Part-time Pierogies

In Apartment 605, we're edging on foodie-ism. Last Saturday, we made lamb sliders with homemade tzatziki sauce. This week, hunting through our fridge, Allie had a stroke of genius, in the form of pondering about making pierogies. I bet you can't guess what we had for dinner.
This is something we've done before, but the last time we did it, I remember it was labour intensive and time consuming. I was watching Apocalypse Now! (the crappy Redux version...) for a class studying film sound and I stopped it half way through to put them together. Well HOURS later, with the girls jumping in to help, I finally got back to the movie I could not focus on anymore. They were yummy, sure... But the recipe we had used before required you to roll the dough out. With neither rolling pin or proper surface, it was torture, and that was only to prep them for boiling AND pan frying.

The kitchen was a mess, we were exhausted, but at least we were full of something tasty.

While I know that great food takes time, I couldn't go back to that. I also couldn't drop the idea, the Russian/Polish roots from my mama's side just would not let me. I decided to look for a different recipe, and found the one at Soupbelly.
It looked promising. Instead of rolling out the dough and cutting it, you divide it up into spheres and flatten those out, then fill them.



Potato-y, cheese-y goodness. Simple, yes. Delicious, definitely!
You can find the recipe here.

Note: The topping is just chopped bacon and onions fried in a pan together. Also, there was sour cream left over from the s'more cheesecake square I made last week too. Yeah, we know what we're doin'.

Sexy Christmas

I'm a supporter of gay rights. It started out as just an opinion that equality is something universally deserved. Somehow it's turned into a full blown THING. I don't know what to call it. I would never be pompous enough to say I'm an activist. It's more like if GAY was a sports team, I'd be one of those crazy fans who paints their body rainbow and picks fights with the opposition.

Me at the Toronto Pride Parade, 2010

It's funny that as a former quiet girl without two shreds of personality to rub together, I've found myself in love with a community of some of the loudest, boldest, most beautiful and amazing people I've ever had the pleasure of knowing and dancing my ass off with.

Last year, I went to the Pride parade in Toronto. It was my first time. I got caught up in the instant attraction. The summer heat and the sense of one-ness made sense at the time. Dare I say it, I fell in love. And then, at the end of the day, I had to go home. I had to end my affair with the Pride parade. The next day, and maybe I'm being melodramatic (isn't that what writers do?) there was this unfulfilled feeling. I missed it. I wanted to call it, but we had parted with a gentle, "I'll see you next summer..." And that was that, nothing to be done about it.

I had been so caught up in the joy, the love, the celebration of the community. I was instantly addicted. I wanted to be a part of it. Needed- except that I wasn't gay. Was there some sort of honorary card I could carry around? Could I be a part of the secret club even if vajay-jays aren't my thing? Could I fake it? No, I could not. But then a good friend helped me realize that being part of a community, part of a movement is not about who you want, or who you wake up next to. It's about what you believe. And I believe in rainbows, equality, and love. Yeah, it's cheesy. But it's true, so sue me.

I've got a couple friends who feel the exact same way I do. So when I discovered the The FCKH8 Store was selling 2011 STR8 against H8 calendars, I knew exactly what to do. I bought five. One for me and the others for my most fantastically pro-gay, pro-sexy calendar friends.

I am excited for Pride in July. ALREADY! As I said last night, sitting in the bar, surrounded by my favourite girls, a boy from Brazil and two New Yorkers: "Pride is the BEST! It's like.... sexy Christmas!"
PRIDE WEEK COUNTDOWN: 89 DAYS
I'mnotalreadyplanning- what?

Think Ink

I've been thinking about tattoos lately. Maybe it's because on Saturday, big sister's boyfriend is getting a consultation for his half sleeve. Or that a friend of mine is getting cozy with tattoo's friend, piercings. It could even be a whim, but whatever it is, I'm feeling a need for the needle.

