mmm...wanda's pie in the sky.
Wanda's Pie In The Sky is a cute little cafe on Augusta Street in Kensington Market in Toronto. I recommend it to everyone. NOW magazine says that it has the best quiche in town. in fact, that is what i ordered when i went the other day. Now what does this mean:
1. That i was not vegan. I ate something very eggy.
2. That i didnt order their delicious chocolate almond cookies.
Last weekend was passover (cant eat unleavened flour as i have learned), and my jewish friend had a bunch of chocolate almond cookies (flourless) from Wanda's Pie In The Skys. I ate half of a cookie and WOW...it was a chocolate almond flavour explosion with a moist and succulunt texture. mmm....and covered in powdered sugar......
Anyways, i know what is good for me and what is not good for me. A quiche is often much healthier (protein and veggies and all that good stuff) and cookies are often considered "junk food (mainly because...they are)." One of the ladies sitting at a table beside me, however, had ordered a chocolate almond cookie. Every bite she took tempted me. (Normally cookies arent that temting...come on, a cookie is a cookie.....but these cookies were amazing). But lucky for me, she only took a few bites of the cookie...which means less tempting. or does it?
IT DOESNT ACTUALLY!
She offered some to her friend. I thought to myself how AWESOME it would be if she offered me some of that cookie.
Her friend refused the offer. Were they crazy? Did they not like the cookie? They were sitting down for 45 minutes and took two bites of the cookie....they could not possibly think of leaving without finishing the last cookie.
But then they left.
They left Wanda's Pie In The Sky.
The chocolate almond cookie stayed on the plate. And thats when i made my move. I casually looked around and saw that there were barely any people in the cafe. Then i swiped it. I took the leftovers of the cookie and i ate it. I hate food waste. and thats when i thought to myself WHAT THE EFF, MARYAM!! but i already had the cookie in my hand. so i ate it. and then i thought to myself OMG, MARYAM!! NOT ONLY DID YOU TAKE THE COOKIE AND SECOND-THINK IT. YOU ATE IT! YOU ATE SOMEONE ELSE'S COOKIE!! YOU COULD GET MONO FROM SH*T LIKE THAT (kissing disease without actually kissing....but stealing a cookie...your parents would be SOOO unimpressed) (wait, can you get mono from that??)
i did it.
i dont think i can ever go back to Wanda's anymore. I swear someone noticed. I think a server even noticed. how embarrassing. What was even more embarrassing is that the same server came by and cleared the table of the women's plates, but failed to wipe the table. Not only was i embarrassed, but out of the corner of my eye i could see the trail of icing sugar that lead from the plate from which i stole the cookie. i couldnt even turn my head...i knew it was there. The server left it there to remind me of my 'shameful' deed.
My own plate even had shame written all over it--the crust of the quiche (which i didnt eat because i decided it was TOO buttery), chocolate crumbs, and an explosion of icing sugar.
needless to say, if i learned anything from passover its not just that you cant eat unleavened flour--but also that anything that does not have flour (but typically would i.e. cookies) becomes exponentially more delicious....and to people of all faiths, apparently. chocolate, almonds, and sugar do not discriminate!
Friday, April 17, 2009
Sunday, April 12, 2009
blog commenting
WHY DO PEOPLE NOT COMMENT ON MY BLOG!!
I KNOW YOU READ MY BLOG!!!
IF YOU READ IT AND YOU LIKE IT OR IF YOU READ IT AND YOU DONT LIKE IT OR IF YOU READ IT AND THINK TO YOURSELF ANY THOUGHT ANYTHING....WRITE IT!!
......my frustration with the lack of commenting on my blog gives me right to write that entire post in capital letters!
I KNOW YOU READ MY BLOG!!!
IF YOU READ IT AND YOU LIKE IT OR IF YOU READ IT AND YOU DONT LIKE IT OR IF YOU READ IT AND THINK TO YOURSELF ANY THOUGHT ANYTHING....WRITE IT!!
......my frustration with the lack of commenting on my blog gives me right to write that entire post in capital letters!
third time....some harm!
Sooo...we have had a break from Ecuador. Why? All the best stories come from Ecuador. So here it goes!
Since I was five years old, I had thought about getting a nose ring. They were so elegant and subtle. When i was 5 i asked my parents if i could get a nose ring, and they obviously said no. For things like this, my dad would always say something like “wait 5 years, and you will realize that you don’t even want it anymore.” I never really thought about it again until i was 23 when i woke up one day and my friend, Fin, asked “What are you gonna get up to today?”
