Re-Greetings

I dare say it's been quite a while since I have even looked at this blog. Thanks to my heavy science university course load and a lot of forgetting to go write on my blog I guess its been around a half a year. What's the New Year for though, right? New beginnings? Or re-beginning old things you've forgotten about... I digress. I had a wonderful and difficult semester, had to sacrifice this blog, however I did achieve a 3.7 GPA in a science program so I feel like my blog can take the hit. This semester is going to be just as hard and just as busy, however, I've been completely slacking on my healthily lifestyle, especially this Christmas (Pretty sure I ate my body weight in chocolate, and I'm no even hyperbolizing) and hopefully this blog will help keep me honest! (:

I received quite a few Christmas presents centred around healthy living this season and will include some pictures later on.

Cheers to the frickin weekend....

Wish I could think of something more eloquent to name this post, but alas, it sums up my feelings.

So this weekend I've been working and dog-sitting for some people; this experience has done nothing but reinforce my dislike of small dogs. Ick. Yappy little things. My plan is to get some studying done today as I fight off the urge to make cinnamon buns.

This weekend there was a festival going on in town on Main Street complete with a Mid-Way and all that jazz. I steered relatively clear, but my daddy and I did peruse down the street once. Later he surprised me with a sterling silver claddagh ring (symbol of our irish heritage: love, friendship, and loyalty, and a locket with a white cameo. He is the best father ever! Knows me so well. He's off to pick up my little brother this weekend; I miss them already!         

 So, I desperately try and stay away from alcohol, because it has the worst effects on me. My friends convinced me to go out on thursday night. This is the aftermath, and this is why, with the exception of a casual glass of wine, I will not be drinking again.

Rainy day

The weather where I'm staying this summer has been absolutely atrocious the last couple of days. I mean that, while rain is beautiful and I love walking in it etc., it takes a great toll on my psyche. I had a really obvious case of the 'bad weather blues' so... after I finished reading 2000 pages of novel, magic happened. Just kidding, I tried out my first oil painting of a forest-scape. It turned out alright so I elected to show you all.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3

Wrote this the other night out on an inspired whim (: might add more later!

In Good Company

The concept of sexual promescuity has always escaped me; however, I’d have to throw myself under the bus and say that I am egregiously guilty of emotional promescuity. If you don’t follow, its completely understandable. My mind is a little bit of a labyrinth, superimposing random concepts together in a way that seem logical and sequiter to myself, but often not to people like my English Professors. For as long as I can remember I’ve been a bit of a self rightous space cadet, threading arbitrary trains of thought which culminate in what I like to think of as an epic epiphany. My apologies for the tangent, but it explains my dizzing logic a little. However, in digression: I am guilty of the heinous crime of fraudulent falacious feeling (I hope you’re loving the alliteration) It’s not that I go up to random men and act like a glib barbie doll, casting a web of insidious charm around them- though ostensibly I am quite the “Irrestistable Temptress” Don’t laugh, it’s actually been thrown around. But I do absent mindedly flirt with my masculine friends and may uninentionally without fail give them the wrong impression. The song, Why Can’t We Be Friends? is constantly on my mind. Yes, I kiss people that I don’t care about in that way, and it can be fun, and no I have no intention of dating them and yes sometimes their hearts are broken. I salvage my conscience slightly because I am 100 percent honest the entire time that I don’t want a relationship right then; however; thats stopped helping me get to sleep at night because its still not right. Ideally, no kind of physical relationship would exist between me and someone I did not have incredibly strong feelings for- someone I could not see myself dating and marrying. Alas, the hormones, Awkward. Now I’m still the same old me, waiting for PC (Prince Charming) and all that jazz, but I met someone at college, and he was a hottie. He was a little swarthy for my particular taste, but still smoking. We had a couple sleepovers, completely PG, scouts honour! (We played bubble shooter and watched Disney movies) but he wasn’t my boyfriend and I didn’t think I could see myself dating him. He’s a gigantic hormone and started sleeping with this Random after I said, for the third time, that I just wanted to be friends. Not to reference to Gatsby too heavily, but he was the equivalence of my Jordan Baker, sexes being reversed of course. We’re still friends, but it made me see how toying with the emotions of people around me, even unintentionally so, can harm them. I think I did hurt him, and I didn’t realize it until 4 “I think we should just be friends” later. My sincerest apologies Jordan. Then it struck me, kind of like lightening but evidently less morbid: How can love and lust not hold the same company? It was/it beyond me. Yes I could kiss someone and not care, but I still felt terribly guilty and even a bit skanky- how does that whole one night stand thing not tear people apart from the inside out? It sure would me. Personally, I blame society, or lack there of good society. Oh where, oh where has the moral fortitude gone? Utterly spent and wasted on a deafened generation who participates in casual sex as if it was musical chairs. Good analogy. This was one of the many things I discussed with my Armory Blaine, the role of sex in society: our illustrious small talk. We’re both introverts so I suppose it is understandable, discussing the weather is frightening by comparison. Anyway, we came to the brilliant conclusion that society albeit media induced, was so obsessed with sex that it became nothing. Where I come from, its suppose to be special- preferably something you do when you’re married. Contemporarily, its because as common-place as brushing your teeth. Its everything so much, that its nothing. Actually, this reminds me of a quote from the movie the incredibles “Everyone is special is just another way of saying no one is” same logic applies here. If everyone is having it, unbounded by any statue of limitations, it takes the meaning away. For example if a man or a woman was to have an intimate long-term relationship with someone, it ends after say four year and they automatically go out and have some kind of instantly gratifying romp, it steals the meaning and crushes the vulnerable moments that were shared with the person whom you claimed to love. Sad. It’s also setting the stage for bitterness and dilapitated meaning in future physical relationships. I don’t understand how people can walk around having chunks taken out of them like that, cause it does, everytime it takes a part of you that you can never get back- and thats why there are so many cat ladies. Each cat fixes the hole a little bit? 

