Day 19: Try VersaSlim.

Posted on March 19, 2012 by LaLa

Behind every woman is a team of experts who help her to look that way, on both the inside and out.  We’re talking hair stylists, colourists, personal trainers… you name it!  The bond between a woman and her beauty consultants is stronger than any man could ever fathom.  We simply chat and connect on a deeply personal level.  The friendship can even persevere through multiple bad appointments, as the barrier to entry is quite high to rebuild that kind of intimacy with someone new.  So we forgive the half-shaved head, platinum spiral perm or missing eyebrow, and remain optimistic for the next visit.

You can imagine my delight, then, when the opportunity presented itself to assist one of my core team members.  I mean, I’m still a little fuzzy on exactly how it all happened, but I think it went something like this.

I was at the West Toronto Wellness Centre last week for an appointment, catching up on all the latest adventures of one of my most entrepreneurial and professional therapists, who also happens to be President of a Fashion Agency, and an Arbonne District Manager, as you do when you have her kind of ebullient energy.  I commented on a new poster hanging in the treatment room, and she perked right up and said something to the effect of, ‘hey, you’re off work at the moment, are you free on Monday?’, to which I hesitantly responded, ‘um, yeah, I think so…why?’.

Well, call me Ms. Pig of Guinea, because today was her final certification day on the VersaSlim machine, and she needed a curvy body to complete the training.  It is, to quote the brochure, ‘An Innovative Treatment for Fat Reduction and Body Reshaping’, with a smiling girl on the pamphlet (presumably the ‘after’ photo), clad only in her undergarments without an inch of orange peel anywhere to be spotted on her luminous skin.  And the session would be complimentary.  Talk about win-win – count me in!!

The first surprise came when I encountered the gallant guy who would be administering her final training.  WTF??  Ah well, in for a penny, in for a pound at this point, so… Bottoms up!

The next step involved strapping the paddles, to quote Bridget Jones, to my wobbly bits.  A mineral oil was first applied prior to the four paddles being strategically positioned.  Two little pads were also tucked into nearby lymphatic nodes – that’d be my groin – to help the released bits of blob pass through my system.  Then, the laser was turned on, and you feel a little like a cow being branded for about 25 minutes…  Just kidding – it does get pretty warm, though, maybe like in a sun bed, except you’re out in the open on a comfortable treatment bed, so you can relax and while the minutes away with something intellectually stimulating, like Angry Birds.

Below are a few pictures to try and capture the essence of the experience.  And no, those aren’t gigantic sperm in the first photo, but rather the paddles primed for battle.  The second is a discreet shot of my caboose being ‘enlightened’, and the third is the safety button in case you need to stop prematurely for any reason, like to have a pee (which I recommend doing beforehand, by the way – just saying).

    

Afterwards, you take your freshly pressed buns and newly broken down fat cells to the T-zone vibration machine to shake things up a bit.  I believe this is to help further encourage the lymphatic system to expunge the bits of cheese that might still be clinging around to their longtime abode… All I know is, I’ve tried these machines before, and they’re a whole lotta fun!  They do a wonderful job of toning you up with minimal effort, so for someone with lazy tendencies, it is ten minutes very well spent indeed.

In the interest of full disclosure, it is worth mentioning that anywhere from 4 to 8 of these toasty treatments may be required for you to reach the results similar to those advocated in the marketing literature.  So, despite the unseasonably warm temperatures in Toronto this week, I won’t be strutting down Yonge street in a bikini bottom just yet… Although that would be something new…

And if you are considering giving it a try, and what girl doesn’t have a wee bit of cellulite hiding out somewhere on their bod, I would definitely recommend seeing Karryn, because when you’re done, you could even browse her clothing samples downstairs for an outfit that shows off your newly toned svelte self!  Wait, a spa treatment AND a shopping opportunity?  All in one place?  Yes, you read that right.  And you’re welcome.

Posted in Spa and Beauty | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

Day 18: Play X-Box 360 Kinect.

Posted on March 18, 2012 by LaLa

“All you need is you”.  That’s weird, I thought all you need is love.  Make up your mind already!  In any event, in case you have been living under a rock, which would make us neighbours, ‘All you need is you’ is the slogan of the X-Box 360 Kinect, where you act as the controller.  LeLa graciously invited me over to ‘play’ it with her this evening (aka try to use home court advantage and my complete newbie status to kick my butt… not that either one of us sweet thangs is competitive – not at all.  Much.)

