Bring Back the Dinosaurs.

I got a sign today that things are getting better. Not that they were bad but I guess I sort of achieved something. Without realizing it until I came here to write it down...for the first time today...maybe ever. I had one of those moments where you think to your self "Gawh, there is no where else on this earth I want to be right now." ... Its strange because I think I always had some kind of mental block about leaving Home and loving another city in another country but I always hoped that I could learn to love two places, three places, however many homes as you want as long as they hold people to love inside them. there homes.

So small known fact, actually something that I always thought was normal and now am feeling might sound weird writing it down buuuttttt... I enjoy watching Dinosaur movies (jurassic park, Dinosaur planet etc...) while eating pepperoni pizza. I keep my elbows tucked in at my side and make my arms look like t-rex arms. I have been known on occasion root for one dino over another in a one on one battle and comment on the commentary.

I do this alone and rarely. And it happened today!

I dont know how but today I just thought "im gonna grab some pizza" and got back. "mmmmm dinosaur planet yes." Started watching it... and all of a sudden a wash of happiness and love and almost relief just came over me and I realized that I do like it down here. I really do more and more. Its not what im used to and it certainly isn't perfect but I can love as many places as I want. Lets just say I have a crush on California. yes yes yes!!!! <3 <3 <3

Dear Head: get ready for a toque. *Some Golden Advice*

As I sit in the mountains of BC on a quiet morning, I finally feel at peace. I think this is the calmest i've been in months, sharing a comfortable silence with my sisters man ( Who can make one helluva good cup of coffee) as we both tippy tap on our computers. I'm listening to some Ella Fitzgerald and checking some emails before I get back to my knitting.

Yesterday my sister (*The ever talented knitter) set me up to knit a toque. Up until now, I would consider myself a beginner knitter. Now i've known how to knit since I was a little kid actually. . . I might have been the first of the sisters learn actually. . . hmmm maybe... I remember learning in front of the T.V from my mothers mother while we watched her show on tv. "her show" is which ever soap opera was on at the time, generally 'all my children.' classic. I think my dad still has the hourglass shaped "scarf" I made him...

I digress.

well just because you used to be able to knit doesn't make you some expert, similar to ridding bike, once you remember it it isn't hard to pick up again. BUT...if you have forgotten then it becomes increasingly challenging to fix any errors. Yesterday, my 'toque' looked like a cat wretched on some needles. In knots and nice colours to be sure. but still. it was AWEFUL. once my sister got home from work, one look and she was busting a gutt laughing.

Yeah your gonna have to re-start

WHAT?! common this thing is a beauty!

are you kidding.

...yes?...

and with that she yanked on my needles and with a few quick tugs, my hot mess returned from whence it came and resumed its former shape as yarn.

After figuring out that instead of pearling a pearl-like stitch, I was in fact SUPER pearling. (ie- adding stitches every single time as well as the ones that were meant to be there) and actually counting how many of each stitch i was doing, I found myself with the beginin's of a little toque.

Yesterday was spent relaxing after my 11 hour bus ride. Woof.

Of course the bus trip went like most do, very full, too packed, I found by my side a chatty cathy and he and I talked for most of the ride. I shared snacks with the girl behind me. It turns out she was from O town originally, moved to mtl then to Vancity and is headed back to O town for christmas! talk about a loooong ride. We swapped seat partners and giggled and munched and tried and failed at sleeping. We even made playlists of music for eachother, awesome bus ride.

So as I sit here and relax, I will pause and wait until tomorrow to write about vancouver.

I'll leave you with a little nugget of wisdom I got from a guy on the bus.

(When discussing dressing comfortably and general bus life)

"Dont try and impress anyone on a bus. Even if you smell a little funky...You wanna look like the stabber; not the stab-E"

- a gentleman and a scholar.

Greasy cheeseburger stranger love.

It was those dumb brown eyes. looking up at you like "yeah. yeah I did. I took a dump right beside the mat that you specifically laid out for me to use." My room-mates Pug would look up at me and blink in that sort of weird cute pug face that melts your heart. Because everytime he did that it ment that you still had to pick up crap off the floor and clean it and thus to fail, became "shitting beside the mat" IE - "Aw nerds I forgot to pick up beer on the way home! I am just shitting beside the mat right now!"

Anyways - Thursday morning before my flight to Van, I was just shitting beside the mat.

I had a moment, standing on the bathroom floor, about to take a shower, standing still and looking at my reflextion and thinking that one little word that we all go to when we are truely and utterly ----ed. I need to be AT the airport in an hour, im not showered or packed, nor do I have a ride. F^@%.