I got my second tattoo in early September 2010. It's a proven fact (or something) that they're addictive, so I set a time frame before I would even think about getting another. When you get a tattoo or a piercing, you can't donate blood for six months. As a donor, I made that the goal. I want to give blood at least twice before I get another tattoo. Maybe twice and then some, just to make sure I want it. I'm coming up on that eligible donor mark, and already, I've got plans going.

My parents are anti-ink. They think it's a waste of money. They insist people with them don't get hired, as if the presence of pigment underneath the skin retards any skills or attributes that make me employable. They try stress the fact that I am going to have them for life. FOR. EVER. Even when I'm old. As if I didn't know that already?

Maybe a tattoo will be on your body forever, but how long is forever? You could have them until you're 80, yeah. Or you could have it for two days and then get have a disease, an accident, anything. The fragility of the human condition should be reason enough to DO IT NOW. At 80 years old, we should be happy to have made it to 80. You'll show them off to your grandkids, telling them stories about what they are and why. Tattoos are the new battle scars.

Currently, I have two. One is a small tribute to my love of music. The second is to remind myself of what and who I am capable of being.Reasons to NOT get a tattoo: to look at yourself in the mirror and be reminded every day about how crazy/neurotic you are. Also, gag tattoos-- the woman who did my nightingale told me she once gave a guy a gangster banana. A GANGSTER BANANA.
Beyond that, memories you have, quotes you love, if it's personal, lovable, powerful, it might just belong under your skin.

Talking to myself here, I know but I gotta throw the question out there, pretending like there are followers. Do you have any tattoos? Of what- and why? And if not, would you ever get one?

Join the Frenzy!

Today I had my first work review as a script analyst intern. When I got called into the boardroom, I was nervous. (Boardrooms = serious business.) Despite that I am going to be a writer, anticipating criticism turns my insides into jelly, and not the tasty kind you slather on toast. I know rejection and getting shredded like so much iceberg lettuce is a regular occurrence in the writer's life, but I'm not used to it yet.

Their main complaint? When writing my plot summaries of the scripts, I'm using too much description. It was kind of like having them look me dead in the eye and saying: "Stop doing so much work." The other thing that happened in the meeting was that we started talking about me, as a screenwriter. They asked me questions, I hadn't thought of before.

Q: What kind of writer am I?
A: The kind that uses words?

B) How often do I write?
A) Not enough. School and internship have dragged my inspiration and creativity out behind the Wiley Cafe, riddling it with so many bullets and leaving it to die.

So I challenged myself to Script Frenzy, the annual mayhem of writing a 100 page script in the month of April. Also, I'm challenging you. Yeah, you! Don't freeze there awkwardly acting like I didn't just put you on the spot.

TOP 5 REASONS TO SIGN UP FOR SCRIPT FRENZY
1. I can hear you whimpering already like a scared puppy, "But Wiley, I have never ever written a script before!....Also I would like a tummy rub and a cookie." I have read tons of scripts by now and believe me, ANYONE CAN WRITE THEM. And they do. Then I suffer through 130 pages and lose faith in humanity. The world needs your genius. Also, I will totes give you a tummy rub...and possibly that cookie.

2. I will bet you a hundred dollars you have seen a movie, a play, or a TV show that sucked royally. On that day, you said to yourself, "Even I can do it better than THAT!" Prove it.

3. It's awesome creative fun. Ever imagined your favourite book as a movie? Thought of an insanely amazing script idea that you'd love to see on the big screen? There's only one way to get the gears of those dreams in motion, and that's to write a first draft.
Gotta find my inciting incident, schmeh, see? (source)

4. It's an accomplishment, like a storytelling Everest. I've studied screenwriting in college for 3 years, I've read books about it, and I've taken in 40+ feature length screenplays, averaging around 108 pages apiece. My dirty little secret: I've never written a script over 20 pages long. The time has come! You like challenges right? Good. Join me in glorious battle!

5. All the cool kids are doing it. Seriously.
100 pages.
30 days.
Infinite possibilities.

I Like this.

