a less than stellar year. I'm moving. The job takes up a lot of my time. I'm working hard to keep my relationship with the Sidekick healthy. Two dogs are more time consuming. I've been trying to be more healthy and active. 

But it really comes down to inspiration. I suppose I am uninspired lately. And tired.

So, tell me these words count, because if not I'm going to be really displeased. 

Wordy Wednesday

If you're one of my privileged readers who have been with me since the beginning, you may remember that I used to have regular features on my blog. For a long time, there was Melodic Mondays, where I posted songs I love, or have loved, or will love. This went out the window because YouTube kept removing videos from their site, thus rendering my posts obsolete. After that, or maybe around the same time, I posted Wilde Wednesdays, where I paid hommage to the inspirational and treasured Oscar Wilde. I didn't keep up with this, because the man only said so much and I hated feeling limited to only posting about Oscar Wilde on Wednesdays. 

While neither of these endeavours lasted, I did enjoy the idea of know what I was going to post on those days. It made the week go a bit easier. And that was back when I was only posting once or twice a week. These days I am blogging every day, because I am doing a challenge, which you can read about here. So, now I need the help more than ever. 

Inspiration struck in the form of a post on Facebook made by a friend. A new word I'd never heard of. Here I am thinking about how much I love words, this new one in-particular, and how I would love to share the new words I find with the world, especially the readers of my blog. I imagine most of you who tune in here are readers and word lovers in your own right. That you aren't just here because you love my face or think I say witty things. 

This love of words may be our common denominator, so why not nourish it? In the end, it can only bring us closer together. Welcome to Wordy Wednesdays, where we will learn together and grow fonder of each other. Maybe. 

Today's word: Petrichor

Definition: The lovely scent that accompanies rain when it hits the parched ground. You know, when it hasn't rained in forever and the sun has baked the earth, then the sky breaks and the droplets hit the sun-kissed ground. The aroma that arises from that. 

So fresh. So clean. So invigorating. 

Way Back When

Out of curiosity, I went back to see the first couple posts on this blog. There are actually a fair amount which are unpublished. This isn't because they contained super sensitive information I decided, after the fact, I didn't want floating around on the world wide web. No, I hid them because I was so appalled by the spelling and grammar, I couldn't fathom the idea of other people reading them. They literally hurt my eyes to even glimpse at.

Once upon a time, I vowed I would go through all these horrible posts and rewrite them, clean them up, put a little effort into making them the grade A calibre you're used to from my blog. (Insert laugh track here). As it turns out, I'm fairly lazy. Besides, who wants to go back and edit old blogs when there are new things to be written? Or old things that can be rewritten and made more relevant with a little thought and a bunch of structure?

Back in 2006 when I started this 'blogging' endeavour, I knew very little about writing, except that I wanted to do it. So, I tried. While I certainly deserve a B+ for effort, a lot of my posts were horrible. That being said, the very first post you can read is from 2006 and no amount of rewriting will make it any better. In fact, I dare say, it's perfect the way it is.

You be the judge: BREAKUPS!

Perfect, right? That might be my most favourite post I have ever penned. What about you? What's your favourite blog? Or post? Or article? Or line you have ever written?

Representing Hades

Because I am the world's most efficient of procrastinators (doesn't that sound like an oxymoron), I decided to take an online quiz called 'Which Greek God or Goddess Are You'. Blame Noelle, she's the one who posted the link when she knows I should be editing chapters and writing blogs - like I'm going to take responsibility for my lack of productivity.

Anyway, the results are in. Hades. I am representing Hades, God of the Underworld, and at first, I was like 'AWESOME'! Because that was my knee jerk reaction, but I think it actually comes down to the desire to have a three-headed dog named Cerberus, or Fluffy. (That's a little inside joke for all the Potter fans out there)

After pumping my fist in the air joyously, I actually read the little blurb under the picture of Hades and realized, strangely enough, the write up was fairly accurate. It talked of organization and being detail oriented, two of my most favourite things to be, and of being a romantic, which I am ... hopelessly. Last but not least, it touched on the desire to have a place to get away from the every day grind, needing a sanctuary to escape to when the world is too much to handle. Of course, I use the forest, but the Underworld might have a quaint cubbyhole for my liking.

