Mid-Week Tangent: It happened!

You may or may not recall my last post about Cadbury Mini Eggs and the excruciating pain of being forced to wait until Easter to have them in my hungry little hands.

Well, friends, something wonderful happened this week and I have to share it with you. Over the weekend, I was casually scrolling through my Flipp app (basically, reading flyers online, which is not quite as satisfying as reading actual paper flyers…but is much better for the environment). Well, imagine my surprise when I saw that the colossal (i.e. 943g/almost 2 lb) bag of Mini Eggs was on sale for the bargain (well, comparatively) price of $14.98!!!

I mean, that was pretty much guaranteed to be the lowest price we’d see until post-Easter clearance sales. And don’t even get me started on the crap shoot that it is to hope that you’ll score a post-Easter clearance bag…In other words, the time to seize my enormous bag of Mini Eggs was NOW. My better half protested, yet again, but either my powers of persuasion were ultra high or he finally lost his will to fight my Mini Egg obsession. Regardless, the end result was the same: we hopped in the car and, at long last, I procured my highly anticipated super sized bag of Mini Eggs. Victory!

Now my only mission is stretching out my Mini Eggs so that I don’t run out before Easter. This involves carefully managing the Mini Egg Paradox (in which the more Mini Eggs one eats, the more one craves even greater quantities of Mini Eggs) by consuming them only in what I consider to be impossibly small portions and by monitoring depletion rates with a fierceness which I’m sure my partner finds terrifying. And yet, despite this scarcity mindset, every day I get a small window of Mini Egg bliss, and I assure you this gives me more joy than any food product should.


Mid-Week Tangent: Cadbury Mini Eggs haunt me

It’s not even that close to Easter. In fact, Easter is still a whopping 5.5 weeks away. Even so, for weeks on end, each time I step foot in a grocery store, I have been forced to flex some extreme willpower. It has been torture for my sweet tooth each time I’ve had to stare them in the face. They haunt my dreams and I don’t know if I can make it another 5.5 weeks without succumbing to their deliciousness. Friends, I am talking about the giant sized bag of Mini Eggs. The 1kg/2lb bag of addictive milk chocolate and candy shell goodness. The absolute pinnacle of Easter confections.

I am a Mini Egg addict. If left to my own devices, I would eat (sizeable) bowl after bowl of them, which is likely why my better half constantly ignores my incessant whining about how we have to buy them. He gently reminds me it’s probably a bad idea to have such a large stash of Mini Eggs at our ready disposal. And so, time after time, I leave the store without my beloved Mini Eggs and, time after time, I am full of regret.

You might wonder why I don’t simply buy a smaller bag of Mini Eggs. The answer is obvious to me: smaller bags simply wouldn’t satisfy my insatiable cravings for Mini Eggs. On top of that, the price per volume is clearly a better deal the larger the volume you buy. They are $2.22/100g when you buy the small bags, $2.12/100g when you buy the (supposedly) family sized bags, but a steal-of-a-deal $1.91/100g when you go for the ultra sized. That’s just good math. I mean, it’s still a struggle for me to accept that anyone should have to pay eighteen bucks for 2lbs of Cadbury chocolate (yup, that big boy will set you back $17.99), but I am only saying that because I’ve almost forgotten just how good they taste. The math is still the math: it makes sense to buy the 2lb bag.

Maybe one day I will wear my better half down and emerge from the grocery store victorious and primed for a major sugar coma. Until then, Mini Eggs will haunt me on the regular…at least until Easter, at which time I am certain they will be mine.

Mid-Week Tangent: love your pet day

If ever there were an unnecessary unofficial national day, it is love your pet day. On the one hand, I know that there really is an unofficial national or international day for just about anything at this point, and it only makes sense that one should be for pets.  On the other hand, I don’t know anyone who has a pet who doesn’t unofficially declare every day love your pet day.

My own love for my cat (and my former cat) can only be described as bordering on obsession.  I mean, my cat has not only a litany of nicknames (gizmo cat, pumpkin-head, butterscotch pudding or sometimes just pudding for short, flouff, butterripple schnapps, etc. etc.), but also her own Instagram account (@heyrosettacat if you’d like to follow her, which you should).

This cat has everything her heart can desire. She gets the finest of healthy, freeze-dried salmon and chicken cat treats each and every morning as a special acknowledgement for…waking up? She is allowed to take up roughly half the bed stretching her four limbs out in all directions. She regularly takes up more than a third of our couch, leaving me and my significant other sitting tightly shoulder to shoulder on the remaining 1.5 cushions. And once she is parked on your lap, well you better not decide to move an inch or there will be hell to pay, so we remain stationary even when our legs have fallen asleep or even while our bladders are on the verge of exploding. She is spoiled rotten.

