political animals

This is something I wrote way back in the first few months of the year, and didn't post, it's a bit personal, and it has nothing to do with the stuff I normally write about here. But given how the rest of the summer has gone for me and the bizarro situation at home (in England) just now-ish, I figured what the hell.  So that's what this is, the backstory is the revolution in Egypt, which I watched compulsively on the BBC for hours and hours...

I've been pondering some other things.
Like, do you remember the moment you became an adult? Or that you took your first steps to adultiness? (If the moment  you're thinking of is a nekkid one then that's prolly not the one I mean.)
I mean the minutes, hours or days when your horizons broadened exponentially and the world turned into a place to be observed as opposed to a place to move through mindlessly.
Yah, then.
What's going on in Egypt right now has me thinking about this. 
My moment came with a revolution too.
It was late December of  1989 I was 11 (just). It was the second Christmas that the Fat-Man-in-Red wasn't an unassailable truth for me; and I was still so practiced at believing that it almost felt irrational not to believe.
Both my parents, my sibs, my Auntie M and Uncle Ant and my brand-new cousin Gabe were ensconced at a villa in Centre Parcs (80's, English, middle-class Resort and Center O' Funtimes). 
There are a few things that I recall about that holiday. A new teddy bear with a stern/charming face (named Edward, natch). Riding on the back on my dad's bike "yah mule yah!". Taking the big water chute for the first time. And the fall of Ceausescu's regime in Romania and the subsequent days of violence.  
This is me then.*

We are a family of obsessive news watchers. And it was a big year for news.  We watched as the Berlin wall fell. (2 days after my 11th birthday and the same day my teacher had confidently informed me that the wall would "never fall".)  My mum let me stay up late to watch that, but what we saw reported from Bucharest looked different to Berlin; Berlin was all all joyous faces and mullets. The faces in Bucharest were a grim mix of blistering fear, and something that looked unstoppable, hope maybe. We watched tanks firing on Ceausescu's palace and my world got bigger,  the concept of freedom solidified for me. 
I, of course, had no idea what it was like to live anything but a life of privilege, no concept of what the realities of oppression were (thank goodness), but I could feel, and see - writ large on people's faces - the idea that some things were worth fighting - and fighting ugly and bloody - for. 
That Look is in Egypt now;  on the faces of women; and in my (over simplified) opinion, young men always seem to be shouting about something, when young women break down a lifetime of conditioning and start shouting on the streets, well that's when the world is about to change. 
So I watch. Compulsively. For hours. Hoping for the usual things for the brave women and men on the streets, you know, peace, freedom, lives lived well and happily




*Oh my god. The sailor dress. Wowzers.

normal

Hoo boy! How did 3 weeks go by? What have you guys been up to? Obsessively watching the coverage from Egypt? Snuffling down and avoiding the snowy snowiness? Brick training for yer triathlon? Rearranging your wardrobe? No wait, that's what I've been doing!

And I finished my TBI story. Done. It was so difficult that I got stress blisters on my hands (my own personal brand of crazy) but it's done and I hope that it will be useful. I might stick all my TBI stuff on one page and whack it in my sidebar. In case anybody is curious or (oh man, I hope not) in the same sort of situation. On the plus side, writing a novel with smooching and a happy ending seems like cake in comparison.

I haven't made anything! In fact I haven't even finished the stuff I was working on, but I'm slowly getting back on track.

And my bear is turning 3! THREE! I have no idea how this can possibly be; but apparently TIME just happens.
We have a rocket ship party planned and I've been making magnetic invites with a kind of MCM, nuclear-age thing going on. And planning theme cocktails; COSMOnauts for grown-ups and COSMO-nots for the non boozy crowd. And a photobooth with space suit helmet cutouts. And dressing our door as a space ship hatch. I may get all crazy and make Teddy as space suit, but we'll see.
And my ma is going to be here! Which is so awesome on account of Teddy has been talking about her constantly since September (Grammie makes cake? We make a cake for grammie? Grammie reads stories? Grammie drive a van? A Wolgs-wagon van?)
And we're all potty trained around here! (Wait, TMI? Maybe? I DID mean Teddy.) Bribery is an ugly word. But you guys, it was straight bribery.

And that's pretty much it. I've been wardrobe remixing like crazy on account of The Big Cull. I'm keeping track of the whats and wheres (and wears); if I can't work something at least two ways it's OUTTA here. (I'm LOUSY at this though so it's taking some willpower.) And let's see, this post needs a picture so it doesn't look all nekkid...
How about some FEET? Two pair. Kind of matching.

x

Oh Olay, can't we all just get along?