Of course, my excitement may be a big ignorant, considering I don't actually know all that much about Hades. To be frank, everything I do know came from the Disney movie Hercules. That being said, he did kidnap Persephone while she was out picking flowers, which in turn caused Demeter, her mother, to curse the land into an epic famine. So, that's got to be a strike against him, even though Zeus promised her to him. And in his favour, he was given the Underworld while his brother Zeus was given the sky and Poseidon the sea, which doesn't exactly seem fair.

Now I am wondering if my initial thrill was premature. Oh well, off to watch Hercules.

Lost The Plot

So, I started writing this short story for a collection called 'Mermaids' for Pankhearst. I was super stoked about it, but when I got about halfway through, I realized the plot wasn't going to work. It simply didn't generate the feeling I wanted it too. Instead of a gritty, youthful vibe, it gave off a more adventure Nancy Drew tone, which is nice, but didn't really work for me, or the anthology it was going into.

What did I do? I stopped writing, put it to the side, and have been obsessing over it ever since. I have literally wracked my brain over what to do with the story. I thought to myself, surely I can come up with another plot to work with these amazing characters and crazy world.

Apparently not. It's been sitting for weeks. And I've tried so hard to develop it into something I can share with the editor of the project, but it's just embarrassing. Which is why I am going to stop altogether and put it away. It's not working and it isn't worth me stressing over. Besides, I feel terrible leaving a beautiful and talented hanging in the balance, wondering when I am going to deliver.

Of course, as soon as I officially sign off the project inspiration will strike. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.

Sigh.

Inception Selfie

This morning, I was trying to take a picture of my hair. Not because I take daily photographs of my hair for my Lovely Locks Log, but because I have to ensure my hair looks half decent for work. The problem with this is, I have no idea how to craft a cool coiffure, so I exist in a world of trial and hairror. See what I did there? Instead of error I wrote ... never mind.

Back to the point, because I don't have a second mirror, I sometimes take photos of my hairstyles to ensure they don't look like a rat's nest with bobby-pins sticking out of it. This morning's hair actually looked pretty good too, but before I snapped a decent picture of the back, I turned the phone on. BAM. The camera was on the wrong way and there was a huge, up close and too personal shot of my face. This never makes me feel attractive. It's almost as if the front camera makes me way uglier than the back camera does.

Anyhow, when I went to turn the phone around, the reflection caught the mirror and I noticed myself in the camera and in that camera too. Then I realized, if I angled the camera just right I could see myself three times over. And a light bulb went off over my head and trumpets played as I thought to myself:

INCEPTION SELFIE.

So, being the total nerd I am, I took the picture in order to share it with all of you. Isn't it magnificent when phones, cameras and mirrors come together in such a highly entertaining way?

Or maybe I'm the only amused by this.

Bloglovin?

Anyone heard about this? Is it worth being a part of?

I signed up in hopes of getting more foot traffic on my little blog and following other bloggers who are diligent about blogging. There are a lot of people on my follow list here that don't even post, not at all. Seems silly, right? But I discussed this back on my 800th blog post where I told the true story of how fleeting some people's blogging careers are.

Mine isn't fleeting. It's lush and, I imagine, will continue until my inevitable demise. But I noticed with the limitations of Facebook that my traffic has cut right in half here. I certainly hope this isn't because of my rebranding tactics. Eek!

Could you imagine? All that work and it's actually detrimental to the health of my blog.

Here I Am

Celebration Brownies! - My 800th Post

This is my 800th post! Can you believe it? Who knew I had so much to say? Certainly, not me. It can't all be worth reading, can it?