E.T. is that you?

Anywho… it’s weird the way it ‘scans’ you, like a creepy guy in a bar looking you up and down whom you just know is picturing you naked, to give you a little shadow of a shape on the screen.  Surely it’s added a few inches in all the wrong places as some subliminal form of motivation…  That must be it.  And it’s quite bossy.  “Move back”.  “Jump”.  Um, are you talking to me?

So we started with a warm-up game of Darts.  Some arse named Rich beat me (this is when we still only had one player signed in), but it was a real nail biter.  And the crowd was all backing him.  Curiously, you can do a little jig to celebrate when you’ve done well, but try to strangle your opponent or give him the finger, and that just doesn’t seem to register.  I thought I was supposed to be the controller?!!?

For the next game, we tried something a little more subdued, namely a hole of Golf.  It took a while to figure out how to add a second player (after much fumbling, my name simply became ‘aa’).  The commentary is pretty spot on.  But what I wanna know is who plays golf in gale-forced winds?  And that ball sooooo had a sand magnet…  Next.

Cue the Skiing – now there’s a sport!  Setting aside the fact that I have been skiing my entire life and LeLa has, well, not so much, as you may have divined, I won this one hands down.  Yeah!  Then, much to my horror, it played back my little dance of joy on video.  And it gives you the option to share it.  Sweet mother of Gawd!  Make it stop!!!

While my heart and head were racing with the potential blackmail uses of this video, LeLa loaded up the next game, which was Tennis.  As far as I can recall, which is never more than 5 minutes, this one was a draw, although I think maybe I get the edge with a beautiful backhand that just happened to connect with LeLa’s arm.  Oops…  I’m sure the diabolical X-Box told me to move in that direction as I was out of leering distance.  These things happen, don’t they??

I have to admit, by this point, my breathing was getting heavier and I had started to lightly perspire (since I am a woman, I can glisten, glow or perspire, but not sweat.  Only men do that, and there is a difference.  Unless I’m in a hot yoga class, in which case, it is called puddling, but that is a whole different discussion for another day).

Right, so there’s no need to mention the skunking involved in Baseball.  I’m pretty sure the newly formed bruise on LeLa’s arm may have had something to do with key bits of information being withheld, like how exactly to field a ball.  Let’s just say that I am no longer a fan of the game, and move on, shall we?

All of this led up to the spectacular grand finale.  Dance Central!  Ya, baby.  Now we’re talking!  Step aside, cause the dance floor is officially on fire!  No idea which one of us was which player, but this was first class fun.  And, a lovely lady called Hey Mami kept telling us how sexy and beautiful we are.  Finally, I feel kinected to this thing!  Next stop: the argyle socks and suspenders store, because that look is sh*t hot!

While I was replenishing my sexy, beautiful self with a glass of water on the sofa, I did get a demo of the other game in the house, which was The Biggest Loser.  This just seemed like a whole lotta work, and not nearly enough play.  I mean, it’s a great TV show to watch while you’re eating pizza, but this version lets Bob and Jillian yell at you directly!  Who needs that kind of pressure?  They might even ask you to like, put down your beer.  Whatever…  There’s LeLa’s avatar on the right, by the way, doing her best triangle.  You go girl!  While I go get another beer, and reminisce fondly about Galaga.

Posted in Fitness | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Day 17: Homemade Shamrock Shake.

Posted on March 17, 2012 by LaLa

Happy St. Patrick’s day!  Who’s Your Paddy?  In honour of this statutory holiday in Ireland (for real!), I thought I might try my hand at something vaguely Irish.  Can you believe that I was recently inspired by a Tweet of all things to make my own Shamrock Shake?  Oh, the irony!  It was only 6 days ago that Twitter was dead to me… Ah, the good old days.  But I digress.  For a food that has its own following, there’s some pressure in getting it just the right shade of awesome.  Plan B was to make my own Irish Cream (a la Bailey’s).  Hmm… Perhaps today should be another overachiever…

OK, back to the Shake.  Now, before operating any kitchen equipment, blender included, it’s important to create the right ambiance, so that whatever you’re making truly embodies the spirit in which it was created.  For example, if you were cooking for loved ones, you would want them to feel the love that went into the food.  Or if you were mixing up a particularly potent batch of Ex-Lax brownies for the ex, that they captured the full essence of revenge that fuelled the baking session in the first place.  So, when creating anything Irish, it is important to have a wee tipple to keep things as authentic as possible.

