Say Hello to My New Life Partner

Also, I made tomato sauce from scratch this afternoon. So here's a picture of that.





That is all. But, really, isn't that enough?

Superbox is a Misnomer

Where I live, we don't have mail delivered to our front doors, but to a stand of boxes called a superbox. It looks something like this:




This is generally a good thing, I think, since my postal carrier and I have an agreement that she can just throw things that tell her they need a signature in one of the two package compartments in the superbox instead. Locks = excellence.

Sometimes, however, the superbox is a problem. Like today. Because instead of clutching my lovely new bag, and posting a photo heavy essay wherein I wax poetic about falling in love with it the moment I took it out of its package, I am, instead, holding a postal delivery slip stating that I can pick up my dear, dear bag at a local post office. Tomorrow. After 1PM.

I postulate that the largest package compartment, which itself is not that large, was too small for the package that my lovely new bag was sent out in.

So, not so super now, is it?

I Love Will Arnett

This is pretty much why:



Oh, and this:



Direct Link: Compilation of Gob's Chicken Dance from Arrested Development, via YouTube

This Is Made From Elephant Poo

PooPooPaper.com makes paper, and paper products in a responsible and environmental manner.

From elephant poo.

You understand my delight already, no?

Apparently, the elephantine digestive system allows a large amount of fiberous material to pass right on through without being fully digested, and PooPooPaper harvests naturally dried elephant dung, rinses it to release the fibre, boils the fibre to ensure cleanliness and makes paper from it. Paper! From poo!

I will admit that this animal poo product is far more appealing then coffee made from undigested beans harvested from civet poo.




"I poo the most expensive coffee in the world. But not now. Because you are looking, and I am a delicate, modest flower"

Leading Men in Cars

I have come to hesitate talking about TV shows that I like that are in their first season. Because they tend to get their asses canceled. See this season's death of The Knights of Prosperity as proof. And even that post only mentioned the wonderous name of Rockefeller Butts.

But when I like something, I just can resist talking about it. Mid-season replacements are usually a pile of ass, but two shows so far have found their way into my viewing schedule: Raines and Andy Barker, PI.

Raines works only because of the big old sarcastic, witty and awesome Jeff Goldblum, who, from previous interviews that I've seen of him, seems to be playing himself. Or what would be Jeff Goldblum if he was a homicide detective instead of an actor. Which is pretty excellent, with the twitching and odd vocalizations.


Andy Barker, PI sees the return of Andy Richter to TV. And it's about time, dammit. Loved Andy Richter Controls the Universe. So much so that it was canceled. Andy Barker is just as hilarious, in a completely different way. Bonus: Tony Hale, Arrested Development's Buster Bluth, co-stars.

Deathwatch on both of these shows starts....NOW. Sorry.

Poll: Bags

I am sad that there is no poll function on Blogger, because it makes taking polls difficult. Which is, perhaps, a good thing as it restrains me from polling about things like nail clipping and cheese sandwiches. But I feel the need to solicit opinions, so "poll" away I will.

Say you were considering purchasing a leather bag. And say you came across a Toronto-based designer named Retrodelic. And say you were torn between the two bags.

The Ellie Essential, in either Sky Blue or Pumpkin:

































OR

The Maggie, available only in Sea Green:


















Tell me what you think, please. Even if you hate them.

Coquettish and, Well, Naughty

I generally dislike the term "naughty". In truth, I think it's because the things that people are trying to describe as naughty are just trying far too hard to hit that combination of dirty and sweet and witty and awesome. And pretty much no one ever gets it.

Not the story with Paris-based design label Locher's. But then, I think you have the solution right in that description. The French invented the concept of naughty, no? And just look at the styling in these product photos! How can you not be smitten? Locher's specializes in delicate cotton tops embroidered flora and fauna and scripted expressions that are cracking my ass up.

No Time to Fuck:



I Hate Children:





I Don't Play Nice:



Cute Little Fuckers:



I Like It Rough:



Life Is Fucked Up:

Tagged: Five Reasons Why I Blog

The leader of the Creampuff Revolution tagged me to reveal all of the scandalous reasons behind my nefarious blogging schemes.

Before digging in, I would like to say that I'm quite put out that when lovely Rose came into my office yesterday, she didn't run over to my desk, smack me upside the head, and scream "YOU'RE IT!". So I am posting this under much upset and duress.