“Hmm...i think i’ll get my nose pierced.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
We left it at that and went on with our day. I told my argintinean friends that i was going to get my nose pierced, but that we should wait until some other friends got into town later that day so that we could all go together. “Está bueno, está bueno.”
I then texted Chantel and Martha, when you get here im gonna go get my nose pierced..the argintinean chicas will join us. I even went to the effort of telling my parents I would get my nose pierced, knowing very well they would not approve. I figured it was best to hear their disapproval over the fone rather than in person where they could stare directly at my nose and say safekh with middle eastern disapproval.
After having told my parents, getting them mildly riled up with their what the heck can we do-attitude (that all parents who have unsuccessfully tried to prevent their children from going to Ecuador always have) I had decided that i didn’t really want the nose ring. When Martha and Chantel arrived we didn’t go to the piercing parlour. We continued with our daily plans and even met up with our Argie buddies later that day. While all five of us were hanging out on a street corner, a very VERY pierced man walked up to us. “Peer-seen? Tah-tooz? Peer-seen? Tah-tooz?” Martha, Chantel, and I nodded our heads in a polite no-thank-you fashion which prompted him to move on, but the two Argentineans both pointed to me and repeated “Ella! ELLA”
I forget to tell the Argentineans that I had reconsidered the nose ring.
Next thing I knew this pierced and tattooed man was literally holding my hand (much like my older brother still does when we cross the street...a combination of you are safe and hurry the &**@ up) and dragging me to a store around the corner. I was immediately picking out a ring with four of my friends and was plopped into a chair looking at my naked nose. I sat in the chair, asking myself how I would recount this story to my parents.
“I got pierced by a carni off the side of the street. In Ecuador. For three dollars.” Hmmm...nope, better rethink that line.
“I got pierced in Ecuador. It was only 3 dollars. It was a deal! I HAD to!” ....nope, also bad.
“I saw them sterilize the ring before they jammed it with little mercy into my nose.” ....probably not much better.
“People barely notice it. It is so natural on me.” ...getting warmer.
“What piercing?” PERFECT!
So there you have it. They drew a blue mark on my nose where they would pierce me, then sterilized the ring with a cotton swab and some alcohol, and poke. Ouch. My left eye began to water and my left cheek was drowning in a manner of seconds. It was like my parents told me that my dog just died. But they told me while I had lost hearing in my right ear, and my body responded correspondingly. It was bizarre, but it hurt. It was quick, and happened while all of my friends were staring at tattoo designs. I looked into the mirror. "Guys, ITS HUGE!" It looked giant. It looked like it was taking over my nose.
"Maryam, it is tiny." (In hindsight, i do remember picking out the smallest little jewel possible--but it was such a shock. The mark they drew on my nose was even larger than the piercing itself)
We left. Now I had to endure an afternoon of shopping with Martha and Chantel. And my left side was still dealing with the trauma of its dead puppy. After about half an hour, the tears had dried and I was wiping my left eye. I lightly tapped the nose ring and “AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!”
Martha ran out of the change room half dressed and Chantel dropped the skirt she was looking at and joined me on the ground to look for my nose ring which had so easily flown out of its newly perforated nose. “Dónde está? Dónde está?”
I quickly found the ring, grabbed Chantel, and yelled “Martha, we will be back.” Chantel and I ran back to the parlour and I explained what happened.
The piercer muttered under his breath, thinking i was just a silly gringa who couldn’t understand him, “she shouldn’t have pulled it out.”
“I DIDNT” i yelled when i really wanted to say, “if you hadn’t done such a shitty job, this wouldn’t have happened.”
"Well, it is probably already grown over, let me see. Oh, it actually hasn't. Here we go..."
OUUUCH"!!!)("·JLKEJASLUD(DUas
I was literally off the seat from pain as the piercer grabbed my face and furiously jammed the ring back in my nose. I actually think it HAD grown over. Chantel grabbed my hand to steady me and we slowly walked back to the store to meet Martha. If all the stories of pain and shock weren't enough, Martha ALSO decided to get a piercing. We went to another piercing parlour to look at differnt studs for Martha's new cartiledge piercing. A young girl was already there, alone, and sitting at a chair. She had just had three ear piercings, and was getting 3 more. The poor idiot...there are only so many perforations a human body can take in one day. The last three were in the cartiledge. I offered her my hand to squeeze because of the pain and she took it willingly. The needle started going through her ear and in the middle of the piercing I started yelling "hay sangre, hay sangre!!!" There is blood! There is blood. I immediately let go. Everyone began looking at the girl's ear wondering where i was seeing the blood. Her eyes bugged out. She didnt feel any blood.