You know what's cool? A billion dollars. I just finished watching The Social Network and it blew out every floor of my brain from visuals to dialogue and back again. Aaron Sorkin's Oscar was well deserved.

But really, do you know what's cool?
That question has billions of answers, each more awesome than the last. I'm going to throw a few at you: patience paying off, DIY projects, and bargain bins. Today, I got all three. As part of some Saturday errands, I ended up in Fabricland. Just like I do with almost every store I wander into, I wound up meandering around in the discount bins. There were plenty of random off whites, scraps of sequins and other bits and pieces. Two particular pieces stuck out to me...

The first kind was this:
A beautiful linen type material with poppies on it. With a little sewing, I thought it would make a great thick headband just like this...Or similar. You get the idea:

(Source.)
Bright, girly, springy and a little hippie! (Also, she has a kitten on her shirt. That rocks.)

The second bargain bin find was this blue material:
I have been perving on scarf of a similar colour every time I have gone to H&M since the summer. Every time I oogled it though,it ended up being put back. I just was not willing to cough up 15+ bucks for a plain coloured scarf, even if the material was nice. In the end, my cheap (err...patient) nature helped me out! I got almost a full meter of this for under $3.00.

All in all, the material came to $4.49, exactly, and that's the beauty of it. Two new pieces for a literal fraction of the cost... Go spend your billion dollars elsewhere. I know I will.

Confessions: The F Word [Part II]

If you haven't read Part I, you can take in my teenage angst and the before pictures here. Life rolled on. I couldn't find a job because of the recession that summer and my motivation disappeared. Some of the pounds came back, school started again. Ho hum!

After the holidays that year, I met a boy. I liked him, he liked me back. He told me I was beautiful, we went on dates and one crazy day, I suddenly had my first boyfriend. It was even Facebook official, gasp! We had the same sense of humour and music addiction. The same wild imagination, and the same night owl disease. I felt as if I'd known him for my whole crazy life.

We both had a weird appreciation for Garth Brooks. I can't really explain it much more than that.

Sadly, the fat girl I used to be was still around. I had no relationship experience. It was painful how uncomfortable I was letting someone into my personal space. He was understanding, and we took things slow. It backfired- we ended up feeling like friends. So after 3 months, I broke it off. I'll never know what would have happened if I had been normal when we started. What if are two of the worst words I can think of.

After that, lost for answers, I gained 10lbs in only a month. That's 35,000 calories. Enter my royal rumble with the life long problem of Binge Eating Disorder, aka BED. When I first heard about it, I thought it was bull- how could eating too much be a mental disease? I googled, I took books out at the library. Every account, every symptom sounded just like me.

I'd eat without stopping until I was ready to throw up. Sometimes a couple times a week, if it was bad, maybe every day. I forgot what being hungry felt like. Autopilot. Realizing I had a real problem, that's how I crash landed onto my psychologist's couch. I went through two months of weekly therapy sessions. Worked my issues. I learned about what I was doing to myself. More importantly, I figured out why.

When I got to feel hunger, it made me excited. How I had taken that feeling for granted! At the end of the summer, Rebekah and I took a trip to Montreal. While I was there I got a Nightingale tattoo to remind me of all the things I was above doing to myself. How I would be so light I could fly. How I was free. (Dear mom, if this is how you find out about my second tattoo, I'm sorry...)
I've been on and off the wagon since then. There are days when giving up and eating the whole pizza feels like the best solution to any and all of my problems, except for one. That's my ongoing weight loss. Beyond the total aesthetic of being slimmer and feeling good, my family has a history of diabetes on one side. I don't want that for myself. I know I've got one hell of a fight left to get to a decent BMI and a stable state of mind.

I'm writing this just in case someone like me reads it and needs to know they aren't alone. I want them to know there's always hope left. I've been going on for four years and I won't stop. A few days ago, my roommates put me up to a personal challenge. To lose 25-30lbs by my 21st birthday. I accepted, gladly. So you can expect to see a fitness/health post here every now and again! With that, I think I've run out of storytelling fodder. If you want to follow my weight loss odyssey in more detail, you can check out my other blog Sleek G33k.