I'm scrambling to come up with five reasons. Five seems like an awful lot, especially when I've never really questioned why I keep coming back to keep It's A Monkey alive.

1. To hold myself accountable. I like to write, but I could never commit to secretive and private journaling. I tried everything to trick myself into keeping a journal. Bought excellent pens, fun and enticing empty books, set up a schedule, and nothing, nothing would make the action of journaling stick. But putting out words in a public forum, I hold myself accountable, in public, to a commitment to writing.

2. To talk with people that I don't see nearly often enough face to face. With friends strewn across the planet. Blog posts are excellent starting points for other types of conversations, and they're an excellent aid to avoid the "Oh, I forgot to say!" bits that go on after a conversation ends.

3. As a less obnoxious documentation of my life. Yes, still obnoxious, but only in interweb-public, and read by people who decide to be poked at with my words, and not in real-public, like those people who deem it necessary to photograph or video all the minutia of their day to day existence. Blogging also helps me check myself. Before I wreck myself. What?

4. To share the things that I love with others, and maybe draw a little attention to the overlooked. For instance, most recent loves that I encourage others to try: Odette NY, Soma Chocolate Maker, Kultura Restaurant, Canadian artisans on Etsy.com. Because I am helpful and delightful.

5. And finally, and apparently, to provide people across with world with pictures of Gay Wedding Cakes and insulting comments about an episode of CSI: NY.

So, there you go. Five reasons. I tag not, but if you decide to play along, leave a comment, and I'll edit to add a link to this here post.

Just Call Me Angelina Jolie

Because adoption is the new pregnancy, which is the new black. That's right, today I welcomed a new member into my family.



The stock photo doesn't do her justice, I think. Especially since she's fancied herself up and changed saddle and handlebar wrap colour from black to silvery-grey.

Yes, I love the fact that I'm going to be riding something with the word GIANT written on it.

I am so ready to hop on top (on pop) and go for a ride, but it is snowing like a son of a bitch. So, I brought her inside with me instead. Because I want to be near her, and because I haven't had the time to break the news of our new addition to my mountain bike. And I have a feeling that he isn't going to take it well.

Because it's snowing, I carried her across the courtyard from garage to my place to avoid getting her tires mucky, and I started giggling with how very, very light she is. There's nothing like being able to carry your bike with one hand to know that it means you'll be going very, very fast on the road.

One thing that bugs is the pricing difference up here v. the US. Seriously, a $200 difference in retail pricing is crazy-talk, if you ask me, but no one does, so I pay more then I know would if I lived down cross-border. Sigh. But she is beautiful, and she is worth it.

Vicodin, Gay Wedding Cake and Boobage, Oh My

A few weeks ago, following a MICA management training course, I made the decision to not be frustrated. To not be angry. Don't get me wrong, I'm not shoving those feelings down inside until they cause me to blow up real good, but to feel them, and make decisions about how to make the things that are causing those emotions to stop, and then actually doing just that.

It's caused a couple of people to ask just what kind of drugs I've been taking.

I am my own Vicodin. Duuuuuude.

Anyway, remember when I said it was wedding season down page? Clarification: it's gay wedding season. Guess what pops up when you run a Google image search on Gay Wedding Cake?

As promised to Kate, and better late then never, here's a picture of me on my birthday. If there's a better way to to mark the day then excellent company, fine dining and flashing some skin, I don't know it.

Close 'Em Up

My mom will laugh at me when I tell you this, because she was on the receiving end of my begging and begging and begging when I was a pre-teen, but I've come to a decision: I'm letting my second set of earring holes close up.

Why? I hardly ever change the earrings in there. In fact, I only do so when the earrings that I'm wearing in the first set clashes with the keeper rings that I keep in the second. Which, truth be told, makes me not want to change earrings in the first holes because it's such a pain in the ass. So, really, why have that second set at all?

Step one has been completed: earrings have been removed.

Countdown to hole closure: T minus who knows, and counting.

Randomly, it appears to be wedding season, as people coming here searching on cake images has skyrocketed today. And since the last (and only) cake picture on here is of the GAYEST CAKE ON THE PLANET, here's something pretty to look at, instead. From April Reed Cake Design via Tastespotting (food porn!).