Which brings us to today’s bonus, the cutest little shooter in all of Ireland:  the Baby Guinness.  Surprisingly, it contains no Guinness (or any other beer) whatsoever!  Just 2 parts Kahlua to 1 part Bailey’s (use your own unit of measure, I won’t judge).  And presto, instant crowd pleaser!  A bartender’s all important tip:  poor the Bailey’s into the glass over the back of a teaspoon, so that it is evenly dispersed and stays on top of the Kahlua.  End result looks like a freshly poured glass of the big G, but tastes oh so heavenly.  Enjoy!

Just a wee baby G!

Right, so now that you’re starting to feel appropriately Irish (which a good friend recently reminded me is not so much a nationality as it is a blood alcohol level), back to the Shamrock Shake.  All you do is add about a cup of vanilla ice cream, 1/3 cup of milk, 4 drops of peppermint extract, followed by 3 drops of green food colouring, and blend away.  Pour the lovely concoction into a cup, and savour the green deliciousness.  Yum! I’ll be honest, it tastes like a peppermint patty to me, except without the chocolately goodness.  I guess there’s always room for improvement.  Hmm… maybe try it next with chocolate mint ice cream instead of vanilla? Now how good would THAT be?!??  Or add a little creme de menthe… Decisions, decisions!

Shamrock Shake Deconstructed

Now, being Irish for a day brings out the urge for confession.  I’ve never actually drank an authentic Shamrock Shake from Mickey D’s before.  Ever.  I mean, why would you when there was a chocolate version available?  Hello!  So to get an objective opinion on its deliciousness, you’ll be glad to know that I took the shake for a road trip to a local pub for a tasting, and it got 4 out of 4 thumbs up.  So relax, go ahead and give it a try!

Note:  Only one of the below pics is of the Shamrock Shake.  If you are getting these confused, congratulations, you can consider yourself Irish.  Sláinte!

   

Posted in Food and Drink | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Day 16: Replace Alarm System Battery.

Posted on March 16, 2012 by LaLa

Okay, so today’s new thing might sound a bit hokey, but when you take into account what happened the last time the back-up battery in my home alarm system expired, you’d be really proud of me, too.  This sooooo counts!

I mean, the alarm system came with my house, which I bought back in 2003.  At that time, the house was just a couple of years old.  I never bothered to get the master code from the previous owners, because, you know… details.  So, we just never used it.  Sure, the neighbourhood was a bit sketchy when I moved in, but since then, it has been gentrified, which I always thought meant that was when the gays moved in and classed the place up, bringing in cutesy shops and cafés, which is great for property values.  Since then, my best friend, who happens to be gay, which I guess makes me a fag hag, has set me straight, so to speak.  Although I’m still a bit fuzzy on the exact difference between his ‘Webster‘ definition and mine… but I digress.

Anywho… The original battery lasted quite merrily until early 2008, when all of a sudden, these intermittent beeps started occurring, from seemingly out of nowhere.  At first, they were only chiming in a few times a day, so I did what any happy first-time homeowner would do, and blissfully ignored them.  Then, the beeps started piping in every minute or so.  That was when I discovered the magic of the ‘Reset’ button.  Sweet!  That stopped the bloody beeps… for a while.  But like when the cat came back, the very next day, the beeps started up again.  This game of Reset button versus the beeps continued for a nice long while, until… the blaring siren went off when we opened the door, essentially trapping us inside. Doh!  While a towel stuffed inside the mouth of the siren softened its harshness somewhat, we were truly at the mercy of the phone number on the security panel.  Crappity crap!

The Panel of Evil

Well, the lovely folks at the alarm company agreed to come out in short order to replace the battery and reset the master code, on the one teensy weensy condition that we sign up for monitoring services for a year, at the low, low price of $252.  When they’ve got you by the proverbial marbles, this seemed like a completely reasonable price to pay to silence the demon, and try to convince our neighbours that, in fact, we did belong there, and were not going to dramatically reduce their freshly inflated property values.  Then, once again, the fine print caught me up a year or so later, when an invoice came in to renew the monitoring services.  Apparently, that wasn’t a one-time only get out of jail fee, but, in fact, I had signed something in the heat of the moment that was a so-called ‘contract’, which I had forgotten to cancel in writing.  Total spent to date on the blasted battery:  $504.