Liberty Banana Muffins!

Why Liberty Muffins you make ask? 

How astute!
Because they are Gluten-free, Lactose-free (I'm lactose intolerant by the way), and refined sugar-free.

hallelujah.

Early this week, while perusing Pinterest I found a recipe for Paleo-Banana Bread. Aha! I said to myself, a baking shenanigan was long overdue. In consequence of my father new diet, I had to find something without flour, without refined sugar (white or brown), no oatmeal etc... and believe you me, baking under those kinds of restrictions can get a teensy-bit tricksy. However, I did find this one and with a few alterations, created my very own Liberty Muffins (however- while bananas are naturally chalked full of carbohydrates and have a high glycemic load (when considering fruit) these seemed like the best bet for a health-ier treat). He loved them!

So here is the recipe! (Also, the batter is delicious but be careful because it has eggs in it!)

Liberty Muffins 

Ingredients:
4             Brown bananas
1/2 cup   Almond flour (Coconut Flour Subs.)
1/2 cup   Natural nut-butter of choice
               (I used almond this time around because I had it, but I have a slightly questionable life long                                       love-affair with peanut butter, and will probably try it with that next time)
2             Eggs
1/3 cup   Extra-Virgin Coconut Oil
1/4 cup   Cinnamon
1 tbsp.    Cocoa powder
1 tsp      Vanilla extract (be generous)
1 tsp.      Baking Powder
1 tsp.      Baking soda
1            SMILE!

Extras: 
Now if you have an abominable sweet-tooth there are a few things that you can do to make the finished product sweeter because some of the sweetness burns off while the muffins bake.
1/3 cup  Honey
(I despise honey, it is actually so gross, but if you like it, your muffins will be sweeter)
1/2 cup  Semi-sweet chocolate chips (Love to, but can't)
1/2 cup  Crushed walnuts or Pecans (This will add to the total calories but your muffins will be crunchy)

Directions:
Heat oven to 375C
Add the ingredients to a large bowl in this order:
1. Bananas
2. Almond Flour
3. Nut Butter
Stir!
4. Eggs
5. Cinnamon
6. Cocoa powder
Stir Again!
7. Coconut Oil
8. Vanilla Extract
9. Baking Powder, and Baking Soda
10. Extra (If you did)
Stir For the Last Time!
Fill muffin tins using discretion (approx. 3/4 full)
Insert Muffins into Oven
Bake for around 15 minutes, and sprinkle cinnamon on the tops when they come out!
Should make 12-14 Muffins depending on how generous you are with the filling the pan!

