Category Archives: Do This Not That

The End of Bad Hair Days

Please Don’t Do This

Normally I don’t think about politics at all.  I think more about my hair.  I’m in the process of growing it out, by the way.  You know how a woman cuts her hair when she is pregnant or she ditches some crappy man?  Maybe it’s something about change and rebirth.  I’m in the opposite stage, I’m not having a baby and I feel like I’m dying a little every day.  So I’m not going to cut my hair and see how that goes.  And speaking of hair and change, the municipal election is coming up on October 25.  I have some thoughts about the mayoral candidates and reserve the right to change my mind but I definitely know who I’m voting for councillor in Ward 32.  While I am thinking about hair, I am also thinking it’s time for a change.  Let’s just call “hair” a metaphor for political platform and say somebody is using too much hairspray and has split ends and needs a new ‘do, not to mention maybe some Botox (shhh, it’s fine, I’ve tried it, it stops you from squinting and getting headaches and improves peripheral vision) and a new wardrobe while we are at it:

The real Sandra Bussin, as you can see from this picture, even her campaign signs are old

About a month ago, one of the other candidates came to my door and we had a little chat.  Mary-Margaret McMahon had a lot to offer.  She has really good hair.  She actually cares about community spirit.  I liked her so much, I volunteered to help her campaign and I am urging everyone in the hood to vote for her!!!  Please check out her website here:

Mary-Margaret McMahon for Ward 32, the change is going to be good

No Rest (or Shwarma) For The Weary

I see Jesus

Some of you have been following me for the last few months and read about how I blithely ate my way down Queen Street, 3 blocks of Gerrard, and various points on the Danforth.  I am East Toronto’s takeout version of “Eat, Pray, Love.”  I’m willing to admit, I think I spent too much time on the “eat” part, it’s time to pray.  I do have an ashram set up in my house, complete with all the game systems and Rogers on Demand, that will help with the meditation part but last week I turned pro-active with the prayer part.  I have bootcamped and grunted with my girl-cush, Amy and aerobicized and walked out with that taskmaster of torture, Jen.  I’ve also yogo’d (?!!! I can’t even explain why he calls it this: spinning and yoga) with David, who is my own personal Jesus, I love him so.  He’s married though, all the good Jesuses are married, gay, or dead.  So far after my first week, I have learned that I am a piece of work in progress, and that while Jesus may love me, he is not *in love* with me.  So I better just do what I’m told and shut up.

I’m already anticipating the third part of my “eat, pray, love” journey.   I came across a beautiful mattress store called essentia at 2180 Queen Street.  I was so tired, I needed to lay down also I am looking for something unique in a mattress that will help with my coccyx condition (I wish)….okay!  I’m looking for a bed I can watch tv in that I don’t have to order from on the Shopping Channel.  Essentia mattresses are made of memory foam without the toxic ingredients which means mites won’t stick around.  They range in thickness and vary from luxuriously soft to my favourite, the fit and firm.  The company is all about quality and the environment, what more can you want?  There’s always more to want and I have found it:  Hello, Lover!  They have a bed called the Flex Drive, that offers full range of motion and you can adjust it with the flick of the wand.  I see tv!

Flex Drive TV Watching mattress

essentia, 2180 Queen Street East

For more information and more locations, click here.

P.S.  you could even eat in that bed without spilling and the shwarmas at Delina’s are fantastic!

Marco…?!

Public pool ladies

Pretty much my entire childhood was spent  looking for that elusive Marco Polo.  Where I grew up, we had our own pool in the backyard.  We had lots of neighbours over so it was almost like a public pool, God knows what was in it.  One of my friends confessed years later that she would pee on the edge of it, what can you do?  I’d go and swim in her toilet but that would be just petty revenge.  Now as an adult, I’m pool-less and have to rely on actual public swimming facilities.  As you know, they are all over the city, click here to find one close to you, if you dare.  The one near me is the Donald Somerville at the foot of Woodbine.  It’s quite crowded and the thing I hate is walking up the stairs barefoot.  It’s slippery with sunscreen residue and mud, prime breeding ground for the plantar warts, ugh, let’s not even go there.  I don’t mind going to the Greenwood pool late in the day because it’s less busy and there is just a short tiptoe trot to the concrete.  They don’t like you to wear shoes at the city pools.  In fact there are so many rules that I think Marco Polo himself got fed up.  I have to say I do love to people watch and there is always something entertaining to see:  teenage couples making out, a bearded lady or two, fat men with prison yard tattoos.  The whole Diane Arbus-ness is probably better for the CNE and less appetizing for sharing water.  A few years ago, when the kids were young uns and there was a city strike (no garbage pick up or pools), someone told me about a pool at the Docks.  You pay a small fee to get in but you have lounge chairs and access to a snackbar and a real bar.  At the time it was *the* place to go for the ladies who worked in the evenings, waitresses and whatnot.  They would frolick in the pool in their thong bikinis on blow up floats (you couldn’t do that in a city-run pool) and natter away in their Slavic languages.  A Toronto Sun photographer would always be on hand snapping pictures.  It was just like South Beach.  Such fun and little Freddy learned how to swim that year.  Now the Docks is no longer and it is called Polson Pier.  The pool is still there (the ladies are not, they must be in Hollywood now, famous and happy ever after).  The facility is actually much nicer with comfy couches and umbrellas:

