It turns out the previous owners had moved at least a month or two before we got the keys to the place. And it just so happens that they didn't leave anyone in charge of watering the roses or the lawn. And it also just so happens that we had one of the hottest summers on record. So when we rolled up to make it a home sweet home, our rose bush and front yard looked like kindling. Seriously, Smokey the Bear was *this close* to mauling us.
I tried to bring it back to life. I fed it water and dead headed the rose flowers. I trimmed off the vicious black spot fungus that had overtaken the leaves. And trimmed it again when it came back. And again. And again. I used a special organic fertilizer to spur on healthy growth. The fertilizer seemed to work, not in producing roses but in allowing the branches to grow super long like thorny octopus legs. So I trimmed those dang branches down and continued the cycle of watering and trimming.
And finally, a few days into October:
VICTORY!
There are now two roses on the bush that once had dozens. Whatever! It's progress - and, naturally, just in time for the frost season.
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As the title suggests, this blog post is going to filled with the most filthy, adolescent, trashy, pearl-clutching language ever...
Or just a picture of my motherfucking salad:
A super colourful salad! It's watermelon, cucumber, lime juice, fresh mint and just a sprinkle of pink salt to tie it all together. It's like summer in a bowl - and now, summer is in my stomach.
I have still been at this mostly vegan, mostly raw business. The result thus far? Eight fatty pounds down, son! It actually would have been more had I not given in to the siren's call of wine and cake and hamburger and chips at a recent event, but, whatev. Now and again, crap is good for the soul.
The aforementioned event was my friend Siobhan's daughter's 2nd birthday. And because I am AWESOME and because I am CHEAP crafty, I made Charlotte a gift of homemade playdoughs.
But these aren't ordinary playdoughs! Not only did I use some rather uppity natural food dyes, I also scented each dough wad with the most wonderful food-grade aromatherapy oils ever. Living Libations makes some of the best smelling oils and beauty products as well as yummy raw chocolate so 'buzzworthy' it was mistaken for hash at the Toronto airport. The goodies are made by a hard-working hippie couple operating out of beautiful lake country Ontario, so I like the added bonus that it's localish.
Anyhoo - I made lavender, peppermint, lime, cinnamon, lemon, and tangerine playdoughs. This is really one of the rare moments that I wish you could take a whiff of my surroundings. You'd have a nosegasm.
Charlotte's reaction to them was great and she basically stuck her face in each container and snorted them like an adorable cokehead. I point that out not only to emphasize how amazeballs me and my gifts are, but when the opportunity arises to use the phrase "adorable cokehead", you take it.
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The other day when I was at the organic market, I came across two people who made me want to roll my eyes so hard that I'd risk bursting blood vessels. They are the veggie hippies of the worst kind: the pretentious and the posers.
Jen, who are you to call anyone a poser? Aren't you barely a week into your veggie lifestyle?
Duh, I know. And I'm not referring to myself as a veggie or a vegan as I'm not one (meat's still on the table - just really infrequently). By poser, I mean people who buy and say all the peace love yoginess but then act like royal dickheads to their fellow (wo)man. Like this:
I was walking toward a refrigerated cabinet when another woman got there first (imagine that, someone moving faster than me). No biggie. Since it was a narrow-ish display, I decided to just wait until she was done. Patiently. Happily. No, really! I had just found Saskatoon berries! I was as silently ecstatic as I could be.
But then I saw the thing I had gone there for, right at the end of the shelf. The woman wasn't looking at it or near it, rather she was holding the door open as she read the ingredients on another package from the other end of the shelf. So, I calmly and smoothly - without touching or interfering with the woman whatsoever - plucked the package and popped in into my basket.
"I'm not holding the door open for YOU, you know," snapped the hag.
Ugh, seriously. Get over yourself. But that wasn't the worst of it or what made her a poser. What made her a giant fake was that when she was at the cash register, she turned to the cashier and said with blowhard hippie breathiness:
I'm sure if she wasn't carrying grocery bags she would have made the little prayer hands gesture along with it too.
Here's a fact for you: All the hemp milk, bamboo skirts and Sanskrit in the world can't make you an enlightened, spiritual being if you act like a self-centred d-bag to random strangers.
The other encounter, in the very same store, was brief but also indicative of why people hate vegans (and possibly Torontonians). As she was walking by the (organic, ethically raised) meat, a woman plugged her nose, glared at the man who was stocking it and quite audibly said, "SICK."