To my surprise I returned to my room post shower and threw in a few last minute essentials into my case. Luckly it is Friday and I am not noticing anything huge that i've forgotten. Boyfriend is a hero and left work to drive me to the airport which was really wonderful of him and it was a breeze threw the airport security and what not. My dad has told me since I was born that i have some kind of inexplicable luck. or "horseshoes up the arse" he calls it.

Once past secruity, I was looking for a quick place to grab some grub without blowing my already minimal travel budget. turning away from Wolfgang Puck's restaurant I was greeted by Burger King. nethier options that I was particularily willing to entertain. Turning back into look for a menu at wolfgang pucks, I collided with another diner on his way in. We chuckled and apologized and schuffled sideways. "Whatddu think?" he asks me. "Meh, it seems ...okay"... I answered.

we chatted a little and decided that it would be a burger king kind of day. After waiting in line together, I found that my new friend was from Nanaimo BC and had been travelling from south africa through dubai for the past two days. I asked for the time and realized that I had to board in fifteen minutes! My new friend insisted on paying for my cheese burger. I looked at him and said "thank you friend. truly, it was so nice to meet you." and he looked at me and said "K, it was so nice to know you, if only for a minute. Merry Christmas and happy holidays!" and with that I clutched my cheeseburger and we parted ways with two huge smiles. Life feels good.

I told my lady the story when she picked me up from the airport "How do you always find them?! those nice people? they flock to you or something"

I think it might be karma again, last week I bought a stranger at my school a printing card cause he didnt have the cash and needed to print a project. karma is delicious <3

Okay Vancouver, here we are! show us what you got!

Katie Mai; Queen of the gingerbread rodeo

For years decorating gingerbread houses had been a tradition in my family. Every year my mother would go nutts making gingerbread house pieces from a stencil set she made and had the kids of our families and friends come over and make a house.

with an assortement of bon bons in bowls, dishes and cups - our houses looked like a comparable miniture Willy Wonka factories.

Eventually the kids would hit a peak and the delicate balances would tip from excited to sugar high and concentration was brought to a screetching halt once a roof slid off or a cookie broke.

Then it was the parents turn. Mum's took the cookies and laughed as they decorated and dad's suddenly became architechts, using tooth picks as supplies and playing with the consistancy of the icing to acheive better adhision.

times were simpler then.

my class made ginger bread houses for class last week and well just say. . . it wasn't my first rodeo. . .

after the making of the dough, rolling it out, cutting out peices, baking and shaping them to fit better together, we made our royal icing. Right away I knew that I had to play my cards right, these little cookie houses can get the best of you and knock the holly jolly out of some newbies. But I know the tricks.

Slowly I start construction by forming the front of my house to one of the side walls. while being a somewhat easy peice to put together, I took this time to re-enforce it and all its sides. this is to be my foundation. assembling the other side wall and back piece were the next challenges.

ppfffttt challenges for some. I sat patiently holding my four sides of my house while I let the Glue- ICING ... I mean icing ...set.

Rule #1 of gingerbread houses - be. patient.

Around me people were racing to finish first, in the blink of an eye the roofs were up before the walls were dry and just like that. . .

the walls started to fall. without fail, like i knew they would. shrieks and cries of horror and dismay errupted one by one as new home owners and builders begged for the use of an extra hand nearby or for a solution as to why there candycane mansions were all but ruins.

A girl beside me became enraged and slammed her fists into the table and smashed her house. the cookies didnt break but the house was ...well the house was a mound of icing and cookies.

pouting and angry she stared at the house. The house didn't take kindly to death glares and would prove to be a bother until its untimely demise. (*in the end the house was assaulted with fists full of rainbow nerds. If hippies and weirdoes lived in gingerbread houses, this would be the one. One giant candy acid trip with crazy windows with every wall slanted. Holding your breath just looking at it fearing that breathing would knock it down. Later it was infact, knocked down and ultimately thrown with passionate contempt, into the garbage. )

Across from me a young women said "well common now we just have to wait and let it dry" her house was drying fine but she was making one of the oldest mistakes in the book.

LOADING up the roof before it was even on the house. Peppermint bonbons side by side allllll over.

Lemmie tell you why this is a mistake.

1) its hard to keep candies nice when your hands are full of icing pushing all up on 'em.

2) your house cannot support this weight.

3) YOUR HOUSE CANNOT SUPPORT THIS WEIGHT.

sadly I watches as her wall too, collapsed with a sigh under the weight of the candied roof. she laughed in good spirits and I giggled too until I began to put my roof together. Although it wasn't candy heavy, it was. . . well. . . okay lets just say its good im not into archetecture, blue prints or house making of the real variety. . .