Enjoy!

Progress! Post-Heart Attack Dad Boot Camp!

Halt! Before you ask yourself: Why is she so scantily clad?! realize that I've asked this question myself! Also, please refrain from looking at the background, geez. I suppose I've done it now haha well if you're gonna look, then at least don't judge. I don't become super cleaning lady until the late afternoon and these were taken in the morning. While I'm pretty sure I'm not really as thin as I look in the third picture, I wanted to put these up is because I'm really proud of my progress over the last two months. My father is recovering from a heart attack so I came to Manitoba to stay with him over the summer and we have both been hitting the gym and practicing healthier eating habits. There's more of a story to follow below!

My father is 50 years old and has been drastically overweight most of his life :( I went to college and the freshman 15 found its way onto my backside, even though I went to the gym almost everyday. Both of us reeling from poor habits had decided to get together for the summer. Then my father had a "Cardiac Event" and I swore I would rush to his aid to personal train him (I obviously needed some training myself haha). Since April 30th he's lost approximately 20 pounds just being active and yes, you know it: eating his vegetables!  We swim together, go to the gym together, and believe you me, some of those late night yoga sessions have been a struggle, but not in vain!

Here is a picture of my Daddy and I (Remember what I said about having the same face?) Yes we do!

Thats all for now folks! (: 

Cheerio.

An Auto-Biography?

Is that what the kids are calling them these days?
Stellar.

Well, hopefully you've read the somewhat didactic beginning to my blog/potential straight to paperback book (:

Then I realized, aside from my age and the fact that I am a University student, y'all don't know much about what motivates this pragmatic romantic...

So here's my life story in a nut-shell, accompanied by a breakdown of how super fun my blog is gonna be:

 I was born in Scarborough Ontario, my father says he found me under a cabbage patch like some troll child, but we have the same face so I don't believe him. We moved around a lot, yadda yadda, I ended up living in Texas for four years and then moved centripetally around the Western Canadian provinces upon my return, ending up close to Edmonton. University is the game, Camrose is the name.

Initially this blog was just a fun way for me to get my feelings out there, obviously I have a lot of them. Now I'm a crafty gal- as you'll all see, however I'm useless at musical instruments and I prefer to get all my feelings out through poetry, painting, and the occasional day-drempt tirade. I enjoy exercise in all of its forms, aside from long distance running. Ick. Also I am trying live a healthier lifestyle (Helping my daddy Post-Heart Attack) and be less stress-friendly. I can hear you bemoaning, not another self-rightouts, clean eating, yogi. Well maybe just a little, but there's more than meets the eye. If you aren't interested... You know what Taylor Swift says? She says people throw rocks at things that shine. So ha.

Regardless, not that my life is epically important, but I'm a firm believer in helping others, as well as the three i's: inspiration, information, and instigation.

Stay tuned! I'll be sharing my crafts, workouts, fun healthy (and not so healthy recipes), poems, painting, soul-touching and crushing stories and pretty much everything fun. Hope to hear from some of you (: Enjoy!

By the way:

This is me (:

Chapter 2: Danger, Pretentious Hipster

Now, I was feeling in a slightly poetic mood when I wrote this- obviously, but I hope your tender heart will enjoy it. If need be, please laugh at me, or cry in my anguish- either one is totally fine haha.

Ernest Hemingway committed suicide, Fitzgerald was depressed,  and T.S. Eliot was sexually estranged from women for approximately 40 years before marrying his thirty year old secretary. To be frank, it seems that I have a real weakness for men with emotional problems... and those authors are just the tip of the iceberg. During my first year in college, I swore I fell in love with someone exactly like me. And it was wonderful, it was magical, everything I’ve waited for- a miracle. And if you didn’t sing that Selena Gomez song you are no friend of mine. And... unfortunately it was all in my head. haha.