In a small mirror I had noticed blood pooling around the blue sparkle on my nose, and began looking around the tiny parlour for a tissue. "I need something to clean it." The piercer started yelling at who i guess was her assistant: "help her clean it. help her clean it."
After she had fully pierced the other girl, she came over to me, properly cleaned the blood off my nose and inspected it. "Oh, it is sitting on the surface. your nose wasnt fully pierced. Thats why it is bleeding."
WHAT? Did i just waste 3$ and a shit load of pain and nothing!?
sooooo.....................even though i had decided at one point in the day that i really didnt need a piece of metal on my face, i figured that if i had gone part way...i might as well go the whole nine yards.
so in about an hour and half i had gotten pierced 3 times. I was so pale after the third piercing, they didnt even let me leave the parlor for another 30 minutes after they were closed. They ran and got me water and candies to get my blood sugar up.
Now i had to rethink of creative ways to tell my parents what happened:
"mom and dad, i was dumb enough to get a cheap peircing in ecuador which, because it was so cheap, had to be redone twice in the same day." nope...i never admit how stupid i am to my parents. that would mean that their years of convincing me would have worked...i wont give in!
"mom and dad. i had my nose pierced three times...but dont worry...there is only one hole." :) Hmm....this one has a good ring (mind the pun) to it. They may react better to this one because of the element of humour...?
screw that....
"what peircing?"
Since I was five years old, I had thought about getting a nose ring. They were so elegant and subtle. When i was 5 i asked my parents if i could get a nose ring, and they obviously said no. For things like this, my dad would always say something like “wait 5 years, and you will realize that you don’t even want it anymore.” I never really thought about it again until i was 23 when i woke up one day and my friend, Fin, asked “What are you gonna get up to today?”
“Hmm...i think i’ll get my nose pierced.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
We left it at that and went on with our day. I told my argintinean friends that i was going to get my nose pierced, but that we should wait until some other friends got into town later that day so that we could all go together. “Está bueno, está bueno.”
I then texted Chantel and Martha, when you get here im gonna go get my nose pierced..the argintinean chicas will join us. I even went to the effort of telling my parents I would get my nose pierced, knowing very well they would not approve. I figured it was best to hear their disapproval over the fone rather than in person where they could stare directly at my nose and say safekh with middle eastern disapproval.
After having told my parents, getting them mildly riled up with their what the heck can we do-attitude (that all parents who have unsuccessfully tried to prevent their children from going to Ecuador always have) I had decided that i didn’t really want the nose ring. When Martha and Chantel arrived we didn’t go to the piercing parlour. We continued with our daily plans and even met up with our Argie buddies later that day. While all five of us were hanging out on a street corner, a very VERY pierced man walked up to us. “Peer-seen? Tah-tooz? Peer-seen? Tah-tooz?” Martha, Chantel, and I nodded our heads in a polite no-thank-you fashion which prompted him to move on, but the two Argentineans both pointed to me and repeated “Ella! ELLA”
I forget to tell the Argentineans that I had reconsidered the nose ring.
Next thing I knew this pierced and tattooed man was literally holding my hand (much like my older brother still does when we cross the street...a combination of you are safe and hurry the &**@ up) and dragging me to a store around the corner. I was immediately picking out a ring with four of my friends and was plopped into a chair looking at my naked nose. I sat in the chair, asking myself how I would recount this story to my parents.
“I got pierced by a carni off the side of the street. In Ecuador. For three dollars.” Hmmm...nope, better rethink that line.
“I got pierced in Ecuador. It was only 3 dollars. It was a deal! I HAD to!” ....nope, also bad.
“I saw them sterilize the ring before they jammed it with little mercy into my nose.” ....probably not much better.
“People barely notice it. It is so natural on me.” ...getting warmer.
“What piercing?” PERFECT!