My roof fit the sides of my house fine but running ontop my roof, between the two pieces was a gap big enough for about the width of three pieces of licorice. Whats worse was how pourly my chimney was fitting ( or not fitting) on my roof (or pieces of a roof that let in alot of. . .well sky) knowing that this was going to be a big mark losing snafu, I took one of the extra strips i had cut and baked and placed it on top. (* i've learned that baking little ginger bread style band-aids will save your caboose when gingerbread housing) So with the roof sealed up, chimney (*or chimbley as I like to call them) hideously attached but stable, I looked at my house.

Rule #2 about ginger bread houses. - Beauty is always secondary to stability. Once a house is stable and sterdy, you can decorate the living baby cheese out of that tasty abode.

Rule #3 about ginger bread houses - Candy can hide all mistakes.

Looking at the chimney, I patched up the heinous gap where the roof didnt actually meet the chimney (...at all) with a peppermint yumyum and another on the back.

My decorating continued and the rest of my house was (in my opinion) innovative and what I could call "candy chic". this lil baby got me an A. queen of the gingerbread rodeo.

Bleh why am I so sick?!

Yesterday I felt really bad, walking out of the room to go to class i had on my chef pants, my jacket completely undone sunglasses on. I felt almost faded. eyed half closed even though it was past noon. fighting this wierd alergy/sickness thing that i've had for 90% of my time down here and my stomach is making some weeeeird noises. (*even now the next day im sitting in bed and cant breathe and my throat feels like its being ripped apart.)I guess thats what you get for only ingesting exclusively Coffee and Blue gatorade so far. Oh well off to chocolate class we go! Wheeeee! one of these days im gonna look back and think wow. what the F*&k was i doing to my body in my twenties.

Ah yes. a young broke sick culinary student. Livin the dream.

I will get better. i have to. yoga today - NO farting.

EColi: A Love Story

This is a true story that I wrote for a class project.

Enjoy and Laugh.

For Chef Pattie

E.Coli: A Love Story.

Most people would agree that few things in life are as sweet as a long weekend. The much anticipated, waited for and dreamed about days off when plans for just about any activity can become a reality. This long weekend that just passed was to be my very first American thanksgiving. Bring on the red white and blue, I had been baking pies for days before hand to dish out to friends and family to show my support of a crazy thanksgiving that was (In my Canadian opinion) one month late. The morning of turkey day, the boyfriend and I woke up and decided that today was a day to not break our fast but to wait in anticipation for the turkey awaiting us later. We helped around one household, fixing things and what not. Said our goodbyes and headed over to a friends house, from there we were on to the main event. I was so hungry at this point in time that I literally feared for the life of anyone who was brave or stupid enough to come between me and that plate of mashed potatoes. Diner was a success, both my pies were inhaled and we left for the comforts of our beds pumped full of tryptophan and gravy thinking that this was the American dream. Little did we know what was waiting for us around the corner . .

The next day was beautiful. The weather was perfect and I was beyond pleased to find myself at the end of November and still in shorts. I re-potted some plants as boyfriend replaced the breaks on my car. I hopped on my strand cruiser and peddled down to the old Taco shop “Poncho’s Taco’s” just around the corner. Knowing what my honey likes, I ordered one carne asada burrito with everything on it for him and one carne asada taco for little old me to go. I peddled back on home and surprised boyfriend with a Mexican lunch to compliment our-oh so American dinner. We sat together and ate and lounged in the warm sun and relished the thoughts that we still had a whole two and a half days off.

Saturday night we decided to have a BBQ. We invited three other couples over and I spent much of the night playing with our friend’s three-year-old daughter. After we ate and watched a little football, it was decided that we would go over to one of the couples houses to play a few drinking games. Having just started feeling the glorious pains that come every month with being a woman, I decided to be the designated driver and not drink. I sat on the couch reading a magazine, writhing in pain when one of our friends came into the room “Hey – Johnny just threw up!” I sprung to my feet and met him in the kitchen. He looked fine and said, “Yeah dude. That was so weird but I feel fine now.” We decided that he would play one more round of beer pong and then we would call it a night. I had just sat down on the couch and resumed my magazine – cramps combo when he came back into the room. His face was pale as he looked at me, “Can we leave soon? Please? Like . . . now?” Not feeling so hot myself, I was more than happy to go. I made a quick round to say goodbye and we got into the car. On the way home we discussed why John could be feeling so sick. “I really don’t think it was the beer.” He said, he had only had maybe four beers since the beginning of the BBQ and for a man of his size (6’2, 190lbs) that was nothing. We got back to the house and retreated to our backyard bachelor room and lay down. Me on the bed, him on the couch. I began to feel nauseous. Trying to focus my attention on anything that wouldn’t make me vomit, I began to have those all too familiar telltale signs that I might at any given time, spew my cookies. Every texture around me made me queasy. The paint on the wall looked too much like cottage cheese (Which makes me uncomfortable on a good day), the duvet was too soft and wavy. Finally I focused on a photograph with a dock sitting in the water. “Babe? I think… I think…I’m gonna-…” and with that my boyfriend dashed across the room, nearly ripped the doors off the hinges and vaulted into the backyard to unleash a stream of projectile vomit into the garden. Snapping out of my ill daze for a moment, I ran to him with water and tissue and coo-ed softly hoping to make him feel better. Back and forth and back and forth he went, couch to garden, couch to garden.