Theres always that one guy. He’s beautiful, sculpted cheekbones, well-dressed, pretty green eyes. He’s sensitive,  a little depressed- he had a rough childhood -regardless he seems to have it all together. You meet him and have a wonderful connection. Heres the secret. Run. Run far and run fast. He is probably a psychopath. Does that seem a little too specific? Possibly... 

This is my Armory Blaine.

It’s not that I wear my heart on my sleeve, because I don’t. It’s probably more correct to say I wear my opinions on my sleeve; however, I try to keep them at least deprecating as possible, because there is a difference between being honest and being rude- it’s called class. I digress though, I don’t let very many people see my true heart, possibly because, if I don’t understand me they have no chance. But when I find someone, someone I think is special enough to make a place for in my sometimes cold heart I allow them to carve their own special place, and it stays with me forever, regardless of how our acquaintance ends. Armory carved an alcove in my heart, more vast than he meant to I’m sure. Despite the brevity of our contact we had a connection ; and i think; and i swear he could have been meant for me. No I don’t belied in soul mates or anything even marginally similar to a preordained destiny, but i’ve never met anyone who functioned on quite the same level as me. However, the fact remains that it ended and he is as disenchanted with me as I him. But, I think there will always be that hole. Always. Just because of who I am. 

The worst part is that he is not the hero. He is the villain. With perfect hair, a deep comforting laugh, and inexhaustible charm. He isn’t  a knight in shining armor, he definitely isn’t an idiot in tin foil. He is special and devious, beautiful and terrible. He’s incapacitating pain disguised by perfect teeth, vintage sweaters, and a disarming smile. He is a scoundrel, but that doesn’t change what he is to me.

So yes girls, fall in love with the villain. But don’t love him. Love someone like Mr. Darcy, he doesn’t disappoint.

So I’ll write misguided love songs about my villain, day dream as if he was the hero, and I suppose he’ll even get a section in my book; but I don’t think I’m capable of giving him my heart. Not again, A little of it will always belong to Jay Gatsby, and Armory Blaine though- but some of it is still mine. 

Boys are Better in Books.

Preface:

Looking over that title, I'm tempted to change it. If you are a man coming across my blog, let me tell you- no fingers crossed- this is not a femi-nazi diatribe. I have four brothers, screwballs each and every, (but aren't we all?) and I love and respect them to pieces. The heading is more of an eye-catcher, its only intention is to be clever, even though somewhat true. Although, I pronounce here and now that I'm not limiting my evaluations of the male sex with my personal romantic experience, I just think its comical. 

So, I started writing a book awhile back. The first chapter is finished and I'd like to share it with people because I think its rather charming, not to blow my own horn or anything, but here goes. Love it or leave it- but please laugh.

Mind yourself I haven't edited this first chapter much, but without further adieu: 

Boys are Better in Books

The older I get, the more I fall in love with authors and poets of the great American Classics: T. S. Eliot, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and Ernest Hemingway- to name a few. While I’m well aware that each of these men were entirely stitched together with the thread of insanity -which seems to be a prerequisite of the talented and ingenious- and patched together with peculiar idiosyncrasies which would encumber their abilities to have meaningful relationships; the romance inspires my misplaced affection. Why? As any sane person might ask. No I do not wrestle with necrophelic intentions, nor do I suppose I shall ever find such a man. Perhaps I am not in love with them per say, for from pictures, physical attraction is out of the question- but I am in love with their minds- the way the perceive and elegantly put it to paper thoughts and feels congruent with my own.