Which brings me to today.  Now, I’ll be honest, the intermittent beeps have been back for, well, a while.  Like, maybe six months?  Dunno.  I’ve never been particularly close with the whole space-time continuum thingy.  In any case, I was fairly certain that Groundhog Day would be upon us in short order, and now that I am subsisting on savings, I needed to be a little more prudent about these types of unnecessary expenditures that I should be putting towards absolute necessities, like Daily Deal Tips.  Enter the internet.  Long story short, I figured out how to open the security panel, take a photo of the battery, and buy a replacement at The Source for a whopping $60 (on-line, estimates were closer to $20, but this is still a far cry from $252, plus the inevitable 100% memory penalty a year later).  I was then even able to handily disconnect the old alarm system battery and replace it with the new one.  Ta-da!   The yellow warning light instantaneously vanished from the evil panel, which has since remained magnificently silent.  I followed up this coup de grace by playing the good citizen and properly disposing of the dead duck at my local Household Hazardous Waste depot.  All in all, a job well done, and certainly worthy of a night of good clean Canadian violence, um, I mean fun, at the Toronto Rock Lacrosse game (aka Hockey Without Pants).  Solid entertainment – primarily for the people-watching, like this dude.  Is it a mullet?  Or is it a mohawk?  You decide.

You can call me Mowlet

Posted in Home and Personal | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Day 15: Bata Shoe Museum.

Posted on March 15, 2012 by LaLa

There are very few women who can walk past a shoe store without at least glancing at the window display.  I am not exactly sure at what age we develop the shoe gene, but it is one of the most prolific and easiest ways to discern a woman, or gay man, for that matter.  I am thinking therefore perhaps we are born with this pre-disposition.  It’s hard to say.

What better place to celebrate the love of all things shod than the Bata Shoe Museum.  I’ve been by this holy temple countless times, but it was only today that I managed to penetrate its cozy cocoon.  Architecturally speaking, the building itself is very pleasing, with an open staircase encircling a central atrium that spans 4 floors.  But let’s face it – if I had to choose a shoe time period, the current exhibit showcasing the 1920’s wins, hands down.  No expense spared on both beauty and function – those flappers had more moves than Jagger!

 The museum itself is segregated into multiple sections.  In the basement, there is an extensive display of footwear throughout the ages, covering both ancient and modern civilizations.  Did you know that only the Pope can have a cross on his shoes?  There is also an interactive screen that lets you design your own shoes by choosing various key elements, such as the type of heel, fabric, and, of course, bling.  Ah, good times!

There's no place like home!

One floor up brings you the dichotomy of the Dalai Lama’s flip flops next to Elton John’s gigantic platforms and Shaq’s even bigger sneakers.  There are also several dress-up play areas for kids to unleash their inner Gaga – luckily for me, there was no age limit.

On the second floor I encountered two temporary exhibits – one on native North American footwear, and the other on The Roaring Twenties.  It was interesting to note the subtle differences and varieties in the native footwear.  You might even think these were the original people to pimp something out with all the colour and bling involved.  I mean, they even beaded the underside of their moccasins.  I’m sensing an entirely neglected market here…  Manola, take note!

Pimp my soles

I have to hand it to the 1920’s fashionistas, though.  For someone who travels as much as I do, having a single pair of pumps with interchangeable bedazzled heels?  Sheer genius!  I am not worthy.  I also coveted the red rocket sexy number that would sell like hotcakes even now, some 90 years later, and not just to Jessica Rabbit.  Va va va voom!

On the third floor is a fascinating painting and sculpture homage to all things shoe related.  I saw some things that truly made the balls of my feet quiver simultaneously in both awe and horror.

Overall, I give it two toes up, assuming your little piggies are back from the market.

For the remainder of the images below, see if you can match the caption to the pic:

The original Transformer   /   Me-ow!   /    HOW big are your shoes?  /   Even Lady Gaga might give these a pass  /   Who you calling a loafer?

    

  

Posted in Fun and Crazy | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment