Booooo To Man BUNS!

Man Buns. Not the kind routinely slapped for a “good game.”- I’ll spare you any further “puns about buns” and get right to the point: we need to talk about this “Man-bun” phenomenon.  It’s become a running joke with my friends and I after noticing the amount of these currently taking the world by storm recently… then of course, the included meme that found its way to my facebook shortly after.  IMG_5005

I looked further into this, trying to gain some insight and there is an entire history of man-buns at buzzfeed.com. It seems to have started with Buddha’s “topknot” and developed…George Harrison, Samarai Futeba on Saturday Night Live, Riff Raff from the Rocky Horror Picture Show where it apparently originated from the planet “transsexual” – There’s an interesting take on your “new do.”  I may take some flack for this… but I’m just going to say it:

I HATE. THE. MAN-BUN.

Frankly- just because you put the word “man” in front of it: does not make it masculine, or cool; a guy wearing a bun to the bar, is about as sexy as ME wearing one; sure, it looks like I’m not trying too hard, but there are a ton of other styles that would be so much more attractive.  Dear Hipsters… You’re not David Beckham.  You’re not trend-setting, and the accompanying shaggy beard just makes you look homeless.

I can imagine the arguments now: “But Courtney, the man-bun has taken Hollywood by storm.” Bradley Cooper, Leonardo DiCaprio, Chris Hemsworth, Jake Gellenhaal: they can do whatever they want. If you’ve made that much money, and have been voted in the top ten sexiest men alive ever – wear your hair in braided pigtails if you want to, that doesn’t make it cool and something everyone should do.  And, for the record, I still prefer all of these men sans man-bun!

In summary, unless you’re so beautiful and athletic that no one notices your hair, or, actually a samurai, just say no to the bun. Buns should be reserved for Grandma, little girls at their ballet recital and me trying not to get my hair wet in the pool.

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What Makes a Good Date?

Recently, I bragged about a great date I had been on, and told him, that even if we didn’t “click” and end up “dating” he still got an “A” for the “best executed date I had been on in YEARS.”  So… What made this date so great?

He insisted on picking me up.  When he arrived, he parked, and walked up to get me.  After asking me a few preference questions, he chose the restaurant.  He held the door, told me I look nice, and asked me questions about myself.  He joked with me.  He paid for dinner.  We then went out to meet some of his friends (which I had previously agreed to.) He introduced me to them, and chatted with everyone- while still interacting with me.  He dropped me off, suggested we do it again, and, he texted the next day.

I thought I may have been so blown away because I have been relatively removed and mostly un-enthused about the dating world for a while.  But when I told my girlfriend, she responded: “I like him already. Finally, a guy who gets it! Mama taught him well.”

Neither of us are really what I would call “old fashioned girls” either. So why were we both so impressed by this? Is this “old-fashioned”? We’re in a world that thanks to social media and dating sites we assume we’ve made dating or… mating so convenient, yet ask anyone who has spent much time in that forum and they will tell you it’s anything but.  Where people tend to peruse MATCH and POF like catalogue shopping, swiping left and right based on nothing more than a photo; we’ve become arrogant, judgmental, possibly even entitled.

For me, this guy earned a great deal of respect; by demonstrating that for me and my time.  He showed up fully and made me feel like regardless of outcome; I was worth some effort.

Ladies: How does a guy impress you? What makes a good date? What do you do to be a good date?

Gentlemen: Do you put forth this kind of effort? Why or why not?

Do you treat someone differently if you have previously met them or have mutual friends than you do if you met someone on a dating site? Comment…

WOO-WOO!!!!

id

I was never a popular kid at school… Always kind of a country kid through and through. So a lot of my experiences resulted from having older friends who were nice enough to take me to horse shows and rodeos on the weekends.  I was badass.  Or, probably just a typically slightly rebellious teen girl and a bit of a tease at worst.  Hey- bad decisions lead to good stories.

It was the weekend of Kitchener rodeo- it was just brought to my attention last weekend that the only thing the guys remember is “WOO-WOO” shots.  Everyone was going to party at the stampede coral.  I was sixteen.  I was also lucky enough to have a newly nineteen friend with an extra licence.  Thanks Candace!  At that time, I was dating a bullrider (I know; shocking.) Coincidentally, he had dated Candace prior to me. (Also. Shocking… Sharing is caring.)