The pool is pretty quiet during the week, $10 for adults and $6 for children (which is undefined, “if you say she is a child, then she is a child” said the man behind the counter about my 16 year old.)  And the pool is so warm and so clear, I actually found two loonies on the bottom which in a Seinfeld moment later lost down the grate in front of the snackbar.  This year Oh Boy Burger has taken over the spot and the burgers and fries are delish, and the pizza is really good too.  The entertaining part of hanging out at the Polson Pier pool is that the venue hosts corporate events and grown-up adults are always doing goofy things (Sumo wrestling) to promote ***team spirit***(eye roll):

Corporate Chain Gang Fun Times Party Game

I mean, what is this?  It’s blazing hot out there.  Thankfully, they didn’t come into the pool.  Go Marco!

Torontanimose Place

Buster Keaton in Pretend Film Jail

What a riot.  Not so much that G-20 shindig over the weekend where an army  hooligans  dressed in black costumes caused a big, fat rumpus downtown.  Anarchy is so embarassing, I can’t even watch that news.  I’m talking about the aftermath, what was all over the media  days after, where reports that “innocent people” were arrested for “nothing.”  They were sent to a makeshift detention center nicknamed “Torontanimo Bay” which is on Eastern Avenue.  A film studio, yes Pretend Jail.  Take a tour of it here from CTV News with Austin Delaney, who I’m thinking is pretty hot lately.  I’m liking his silver fox-ness, but he still has some dark left like that guy in the Touch Of Grey commercial….grrrr….experience and energy, he knows what he’s doing.   Anyway, all these innocent people who attended the riot trying to get their message of peace across ended up in jail and some of them were just minding their own businesses.  One man was detained for 12 hours and given 3 sandwiches.  The horror.  On Sunday, I would have liked a sandwich but my Loblaws was closed!   They were on *shut down* because the Disney Prison was a block away.  Yes, I said the Disney Prison because this detention centre  is actually a film studio.  If I had the where-with-all to actually travel to another city to attend a riot, I would be disappointed if I didn’t get arrested.  Wasn’t it part of the travel brochure?  I bet there were some hook-ups just like Melrose Place but with handcuffs, everyone was under 30 full of piss and vinegar.  I remember when I was a youth, in a mosh pit, if I didn’t come out with dislocated shoulder or at least a broken bra strap, I would feel I didn’t get my money’s worth.  The tour of the studio prison was fantastic…open concept port-o-potties!  All prison toilets you see in the movies or on tv have no doors, the officer expained in the news story.  I thought so!  In the sequel to Bridget Jones, there is an open air toilet as well as The Kiss of the Spider Woman. And I am pretty sure there’s a scene where that buffanted Sean Penn takes a full monty slash in Dead Man Walking, if there isn’t I probably saw him do it on TMZ.  How I do love a prison film.  In fact, I went trolling through some of the classics here:

The Fim Buff 1380 Queen Stree East at Greenwood

I do have a copy of Midnight Express, which I think I might watch tonight in honour of all the innocent inmates.  Now that’s a serious prison movie, take a peak here.  I haven’t seen this since high school, scared me straight! and haven’t eaten Turkish Delight since.  And by the way, school’s out for summer, which seems like prison, congrats to the grads!  And!  My 30 Day Bikram Yoga is completed, which is kind of a self imposed prison but makes me realize if I did end up in a cell somewhere (hot, of course), I’d have have something to do for 90 minutes!  Hmmmm, maybe crime does pay….

Men Who Will Save The Day (Sigh)

 

Some wood left behind by a man, and not the good kind

Men.  They come and they go, that’s for sure.  Some of them leave without a trace more or less (maybe a dab of DNA), others bolt and they leave drywall dust and debris behind.  And their dander, yuck…as Dr. Phil would say: “Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out!”  And in my case, in my backyard last week: 6 giant elevator doors (don’t even ask) and two piles of wood blocking the driveway were my souvenirs from a hoarder with the organizational skills of Martha Stewart.  Also, in my basement are piles of useless items, bungee corded, Rubbermaided,  and labeled, laid out from tall to small still remain living a life of limbo.  To trash or not to trash.  Ebay or Craigslist.  Help me, Jesus.  Who’s going to save me now?  Certainly not my beloved Dr. Oz, he doesn’t know I exist.  If I set it all on fire, the firemen will come (hot) but so will the police (not hot).  Ladies, you can have your conventional hero fantasies, but  the fuel for my mojo are the Weir brothers from 86it Junk.  As far as I’m concerned, men who will take your crap away far out-trump men who can teach tennis, shuck oysters, play doctors on tv, ride horses, swallow fire, etc.  See what the Weir brothers can do for you, click here.