This idea goes out to all those girls. The ones who drink unsweetened tea (because, frankly, its better) and are frightened of their future; the rampant existentialists who choose to be happy everyday.  The ones who would rather fall asleep with a copy of “This Side of Paradise,” pondering the green eyes and ridiculous nature of Armory Blaine (Oh you’ll find out later), than sleep next to someone who doesn’t understand, who doesn’t share the depth of their romantic nature. To the girls who will kiss you, and wish you were a character in their books; the girls who wont make you any promises and will dance around words so they don’t have to commit. Because they are waiting for the impossible- they are waiting for a fairytale. Not like Snow White or Cinderella, they are too smart for that cliche; but a fairytale they build themselves from the ground up. The girls who don’t believe in love at first-sight, but wouldn’t object if a tall, handsome, green eyed man with high-cheek bones and dark hair fell absolutely in love with them and swept them off their feet. The girls who live in an irony, in a contradiction. The ones who want a gentleman, who are from the wrong century.

I was in love with a living breathing man once, believe it or not. You could almost call him a sentient creature. Almost. However, as young love usually plays out, it rose in passion as it debilitated in sense and necessity; inescapably doomed to failure from the first time we said hello. It was the kind of love that you know you shouldn’t have. Not the one the bible describes, but the kind you give part of yourself to, that little part you’ll never get back. He will always win. Despite being high functioning, an intellectual,   and realizing everything I deserve as a woman; he will always win. Frankly, because, even now, when I give my definition of love, he appears first in my mind. Love will always be associated with pale skin, green eyes, dark hair, and a crooked smile. Oh goodness, I’m reeling from the nostalgia- all these attributes I suppose, but hopefully someone not emotionally abusive, that would be nice. Oh I had my share of insanity. Still have a touch of it now if you haven’t noticed; but I wouldn’t take it back for the world. My own J. Gatsby will never leave me. We dated for two years, which for some of my readers might seem like nothing. But if I could communicate how much of my heart I put into loving that boy, it might not seem like such cheap change. To this day I am still terrified of settling for someone. I would have settled for him. Would have married him with all his controlling jealous insecurities, selfish disdain for my feelings, and lack of realistic dreams and goals. But I didn’t, and he didn’t- and here we are. 

Wise words from “The Perks of Being a Wallflower:” We accept the  love we think we deserve. Indisputably true. Toss your extenuating circumstances out the window, I have enough hypotheticals from falling in love with characters from my favorite authors, I don’t need any stories you might have made up. 

So this is why, if you choose such a path you should learn how to be happy with solitude. Single and Fabulous. Beautiful and Alone. I know it seems slight oxymoronic, but that is how society has indoctrinated it into your head. Negative connotations about with the words single and alone- unless you are a man. Now do you see why I fall in love with thoughts and ideas? Characters and people pushing up daisies? It’s not because they can’t hurt me, because they do, at the end of every book; but because in our messed up world, no one knows the value of a virtuous woman, and if they do, no one is willing to pay the price to keep her.

Now if you are wondering how I achieve all this deep thinking without perpetual melancholy; if you’re wondering how to be happy alone: Here’s the game plan. Its called: be happy alone. I know thats a lot to swallow, and you’re probably gonna have to go reread that line. No there is no secret. Go workout, make sure you are always making an attempt to smile (even if its pathetic), laugh at anything you can, look up stupid quotes, and annoy people by giving them didactic relationship advice. Do whatever makes you happy... Unless its killing puppies, then go get yourself some help. But really anything positive that you can do is gonna make you happy. Haven’t you ever read that cliched quote? The man of your dreams isn’t sitting at home dreaming of a way to approach you because he got some telekinetic signal that you were the one- he’s out there enjoying his hobbies. Where to find someone you have something in common with, than by hanging out with people you have something in common with? 

hy do you think I read books? Thats where all the good men are- figments of some other persons imagination no doubt, but its true: Boys are better in books. “Oh what are young men to rocks and mountains?” no Jane Austen the real question is: “Oh what are Justin Bieber and pretentious hipsters to Fitzwilliam Darcy?”

Salutations and C'est La Vie.

If you are reading this, you might be a hopeless romantic. 

Granted, a pragmatist, mostly.  

Do you find yourself reading Jane Austen late into the night? Perhaps clinging to a warm mug of tea late in the afternoon? Maybe silently cursing Disney (although an avid vintage movie patron) for instilling the ideals of romance, prince charming, and happily-ever-after into your delicate soul? Then do I have a blog for you...