And we wouldn’t have it any other way.

Happy love your pet day, Rosetta Cat!

Training Tuesdays: on working out in a town where the gym is a social space

You guys, it’s only Tuesday, and yesterday was a stat holiday where I live, and my brain is already tired and barely functioning. I had great plans for a super helpful fitness post to inspire your Fall workouts and I just couldn’t muster up the brainpower to get ‘er done. So instead, you get this, which is essentially my rant about living in a town where the gym appears to be a predominantly social space. Here’s hoping my brain resumes its normal function quickly!

I live in a mid-sized town, one in which there are actually a surprisingly large number of gyms to choose from. Many are small and dingy and, for lack of a better description, “murdery” (i.e. a place that looks like somewhere you’d get murdered). The gym I choose was among the biggest and brightest and most well-stocked. I thought I had hit the gym jackpot, but there’s one major problem with my gym: it seems to be a prime social hangout.

Every single time I’m at the gym there are at least two little gaggles of workout dudes (or dudettes…but mostly dudes) who appear to be doing nothing other than catching up on life or whatever it is they talk about at the gym instead of working out. I’m not exaggerating. It’s every single time. Every. Single. Time. And I’m lucky if it’s just two groups of them.

I suppose I should be telling myself live and let live, but the problem for me is that they seem to congregate and gab in the most irritating of spaces.  Do you need to update your buddy on how much your life has changed since you “knocked up” your girlfriend (his words, not mine) right  in front of the TRX? Do you need to have a deep and meaningful moment while occupying not one but two racks? Do you need to have a five minute conversation in between each set of exercises on the one and only cable machine?  Do you need to lay side by side on floor mats alternating between bro talk and checking your phone, taking up the entire (albeit small) section of flooring available for stretching and core work?

Maybe the answer to all these questions is yes, and I am just a grumpy gus who is easily irritated. I mean, I probably am that, but I also think there’s a a time and a place for socialization and that’s not at the gym. Call me old fashioned, but I prefer to get in, get my workout done as efficiently as possible, and then get out.  Alas, it appears that I am one of the few that feels this way in my town.

End rant.

Mid-Week Tangent: Halloween Candy Hierarchy

Happy Halloween from someone who celebrates Halloween in one way and one way only: by eating leftover Halloween candy. I have no interest in dressing up anymore, and can’t remember the last time I engaged in any other Halloween festivities. I’m not anti-Halloween, I’m just Halloween agnostic. Except when it comes to candy.

I can vividly recall sorting my loot bag as a child, being beyond joyful when I stumbled across any of my favourites, and crushed to depths of my soul when I had to discard what I deemed too sizeable a percentage of my stash because it was unacceptable candy. What’s unacceptable? I’m glad you asked. I have a fairly definite hierarchy of Halloween candy, one honed over years of extensive trick or treating and candy eating. It ranges from the insultingly unacceptable to the major score and is as follows:

Insultingly Unacceptable
–Tootsie Rolls
–Anything home-made (which probably doesn’t happen anymore, but used to in the 80s)
–Sweet-Tarts or any other coloured sugar chunks masquerading as candy
–Peanut Glosettes
–Lunch time snacks (granola bars, chewy fruit snacks, etc.). It is super uncool to repurpose your kid’s recess treats as Halloween treats.
–Super off-brand candy made to look like brand name candy
–Jolly Ranchers
–Fruit (This probably also doesn’t happen anymore, but I used to get apples, and they were always the mushy Red Delicious variety. Sigh.)

Barely Acceptable
–Raisin Glosettes (mildly more tolerable than their peanut counterparts)
–Tiny off-brand bags of chips (still better than no chips)
–Twizzlers (excluding Pull n’ Peel)
–Peanut m&m’s
–O Henry (seriously, who likes these?)
–Chewy Candies (fuzzy peach slices, swedish berries, etc.)
–Starburst (only because the red ones are good)

–m&m’s (excluding peanut m&m’s)
–Three Muskateers
–Impossibly tiny sacks of brand name chips
–Crispy Crunch

Major Score
–Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups
–Twizzlers Pull n’ Peel (I have a bizarre and almost obsessive love for this stuff)
–Full-Size chocolate bars of any kind (even if you don’t like the type of chocolate bar it’s still FULL SIZED!)
–Kit Kat
–Coffee Crisp

Happy Halloween! Hope you are left with all the best leftovers. I, for one, have already removed the Kit Kat and Coffee Crisps from our Halloween assortment…Don’t judge. They’re not good for the children anyway.

Mid-Week Tangent: cat-astrophic behaviour

We’ve had our little furball for a few weeks now and, for the most part, it’s been wonderful. We really lucked out. She’s a total lap cat, which is my favourite kind. I like my animals as needy and clingy as me. She joins us while we watch The Voice. She keeps me company while I work. She even greets us at the door now.