Looking back on this endeavour which started in 2006, I really wish I had some noteworthy material to showcase for this momentous occasion. The truth is, most bloggers don't make it this far. Do you know how many unattended and forgotten blogs are hanging out in cyberspace? A rough estimate is a gazillion.

The blogging world is a graveyard of good intentions from people who wanted to make a difference and thought they needed to be heard. Back in the late nineties, and into the early two thousands, everyone wanted a blog, and most of them went ahead and created something they thought witty, wry and wonderful. Only after posting a handful of times, they realized they didn't actually want a blog at all. It takes dedication to create and write and post, and it's frustrating when you craft these ingenious articles that get zero traction. Over time, between a week and month, all these wannabe bloggers gave up. They threw the towel in. Now their blog is just a passing conversational note at parties.

"Yeah, I started a blog once but it was stupid."

They didn't understand how hard it is to get readers, to feel connected, to be noticed, and that it's highly unlikely they will make an impact on the worldwide web. When they did come to terms with the fact there is a million other bloggerss out there saying it better, posting it quicker and being funnier, they stopped blogging. They let their punny titled blogs fall to the wayside, much like the diaries of their youth, and decided to just write their thoughts about Gladiator in a note on MySpace.

The irony of the whole situation is: the key to being a 'successful' blogger is to actually post something. Not one or two somethings. Hundreds of soemthings. Very few people create a blog and have a million followers the next day. You need to write, engage and be relevant.

At least this is what I assume. I wouldn't really know. I post regularly (every day as of late), but I don't seem to engage anyone other than my mother, which is actually fine by me. I never intended to take the information super highway by storm. In fact, this is just my diary you're reading. Crazy, right?

Well, that's my problem. I write about everything. And I do mean EVERYTHING. Any thought or half thought in my tiny brain gets written down here. If this was a specific blog, targeting a certain type of folk, whether that be readers, writers, bakers, vegans, movie lovers, music nerds, fashionistas, knitters, or people who are fascinated by the used underwear vending machines in Japan, then I'd probably have gone viral a long time ago. Sadly, I write about all of these things, except that last one. I really don't want to delve into the wacky and wild world of vending machines in Japan.

Anyhow, my 800th post! This calls for brownies. Of the vegan variety. These are super easy to make and turned out adorable. I made them bite size. All you need is one of those cute little mini muffin pans, which you can pick up at any store that sells baking gear. I got mine for free from my mom!

What can I say, I am winning at life.

If you want to use regular muffin tins, that would be cool. Or if you want to do old fashioned brownies because you are feeling nostalgic, then feel free to slap the batter into a square pan. That being said, I am only giving you baking time for the One-Bite Brownies I made.

One-Bite Vegan Brownies

Preheat oven to 350 (Does anyone know how to do the little degree symbol on a standard computer? Like this ° - so it would be 350° - I just copied and pasted that from somewhere else on the internet. But I would like to know if there is a short key on my laptop I can use.)

Ingredients: 

1/2 Cup - Margarine (non-dairy, of course. I used the vegan Becel this time) 

3/4 Cup - White Sugar

1 Tsp - Vanilla Extract 

1 Tsp - Baking Powder 

2 - Egg Substitutes (I actually used egg replacer this time, but flax eggs are what I used every other time I made these brownies. 2 Tbsp flax seed powder to 6 Tbsp of warm water - let it sit)

1/4 Tsp - Sea Salt (I used the chunkier stuff and it gave a really nice sweet salty taste to the brownies)

1/2 Cup - Cocoa Powder (unsweetened)

3/4 Cup - All Purpose Flour (I imagine you can make these gluten free, but mine were gluten filled)

1/4 Cup - Chocolate chips (you don't have to add these. I only did because the Sidekick is a chocolate fiend. You should actually put walnuts in. Or peanuts. Or something equally awesome, like peanut butter chips!)