When the cops showed up at the bar my attempts to “act normal” apparently failed, and despite not being the youngest one there: I was the target. (a 14 year old roper had the benefit of still being six foot and solid enough to blend in…) My only real recollection of dialogue as the cops asked me to come outside was a somewhat slurred statement about not being drunk and having to barrel race in the morning; neither of which were true by the way.  The poor boyfriend at this point, is not only having his night and woo woo shots interrupted… but he’s also now being forced to call me by his ex-girlfriend’s name in keeping with the story!  They ask me for my home phone number.  Knowing my own mother would be woken up, confused, and eventually pissed (plus and more importantly: blow my cover) I rhyme off Candace’s number.  She is still inside the bar at the time.  Her mom’s boyfriend answers. They tell him they are concerned that the girl with them looks nothing like the photo, and also that though she appears to be about 165cm tall despite the 120 noted on the I.D.  He somehow guessed it was me, and said something like “Oh yeah I’ve been telling her to get that corrected for a long time, and it’s an old picture.”

WOOO!!! Thank you dude I barely know!! Thank you Thank you!

Whoever said “the truth shall set you free”- clearly never spent hours rehearsing someone else’s full name, address and birthday just for the chance to two-step and drink WOO-WOOs with the cowboys.

Weekend Trip

I’ve often said about my travelling to the Sunny South that there is something about being away from home that changes your mood or outlook and how something just feels and flows differently.

Recently I went out of town overnight, and realized that this phenomenon can exist without a plane or a different country.  Maybe it’s because the daily grind doesn’t exist; no work, and a flexible (if any) schedule – I just tend to “let myself off the hook”- Social media posts, replying to calls or texts: if and when I feel like it… everyone knows I am away anyways.

While away, we attended a buck and doe and enjoyed a few beverages – to the point of my mom riding a mechanical bull!  We got back to our hotel, and mixed another round of drinks.  My mom headed for the room around 2:30am.  I sat there looking at my friend, feeling totally chilled out (Wisers deluxe may have played a role)- and announced:  “I’m not ready for bed yet.” And then… While glancing at the outdoor pool enclosure:   “…That’s a short fence…”

Within minutes, the plan was in place.  I moved a Muskoka chair up close to the other side of the fence… (Easier to climb into the chair!) I announced I was going to get my suit, because getting caught and possibly tossed out of the hotel was a risk I was willing to take; doing so naked; was not.  As I “snuck” into the hotel to change, my mom stirred and opened her eyes.  I held my breath. I was going to get stopped. Or…. At least… delayed.  “What are you doing?” she asked.  I hesitated. I considered lying… then I just laughed and whispered “we’re sneaking into the pool.”  Her hand came out from the blankets and slaps me a high five.  Yep. That’s my mom.  I also suggested if she was going to sleep she should take off her glasses.

Off we went.  We neatly stacked our towels on the table.  We then had a pre-game pep talk:  “Ok. So. Hop/climb there…Yep.  We have to move the solar blanket.. K… No splashing. And NO giggling.” (We’re hardened criminals not school children right?!) ok BREAK!

I ran and grabbed the top of the fence, then my foot, and landed easily in the chair.  We did giggle… We peeled back the solar blanket and slipped into the pool.  It was heavenly! I’ve heard that “the thrill of possibly getting caught makes it better” – I didn’t know they meant 3:00AM swimming.  We stayed in for a few minutes, swimming, in the rain, then snuck back out, replaced the cover and hopped back over the fence… And couldn’t wait to brag at breakfast.

Setting off the Ex’s House Alarm

Perhaps it’s odd that I still have a house key to my ex’s place, and even odder that when he goes on vacation I check on the house, and look after his kids’ hamsters… but he’s a friend, and it’s not really a big deal.  So this past winter when he went to Jamaica, I wished him Bonne Voyage, and didn’t ask for a lot of details – it seemed like a simple gig.

On the first night, I pulled into the driveway, hopped out of my truck and unlocked the back door.  The alarm began to beep, and it was not until I was face to face with the panel, it occurred to me that it has been about a year since I punched in that code, and my mind was completely blank.  I tried one.  The alarm kept beeping. I tried another…still the little red light glared at me threatening.  Sixty seconds of terror… I knew what was about to happen.  I was certain I had the first two digits right, but for the life of me the other two were missing somewhere in the depths of my memory. The alarm began to scream. Poor hamsters were probably wondering what the hell was with all the racket.