Again: SHUT THE FUCK UP. If you don't want to eat meat, fine, but the enemy isn't the business that buys pasture-raised beef. And if we're talking about things that inspire nose-plugging and gagging, consider adding your armpits to the list.
Because I can never steer far away from things vintage, I looked to see if some vegans have always been horrible or if it's just a new age thing. It's not. Check out this January 1953 article from the Milwaukee Sentinel:
Ugh. "You're addicted to the taste of dead flesh." Bah. You really think that will influence people to give up meat and go veg? Think anyone wants to be just like you?
Be the change, people. And learn to laugh at yourself while you're at it.
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Oh, hey, what's that, Jen? Another stolen stock photo of Saskatoon Berries? Why, no, voice-in-my-head, it's not! It's a photo *I* took. YESTERDAY. IN TORONTO.
That's right folks, fresh Saskatoon berries are in my hands (or more accurately - mouth) thanks to a wee trip to The Big Carrot. I had gone there to pick up local dinosaur kale and other goodies for a green juice and when I rounded a corner in the produce aisle, I nearly wept. Fresh, wild, non-frozen Saskatoon berries ready to put in my face. MIRACLE!
Thank you, Hippie Vegan Jesus, for guiding me to them. Because that's how Hippie Vegan Jesus spends His time and powers - inspiring fatties to go to organic markets.
Now here's the horrifying part:
"But that's for a bushel of them, right?" my prairie friends and family ask.
Heh.
It turns out that Hippie Vegan Jesus is also a fan of butt crazy capitalism.
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Hello! It feels like it's been forever, right? What can I say - I'm slightly addicted to Rocket Mania very busy and important.
Our new home still isn't pretty enough for the kind people of the Internet to judge, so no pics of the new place yet. The big hold-up is that we're waiting on some very necessary storage furniture to arrive. Right now the whole place has a Dude In A Dorm Room vibe thanks in large part to our various Rubbermaid containers strewn about the place. Talk about versatility; one in the centre of the room becomes a coffee table, and a stack of them double as lousy and confusing installation art (is there any other kind?)!
Until very recently, the Dude In A Dorm Room look was fully completed with a fridge (rather, freezer and cupboard) filled with Junk Foods From Hell. The process of selling our condo got us into awful, embarrassing eating habits that we gleefully brought with us to our new home. While we weren't eating out as much, we were, unfortunately, still going for those uber convenience "foods". I'm talking frozen pizzas, hot dogs, chips, dips ... and recently, a new low: A couple weeks ago, I brought home some purple stuff. Oh, the shame.
And then a week ago I found my scale in a box and for a self-hating lark, I stepped on it right there and then.
SWEET MOTHER OF LARD.
I'll put it this way; if I lost HALF my bodyweight, I'd be a very tiny, knobby-kneed, angry person - but probably not dead. And that is ... disturbing (and admittedly a strange way to gauge one's health).
This, paired with some truly unfortunate pictures of me that were taken recently at the Byck Family Reunion that I instantly untagged from Facebook like a fat assassin, has kicked me into gear. So ... I'm going back to a whole foods, largely raw vegan (but not totally) way of eating while incorporating more healthy holistic habits into my day. Don't worry - I won't be turning this into a diet blog - the world has too many of those as it is - but this post is a warning that I might yap about green juices, poor attempts at yoga and how much I hate attractive people ... more often than usual.
As far as years go, 2001 was pretty much a flaming bag of dog shit and donkey balls. Of course, there's that standout reason why 2001, as a whole, has a bad rep, but I've observed that a lot of people had additional things happen in their lives - before and after September - that helped cement 2001 with the title of Worst Year Ever.
For me, I broke up with my live-in boyfriend, which wasn't a big tragedy or anything and was actually / eventually a good thing, but it was a tough change. A week or two later while we were still living together, he got jumped by some real winners and was stabbed in the neck. He survived (and we're still friends. He came to my wedding, even!) but spent a good deal of time in ICU and recovering at home under my care and it was an incredibly fucked up time, to put it lightly. Later in the year, after I had just moved into a new apartment, I got unexpectedly laid off from my job and couldn't find work in my field for months. So, yah, 2001 sucked it just fine without terrorists coming along and mind-fucking everyone.