1. Mix melted margarine, sugar, vanilla, and egg replacer (or flax eggs) together. 

2. Add baking powder, sea salt, cocoa powder. Mix until smooth. 

3. Add flour. Then fold in the chocolate chips, or whatever else you are optionally adding in. 

4. Spray mini muffin/tart pan with nonstick spray. Spoon the batter into the little pan. Make sure you only fill them about 3/4 of the way. They do expand. Not much, but it will make it easier to get them out. 

5. Bake at 350 for 8-10 minutes. Don't over bake them. They will get dry. You don't want that. You want them, forgive the use of this word, moist. When in doubt take them out a minute early. If the top looks a bit crusty, they are done. 

6. Let them sit for a couple minutes to cool before removing them. (Don't worry, I never do either. Just spoon those suckers out and put them in the container you plan to store them.)

7. You will need to fill the pan twice as this will make 24 one-bite brownies. 

8. Indulge. 

Well, there we have it. My 800th post and a lovely brownie recipe, straight from my kitchen to yours. Oh, for the health conscious people out there. One of these brownies is 86 calories. Not too bad. Besides, we all need a little sweetness in our lives. 

And now for this super amazing photo of my itty, bitty brownies. Aren't they adorable? 

 

Into The Swing Of Things

One of the most gruelling aspects of writing is getting back into the swing of writing a story after having put it down for an extended period of time. Currently, I am writing the third instalment in an urban science fiction novel with a writing friend and I've been procrastinating writing my chapter because my interest has waned.

Don't get me wrong, the book is amazing. But the rapid fire way in which we used to write has fallen to the wayside. Sometimes we are waiting weeks for the other to finish a chapter. This is when it gets hard. It staunches the creative flow and our excitement dwindles. I have, literally, been sitting on my chapter for a month. In my defence, my co-writer did go to Disney World. How fair is that?

Not fair at all. I mean, I really want to see Harry Potter World.

Still, I dropped the ball. I have been looking at the email in my inbox and feeling guilty. It's all on me this time. Disney World be damned.

The funny part about this whole fiasco is how fast the first two books in the series were done. We are talking a matter of weeks and they were finished. Why is this one like pulling teeth, or whatever other cliche you feel like using? I don't know if it's because this is the final book in the series, or our lives are falling apart, or I'm just not on the computer as much, but it's been so hard writing this book.

Even harder getting back into writing it after putting it aside for awhile. Even rereading it doesn't always help. So, I force myself to write. And it is painful. To read. To execute. To write. Sometimes I wonder if it's so tedious because it isn't right. Like, maybe the direction we are going is all wrong. I certainly hope not.

All I can tell you is that I am pushing forward until I am back in the swing of things and things are swinging freely.

Clearly I am tired and I should be going to bed. And meditate, of course.

Worry Wart

It's easy to say, don't worry about that, you can't change it anyway. But it's harder to execute such common sense thinking. After all, if we had the ability simply to turn it off and shut it own, wouldn't we all opt to do that? For the most part, we worry. Whether it's about money, our homes, jobs, children or partners, we are worrying. Is this going to work out? How are we going to get through this? Will prostitution be involved?

These are the thoughts going through our heads on a daily basis. Well, maybe not the prostitution one. We don't want to become a walking advertisement for STIs. It's still hard for me to adapt from calling them diseases to infections. 

That being said, I have a really difficult time spelling diseases without the help of the intersnacks. 

Now, back to worrying. 

While I certainly was kept awake last night due to financial concerns, this isn't a regular occurrence. Granted, money is pretty much the biggest worry in my life, but I am hoping that comes to the end when I sell my condo. I blame this all on my Realtor. She just told me that it is the 'slowest spring she's ever seen'. Like, how encouraging, right? So, if you know anyone looking to purchase some real estate in the suburbs of Greater Vancouver. Please, let me know. 

If you don't, I seriously appreciate your cares and concerns, but this will pass. It always does. Things will, eventually, work out. I just can't be sure when and I am worried about where I will end up if I have to shell out both mortgage and rent money. It's a realistic worry. A matter of fact one. And one so many people face on a daily basis. My troubles aren't unique to me. 