My mind is racing, and I am pissed at myself, for not remembering. And not asking!  DAMNIT!  How am I going to explain this?? “Good evening Officer.  It’s cool- this is my ex-boyfriend’s house.”  ??? Yeah. Cuz that sounds awesome.  I rack my brains knowing I can’t call him.  Maybe there is a chance he is on facebook!?  Feverishly I type the first words that come to my mind:  “FUCK!” “I just set off your alarm…I’m retarded. Code!?!?”  … Yeah right. Cuz in Jamaica he’s totally sitting on Facebook.  Who else can I call?? Who would know?  Julie.  Julie “the ex-wife.” Coincidentally I’ve known her longer than I have known him, but this still certainly requires the swallowing of some pride.  I dial her number.  God I’m an idiot.  No answer.  Panic is setting in. I leave a voicemail which I can only assume must have made her laugh a few days later:  “Uh Hey…It’s Courtney, uhm. So I’m at Darren’s and I just set the alarm off because I’m a moron and I forgot the code. Sorry to call – call if you get this. Sorry!! Thanks! Sorry! Bye… Sorry.”  What’s worse is three seconds after I hang up I remember being told that she was going away the same week… So no help coming from that direction.

Minutes are passing and the “what will I say to the cops dialogue” happening in my head is building and sounding worse and worse…  “I’m really sorry, honestly- this is my ex-boyfriend’s house, he’s in Jamaica with his new girlfriend. I called his ex-wife for help.”  Right…Nothing like a stalker seeking an accomplice! “But Sir…I’m here for the hamsters.”  … Right. Bet you are. You like to boil them?

I look at the alarm company sticker on the door.  Anything is worth a try.  I dial the number.  A very chipper lady answers, and knowing how stupid I sound I give it my best.  “Hi.  My name is Courtney.”  I give her the address and try to explain:  “I just set the alarm off at the side door, I know how stupid I’m about to sound, this is my friend’s place- we used to date.  I’m here because he asked me to feed his kids’ hamsters; I thought I remembered the code, but apparently not. I have left him and his ex-wife a message telling them what I have done but his family all live out of town (obviously or he wouldn’t need his ex to house-sit?) and I have no one else to call.  There is silence on the other end of the phone for a minute as she processes (and probably tries to decide how to handle) what I have just said.  She asks me a number of questions about him, his phone number, and birthday; all of which I answer.  The lady now sounds sympathetic, as clearly I am not a burglar; just some chick who is a) Pathetic enough be feeding the ex’s pets while he is in Jamaica with the new woman and b) Dumb enough to set off the alarm and be calling her with this insane story… and she knows my night is about to get worse because although she is compassionate about my situation; she has obligations, and despite my story; no code and no password means she still has to dispatch police… she tells me I can leave or stay, it’s up to me.  I tell her I may as well do what I came to do; so in the event of my arrest, at least the hamsters will have had their dinner.  We hang up.

I walk back into the house, covering my ears.  I close the door behind me, and stare at the alarm pad like the evil enemy it is with its’ little red beedy eyes.  I’m exasperated and defeated.  I raise my hand up to the pad.  I take a deep breath……..

I enter the code successfully as if not a day has passed.  Yep. Seriously.  Three little beeps, the red flashing retreats, and replaced by a solid, happy green, and silence surrounds me. Five minutes later, hamsters have food and fresh water and I have found the wine left for me with the happy little note thanking me for being so helpful.  Man… he’s going to get a laugh out of this one…  I call the alarm company back, and begin re-explaining my story assuming there must be a high number of agents working there.  The lady cuts me off enthusiastically asking:  “Is this Courtney!?!” Yes… “HI it’s Jackie from earlier!! I see that you got the code!!! Good for you!!! I have canceled police dispatch and was going to call you back but I didn’t have your number.  I am so happy you remembered.”  (At least my new ADT friend Jackie is proud of me.) “Have yourself a good night.” (Uh huh. Yeah. Thanks.)

So…What do you do when you feel like a complete ass, and have just narrowly avoided arrest? –   You change your Facebook status… and laugh harder than everyone else.