One day in early July of said heinous year, I got a call from my dad. His voice sounded so weird - so hollow. He said, "I have some really bad news."
My stomach dropped and I felt like I had turned to stone from standing so still and waiting for what felt like an eternity for whatever horrible thing he was going to say next. It had probably only been a week earlier that he had called me with a hesitation in his voice and with a similar lead-in to the conversation: He had then let me know that he had just been diagnosed with prostate cancer.
I mentioned that 2001 was a total asshole, right?
"No, it's not that. It's not me," he quickly said, guessing that this was now two bad news calls in a row and that I probably thought they were related.
A sense of relief flickered for a second, only to be replaced with a new sense of dread. God, what else? What now?
"Um," he stammered for a moment, "Your cousin Jonathan has died," he finally croaked out.
When your brain is running around in that moment of waiting for bad news, your 18-year old cousin dying in a car accident tends not to be among the possibilities. I remember feeling all cold and nauseous and then immediately feeling waves of sadness for his family and the shock and grief they must have been in the pits of.
That was 10 years ago this weekend.
At the request of his family, this anniversary isn't to be marked with sadness, but we'll instead remember him fondly, share memories, and as you'll soon see - partake in some of his quirky passions.
My strongest memories of Jonathan are mainly from when he was younger - he was probably around nine or ten-years old or so. We lived a solid 12-hours drive from the Staniec's farm in Lanigan, Saskatchewan, so we didn't see the family all that much, but when we did, the visits were memorable. We often did "kid switches" where I would stay with the Staniecs for a week or two and their daughter, Jill, who is my sister's age, would came back with my parents and hang with my sister in Fort McMurray (and then vice-versa where my cousin Kim and I would go back together to Alberta).
I remember thinking it was oh-so clever of Jon (although, sure, totally mean) that he used to call his sister "Heather" - "Heifer". It was word play! Farm word play! And he wasn't just calling her a cow, he was calling her a virgin cow! Oh, how hilarious I thought that was. Because I, unsurprisingly, was a ho-bag and a word-geek even then.
I also recall all us kids listening to this one particular Ian Tyson song in a car ride into Saskatoon called "The Coyote and the Cowboy" by Ian Tyson. It was recorded in a bar, and there's a part where Tyson and the crowd sing about a "son of a bitch", and just like the people in the bar, we would SCREAM the word "bitch" every time. Hey! Don't blame us! Just following the lyrics! There's also a part of the song that we would get into fits of giggles over because it sounds like Animal from The Muppets is hollering in the background (from around 2:05 through to 2:20 in the song, should you be listening for it. I listened to it today and it TOTALLY SOUNDS LIKE ANIMAL. We were so right!). We'd play the song over and over and over again until my Aunt Janice justifiably yelled at us to knock it off:
I remember after one particularly grueling trip out to the farm, my family had driven over a stretch of highway that was just being paved and was in no condition for a car to go over it. My dad was seriously pissed about this, as a bunch of wet tar and asphalt had kicked up and splatted all over the hood and around the wheels. We had gone to a professional car wash before arriving in Lanigan and even these guys couldn't get the muck off.
For Jonathan, this was his Everest.
"Can I wash your car, Uncle Joe?" he said, his eyes glimmering as he looked over the tar-speckled minivan.
"Oh, you don't have to do that, Jonathan," my dad said, slightly surprised by the request.
"But can I?" Jonathan asked again.
My dad was stunned. Maybe it was because he was the father of two brats girls who would view having to clean the car as a form of punishment.
"He likes it," my cousin Kim said. "Like, he, really, really, REALLY likes cleaning cars."
"Well, if you insist," my dad said, still perplexed. "But if you can't get that tar off, don't worry about it. The guys at the car wash couldn't even get it off."
This look crossed Jon's face as if to say, "this car hasn't met me yet."
The rest of us kids went off to do the things we most liked doing on the farm: ride the ATVs, form a secret spy club with headquarters in the barn, play with the new calf, and pee our pants from laughing too hard - something someone would later blame on an animal ("I sat in cat pee ..." Sure, Jen, sure. Something you should know about me: I've never let a full bladder get in the way of a good, hard laugh. It's disgusting, really.).
Jonathan, however, went to work on the minivan with a determination worthy of an inspirational 80s power ballad. I even remember him working through lunch, something I've never let happen in my 30+ years on earth.