As for the lack of sleep, don't worry your pretty heads about it. I was, literally, an insomniac for five years, sleeping no more than 3-5 hours a night, and that all worked out okay in the end. I wrote some amazing novels. I use the term amazing loosely. Besides, even when I am not worrying about dollar dollar bills y'all, I'm kept up by grand ideas for books I will never get to write. So, not much sleep either way. 

Onward and upward, positive vibes and good thoughts.  

And please stop dreaming about me so I can sleep. 

$500 Dollar Jeans

Let me break down the 5 reasons why I will never buy a pair of jeans that cost $500 dollars or more.

1. Because it's stupid.

There are so many other things I could be spending that type of money on. For example, groceries, because I love me some eating and snacks and such. Paying off a bit of my debt. Buying someone a gift. How about this, putting that money towards helping out the under privileged. I mean, last time I checked there are still people starving in this world. Why not buy 100 homeless people a sandwich and skip the overpriced denim?

2. Because I'd be paranoid.

And nobody wants me paranoid. I'd be forever snarking at people to stay away from my jeans, not to touch me, and I'd end up wearing a diaper JUST IN CASE. I mean, I haven't defecated myself for a very, very, very long time, but I have an inkling the likelihood of it happening would increase a hundred fold if I was wearing a pair of jeans worth five hundred bones. The paranoia would become so intense people would avoid me at all costs. I'd basically be going to the bathroom every hour on the hour, no if, ands or butts.

3. Because of the increase in mug-ability.

Even if I ignore the soiling and stupidity factors of spending that much money on JEANS, I simply can't turn a blind eye to the fact it would make me a bigger target for thieves. Expensive pants increase the chances of being robbed. I mean, if I were wearing a pair of 7 For All Mankind jeans people walking down the street would think I could actually afford them and that I carry big bills in my wallet. This illusion would only ensure muggers gravitated towards me. They'd beat me up and steal my purse thinking they were hitting the payload only to find lint and a dusty piece of gum at the bottom of my secondhand bag.

4. Because of the anger.

Expensive things make me angry. Not in general. On a whole, expensive things don't turn me into The Hulk, but when I break or ruin expensive things I get all Hulk Smashy. Let me explain how life is for me. Yesterday we decided to go to the beach. It was a lovely day and we were going to have a lovely time at the lovely damn beach. Well, instead, I got dragged across gravel and down stairs by my dog, only to walk through brambles and have the Sidekick crunch a log down on my foot. This was, seriously, a twenty minute expedition to the freaking BEACH. Here's the proof:

I don't want to say I am accident prone, because then the word clumsy gets tossed around, but I am often getting holes in my clothes and scratches on my knees. See, I was wearing a dress yesterday. Imagine if I was wearing a $1200 pair of Dolce & Gabba jeans? It wouldn't have been pretty. The truth is, I hate it when I ruin a five dollar pair of jeans I bought secondhand at the thrift store, I can't imagine how I would feel if I got an ink stain or grassy knees or a hole in the crotch of a pair of pants worth more than my current wardrobe altogether.

The simple fact is, they are still made out of denim, not some magic material forged by wizards. Last time I checked, denim stains, regardless of how much money you pay for it. Honestly, spending that amount of money on a pair of jeans is basically tempting the fate of the Gods. You're putting a target on your back. All falling food will be attracted to the jeans you are still trying to pay off. For serious.

5. Because it's stupid.

Okay, fine, I already said it's stupid. But seriously, I just took a moment to Google "Expensive Jeans" and am seriously regreatting it. Did you know there are jeans out there that cost $1.3 million dollars? By a brand called Secret Circus, which is a terrible name. These are the first pair of million dollar jeans. And why are they so expensive, you ask? Because of the diamond embellishments on the ass. Hello?! Is this for real? What is wrong with this world that someone would spend over a million dollars on a pair of jeans?

Yeah, I could have helped end world hunger, but I bought these jeans instead.