Gratitude Rant Leads to a Story

I’ve been trying REALLY HARD to shift some focus to some more positive things. Mostly because I can find about a million things or people in a day that drive me around the twist, and if I do focus on them… I’ll just get into this huge downward spiral and feel like $hit.  So I put pen to paper and started thinking what do I like… what do I like… what do I like.. what makes me happy…what makes me relaxed?…

Recently I went to Mexico. It’s our third trip to Puerto Vallarta/Nuevo Vallarta and we were fortunate to have some pretty amazing experiences the first time down and made some friends who we have kept in touch with.  One took us on a personalized tour this year… Happy; when I was touring Bucerias, feeling relaxed, learning about the culture, riding around in the dune buggy learning about the beautiful homes that people had built, the gardens, the pools, the furniture that had hand-picked and brought from Guadalajara.  My feet in the ocean, finding sea glass. Sitting in the private pool with a couple of random guys who owned a beach front condo…and joking around about whether or not they were going to “Roofie” me. Making people laugh, the gold flicker in the sand under the water reflecting from the sun. Playing volleyball, instant connections with people I’d never met before.

I’ve always felt that traveling creates this euphoria and sense of possibility.  It’s the bright blue sky, different style music, foreign languages, new people, the vastness of the ocean and the beach…It’s time to relax, without obligation, time to imagine, getting sucked into a good book, combined perhaps with the pretty amazing feat that we can get into an airplane, rise to the sky, and come out not only at this completely different and foreign place- but also- that the rules about “time” change while we’re in the sky and we can move backwards!? Suddenly silly notions and ideas seem possible.

Our first trip was in April of 2013, and we ended up at the hotel we were at with the people we were with, through what we thought at the time was a complete crisis. My mom and I were flying home a day apart because of how the flights worked… It was kind of a mess.  All week, I begged and pleaded, and called the airline every day to try and bump my flight back by a day.  They would do it; for a fee of $450.

To make me feel worse, there was a guy… he was actually our tour rep, and we had started talking midweek and agreed we should meet and go out on “the town.”  On my final night there, I hadn’t heard from him, and I gave up and went to the disco with mom.  When we returned to our room around 3am, there was a note on the door, which had been there all night, saying he would pick me up at 9pm.  I had totally, unintentionally stood him up.  I felt awful. I explained the next day, but he seemed to be in disbelief that it was just an oversight.  I reluctantly packed up my stuff.  I went to say goodbye, and he wasn’t there.

I hopped in the cab and headed for the airport, pretty bummed out and emotional as all week I had been using my affirmations that my flight would change… Something would give… Surely the universe would help me out… And NOTHING…I was stuck with the same flight, leaving mom in Mexico alone…What was with the secret $#it anyway?!   I arrived at the airport, and said goodbye to Mexico. I walked inside and dug out my documents.  As I wheeled my bag across the floor to the check in, there he was: mr tour guide; coming down the stairs.  He hugged me. He told me he wasn’t mad at me.  He also told me that he had taken the company car and might get in trouble…but that he had to say goodbye and make sure I had his number to chat with him when I got home.  It was like being in a movie!  We said goodbye.. I cried like the goofus girl I am.

I got to the counter and gave the agent my passport and tickets.  She said some things in Spanish, then she disappeared.  She came back.  I gently asked “any chance I can go home tomorrow?”  More muttering in spanish.  A Solid half hour went by.  I had no idea what they were doing.  When three agents finally looked up from talking in front of the screen and someone finally explained it to me: there had been bad weather in Texas and my connection had been cancelled.  I couldn’t go home.  Shock came across my face.  They said I would have to take the next flight, which left about 6 hours from then and was flying into San Francisco.  The reality of the situation hit me when I said (trying to hide my smile) “So I’m delayed and it’s YOUR fault?”  Yes.  I shared with them, that actually I had accommodations for one more night if there was a flight going home the following day.  I was booked in on that flight, and “due to the inconvenience” I was given a $200 voucher for future use, and, they paid for my cab back to the hotel- and to return to the airport the next day.  In short, the airline ended up paying me- to do what I had wanted all along.

I hopped back in the cab and could barely contain my excitement when I leapt from the cab and ran to find my mom (and Alberto (MR TourRep! ) to announce I was staying!!!  Thank you Universe, sorry for doubting you!!  And we ALL…. Got to go out on the town!  We went to the Sunshine Bar…where we met Armando and Lucero who are the ones who took us on the tour and have had us back every year.  A little faith… and things can be better than we imagine.

