Figuring Out What That Flavour Is

The other day I was in the grocery store, buying my favourite brand of pop.

I always stick with the same flavour-- the pineapple variety-- sweet, yet exotic enough to maintain a constant level of excitement, sip after sip, bottle after bottle.

 But this time, the excitement of the one flavour just didn't cut it for me.

Glancing over at my friend, I decided to take a risk and try something new-- grabbing a new bottle-- a new flavour-- a new carbonated culinary adventure:

"'Kola Champagne'?"

It had a soft caramel glow about it, calling to me with its distinctly foreign nature.

"Really?"

I looked at my friend pointedly. There was no turning back now, the bottle of pop was already off the shelf and journeying with me towards the check-out.

Sighing a soft resignation, he joined me as I paid for the pop, musing over the magical mystery-beverage that awaited us.

A twist and a pop and a fizz later, 'Kola Champagne' stood in front of us, joining the two glasses that were already sitting on the countertop, brimming with anticipation.

A gentle pour, and a clink of glass-- we entertained our first sips-- and then our minds exploded.

We had definitely tasted 'Kola Champagne' before.

"But where?!"

We racked our brains, the flavour shooting us back across our childhoods and vacations-- a gustatory gander through time.

A full twenty minutes went by, tasting the pop, musing over its oddly familiar flavour, and then--

"I've got it!"

I jumped up with a grin as I prepared to deliver the answer to all in the vicinity-- my taste buds cheering at the victory:

"White Freezies!"

My friend's eyes widened, and then shone with recognition.

Yes.

 'Kola Champagne' tasted exactly like my favourite childhood summertime treat.

Score one point to me.

New Jobs!

I just got a new job.

There really is something awesome and exciting about it-- about coming into a new place, finding a new desk, and learning new things. There's something special about moving in with picture frames and coffee mugs-- matching names with faces and places with people.

My last job, in direct contrast, had me isolated from the entire existing human population.

Sometimes whole days went by without so much as a friendly "hello!"-- whole days went by without a single syllable.

So understandably, right now I'm as over-excited and enthusiastic as a puppy-- I wave with excessive flourish, and roll around in my chair with pizzazz-- dancing along to my iPod when no one's watching, and taking over the gym at lunch.

It's really great working with lots of people. Everyone stops to say hi-- and everyone has a smile to share, even if their days haven't really been all that great.

So the next little while here should be really, really awesome.

Improvising Sports

Rules were made to be broken.

You know the drill-- you're outside with a group of friends and decide pick up a casual game of soccer or football-- it's all going well, you're winning and grinning and rubbing it in their faces-- when an eyebrow is raised, a smile grows, and they charge.

Someone grabs the player with the football and carries them through their own end zone for a touchdown.

They throw the ball into the net for a goal, and then do it again, from behind.

Suddenly the game has morphed-- you're not playing a standardized sport anymore, but rather a free-for-all, declare-the-rules-as-they-come, ridiculous, and ridiculously awesome game. Tackling has become tickling and everything else is undetermined-- only the goals remain standing.

A test of on-the-spot thinking and bravado, you're in the ultimate act of spontaneity, running and laughing and falling all over the place.

Forget rules and regulations, they're for kids-- the true test of a sports-hero is to just let you play.

Abandoning the Internet

My Internet has been down for the past week, but you know, going without it for a while was pretty awesome.

There was no hectic emailing, no frantic Facebooking, no instant messaging-- for an entire week. Only a phone to talk to who I really needed to get in touch with.

It may sound rough, but hey-- I finished a couple of books instead of surfing the web, hung out with friends instead of messaging them, and went outside. (I mean really, how many people forget to go outside because they're on their computers? -- I know quite a few too many, and as much as I love you for reading my blog, I'm hoping you're not one of them.)

So, in the spirit of my fixed faulty Internet connection, I propose a challenge:

Once you've read this, turn your computer off. For a day, a week-- however long suits your lifestyle.

You might surprise yourself with how great it really feels.

Just Dance

Sometimes there are days where all you can do is dance.

We've all had those days-- those days where absolutely everything goes wrong.

Days where you lose your wallet, download a virus, and spill your coffee all over your brand new pants-- all within the first half hour.