You guys! It's time, I feel, for a broad, sweeping statement based on dubious anecdotal evidence!

And here it is... I  think maybe the folks at Olay hate Canadians. And I don't say that lightly (ok fine, yah I totally do say that lightly).
But see, Olay makes a thing-that-changed-my-life (they're not paying me here, thought they totally could - I've have no moral compass. No. Really.)
Their Complete Care Touch of  Max Factor Foundation stuff is The Bomb. Moisturizer, sun screen, make-up. Three awesome things. One hamfisted once-a-day application. and DONE.
I LOVE this stuff.
I love it so much in fact, that I stole my first bottle from my mum, (see, I wasn't kidding about the moral compass thing).
And last month I squeezed the very last speck out of the pump and thought dude, I better go get some more of that soonest, if not sooner.
So I trotted down to the drugstore and hit up the Olay section. And nuffink. I even took the bottle with me so I knew what I was looking for. Nope, nada. I nabbed the makeup girl and was all "cough it up lady!" but apparently NOPE. Not available in Canada. But, according to her the Olay Total Effects 7 Signs yadda yadda with foundation is the same kinda deal. So I got some of that.
The verdict is... boo.  I'm not saying it sucks, but it sucked on me. Orange, and slithery in texture and orange and slithery and YUCK. $30+ and I can't use it.  I was cranky about it.
So cranky that I whined to my sweetie ALL day, "WHY? WHY don't they have my stuff here? WHY?"
All day. He eventually had the pained expression of a man in the middle of chewing his own arm off, I think maybe he deserves a medal of some kind.
So I did some research, found out that they hadn't actually discontinued it (HATE that. And I'm talking to you Floris perfumes), And that it's available in the UK and Ireland but not in Canada; leading me to believe that  Olay hates Canadians (I will admit that this is a mental leap).
Anyhow, I hit up my European contacts (my mum!) and had her send me some. And it arrived yesterday and now my skin is happy.
I can't really remember what the point of this post was, and as a person who's facial cleanser comes in a bright pink bottle with dancing turtles on it; I dunno how qualified I am to offer makeup advice.

OH and I had my haircut! I kind of love it. Maybe I'll take some pictures and do a round up of From Hair to Eternity.

OK rant over and here's a picture of my dog-faced girl, being ridiculous with her chum Leroy Brown (he's baddest dog in the whole damn town).

Sure, it looks like nailpolish...

And OK, I guess technically it IS nailpolish. But it also happens to be part of my triathlon training regime. No really, it is.

But firstly a tangent! You know, it's funny; I would never, ever (like I'd-rather-chomp-out-my-own-tongue ever) say to someone who had just had their first swim lesson "OH HEY. Good job fatass, there's another thing you suck at". 

I wouldn't say it to someone I disliked. I wouldn't say it to a stranger and I sure as hell wouldn't say it to a friend.  

But it's actually the mild version of what I was telling myself after my first swim lesson (on Nov 1st). Was it true? Maybe.That first lesson was TOUGH; I like the water just fine and I could swim enough not to drown. I didn't however, like jamming my head under the water and exercising vigorously. Or even just putting my head under the water, period.

But I did it. I turned up, I learnt some stuff and I did the best I could. If you had done the same thing I would be telling you how awesome you are RIGHT NOW. In fact, consider yourself told.

But I spent three weeks dreading going to class and practice, and then having nightmares about the race. Not like subtle "and this giant anchor tattoo represents your fear" nightmares. Oh no. Like "I swim and swim as hard as I can but I still don't come in under my time and I get disqualified and all my friends and family are so NICE about it that I would rather have drowned". That kind of nightmare.

So, I did this mental exercise thing with my homegirl Ramona, where I had to talk myself through my swim like I was someone I liked, you know, "Hey! Good for us! We didn't drown and we're totally getting better! Woo. You go us-girl!".

So I've been doing that and tonight... I KICKED MY DISTANCE'S ASS. For seriously. And um, I've been a little slack over the holidays (OK REALLY slack) which leads me to believe that the problem before wasn't my fitness level or my breathing so much as it was my brain. And now I can officially tell my brain to SUCK IT.

How does this relate to nail polish? Well for me pretty toes help me get my head ready for the swim. I feel more comfortable and confident with red toe-claws. So I do that. Also with the shaving my legs. In fact I prepare for the gym kind of the way I prepare for a date with my sweetie. Only with less high heels and smooching. heh.