Hours later, my dad had summoned us all to marvel over Jonathan's work. The beige-but-blackened minivan that had tiredly rolled onto their gravel driveway earlier that day now looked like it had just come off the sale lot.
"Jesus Christ," my dad said, staring at the sparkling vehicle before him. "You really did a hell of a job on that. I mean it. You really did a phenomenal job."
Jonathan smiled with a quiet pride, simply said, "thanks" and strolled off. This, too, stunned my father, as he was generally used to kids - namely a certain daughter of his - lapping up the compliments like a pig and spending the next hour explaining exactly what she had done and how hard it was and why it was so important that it be done in the manner she had painstakingly done them.
Jon's love of cars - and cleaning them - became a hallmark of his, as was the way he mowed a lawn (alternate directions each time, no going back and forth, and whenever possible, he'd get two mowers going to pretend that he had a dual combine set up). There was the wrong way, the right way, and the Super Meticulous Jon Staniec way of doing these things. These things were so much a part of him that this weekend, his family recently asked everyone to mow their lawns or wash their cars "as Jonathan would" while thinking of him.
D-bag Condo Girl here has neither a car nor a lawn, so I improvised:
It is so not the car Jon would go for, but alas, the little gift shop I went to had no sports cars. It was this or a pink new Beatle with flowers on it. Of the two, I'm pretty sure this is the better choice to honour Jon's memory with:
Sparkling new!
And for the lawn ... the closest thing I could find was organic wheatgrass at the market:
Thank you, superfood-loving-hippies-and-yuppies of Toronto.
Even with scissors, I didn't do nearly the good job Jonathan would have done. That, I can guarantee.
Ever since I did the 50s Housewife Experiment, I've been striving to make healthier and more conscious food choices. After having eaten the 1950s way for two weeks, I keep envisioning all the gelatin, canned vegetables and flour-drenched meat still globbing onto my colon like a bunch of skeevy remoras.
When my father-in-law passed away, all healthy intentions went out the door for a couple weeks and we lived off the goodness of others who brought trays of food over to my mother-in-law's house. People were so kind and generous that nearly every surface of the home had food on it.
As my brother-in-law cleverly observed, "nothing says 'sorry for your loss' like little triangle sandwiches and cubes of cheese."
Ha.
Anyway, when people pour their hearts into food for you during a difficult time like that, you don't stop and ask them if they know if the ham in those sandwiches were factory-farmed or if they could make that lasagna in a vegetarian version next time. No, you don't say that unless you're a sack of crap. Instead, you are so grateful and awed by their kindness that you take their gifts with wholehearted appreciation.
But we've been back home for a while and it's high time that we return to healthful, whole eating. I've been pretty good this week, but today is officially (or maybe not "officially", I have no idea. Do hippies ever fill in the paperwork to make things official?) Green Smoothie Day.
The concept is simple: Take some fruit, take some leafy greens, add a bit of water and blend. Add in extras to suit your taste. The result is a tasty and all-natural fibre, vitamin, mineral and water-rich drink that can easily replace one of your meals. You'll feel better, get loads of veg and fruit for a meal and maybe even drop a pound or two if you drink them consistently.
I've decided to join the BiG Green Smoothie 10-day Challenge and make smoothies a part of my day during that time. You can obviously just do it and not pay, but I'm kicking in $10 to the cause as all the money goes to help a cute girl's club in NY. Yay for being good at such an affordable rate.
In anticipation of Green Smoothie Day, I've 'been on' green smoothies for most of last week, experimenting with what I like best. My favourite green smoothie thus far is:
Pineapple (about a quarter of a fresh pineapple, chopped up)
One frozen banana
A third of a large cucumber (if it isn't organic, peel it. Leave the peel on if it is organic)
A whole bunch of kale leaves (a couple handfuls)
A bunch of cilantro
A couple tablets of chlorella (totally optional)
A tablespoon of bee pollen (totally optional)
Some water (maybe 1/2 a cup)
It's really yummy. I swear. Yes, it smells a touch 'green' (not quite like grass, not quite like a salad) but it tastes like tasty, tasty fruit.
Not totally convinced? Well, here's the bonus:
Big, long, green poops.
(and that's the real tie-in to today's blog title. It's OK, look back - or up - to see what it is. I don't expect you to remember such things.)