Days where you just have to do something, or you're going to explode in an oozing mess of stress.

But why let that trend continue?

I say, dance.

Turn on your favourite music-- loud enough so that you can feel it in your chest and in the walls-- and dance.

It may sound ridiculous-- and it is, I'm not going to lie.

But it's so ridiculous that it breaks the pattern-- it ends the trend of spiralling negativity and infuses some awesomeness back into your day.

So close the blinds, shut your door-- and let loose.

The sprinkler, the hand jive, some jazz hands-- they're all fair game, as are the unnamed and time-honoured moves that many of us may not qualify as actual dancing, but reserve nonetheless for hair-brush lip-synching rockstar moments (you know who you are).

Just dance it out. Find your inner Ellen DeGeneres, and everything will be a bit better.

You can have a three-hour commute home and forget all of your important papers on your desk-- but five minutes is all it will take to have some fun.

Happy Mother's Day ♥

Today I found my Mom's old baby journal-- a diary written about the pregnancy in which I came to exist.

I read about what it was like hearing my heartbeat for the first time, and  my Mom's gut instinct that yes, I was definitely going to be a girl. I read about my parents' hopes and dreams for me, months before I was born-- about how excited they were, and how nervous they were too. She wrote about how my bedroom was the first room to be painted in their house, and how they couldn't wait for me to arrive. She wrote me letters, and so did my Dad-- just about their days, about how they loved me already, and how much they loved each other.

My Mom wrote about how beautiful I was when I was born, and how excited everyone was-- she wrote about everything, and told me that she loved me over and over.

The pages continue on over my terrible two's and three's, and the arrival of my brother into the world-- noting my toddler-like misunderstanding of why he couldn't go back to where he came from. She detailed every new word I learned, and every time I giggled and cried-- always telling me that she loved me.

Up until today, I don't think I ever fully understood what my Mom's done for me. Reading this journal, I teared up, because she's been there for me all the time, from before I was born to eighteen years later-- she's loved me the same every minute, never faltering.

So Mommy, I love you. You, and my Dad, are the most amazing people I've ever known-- and I know raising me must have been a lot of work, but I am so grateful to be able to call you my parents, I couldn't have been brought into the world by better people.

Happy Mother's Day ♥

The Mastery of Chopsticks

As someone raised on forks, the mysterious concept of chopsticks has always been intriguing to me.

筷子, as they are called in Chinese, are really remarkable when you think about it. Existing since approximately 1766 BCE, these pieces of bamboo (or wood, or plastic) are considered to be an extension of the hand while eating-- something  many people like myself may feel to be an impossible feat-- something we scoff at, while folding our hands carefully away in our laps.

To the fork and spoon lover, chopsticks may seem to require such concentrated dexterity and coordination that the multitasking required in wielding these utensils is just simply out of the question. Forget eating, it's all about keeping both in your hand at once. Or politely inquiring as to the location of silverware.

I've been eating Chinese food for years-- it's awesome. But there's always been a bit of a struggle in the department of the transferrance of food from plate to mouth. Dropping a chopstick, letting a noodle slide-- having it all end up in your lap-- been there, done that.

So imagine my joy in finally getting it right. After years of seasoned practice and valiant effort, I have now mastered the art of chopsticks.

Believe me?

The proof lies in one bowl of salad.

After swinging my head around in search of a fork after its delicious delivery upon my table yesterday, I realized that there were no forks to be found in the entire restaurant. It was just me, my chopsticks, and a bowl of slippery, dressing-covered salad.

This was it.

There was only a moment of hesitation before I picked up the utensils, undaunted and determined to succeed. My friends at my table had both seen me falter and fail before, so I wasn't about to let it happen again-- not in the middle of a restaurant.

I braced myself, and plunged in.

One successful grasp of leaf after another, I was amazing. Never have I been more proud in my life-- I proclaimed through a mouthful of salad my supreme awesomeness to my friends-- and very well the entire restaurant. Everyone knew of my newfound talent, and I was happy to have them know.

Chopsticks, really, are just so much more entertaining than standard forks and knives. It's been a rough battle, but I've come out on top-- they may not yet be an extension of my hands (a la Wolverine), but I feel that I may be close.

Victory is near, my fork-loving friends.