Well, at least they have diamonds. There's a pair of jeans called Dussault Apparel Thrash Denim and they are hideous, torn up, and dirty looking. Basically, they are a beggar's pair of pants, a hobo belongs in these pants, or at least one of those squeegee kids down by Main Street Skytrain station. Except, and here's the kicker, they are worth $250,000! Wait, it gets even better! They are washed thirteen times in order to make them look more worn.

I have no words. Actually, I do, but they aren't appropriate to put forth into the world.

All I can be grateful for right now is that I have my head on straight and I will never, ever pay a quarter of a million dollars for a pair of jeans that look like this:

What. The. Eff.   

Articulation

The other night I was leaving work with the Sidekick and I said, "Hey, it's still light outside."
To which he replied, "Yeah, it's getting ... light ... outside ... more."
The situation only became more amusing when he added, "Yep, if anyone ever needs anything articulated send them my way."

We shared a laugh over it.

But it's a funny thing this articulation. Not everyone is blessed with the ability to put thoughts, feelings or ideas into words. I know many people who feel the English language is daunting and discussions the bane of their existence. When confronted with a conversation, they balk, hesitate to engage, and feel put on the spot, fearful over looking stupid, unsure if their verbal weapons are lacking compared to the person they are speaking with. Personally, I think the art of conversation is not an easy thing to master. That being said, I have never spoken to anyone and come away thinking, "Jeez, that person was an idiot." Actually, that's not true, but it hasn't been because they are unable to articulate themselves or they don't have a very extensive vocabulary. No, it's usually because they are narrow-minded, sexist, racist homophobes, or belligerent butt-heads with no common sense and even less manners.

What you are saying is far more important than how you are saying. While I certainly don't feel people have to read the dictionary or thesaurus in order to convey their emotions and thoughts to others, I do feel the ability to speak coherently, organize your thoughts, and deliver them in a fluent and concise manner can only be an advantage when speaking or writing. It's is far more likely for others to understand what you are saying, where you are coming, and not misconstrue what is being said and why.

While the Sidekick and I certainly had a laugh about his statement about the days being lighter, he really is a man of few words. And though he may not be an overly communicative person, he insists that he makes count the few words he does share. Here's the thing. Mr. Sidekick is certainly capable of articulating himself, but he chooses not to. It just isn't the way he goes about doing things. One part shy, two parts stoic man-beast, and the rest laid-back-whatever-will-be-will-be, he simply has a different way of tackling life.

Some of us are internalizers. Others externalizers.

I can appreciate both sides of the spectrum, which is probably why Sidekick and I get along fairly well. I don't like talking about my feelings, but I am blessed with the ability to be able to do so if necessary. Once in awhile I do engage with others in person, but because of this little thing called blogging, I am able to write about the thoughts running rampant through my head. I have been putting words onto paper, both virtual and real, ever since I was a little girl.

In many ways, I am pleased I know how to take my unbridled thoughts and form them into sentences, paragraphs and novels. Maybe that's a gift. It's certainly something I am grateful for. Most people have a hard time summing up their feelings and conveying their thoughts to others, and even themselves. But there's an age old saying for that, isn't there?

Practice makes perfect. This applies to articulation and the art of conversation. I can't recount how many times I've seen people try to talk to others, only to clam up and scurry away, or clamp a lid down on what they think, because they don't know how to brooch the subject, and are uncertain how to make their point. If you desire the ability to be able speak to others, to tell people your thoughts, feelings, ideas and beliefs, then start practising. Engage with others in a conversation. Try writing everything down. Start a blog - it can even be anonymous. Look up synonyms. Read books. And don't be so bloody self conscious.

One day, I will be the Queen of Articulation. I shall have a sash and everything.

It doesn't matter if you excel at speaking and writing or not. The Sidekick may not be the most communicative fellow, but he can draw like a mother fucker. So, here I am able to write down the things I feel, create fluid prose, and engage in lengthy discussions over human emotions and rain dances in the nude, but I can't paint at all. Sketching shapes is a task for me. And I'm not even talking about a tetrahedron or hexagonal prism. Circles and triangles are most tricky!