When I drink green smoothies, my poops are truly epic. If it wasn't for a fear that this site would get flooded by people who have certain fetishes, I would totally post a picture of one of my green toilet babies for you all to admire. Even if you're not the type who is impressed with a good poop (my god, what DOES please you?), these would captivate you for at least, like, five seconds before you turned away and pretended to be disgusted. It's like that scene in Contact when Jodi Foster lands on the other planet and whispers in awe, "they should have sent ... a poet." Yah, that. These poops are muses.
And - that - my friends, is my pitch for you to try a green smoothie. Amazing that the marketing agency I was with let me walk away, right?
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To clean the pipes from the 50s Housewife Experiment and to get both myself and my husband to a healthier place, I'll be making meals throughout the Modern Housewife Experiment (which I think I'm just going to call "The Wifestyle" - thoughts?) that are primarily vegan or vegetarian, local, seasonal, whole and homemade. It won't be perfect - and I'm sure you'll see a few things that fly squarely in the face of everything listed (we be human) - but the overall intention is there.
Yesterday's trip to the farmer's market netted many a tasty item. Today I made a "slow supper" containing loads of locally-grown produce. It took me the bulk of the afternoon to do everything, but it was a nice, relaxing way to spend a Sunday - and we have great leftovers from this all as well!
First, I made Pistou Soup, using a recipe from the Food Network's Laura Calder (I like her, but everyone who's ever mentioned her to me talks about their HATRED for this woman. I think it all stems from her what-is-that / what-are-you-trying-to-be accent. Any thoughts on this, Canadian TV snarkers?). This is one of my favourite soups - and it's so basic and lovely. Since the veg was all organic and I'm lazy peels contain a lot of fibre and nutrients, I didn't peel the potatoes or carrots (just gave them a good scrub). I also used plain ol' water rather than vegetable stock and skipped topping the soup with Parmesan. I made a very simple pesto with just fresh basil and olive oil (didn't bother with adding pine nuts or cheese - which is often normally included) to dollop on top. The only non-local ingredients used for this soup were the white kidney beans, olive oil, salt and pepper.
Next up (or, actually, while I was doing the soup), I made the Fresh Rosemary Focaccia from the cookbook Veganomnicon. I opted to use half white and half whole-wheat flour. Really yum, although the only truly local ingredient in it was the fresh rosemary. Maybe I should look into an Ontario flour mill ... ugh ... effort.
Finally, I got cracking on the 'fill' for the sandwich. It contained my homemade pesto, eggplant, roasted red peppers (done in the oven super easily - I also keep their skins on when serving them), sauteed mushrooms and sauteed leeks.
I "made up" this sandwich, but for the eggplant, I used a cooking method that I found in Vegetarian Times's Farmer's Market Cookbook (which is really just a magazine, but whatev). This is their trick: After you let the sliced eggplant 'sweat' a little (set the slices in a colander, sprinkle with salt and leave them for 45 minutes), pat them dry. Then with a really, really minimal amount of olive oil, lightly brown one side of the eggplants in a large frying pan over medium heat. You then flip them, pour some white wine vinegar on top, pop the lid on, and let it cook until all the vinegar has evaporated. Done! Yummy pan-fried look and taste without a lot of added fat.
Throw your fill ingredients all together in the focaccia (layer your veggies or mix them together - whatever you want!), broil it a bit to warm everything and you have dinner! The only non-local stuff used to make the sandwich stuffing was olive oil, vinegar and salt (used in the cooking process). For Patrick's sandwich (not pictured), I gave him a generous slice of mozzarella cheese made from the sheep at Bestbaa Farm (their farm is 100 clicks NW of the city but they sell their milk, cheese and lamb at the St. Lawrence Farmer's Market on Saturdays). Patrick is on board with vegetarian foods, but giving up cheese, milk and eggs is going to be a bit tougher for that boy. I figure as long as I buy products from happy, healthy, local animals - and we don't use loads of it - we're still eating conscientiously (that said, I'll be seeing how he feels when he eats dairy-free - sometimes he gets stuffed up all of a sudden and I wonder if it's a milk thing).
In any case - he loved it all as did I. The meal was really filling and earthy with great flavour. While he enjoyed the mozza on the sandwich, I think feta cheese would have been really nice too. Might pick some up from the goat farmers next week...