So there you have it. They drew a blue mark on my nose where they would pierce me, then sterilized the ring with a cotton swab and some alcohol, and poke. Ouch. My left eye began to water and my left cheek was drowning in a manner of seconds. It was like my parents told me that my dog just died. But they told me while I had lost hearing in my right ear, and my body responded correspondingly. It was bizarre, but it hurt. It was quick, and happened while all of my friends were staring at tattoo designs. I looked into the mirror. "Guys, ITS HUGE!" It looked giant. It looked like it was taking over my nose.
"Maryam, it is tiny." (In hindsight, i do remember picking out the smallest little jewel possible--but it was such a shock. The mark they drew on my nose was even larger than the piercing itself)
We left. Now I had to endure an afternoon of shopping with Martha and Chantel. And my left side was still dealing with the trauma of its dead puppy. After about half an hour, the tears had dried and I was wiping my left eye. I lightly tapped the nose ring and “AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!”
Martha ran out of the change room half dressed and Chantel dropped the skirt she was looking at and joined me on the ground to look for my nose ring which had so easily flown out of its newly perforated nose. “Dónde está? Dónde está?”
I quickly found the ring, grabbed Chantel, and yelled “Martha, we will be back.” Chantel and I ran back to the parlour and I explained what happened.
The piercer muttered under his breath, thinking i was just a silly gringa who couldn’t understand him, “she shouldn’t have pulled it out.”
“I DIDNT” i yelled when i really wanted to say, “if you hadn’t done such a shitty job, this wouldn’t have happened.”
"Well, it is probably already grown over, let me see. Oh, it actually hasn't. Here we go..."
OUUUCH"!!!)("·JLKEJASLUD(DUas
I was literally off the seat from pain as the piercer grabbed my face and furiously jammed the ring back in my nose. I actually think it HAD grown over. Chantel grabbed my hand to steady me and we slowly walked back to the store to meet Martha. If all the stories of pain and shock weren't enough, Martha ALSO decided to get a piercing. We went to another piercing parlour to look at differnt studs for Martha's new cartiledge piercing. A young girl was already there, alone, and sitting at a chair. She had just had three ear piercings, and was getting 3 more. The poor idiot...there are only so many perforations a human body can take in one day. The last three were in the cartiledge. I offered her my hand to squeeze because of the pain and she took it willingly. The needle started going through her ear and in the middle of the piercing I started yelling "hay sangre, hay sangre!!!" There is blood! There is blood. I immediately let go. Everyone began looking at the girl's ear wondering where i was seeing the blood. Her eyes bugged out. She didnt feel any blood.
In a small mirror I had noticed blood pooling around the blue sparkle on my nose, and began looking around the tiny parlour for a tissue. "I need something to clean it." The piercer started yelling at who i guess was her assistant: "help her clean it. help her clean it."
After she had fully pierced the other girl, she came over to me, properly cleaned the blood off my nose and inspected it. "Oh, it is sitting on the surface. your nose wasnt fully pierced. Thats why it is bleeding."
WHAT? Did i just waste 3$ and a shit load of pain and nothing!?
sooooo.....................even though i had decided at one point in the day that i really didnt need a piece of metal on my face, i figured that if i had gone part way...i might as well go the whole nine yards.
so in about an hour and half i had gotten pierced 3 times. I was so pale after the third piercing, they didnt even let me leave the parlor for another 30 minutes after they were closed. They ran and got me water and candies to get my blood sugar up.
Now i had to rethink of creative ways to tell my parents what happened:
"mom and dad, i was dumb enough to get a cheap peircing in ecuador which, because it was so cheap, had to be redone twice in the same day." nope...i never admit how stupid i am to my parents. that would mean that their years of convincing me would have worked...i wont give in!
"mom and dad. i had my nose pierced three times...but dont worry...there is only one hole." :) Hmm....this one has a good ring (mind the pun) to it. They may react better to this one because of the element of humour...?
screw that....
"what peircing?"
Friday, April 3, 2009
My first book review (i feel like that expression should go on a mug)
I have written a book review before, but never have I done so voluntarily. And now, I have the desire to not only write a book review, but to do so when i have not even reached the half-way page.
So for my first book review, i have decided to review the book Stuff White People Like by Christian Lander.
Points to point out before I review:
I would like to point out the whiteness of the author’s name. The author is clearly a white person. This would probably make him the most appropriate person to write such a book. Most writers are inspired and influenced by their upbringing and their surroundings. This white person would clearly be a great candidate for writing this book because he himself is white.