As is at the moment!

Confessions: The F Word [Part I]

I'm sick right now, and taking bioxin for an infection from blisters on my heels. My day was spent reading and sleeping. I feel pretty awful about doing virtually nothing, even if it is in the name of recovery. There are cakes to be baked and scripts to be read and I'm napping away the hours and guzzling grape gatorade. My lovely roommates keep Florence Nightingaling me. Telly has slept on my bed, keeping me company. My mother is texting me for constant updates. Really, I'm just sick, in productive life limbo. Typing doesn't take energy, so I thought I'd make a post on something near and dear to my heart. Personal health, and losing weight.

This story starts out sad, but I promise it's going somewhere worthwhile. I'm not the type who likes to bitch and moan for no good reason. At the beginning of my life, if you don't want to sugar coat it-- I was the fat girl. I was bullied on the playground. To this day I can remember in clear detail things that kids said to me. Things that hurt me, things that make me angry now. The words hit my back like rocks I wasn't strong enough to carry. Photos from my teenage years.

This pattern followed me through childhood. When I got to highschool, I wasn't bullied because of my size. I was ignored. My friends had crushes and boyfriends, while I had video games and junk food. My friends had dates and their first kisses and sexual experiences-- I had size 18 jeans. I wasn't Riley. I was so-and-so's fat friend. I wished to be anorexic, but food was too comforting when I was upset. I tried to make myself throw up -- it never worked. My gag reflex just wasn't strong enough and I got scared when my nails cut the back of my throat and I saw blood on my fingers. That was scary as hell, and it might be graphic but that's what really happened. I feel it's really important to be as honest as possible here. So maybe, sometime, some girl just like teenage me will read this and realize she's not alone. I stayed large, out of control, lonely and self loathing. A part of me even hated my friends, because they had everything I didn't. They were who I couldn't be, and they couldn't understand what it was like to be the big F word.

I don't know exactly what it was that flicked the switch, I can only guess. I want to say that in the summer of 2007 I realized I had a year before I graduated from high school and there was a world of college waiting for me. A new life, possibilities unexplored. Maybe it was because when I stepped on the scale I saw 235lbs. At the time I didn't even realize just how big that really was. Whatever it was, I snapped a before picture and got down to business.

The "before" photo. Summer 2007.

I ended up losing 20lbs that summer, using a website called Calorie Count. Juggling school and life that year, I worked my ass off- literally. At my prom I was a glorious 182 lbs. Lighter than I had been in years! College happened, and despite that I was healthier than ever before, I still didn't have what I wanted. I made friends, and I got crushes but that was it.

In the second semester of my first year, the first girl I had made friends with in my program committed suicide. I have never in my life felt anything like it. Blinding crippling grief. Then numb. Then sorrow that hollowed me out raw, and left me wide open without motivation. I had brief thoughts of dropping out, and I saw it in the faces of my friends. I spoke at her funeral, it's the kind of heavy I will never fully be rid of. However, instead of dealing with it by eating, my appetite was gone. I worked out with DVDs in my res room or I ran on treadmills. Almost every. Single. Day.

My life saver, Josh hugged me tight and I remember his surprised question while his chin was on my shoulder. "Have you lost weight since like...last week?" In my need to distract myself from pain, I was being cut down to size. I finished first year at 160lbs. I don't know at what age I might have been a comparable number. All I can provide an example for is that in grade three, I remember being around 130lbs. It was a new, all time low.

[To be continued...]

Easy as Pi

Happy Pi Day, y'all! I thought I might post a little something tasty to celebrate the occasion. It's not pie, which might be a faux pas, but I didn't have the ingredients for crust. I did however have some mac apples that were about to go off the deep end, and oats. You know what they say: when life gives you apples and oats, make apple crumble! (I'm sure they say that somewhere.)