The Hostage Situation

When my aunt moved away out west, my cousin’s at the time girlfriend became my new coach. She kind of took me under her wing, exchanging lessons and riding time for my helping her out with younger students, and being her stablehand. She had rented a barn just outside of Brantford, and after a few months, things started to go down hill with the Landlord; who also still lived in the house on the property. Those who have any familiarity with “horse people” can vouch this is not a rare occurence.

My friend made the decision to move out and on. At fourteen, I was not privy to exactly what was said or how this all came to pass… But this is my first hand account of the fallout; certainly one for the record books…

At some point the day we were leaving there was a discussion about a hundred dollars that my friend owed the Landlord. Collectively, we had seven or eight horses there at the time, and we were making a couple of trips. We had sent the first load on their way, and we were loading up tack when the Landlord, henceforth referred to as “Nutjob,” came outside to discuss collection of said money. At no point in my recollection, was there an argument about this money, my friend gladly offered to drop it off the next day, or meet up with Nutjob. This seemed to escalate the situation. She then offered to write a cheque, which was immediately refused and seemed to enrage the little beast. She was somewhere just over five foot, probably 115 pounds with graying hair to her hips. Her eyes actually seemed to pop out from her leathery face when she announced “nobody leaves ’til I get my money.” She then proceeded to park her truck across the driveway, and walk into the house, only to return moments later to claim her look-out position on the back porch: holding a shotgun.

So there we were. My mom, my cousin, and our friend, held captive at an old farm by a nutjob with a long gun. Being the 90’s with cell phones being still somewhat rare our connection to the outside world was a rotary dial phone on the wall in the barn. My cousin blew the dust off, and dialed 911. He had gotten as far as telling them she was refusing to let us leave, and that she had a gun when she, having realized he was on the phone, stormed in a ripped it from the wall. Somewhere amid the yelling and threats my cousin decided she likely would not actually shoot him, and risked walking out the driveway hoping to flag down police.

Minutes went by. Then more minutes. Then hours. No return trailer. My cousin had disappeared. I guess we had resolved that something would break eventually… Darkness fell. I had dawned a hoodie when the sun went down. This inspired my comic relief side, and I started re-enacting scenes from Beavis and Butthead Do America. (We all react differently in a crisis situation!)

It was over three hours elapsed time when darkness was broken by flashing lights, and just like in the movies, a voice said “drop the weapon and come out with your hands where we can see them.” Things were a blur for a few minutes as more flashing lights, and uniforms began to appear. As things unfolded, we learned that from the moment the 911 call was placed and it was shared she was armed- actions were put in place; the entire concession was blocked off and the London Swat Team (over an hour away) had been called in to assist. My cousin had been picked up at the road, and had been hidden in the crops of the surrounding fields watching all of us, waiting to move in safely. I bet my Beavis and Butthead “Cornholio” routine was hilarious at two hundred yards through a scope!

Nutbar was arrested. We all gave statements. Mine started with an Officer telling me to repeat verbatim the things she said- and promising I would not get in trouble for swearing. Through this process we also learned she was a former stripper, and fairly well known to police. We moved on and up and luckily never went to Court. I’m not sure if she was actually criminally convicted, but I did run into her “former” husband some years later and learned that he never saw that gun again.

Drunk Dial Victim

I struggled a little to figure out how to start this story as I feel a certain responsibility in this case to protect the identity of those (him?) involved.  It was suggested to me that I should just tell the story and allow the truth publicized to be consequence… But I just can’t do it… So where it seems I am being evasive- it’s only to protect a certain level of anonymity.

Recently I ran into a former acquaintance.  He worked at a business where I frequented and helped me out a number of times.  We did become friends, however, not the type that call each other or spend time visiting without purpose.  We had lost touch about a year ago and I had not seen or heard from him until last weekend.  He has been with “the Girlfriend” for a number of years, but even when I first met him (probably six years back) it always seemed that their relationship was rocky, they were fighting, she was jealous, he was unhappy… I never really questioned or voiced opinion, it just never seemed to be positive, and on the one occasion where we did need to square up some business outside of regular working hours, she made it quite obvious this was an unwelcome intrusion, and I might be a potential threat. It may be worth noting at this point I am not completely positive as I have never asked, but my educated guess would put both of these people minimally at being ten years my seniors, common-law, and at least content to be together for convenience- this “vibe” I immediately got from her seemed childish.  Thus, while I don’t know her well, or have a personal issue with her, upon realizing she was with him on this occasion, I didn’t wish to extend the visit any longer than basic pleasantries for fear of not only my own discomfort, but also his on the drive home.