There's a point here somewhere. Maybe it's that we are all different? Sure, let's go with that.

Eyes Wide Open

No, this isn't about that horrid Tom Cruise movie. And it was horrid. No matter what anyone says.

Horrid.

This is about posting every day and how eyeopening it is.

It's been thirty days since I started this endeavour and I've come to see myself in a different light. So much of my day is guided by how I feel when I wake up in the morning. If I wake up tired, my posts are tired, lacking. When I arise with the sun and settle into my day smoothly, optimism shines through the words I put out to others.

And, not so surprisingly, the worst my mood, the lengthier my blogs are.

It's the emotional overload. I strive to get it out of me.

When something sticks in my craw, it needs to be explored before dislodged. This seems wrong.

Why am I not relishing and dwelling and mulling over the good things? Why do I let the bad things bother me so much?

Because it's easy to let go of the good things, to accept them, and release them into the wild.

But those bad things. We hold onto them. Unable to pry our self-sabotaging fingers off it. And we brood.

These things are backwards and I'm going to work on amending that.

The bright side, the happier I seem to be the more pictures I take and post. So, maybe that's an easy way to resolve things. Take more pictures. Post more snapshots.

Also, I heard people are more likely to click on a link if pictures are involved.

And I'm all about virtual foot traffic. Not.

Still, I am grateful I'm giving this a go. It's allowing me to take a closer look at myself. Yeah, that's scary and daunting, but it's good too.

Because I can't be the girl I want to be without knowing the girl I currently am.

Now, here's a picture of me, because that's what you want, right? Right???

Hello?

Nicknames & Secret Handshakes

I don't have a lot of nicknames.

Not really.

Tee
TeeTots
T-Dot
Teeny Weeny
Bean

Meh. What can you do?

My name isn't really conducive to nicknamery. This I blame on my parents. For years, I considered changing and using my middle name, just to add a fraction of spice in this bland life I have. In the end, I was too lazy to make it happen.

Still, I always wanted one. A cool nickname people would shout when I entered a party.

If I ever have a child, I vow to give him, or her, a name worthy of having a nickname. One worthy of cheering and shouting at parties. One they can be proud to have.

Not like my Teeny Weeny.

That said, I do have a secret handshake with someone. At least I have that to be grateful for.

It's pretty amazing. I wonder if he remembers how to do it

These little things keep the world spinning.

The Cool Side Of The Pillow

Couldn't sleep last night.

It comes and goes. As someone who used to sleep all but a couple hours a night, I can handle a little tossing and turning. While laying there in bed, the half moon streaming through my window, I thought about sleeping. Everyone has their way of doing things.

Myself, I like a cold room. Fresh air is a must. A little fan noise - a quirk I picked up from my ex - and lots of pillows. I prefer blankets to quilts. And I always stick my foot out from under the blankets. I think it helps to regulate body heat.

But you know what I really love the most.

The cool side of the pillow.

Boy, did I think I was clever when I thought up the name of this blog. It actually stuck with me all through the night and well into the morning. Now I am wondering if the parallel between the title and Dark Side of the Moon will be lost.

Sleeping. Bed. Night. Moon. Pink Floyd.

Maybe not such a clever title.

Anyhow, back to my pillow.

You know when you flip the pillow and rest your cheek on the chilly fabric. That's my favourite. There's something incredibly reassuring about that feeling for me. Wish I could pinpoint exactly why. Probably has something to do with being a child, but I reckon I'm not the only one who relishes the pillow flip.

Perhaps it's a small and insignificant thing to be grateful for, but aren't those the greatest things to ruminate over?

Funny thing, I just (as in right this very second) consulted Dr. Googles on this business and apparently the Family Guy has felt it worthy enough for a mocking. Now I know I'm not alone.