This recipe isn't perfect. I was cooking with limited ingredients so the prototype is a little sketchy. Also, I've gotten to a comfort level in my kitchen abilities where I've stopped measuring and writing things down, or even reading off of recipes! All my measurements are therefore approximate. Kitchen intuition, friends. Dig it.

To those of you who are scared of branching out and trying things: don't be. Kitchen mistakes (if there are any!) can turn out to be the tastiest mistakes of them all!

Easy as Pi Day Apple Crumble
Serves 2-4 depending on your crumble addiction...Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Still with me? Carry on.
In one bowl:
1 1/2 cups quick cooking oats
1 tbsp flour
3 tbsp brown sugar
3 tbsp butter, melted

Combine all of these together, stirring so the oats are coated. Set aside. Easy, you got this!

In a second bowl:
4 of your favourite apples, peeled, cored and sliced. (I used Macintosh!)
Sprinkle of cinnamon
Sprinkle of sugar (optional)

Toss the apple slices in sugar. Spray a loaf pan with nonstick cooking spray. Layer the apples in the bottom, then cover with the oat mixture. Bake for 25 minutes, until the oats have a nice brown colour and the house smells ridiculously good.

Serve with yogurt, vanilla ice cream, or whatever your heart desires!

The Soft Kitty Shirt

This shirt is a symbol of a small inner rebellion and fuzzy cuddly things. Rebekah held it up one day at the thrift store, joking. Instantly, I knew it had to be mine.

OMG TOO MUCH AWESOME.

It stayed in my closet for a year without seeing the front lines. When clothes were being shipped off to charity bins, this shirt made the cut and stayed in my closet.

I wore it once, around the apartment and both roommates thought it was hilarious and cute. Not awesome, like I knew it was, and certainly not chic. I was un-phased. Or at least I thought I was, until I realized the four little kitties went right back into the closet the next day and hibernated.

A little over a month ago I had a revelation. I stumbled onto Young, Fat and Fabulous, a blog written by a young woman who rocks out loud and takes no prisoners when it comes to her clothes. This girl has more panache than a wedding cake has buttercream. I was inspired. Suddenly I was armed with the knowledge that bigger girls could dress to impress. I carried that knowledge like a tommy gun.

As the changes started, I started getting compliments on my wardrobe from my roommates, my sisters, total strangers. It was like having an IV of awesome.

Then one day, I fulfilled my destiny. As though I could hear them purring my name, I knew it was time, so I wore the shirt. Not around the apartment. Not down to check the mail. I wore it out to an interview shoot for the documentary film I'm co-producing. I loved every second. I rocked it, even.

That's why when I look at it, besides seeing two pairs of snuggling, purring kittens, I see total bad-assery. I see sticking to my guns, and newly gained self assurance. I see Clint Eastwood.
The moral of the story: you make the shirt, the shirt doesn't make you, baby.

Tell me about your own soft kitty shirt experience... What have you done you weren't sure you were capable of?

Pancake Tuesday

Pancake Tuesday, Shrove Tuesday, Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras. Today goes by many names, and many meals. Pancakes, crepes, waffles, you name it, there are a million and one options. This is especially true when you start looking into what you can put in and on (That may or may not be what she said.)

Today in the land of Apartment 605 we opted for a more traditional route... then we went crazy and added chocolate and raspberries. You read that right. CHOCOLATE AND RASPBERRIES.

I got this recipe from the father of an old family friend, and it's been my go to ever since. (Mix, you say? Hell no!) They are fluffy, light, sweet and you can add your own twist really easily. Plus they're easy to assemble from scratch. I didn't have it at school, so I asked my mama to pretty please send it my way? Well I'll be damned, she's such a sweetheart she scanned it and sent it right on over to me!
Just in case you can't read the writing, here's the rundown.

Dr. Bob's Pancakes
(Makes about 6 medium-large pancakes)
2 cups flour
3 tsp baking powder
4 tbsp sugar
1 tbsp salt

2 cups milk
2 eggs
1/4 cup Crisco oil (I didn't have any. I used melted butter instead!)