My mind was a mess trying to source out what could possibly be making my poor boy sick. I slipped on my detective’s hat and began to investigate and look at the facts. It couldn’t have been the beer. He and his friends had not been drinking a lot and I know that he can hold his alcohol. Even if it was the beer, there is no way that he would be THIS sick. Beer was out. Maybe it was from thanksgiving? Turkey? or perhaps the stuffing? No, I had spoken to his sister today and no mention of anyone else being sick. Turkey day was not the culprit. Horror filled my head at the thought that maybe WE had made people sick with the BBQ! My thoughts went right away to the three year old girl. If she ate beef that was undercooked and contaminated with E.Coli, she could be very VERY sick. Still, nobody else was sick but him. My nausea returned. My breathing was very heavy and my heart started beating out of my chest. I was salivating too. Very unlike normal menstrual cramps. Suddenly, a light bulb came on. “John . . . I’ll put 100 bucks on E. Coli… and I hate to tell you this baby but the worse is yet to come.”

He blinked at me a few seconds, confused about what I had just said and fighting the urge to purge. “What?” he said. I explained “ it all makes sense now. I’m not in pain from my cramps, I’m sick with it too. E. Coli can live in your body for a while before it produces toxins in your intestines! It was Poncho’s. Poncho’s stupid bloody tacos honey! It has to be! Poncho’s tacos, is the only food that you and I exclusively ate this weekend. With no one else getting sick, that’s got to be it! We both had the carne asada. You are throwing up and I’m pretty close – both symptoms of E.Coli! The only thing missing is- ” John bolted for the door. This time he ran inside the house, to the bathroom and slammed the door. “ – Diarrhea…”

E. Coli is found primarily in beef, whether it was time/temperature abused or cross contaminated is unclear but the facts were in and I was positive. E.coli. It made sense as to why he was so much sicker than me. While I ate a taco the size of my hand, he ate a burrito the size of a new born. My poor man crawled out of the bathroom long enough to say “Baby, I think I need to camp in here for the night. You should go back to bed.” And with that he quickly retreated to expel the demons within, though from which end I’m not entirely sure. I grabbed some blankets and made haste in making a sort of floor nest type thing. John crept to the floor nest and shivered with cold. Knowing that his body was fighting the sickness, I waited until I was in a happy place of cramping but not nauseous and I ran back to our room for supplies. I returned to my shivering sweetheart on the floor and covered him with more blankets. Not wanting to be touched of cuddled (Understandably) I lay down beside him and waited for the storm to pass. Trailing his favorite blanket like a cape, my 4-year-old boy in a 23 year olds body went back and forth to the bathroom all night. Once he got back he would huddle on the floor like a turtle or in the fetal position curled up with his head under the blankets. I stayed awake all night with him and near 4 o clock in the morning he seemed to catch a break. He could sit still for ten straight minutes without having to wretch from ether direction. I looked him over checking for his coloring; knowing that E. Coli can in severe cases, cause Kidney failure. I knew that jaundice wouldn’t set in that fast but I was taking no chances.

From under the blankets in the fetal position, a hand crept out from the dark.

“Thank you for staying with me all night babe. I love you so much” the whisper said. In the dark of the morning, with dawn still a dream away; my eyes watered a little as I clutched his hand. “Of course my darling, I would never leave. I love you and I think the worst is behind you now.” By six o’clock in the morning, my Johnny bug was able to move back to our bed. Thankfully I had nothing more than some warning signs on vomiting and some gnarly business from my behind so I remained vigilant as his nurse. We slept from six am until ten and I got up to begin the healing process. He told me how badly his body was hurting. I knew that he would need rest and that even if his stomach was sensitive and weak, it would need something to start to feel better. Hot chicken broth, water and a little ginger ale were slowly ingested and to my relief- kept down. The next few hours were a mix of my driving around looking for the staples – more soup and not the gross ones found in the cupboard that had been there since the birth of the time, Gatorade – specifically the lemon-lime, crackers, bingo and crossword scratchers etc. Once I got home and we were together again cuddled in bed with scratchers, Gatorade, soup and movies, I asked boyfriend a serious question. “How long since you pooped before getting sick? Maybe once right?” -Right he said. I wondered how easy it would be to take a stool sample and check if I was right.

