Prolific Immigrant

Blogging on the fly; pardon all shit error and spelling.

Jumped off my flight and landed at Elixir for dinner, with these two gorgeous broads.

Not surprisingly, we were asked to quiet down from one of the adjacent diners. Also, we ate an apple tartatartartine, a sweet French dessert, the name of which I have likely misheard.

Kitty had never been to Granville, and so I took her for a stroll before we ate in the market. She had a chicken butter bowl and I had Mexico’s most tasteless wrap, the name of which I have likely misheard. Note that: Kitty is snack size, smaller ever than the official Olympic mascotians.

Canada Gear 101

Dear Folks Visiting Vancouv for Olympics:

Overkill is indeed possible re how many CANADA gear clothing items you wear at one given moment.
You’re welcome.
Love, m

First sign of ‘winter snow’ was upon our arrival at Cypress (Canadians can’t spell; this you should know by now) Mountain, where we were to watch the Biggest Badasses in the History of Winter Sport; Men’s Aerial-ists Freestyle Skiing FEARLESS Foxes. Copied word for word, that is exactly what is written on the backs of each athlete’s bum. (Note: The American outfit appears to be flannel pyjamas. Canadians can’t spell; American’s can’t fashion.)

Before we watched them, though, we were forced to play with two massive and very aggressive balls which, if not careful, would smack one in the head.

And immediately before we watched them, we watched how Canadian girls do it better; a gorgeous shut-out or shut-down or something against the really terribly aggressive US female hockey-ists. 2-0 wins Canada GOLD in female hockey-ing. (Beautifully done, ladies.)

(I have a video of the last 20 seconds of the game; will upload when home.)

Finally, we watched the FOXES aerial-ing, supported by a Smurf Army.

And finished our evening eating much too much sushi…or that which pretended to be sushi but was neither good, really, nor well wrapped at The Eatery. I strongly recommend you forego this place; but if you must, then only go for a very light and not-so-good meal, and just to enjoy the fantastic art creations hanging above and next to you.

All above photos are from the berry; once home, I will complete the circle and post nicer photos and video. xox from Vancouv. (Go Canada Go!)

Chocolate bar, regular: A mash up of cocoa and such, nearly 50% of which is sugar.

When you’re making any variety of hot chocolate from scratch, I implore you to use an already sweetened chocolate bar rather than a baking chocolate, reason being that a baking chocolate has very little sugar and you will run out of sugar trying to sweeten up the hot chocolate you’re making to the point where your guest utters incredulously, as you pour more sugar into the pot: ‘Ok, this is getting scary’, before they are nice enough to pretend they enjoyed a little bit of the hot chocolate syrup you made and to which they added an additional half a cup of milk after you’ve cooked it to within an inch of its life and you are discombobulated because you usually make a mean anything and then magically, you are the worst host in the world because you can’t make a cup of fkng hot chocolate, the taste of which stays with you over night, even though you threw out the rest the night before and flossed and brushed your teeth and doused yourself with spray Lysol to get rid of the taste and the shivers brought on by the memory.

Or, you can just do what I did this morning en route to work and save yourself the necessity of adding ‘milk & sugar’ to your grocery list.

Original Recipe (OR): Two people whose friend chemistry works extremely well.

Crush: Take the OR and wonder aloud to strangers on the street, beneath your breath at a meeting, while you’re on a bus staring at one of the aforementioned strangers, while seated on a Ferris wheel or buying the wrong variety of chocolate…what would happen if I added a few new ingredients to the OR? Maybe a little saffron, turmeric and a dash of chilli?.

Life: What happens regardless of the addition of saffron, turmeric and a dash of chilli.

Friendship: Withstands all of the above, and then some.

Thanks to Dribble UnLimited for the way…

Originally posted on 2/14/06; still makes me laugh as hard today…

.1. Do you keep forgetting that your momma and poppa are individuals before they are parents? That they had and continue to have dreams and that they may look at their lives today and wonder what happened to those dreams? How they fell through? Why they didn’t work? How life isn’t all it’s cracked up to be?

Do you forget that they also have fears? That sometimes, their actions and reactions are filled with terrors that we might not recognise because we expect our parents to be fearless?

I do. Occasionally, I forget.
So, I’m asking you to take a step back with me…remind ourselves that although we sometimes believe that the actions of our parents are entirely centered around us, they are also, in great measure, centered on them as individuals before them as parents.

& if you already knew this, then you need to start a blog and start telling my ignorant ass.

(Exercise patience, please.)

.2. Dear Man Who Emailed Me Asking Me To See More Pictures Of Me Because You Think I Am Pretty:

I have your email.
I FaceBooked your email. (Something you may consider creepy, but that my friend M would call ‘crafty’.)
I noted that you are married, with children.

Please direct this sort of attention to your wife, not me.

Thank you.

- M

.3. It is astonishing how the moods and spaces of those we love affect our own. Baby J is walking through a relatively delicate and difficult situation, and I am doing my best to walk alongside her. Sometimes, I walk behind her and push her forward, other times I run ahead and drag her along. Always – I hope and I try – to behave with understanding and patience; the reality of this sentence I leave to her discretion.

Earlier this week, she experienced what I can only call an entry of toxicity into her life; a toxicity that I reacted to on an extremely visceral level, and one which I carried with me throughout the course of my day and into my night; on her behalf, because I love her, because I respect her, because I am proud of her, because I do not wish to see her hurting. Also, because – as many of my friends have noted – I have zero tolerance and react with a ferociseness (not a word, but should be) when I feel as though being taken advantage of is someone I love.

A long time ago, someone said that “dealing with a friend’s problems is like sitting around their fire and inhaling their smoke”. Although I can’t in fact remember who said that, I do recall it was said in derogatory fashion, as an indication that we shouldn’t have to deal with the problems of our friends all of the time, some of the time, part of the time.

I call bullshit on that sentiment. The true meaning of friendship is unyielding support and sensitivity to the problems of our friends all of the time, some of the time, part of the time, no matter that we may be “inhaling their smoke”.

If you don’t recognise that being invited to sit around someone’s fire is something to be cherished then you are an unworthy idiot.*****

.4. I recently took a new direction in my life (one which, literally, witnessed me throw up in a snowbank upon the decision taking & making. Sexy.); this is the reason I have been quiet. I will not write about the decision, but I will only make this small mention here as a gentle reminder to myself. It is documented.

.5. Dear Sugar Plum Grape Tomatoes:

I love you.

- Maha

==========
*****This sentiment does not hold true for people who tend to invite everyone, including the kitchen sink, to sit at their fire. I believe these sorts of individuals tend to be exhibitionists who have a fire only for show, and are usually in and out of my life within 24 hours. I don’t want to sit at their fire because that means that I am not sitting at the fire of someone who cherishes my presence. (Even in friendship, the value we see in one another must go both ways; otherwise, one of us is a chump.)