Optional
Bittersweet chocolate chips
Raspberries, fresh or frozen. (We used frozen!)

Sift together dry ingredients in one bowl. In a separate smaller bowl, whisk together wet ingredients.
Pour the wet mixture into the dry mixture! Still with me here? I know it's complicated.
Now stir....make sure it's still a little bit lumpy, but there are no bits of flour.

Just keep stirring, just keep stirring...

Ladle onto a hot griddle or frying pan. If you're feeling crazy, add your chocolate chips and raspberries here. Just sprinkle them on the batter as soon as it gets into the pan. That way you're guaranteed fruity chocolate distribution.

Flip when bubbles form, pop and don't fill in. Plate and enjoy!
The raspberries make it look like it took a couple of bullets, but then this is the tastiest and most most heroic flapjack you'll ever get to eat!

What did you eat for dinner? What's your favourite pancake reboot recipe? Inquiring minds want to know!

To Brussels, with haste!

Today I had a case of the Mondays. I almost hit a car leaving the parking garage this morning; then my headphones broke on the platform while I was waiting for the train. I got to work to find the WiFi broken. The Ethernet connection was not working either. The script I had to read was bad. So on and so forth.
So when I got home, I knew at least what was going to lift my spirits: making something awesome for dinner. One of my new favourite things…. Are you ready for it? Brussel sprouts!

2011 is turning into the year of trying things I thought I hated and realizing I actually have been missing out. For example, wearing casual dresses. All the seafood I sampled in California. White wine…annnnnnnnd brussel sprouts! I know everyone hated and dreaded them as children, but friends, they are AWESOME.

It started when I was grocery shopping, and saw that they were on sale… It was something ridiculous like 99 cents for a pound. Could I resist such a deal? No, I could not. Despite my kiddie hang ups about the itty bitty cabbage doppelgangers, I remembered I had seen a recipe for ROASTED brussel sprouts and decided to put it to the test. To make a long love affair short:

LIFE. CHANGING. They’re salty, crunchy on the outside, colourful and fairly healthy. (Fact: they contain cancer fighting compounds!) It’s as tasty as you’ll ever find ‘em without cooking them up with bacon fat, another traditional method. So without further pomp and circumstance, I present to you, a revelation:
Roasted Brussel Sprouts
(serves 1…but it’s really easy to double, triple should you feel the need….cough.)

6 or 7 brussel sprouts of a similar size
olive oil
kosher salt (or table salt or rock salt. Find some salt, okay?)
pepper (optional)

First thing’s first. Preheat your oven to 375 degrees. Pop dem sprouts into a colander and rinse them off. When they’re dry, trim off the ends.The best part of these beauties is the roasted delicious toasty brown flavour. How do we get as much as possible? Split your sprouts in half! More surface area = more yum. I find it’s easiest to cut them on the vein, follow the line with your knife.

Toss the halves in a bowl. Drizzle with approximately 1 tbsp of olive oil and sprinkle with salt and pepper. However much you want. I usually find a generous pinch does it. Toss to coat evenly. I had a picture of this step but it was icky.

Lay out on a baking pan, preferably lined with parchment paper.


Bake for ten minutes on one side. Take them out and flip sides to increase browning action. Bake for another 5-10 minutes.

Remove from oven, plate with other food, or just dive in. Devour the goodness.

Blogifornia #4: Final Thoughts

Here is a picture of me thinking all of these oh-so deep final thoughts.
I’m cheating and writing this on the airplane, en route to my home AND native land. The country being Canada, the city being Toronto and the weather being cold. I am looking forward to two of those three things, and I can assure you after seven days of pure California sunshine, it’s not the cold.