Have Bike, Will Travel

Oh, cycling, how I love it. How I love going fast. How I love having the ability to make myself go fast. And to aid my need (my need for speed), I've decided that I need to upgrade from my mountain bike to a road cycle. In the next couple of weeks, I'll be trying on a bunch of frames for size and feel, and I quite seriously can't wait.

One nice thing about professional cycling lines is that they've started producing women specific frames...Not girlie frames with the silly top bar set differently then normal bikes, but normal frames scaled to a woman's body. Basically, a woman's centre of gravity is different then a man's, and a WSD brings handles closer to seat which allows for a more natural and balanced ride and more control when cornering (fast).

I'll be trying on WSD models from Giant, Trek and Cannondale on for size, as well as non-WSD compact frames that suit my small stature.

It's almost approaching a bespoke bicycle. But you didn't hear that from me.

Consult the Educated Monkey

He is wise, well dressed, and very good with figures.




Look how sage!

That is all.

And Around My Neck, A Monkey

I am a lucky girl. I have a brother who goes beyond ordinary effort and makes sure that the present that he chooses to give me for my birthday (secretly Christmas, due to postal service shipping problems) is something that will make me clap my hands like a goon.

You may remember me mentioning coveting a monkey necklace from Odette NY. I covet no longer. The monkey is mine, and I've been wearing it every day since it came home with me.

I am particularly fond of what I feel is the wee monkey's shaking of his wee monkey fist at the world. Or, perhaps he is wagging his finger. Which leaves me to tip my hat - to both my brother, and to Jennifer Sarkilahti, Odette's designer, for making awesome pendents and providing exceptional customer service.

Fashiony McFashionface

I am a slave to fashion-based reality shows. And, as such, I am in a state of TV watching delight. Season 2 of Project Catwalk, the UK version of Project Runway, starts up on Slice (the Lifenetwork, rebranded) on Monday, and last week, the delusional models return to walk it out to see who becomes America's Next Top (non) Model. My, my.

There's Balsamic Vinegar in my Chocolate!

And, goddamnit, it is a revelation, and has transported my understanding of chocolate to a place where I'll never willingly come back from.

But let me back-track a little - on Feb 23, I headed on down to Toronto's Distillery District to dine at Perigee, and had plans on stopping at Soma Chocolatemaker while in the area. Unfortunately, traffic had Brad and I arriving in the exactly when our reservation was booked, and out of the restaurant a good half hour after Soma closed their doors. Their chocolatey, chocolatey doors.

I mulled my chocolate denial and equivocated over the wisdom of emailing the company to see about what placing an order would entail. The lovely Cynthia promptly sent me a current product and price list, and was able to send me a shipping quote based on what I was planning to buy. And what did I order, you ask? Well, let me tell you:

• One package of Mayan Hot Chocolate dry mix (chocolate, Australian ginger, Madagascar vanilla, orange peel, chili and spices)
• Four truffles / molded chocolates (Balsamic Vinegar, Caramel Kiss, Spicy Mayan Dome, & a Single Origin Venezuelan 70% Cacao content)
• One microbatch Dark Science bar, Venezuelan beans, 73% Cacao content (made by Soma, brought from bean to bar - that's right, they roast the beans for this sucker themselves)

Soma ships via FedEx, and because I'm in the area, next day shipping? $6.00. That's right, less then I would've spent on gas and parking had I trucked on into the city to pick it up myself. And since deliveries via FedEx usually require signatures on delivery, I decided to have my chocolate loveliness delivered to my workplace.

So I congratulate myself on clever online shopping.

I placed my order Tuesday evening. It headed out on Wednesday morning for delivery on Thursday. Unfortunately, since Thursday was NATURE'S WINTER REVENGE, I headed home early before the delivery was made. But Friday? Friday saw me with a box of delight on my desk, and a desire to run home so I could tear into my goods without having to share. Because chocolate turns me into a selfish 3-year-old.

So far, I've devoured the truffles. Three were good, as is to be expected by a maker of fine, handmade chocolates. Good, but not extraordinary. The fourth? Absolutely heavenly. Who could have known that the bitterness of dark chocolate could be balanced so delightfully with the sharp tangy sweetness of balsamic vinegar? Not me, but I sure am glad that it does.

Image via Inkygirl @ Flikr