When I'm doing the actual swim, spin (bike) or run. I don't let myself give me a hard time. I bust out my internal soccermom (only not the scary kind) and she stands on the sidelines yelling encouragement (she's SO embarrassing!).
Seriously though, my deal is that if I wouldn't say it to my kid, I can't say it to me. And so far it's working out pretty well.

So, you guys? How do you get yourself psyched up to train/work out? Do you give yourself a hard time or are you "yay for me!"? Any pre-game rituals I should know about? 

(Oh and the oil stuff is for my face after the chlorine roshambo. It's the bomb.)

Vegan Brownies - mmm mm

Remember the brownie bakin' apron?
Well the brownies in question there just happened to be the vegan kind. The lovely HollyGoLightly was curious about the recipe so I though I'd share.

(But before I do I just wanted to say that I think you guys should read this post of Holly's about answering machine messages. It made me instantly pick up my camera and use the Voice Recording function to save the really important messages from our answering machine (the ones from the day Teddy was born etc) so thank you for sharing Holly and I'm so sorry that you lost yours.)

Ok, onwards!
Now, I'm not a vegan, mostly on account of how I think bacon is the most important food group (what do you mean it's not a food group? Sure it is!) But I have a chum who is and it's nice to be able to share the crazy sugar rush when he's over for dinner. That said, these brownies don't actually have THAT much sugar in them (well, until you add a heap of dark chocolate chips and frosting!)
The recipe is from here, with some tweaks made by the folks in the comments and yours truly. This makes a fairly small number of brownies (I use an 8x8 dish but smaller would be better) because if I make more I just eat them. All of them. As fast as possible.

1 cup flour
(a bare) 1/2 cup sugar
8(ish) tbs of cocoa powder
1/2 a tsp baking powder
hefty pinch of salt
1/2 a cup of water (or soy/almond/rice milk)
2 Big tbs of of melted soy margarine (or veggie oil)
1/2 a cup of applesauce
splash of vanilla extract (but I bet almond would be awesome too)
and handful of dark chocolate chips

preheat the oven to 350
Mix the dry stuff in a big bowl.
Add the water and mix some more, then (and I don't know if this has any effect at all) leave it for a few minutes
Then add the marge/oil, vanilla and applesauce give the whole lot a sound and righteous beating.
I grease and flour the dish then stick half the mixture in, toss in the chocolate chips, add the rest of the mixture then whack it in the oven until a toothpick comes out clean (about 25-27 minutes for the 8x8 dish). Holy cow, worlds longest sentence.

And voila. because these don't have eggs in them I let the bear do this:

It hurts. Quick, give it some cake.

I'm about to overshare here, because you know, its fun to make everybody really uncomfortable with brutal and embarrassing honesty.

Two days ago my brother fell down the stairs. He smacked the back of his head and has a concussion. Concussions suck and concussions for guys who have brain injuries suck harder. But that's not really my thing to share, it's his.

Anyway, I found out what happened, and I peered at Elliot's pupils, then I made him call his doctor and nagged him out the door.
Then I went to the cupboard and stuffed chocolate chunk cookies into my face.
Handfuls of them. We happened to have them in the house because my sweetie got them for valentines day treats. But I probably would have made do with baking chocolate and marshmallows. You know, one step up from raw sugar.

For me worry or sad has a physical feeling, it feels like there's a gap in the dead center of my chest. It could be that once upon a time I couldn't tell the difference between the gappy hole ache and hungry; but I think that these days reaching out for the instant gratification of chew chew slurp gulch is just habit.

One of the sucky things about worry is that it is actionless. Waiting to hear how Elliot got on at the doctors is not something that can be effected by any action of mine. All I can do with that waiting is think it over and over and over and over again. It might be that the hand to mouth action feels like the doing something with my worry.

Because I don't eat a lot of sugar these days, when I do I feel... weird. Like heart racy, head achy, just done a bunch of narcotics, weird. When I was eating sugar all the time I didn't really notice it but it's possible that it always felt bad but that I couldn't tell.

Ok.
I'm done. I'm not a super big fan of doing this, you know shedding light on the ugly, scurrying-in-the-dark parts of my brain/life but for me writing things down is like idea alchemy. I'm more likely to learn from and pay attention to something that I've put in black and white.
So you guys get to hear me whine. FUN.

I don't know if I'm the only person in the world who does this or feels like this.
Feel free to chime in with the "dude... you're freaky" or whathaveyous.