Later on that day, while we were inside, we found out that another member of the family has slept a sleepless night on the bathroom floor with the exact same symptoms – after eating poncho’s tacos. What was so scary is that she has a two-year-old boy. I shudder to think what would have happened had he eaten the sickening meat. I wrote down the number to this taco place and looking forward to calling and ripping a new one into whoever it was who let this sickness ruin our long weekend. Even though it brought Johnny and I together to fight something gnarly this weekend was still pretty awesome. But I wont be telling them that.

“Babe I was Sh&%$ing and barfing everywhere. I can’t believe you love me this much” – Boyfriend

The Dangers of Downward facing Dog.

Being broke as a joke, I decided that a great way to spend what little money I have would be to get a gym pass. this makes sense to me because

A) if I have no cash and cant go out I should at least do something productive.

B) the whole "work out at home" has more often than not turned into couch marathons coupled with a variety of counter productive snacks.

and C) I am not doing a month to month thing and because all of our friends go there and I bought a two year membership at costco for way cheaper.

SO. . . last friday I went to yoga.

Now i enjoy yoga, I like the feeling I like the moving, the breathing, the whole shi-bang and I feel great afterwards. During however I look like a monster. I am wearing some kind of old t-shirt, huffing and puffing - concentrating on my breaths, red faced and shaking trying to hold a pose. I dont mean to be lude. . . but it looks like whatever difficult position your in, your trying to take a big poo.

I digress.

So friday was nice, it was a slower class and not only did i look like I was not trying to defecate, but I was much more confident in my poses and was looking less and less at the instructor. To my left was my friend down here, a born and raised So Cal babe and to my right was this lady. Now im not one to be stereo typical but this lady seemed to be the idea of LA to me. I was in total awe.

Wearing a violet velour track suite (* for my fellas reading this, thats like an almost velvet material) with rhinestones and what not on it, she had looong yellow blonde hair which was about as real as Pere Noel and some shirt rockets that would get Dolly Parton looking twice.

my favourite part of yoga is that one move where you go from lying on your back to rolling back onto your shoulders and putting your legs straight up into the air. You spread into the splits, you split into scissors. . . you. . .

oh for the love of. . .

are you. . .

are you kidding me?!

sweet baby cheeses!

LA lady beside me is doing all these twisty leg things ON HER HEAD.

full on head stand using her forearms as a base around her head, just bending around like Betty Spaghetti. Eyes closed, not givin a hoot. once she was done that and with half an hour still left in class, she gets up, rolls up the yoga matt and leaves.

Now that was incredible but what really got me was that the whole time she was there, her Tah- Tahs never moved at all! standing up, lying flat, twisting and literally upside down, the sweater puppies showed un believable amounts of discipline.

After her mini circe de soleil act, we normal people went back to our average yoga.

Ahhhhhh one of the best stretches is the downward facing dog. this means that you make almost a triangle with the floor in that your hands and feet are planted, butt straight up in the air and you streeeetch out.

*Grumble*

. . . what was that. . .

ruuuuuummmmbbbbllleeee

. . oh dear lord. . .

*GuRggggGGlle*

oooohhh boy. . .

And with that, my light dinner had resurfaced as light gas. I can feel this fart building behind my butt cheeks and all of a sudden "keeping my gluts contracted" had a whoooole other meaning.

I glanced around the room of my zen minded class mates and began to think.

it was clear that I could NOT hold this little fire ball in but timing was of the essences. If i acted too boldly and let loose the demon... AND if at that point in time and the fart gods curse me with a loud wet one. . . well I would die of embarrassment. But I couldn't just keep it in!. . . could I wait until we had a position where my arse wasn't trying to kiss the ceiling slash pose as an immediate threat to the air supply?

I decided to be bold. While still in downward facing dog, with the light sounds of rain forrest CD playing, I carefully let the first grasps of my fart out. no shreiking. no air escaping a balloon. . . nothing. safety. with relief and control I let my fart out swiftly and thankfully silently.

at the end of the class as our instructor spoke softly to us during our meditation she encouraged us to think about what it is today in our lives that we are thankful for.

I was thankful for silent farts.