I was sad to see the mountains, the desert, the gorgeous weather, the palm trees all disappear behind the cloud cover as our flight took off today. I got to see and do some amazing things in California. It was a perfect way to shake off the winter drag. I feel ready to face the rest of the semester. (The rest of my life? Different story.)
In spite of the fact that I was loving everything La Quinta offered, I was surprised about how much I missed the things I had left behind. My fam-a-lam, Costello, and my other roommate, (the artist formerly known as Rebekah Eden, over at Eden a la Mode). I missed the apartment with it’s tiny kitchen. Faces and people who had been nothing but Facebook updates and messages for the duration of the entire week.
It really makes me wonder as to whether or not I’d be capable of moving somewhere far away, like England or Los Angeles, away from everything that is familiar and loved. Who can say? I guess the point is that while SOME good things just have to come to an end, there’s a silver lining waiting on the other side just wanting to be acknowledged.

I’ll never forget the trip, what was seen and done, tasted and captured in photographs. I had a bunch of firsts for this trip, and those are always exciting, because they can turn into seconds or thirds.
I discovered that I don’t hate seafood. I tried a date shake. I hugged the prickliest tree I’ve ever met. I walked through the desert to an oasis, and saw huge gorgeous rock formations that had been around for thousands of years. I saw sky so big and blue, you could fall up and go swimming in it.
Maybe on my next visit.

New dream? Possibly.

Blogifornia #3: The Joshua Tree

Today rather than driving all over the valley and blowing money on stuff, we headed out to Joshua Tree National Park. It was awe inspiring and humbling. When you're in a big city it's easy to become a number, but when you're standing next to a palm tree that is probably hundred of years old and many times your age, you get a big sense of wonder about the world.
Let's just say I had a lot of life to think about today.
For the six hours of the entire trip I got psychotically shutter happy, and consequently came back home with over 160 pictures of the gorgeous, to die for desert landscape. Before this trip I had never seen the desert, let alone walked through one. It's exactly like you see in the movies. [Minus tumbleweeds. I saw no tumbleweeds...Sad!:(] I even spotted some signs of life including something that looked like but was not a chipmunk, a crow, and a desert fox. Possibly a coyote, but this thing looked downright foxy to me.

What really hit me was the fragile nature of the environment. The park is named after a Joshua Tree, which is a spiny tree that looks like this:
A Joshua tree will grow approximately one inch a year. In order for it to grow branches, it has to experience a decent frost, that sparks the survival instinct in the tree that literally makes it grow. On top of that, they have to be pollinated by a specific moth. The chances seemed to be totally stacked against this prickly thing, and yet THERE WERE HUNDREDS OF THEM. Many of them were well over 8 feet tall making them hundreds of years old.

It makes me think about the random chances and risks that are so common in life. What are the chances of things happening, vs. what are the chances of things NOT happening. Nature is tough, and it's going to outlast us all, bar nuclear war or human mutation.
I'm so over my head in the wave of all that California has to offer, from perpetual summer jogging weather to mountains and back again.

Sunglasses at Target: 13$. Epic accidental photo: Priceless.

Blogifornia #2: Slice of (Unreal) Life

There are MOUNTAINS on every horizon, palm trees, flowers, sunshine and tons of retired people who walk by without seeing it. He who is tired of California is tired of life. Making it short, I'm kind of in love. I will always be a proud Canadian, and I've always maintained there is a charm to the winter months. However, I have a scary feeling if I ever make it to San Francisco, I won't come home. EVER.

Yesterday, we hit up a local flea market, where I began gift shopping for my luvvies back home. Today we went to El Paseo, which is the Rodeo Drive of the Coachella Valley. Safe to say all we did was window shop. At Pottery Barn I fell in love with this:
I'm going to replicate this somehow, because while I loved the heck out of it, as we say in apartment 605, "I didn't 40$ love it." Forty dollars for a canvas laptop sleeve. Really, PB? Really?

After a crazy afternoon we ended up at Target, a low cost wonderland and soon we were frantically trying on buckets of items. So far it's been a shopaholic good time, but tomorrow we're heading out to nature in the form of a national park called Joshua Tree.

Rock easy, friends! Sorry this entry was so vague. I missed yesterday and I didn't want today to be overly long.