I would also like to draw attention to the fact that I like many of the things that white people (apparently) like. This makes me white. Even though i am not white? Even though Lander deems me as “white”, after reading this book (or less than half of it) I am still middle eastern. This has several implications on my life: 1) my comfort food is still an Iranian dish that none of my friends can pronounce and that i cannot spell, and 2) i will still get pulled over at the Canada-US border and searched for...weapons of mass destruction?
Book Review: Lander writes about 150 things that white people like and why they like them. There are also many tips as to how to make white people like you more.
Most creative items on his list:
Number 2: Religions their parents don’t belong to. -> When i read this i remembered that i only have one friend who is a Buddhist. He is white and his parents are not Buddhists.
Number 11: Asian girls. -> I’m Asian! Where do you all think Iran is?
Number 16: Gifted children. -> Lander states that white people love gifted children because “100 percent of their kids are gifted.” This is SO true. I feel like everyone i met in university was in some sort of “gifted stream” unless they went to private school. I contrast this to my parents. My parents never thought my brother and i were gifted. I think they thought we were pretty average. Whenever we told them of an achievement of ours, they brushed it off. I was never sure if that was because they did not understand the extent of our achievement or if it was because they were trying to push us back down to average before anyone noticed.
Number 29: 80s night -> THEME PARTIES!
Number 65: Coed sports. -> Lander advises people to blend in with their surroundings (i.e. be as good as the sport as the white people around you). He says that “If you try to hard (bowling over a female catcher, throwing a kickball extra hard at someone), you come off as a crazy maniac.” This is true. I can say from experience. I was playing on a coed softball team and the short stop ran all the way into right field to catch the ball. I was right field and i almost caught it until i was—you guessed it—bowled over by the crazy maniac.
Neither of us caught it. I had a bruise on my left shoulder too. Jackass!
Lander also claims that coed sports are a great way to find a date. I definitely did not get a date, and the closest person i got to in softball was the guy who ran me over. Maybe it was my fault i didn’t get a date...i mean, giving someone the evil eye isn’t much of a first impression.
So for my first book review, i have decided to review the book Stuff White People Like by Christian Lander.
Points to point out before I review:
I would like to point out the whiteness of the author’s name. The author is clearly a white person. This would probably make him the most appropriate person to write such a book. Most writers are inspired and influenced by their upbringing and their surroundings. This white person would clearly be a great candidate for writing this book because he himself is white.
I would also like to draw attention to the fact that I like many of the things that white people (apparently) like. This makes me white. Even though i am not white? Even though Lander deems me as “white”, after reading this book (or less than half of it) I am still middle eastern. This has several implications on my life: 1) my comfort food is still an Iranian dish that none of my friends can pronounce and that i cannot spell, and 2) i will still get pulled over at the Canada-US border and searched for...weapons of mass destruction?
Book Review: Lander writes about 150 things that white people like and why they like them. There are also many tips as to how to make white people like you more.
Most creative items on his list:
Number 2: Religions their parents don’t belong to. -> When i read this i remembered that i only have one friend who is a Buddhist. He is white and his parents are not Buddhists.
Number 11: Asian girls. -> I’m Asian! Where do you all think Iran is?
Number 16: Gifted children. -> Lander states that white people love gifted children because “100 percent of their kids are gifted.” This is SO true. I feel like everyone i met in university was in some sort of “gifted stream” unless they went to private school. I contrast this to my parents. My parents never thought my brother and i were gifted. I think they thought we were pretty average. Whenever we told them of an achievement of ours, they brushed it off. I was never sure if that was because they did not understand the extent of our achievement or if it was because they were trying to push us back down to average before anyone noticed.
Number 29: 80s night -> THEME PARTIES!
Number 65: Coed sports. -> Lander advises people to blend in with their surroundings (i.e. be as good as the sport as the white people around you). He says that “If you try to hard (bowling over a female catcher, throwing a kickball extra hard at someone), you come off as a crazy maniac.” This is true. I can say from experience. I was playing on a coed softball team and the short stop ran all the way into right field to catch the ball. I was right field and i almost caught it until i was—you guessed it—bowled over by the crazy maniac.
Neither of us caught it. I had a bruise on my left shoulder too. Jackass!
Lander also claims that coed sports are a great way to find a date. I definitely did not get a date, and the closest person i got to in softball was the guy who ran me over. Maybe it was my fault i didn’t get a date...i mean, giving someone the evil eye isn’t much of a first impression.
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