And yet she is not perfect. In fact, she has had one notably bad display of behaviour in her time with us. And I am 100% certain that she did it on purpose.

If we travel back in time to when we first got our little bundle of fluff, we had decided that we weren’t going to let her sleep in our bedroom at night. Anyone who’s had a cat knows that they can be absolute terrors with all their walking all over you and licking your face and generally keeping you from sleeping. I used to let my last cat sleep in my room and, thank god he was so freaking cute, because he was often a pain in my ass. I like my sleep. My partner likes his sleep. And thus, the cat was locked out of the room.

For the first few nights, I really don’t think she cared. She was in a scary new place with new people and doing everything she could just to make sense of all the change.  But then she started to get comfortable with us. At first, it was just the odd head butt on our bedroom door, occasionally followed by one, lone (and very sad) meow.  Then it was more meowing and head butting. And she would just sit there, hitting her cone of shame against the door as though to tell us “I know you’re in there, and I want in too.” It was adorable…but not adorable enough for us to let her in.

After a week of this, she’d clearly had enough and was going to teach us a lesson about what happens when we don’t let her in the bedroom at night.  That was the night she pooped on the carpet outside our bedroom door.

You can try to tell me that it was an accident (like my partner did), that maybe her litter box wasn’t quite clean enough for her liking, or that maybe she was simply still adjusting to the change of a new home, but I know better. My last cat was the most clever and conniving little creature I’d ever seen–until this one–so I know how calculating and intentional cats can be.  She knew that her playfully cute antics were getting her nowhere and she saw no alternative but to up the ante. And she did. In spades. And, you know what, faced with the choice between occasionally being woken by a cat walking over me or waking up to a pile of poop on my carpet, I choose the former.

Which is exactly how our cat became a permanent fixture in our bedroom at night, just three weeks after arriving in our home.  So far, she’s been delightfully still and quiet, but I am wisely leery of this easy transition to cat in the bedroom.  After all, when cats are quiet, they’re obviously up to something.

Real Talk Thursday: the slow decline of a 5am day

I rarely travel for work, but when I do I like to complain about it. Because I am a hermit, and a homebody, and generally prefer to stick to my usual routines. Travel interferes with all of that. Today I had a quick, same-day trip to the big city which always entails a very early morning. In turn, the very early morning entails a slow decline to my day whereby by roughly 7pm (about as I am writing this), I have zero mental or physical energy left to give.

Also, I realize a lot of people get up earlier than 5 am every day of their lives. You are amazing to me. I require more sleep. A lot more sleep.

5 am — wake up call. I feel…tired.

5:25 am — out the door. Maybe this won’t be so bad. I feel more alert.

5:27 am — I am not alert. And my contact lenses are blurry AF because my eyes are so tired and dry.

5:35 am — coffee is heaven. I am brilliant for always remembering to set the coffee pot before an early morning.

5:57 am — made it to the airport. This day is going to be okay.

6:35 am — This airplane is fully boarded. This day is going to be fantastic because we are ahead of schedule.

6:55 am — scratch that. we are right on time

7:00 – 7:55 am — cardiologists (two of whom are sitting in front of me and talking very loudly) are clearly morning people. I hate them. It’s still going to be a good day, though.

8:00 am — on the train into the city. Public transit is magical when you get a seat. I am feeling good about today.

8:30 am — I am in Starbucks. More coffee = my day is getting better.

9:30 am — Yawns. Uh oh.

10:30 am — Is it only 10:30? The meeting I flew down for doesn’t even start til noon.

12:00 pm — I can do this. I can survive this meeting. Only five more hours to go.

2:00 pm — Wait, what did that person just say? How long have I been tuned out for?

3:30 pm — I feel like this meeting should be over. We have covered all relevant items. Why are we all still talking???

4:30 pm — I am f’ing tired. Why is this meeting still going?

5:00 pm — Ugh. Transit is so freaking crowded at this time of day. And hot. I am sweating. I want to be home.

5:30 pm — The dude next to me in the food court is playing really loud music on his phone. Really loud. I want to rip his iphone from his hands and hurl it…anywhere away from me.

6:00 pm — What is what the multiple staging lines at airport security? Just. Let. Me. Through. Damnit.

6:30 pm — Why are there no good napping spots while you wait for planes? Finally boarding. So tired. Will still be another two hours until I am home. Why do I do this to myself? I need to get back to my non-travelling, hermit ways ASAP.

As you can see, my optimism lasted roughly until 11 am. And then it was a slow decline into crankiness, whining and complaining. Just be thankful you’re not the one who has to put up with me when I get home tonight.