Like most people, I covet things. I wouldn't consider myself to be super materialistic, but I do certainly have a few special items that I'd like to buy and I probably spend a little too much time thinking about those things rather than just being happy with what I have and more importantly, enjoying and fostering relationships.
Some stuff that I'm currently daydreaming about include:
A better juicer (a Hurom Slow Juicer to be exact)
A better camera (not sure which one .... still stalking)
Some better paint & canvases (a hobby)
A better shade of interior paint for our living room (I'm thinking of going grey with it)
A Whiffer (an aromatherapy necklace. Heh)
See how many things on that list include the word "better"? In other words, I already have versions of these things, I'm just intent on upgrading. Perhaps you can relate (maybe you want a better cell phone? A better iPod? A better computer? A better pair of boots? A better stove?)?
Anyway, I was online doing some research for an article I'm writing when I happened upon The Story of Stuff. I love the rapid-fire but simple style of this presentation and it really hit home. See for yourself:
Ah, how timely that this comes after a post about buying a Playstation 3 on a whim (but let it be known we didn't trash our DVD player - it's just now with the TV in the bedroom) ... le sigh.
I think that with the exception of food, standard bills and a few necessary household products (musn't skimp on the toilet paper), I'm going to try to not buy anything for the rest of the month and see how that goes. Eeee?
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Every couple of months I go on a raw vegan kick. I've been about 80% raw vegan this week - the rest being vegetarian with just one small portion of lean meat snuck in there. So far, so good. Not sure how long I'll stick with it but I hope to eat this way at least until next week when we go to St. Catharines for an early Christmas get-together at Byckingham Palace.
When the weather gets cold, it's a little tough mentally to not crave toasty traditional foods, so those who eat raw vegan year-round tend to warm up their meals through spices. I decided to play around with some ingredients and came up with a vegan / mostly-raw version of unbaked gingerbread cookies (although in my case, I just rolled them into balls). They're nice because they're gluten-free, are sweetened by fruit (with one tiny, optional exception) and filled with fibre and healthy fats. Spicy, warm, chewy! Mmm!
The picture was taken from my phone (an HTC Dream):
Here's my recipe for raw vegan gingerbread balls (measurements are rough as I was just goofing around):
Take 1.5 cups of raw almonds and blend in a food processor until they form a sand-like texture (not quite flour consistency). To get the most nutrients from almonds, it's best to soak them in water for a few hours before using.
While you're grinding your almonds, use a coffee grinder to pulverize three or four whole cloves.
Add the cloves along with 2 tsp of cinnamon and a rounded teaspoon of powdered ginger (you can also try fresh grated ginger!) into your almond mixture. Mix it all in the food processor.
Pit five medjool dates and toss them into the processor (medjools are much better than honey dates as they are stickier and juicier!). Toss in 1/3 cup of raw, organic raisins. Blend everything in the processor until it's all quite sticky.
Have a little taste - if it needs more of certain seasonings, pop them in. You might also want to toss in a small pinch of salt to help draw out the other flavours.
Pour in 1 tsp of pure vanilla extract.
Add 1 tsp of pure maple syrup (which is not 100% raw, btw) or honey or even just water. I like the maple syrup because it has a bit of a smokey flavour and gives these balls a nice gloss.
Pulse your food processor until the whole thing becomes a ball of dough.
From there - I just rolled them into little balls and stuck in the fridge to firm up. If you're a raw foodist who misses fresh-baked goods, you might want to consider forming these into cookie shapes (roll into balls and then press them down) and popping them into a dehydrator. I might try that next time.
Anyway - enjoy! If you do try out this recipe, let me know how it worked out for you!
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My name is Jen and I look like that picture at all times. I enjoy appetizers as entrees, fountains choreographed to music and television shows intended for teenage girls. Oh - and I really dislike it when people spell it "Jenn"; it's practically a phobia.
Chuck Lorre Club "music" CUPCAKES Extremism Factory farming Fruit-flavoured teas Humid days Hypocrisy (EXCEPT MINE) Laugh tracks Mice Mob mentalities Mondays My typos PC policing Prop 8 Self-defecation Sexy Halloween costumes Snakes Social media obsession Sports highlights The Easily Offended The Easily Outraged The Humourless The Super Cynical
Need words? I'm a Toronto-based freelance writer who injects great ones into blogs, websites, magazines, ads and more. So many services, one lovely Jen (with one 'n').
(the book)
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