Taking it all away

Sean and Kevin are super polite and prompt and they will take anything away at a reasonable price, 416-310-8686.  So my advice is not let that junk multiply in your backyard or basement.  As I have always said, a man with a truck is a mighty thing.  But two men with a truck and some gloves are worth serving lemonade to!

I Scream: I Am Not Lactose Intolerant!

It’s Day 8 of the yoga challenge, see previous post and the one before it as I am too lazy to link.  My sense of humour is taking a vacay but my appetite is alive and well and taking charge of the situation.  You know, I thought that over the winter I had become “lactose intolerant” in my Cougar Years because I had a reaction to hot chocolate in Yorkville.  By reaction I mean I had to sprint to Holt Renfrew while my friend was trying on shoes at BCBG a block away because HR has those specially enclosed soundproofed lady stalls that those with IBS and bulimia know about.  The hot chocolate was delish and worth the disruption though and I embraced the idea of being “lactose intolerant” because it made me seem like part of an elite group like the Masons or the Avon Ladies.  But a couple of days ago, I had a hankering for some ice cream and you know me, where the appetite goes, the body will follow.   What ever happened to ice cream?  Is it just me and my cronies, or has ice cream lost some mass popularity over the years?  As a youngster I used to eat it all the time.  Sealtest Heavenly Hash was my poison.  When there was only vanilla, I would take Fry’s cocoa and mix it in.  Then along came Ben and Jerry and I never looked back.  I even visited the factory in Vermont when I was pregnant, just call me Mrs. Chunky Monkey.  I could eat the whole tub.  But over the years I began to think, I best not.  Ice cream and wine don’t really mix, so I gave one up, guess which?  Duh.  In the summer, as a cool refreshing treat, why not have a popsicle instead of ice cream?  Ask my beloved Dr.Oz that question and guess what?  Popsicles have the high fructose sugar that is the evil that made America fat!  Ice cream (maybe not a tub) is the better choice.  So off I went to The Marble Slab at Queen and Lee, a 15 minute walk from home so if anything should happen lactose explodo-wise, there  are 2 Starbucks in my path (crappy coffee, awesome IBS friendly washrooms, decent ginger cookie).  Marble Slab is a chain where they scoop the ice cream up with Popeye’s bicep strength and put it into pint size ice cream containers while you wait.  Normally this would have sent me over the edge, but all that yoga breathing and such has put some patience in me.  You dig, girl, sssscccoooop it up, plop it in and scoop some more. What’s the rush anyway?  I ordered an ice cream cone (deep chocolate) and a couple of milkshakes for the chillen.  There is an option for extra stuff like cake crumbs and crushed up Skor bars.  I find this confusing and surreal.  It’s like putting lime in beer:  grow up, take it as it is.  Anyway, it took a long time but it was interesting.  She put my dark chocolate lump on a marble slab (hence the name) and weighed it.  At almost 5 bucks a cone, I should hope so.  And off I went, eating an ice cream cone like a lady.  Lick. lick, lickity loo.  All the way down the street and home.  No spills of any kind.  I am ready for more.

Apothecary Now!

Last week one of my oldest friends from childhood came to town to stay with me for a few days. She also brought her Aunt Flo. My Aunt Flo caught wind of this visit and came barrelling over bringing along her twin zits. My Aunt Flo loves a party and never misses a vacation. She also enjoys weddings, funerals, yoga classes, and long walks on the beach. She should have her own Facebook profile. This post isn’t going where you think it is, no clogged toilets, doggie waste dispenser invasions, or hormones gone wild. My friend has started using a contraption called The DivaCup. During your mense (in case you haven’t figured out the true identity of Aunt Flo), instead of using tampons, you insert a cup made if health care grade silicone up your vagina and it collects all the goop, for hours longer than your super plus regular protection. The coolest part is that you have the satisfaction of seeing how much you actually produce and it’s not the Humber River in March like you thought. You clean it out and you use it again. Follow the instructions, I’m not going to go into more details about this thing except to say: go get one now before menopause hits and you waste your pension on paying $8.99 a month on a box of ‘pons. The DivaCup retails for under $40, do the math. I found my DivaCup at Beach Apothecary, 1854 Queen Street East. What a great place. Michael Bushey ordered one for me and it came in a couple days, just in time (My Aunt Flo comes in like a lamb and out like a lion). Beach Apothecary specializes in Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT), pain management, and veterinary compounding. They have herbal products and homeopathic remedies. It’s a very friendly atmosphere, definitely a pharmacy worth checking out for the whole family!