Later that afternoon, curiosity got the best of me and I sent him a text message asking him if he won at the Casino. He called me.  He apologized for losing touch and told me he had lost my number, and had been dealing with a lot.  He said he had wanted to talk to me.  I brushed it off as no big deal, and told him I hoped I hadn’t come off short earlier but that I just didn’t want things to be uncomfortable as I know “Missy” (name changed.*) can be rather possessive.  “I know.. I know… I know.” He says. Then becomes what I can only describe as cryptic.  “So, yeah, there’s a lot I would like to sit down and discuss with you, and I’ll call you tomorrow from a different number. See ya.”

Tomorrow came and went and probably a few more tomorrows before I even considered that he had never called back.  Until Friday.  I had gone out to see a band and another friend.  It was probably 11:30 the first time my phone rang.  It was loud, and naturally he asked where I was. I told him.  He said he might be coming into town.  I’m wondering if he is bored, or newly single and lonely, or all of the above and I basically tell him to let me know as I might be up for meeting for a drink or a tea. I hang up.  A couple of texts, a couple more calls which I miss because I’m still in a bar and trying to socialize… It’s loud, I’m not paying a lot of attention: I can say a number of things here to excuse my ignorance but at any rate, it’s not until the third time, I run outside, and answer, and it occurs to me:  He’s totally loaded.

I’ve dated, I’ve related, but honestly I don’t have a lot of experience with the drunk dial. I don’t think I’ve ever done it to anyone, and the only recollection I have of it being done to me was hearing the idiotic voicemails the next morning because I didn’t get the call!  Dealing with this is… a new challenge.  I tell him I’m going home, and not to come looking for me, and not to drive.  He tells me three times how much he wants to talk to me, and how much he wants to see me.  I tell him I have to hang up because I’m about to drive.  He asks me what’s going on with me and if I’m “still single.” I try logic (ha which you’re already laughing as you know that doesn’t work.): “You’re hammered and you should hang up, you’re going to regret this conversation in the morning.” “Oh. Uhm. What?! You don’t want to talk to me?”  At this point I decide short, clear, non confrontational words are best: “Call me sober.”  It works! “Ok. Bye.” Click.

… Elapsed time: 4 seconds.  Phone ringing. Should have known that was too easy.  I ignore. I ignore again. I ignore again. I get a text “hey?” I ignore. “Hey! I wanna talk to you.”  I reply: “text me sober. Go to bed.”  “Ok thanks.. Your a very pretty girl 🙂 …” (The funny part here is so far out of everything that has happened the most annoying part for me is the mis-spelling of YOU’RE, but that’s a whole other post.) Next message:  “xoxoxo”  I ignore.  Next message: “Hey…..!” and two more phone calls. Sigh. I write: “Thanks, I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” “Ok sorry…” “You do the same.” …….. “I will…Love you…:o”   OH MY GOD.   I must respond, or be forced to deal with an infinite number of “Sorry” and “hey” messages until I’m lucky enough that he passes out… or turn off my phone and know my voice-mail will be full in the morning. I reply:  “Dude. Go to bed. You’re hammered.”

About five minutes goes by. The phone rings again. FFS. I let it go to voice-mail, where he leaves the most nonchalant message telling me “I’ll be at my buddies place around 9, call me.” Please let that be the end…..   Thankfully it is.

The next morning….

I see his name on my phone, and I make a point of laughing as I answer the phone and say in an intentionally way too cheerful voice “Heeeeeeeyyyyyy, how ya feeling champ?!” I mean, I don’t have to be himey, he’s already handling the consequences with a wicked hang over, feeling totally mortified… and is calling to  apologize profusely for making a royal A$$ of himself. Right? A few groans, and “not so great.” And…  The words I’m expecting don’t come.  In their place, the following:  “I left my phone on the counter, and Missy saw it.”

… That’s it?  REALLY!?!?!?  Really.  At least I don’t have to be concerned about her reading into anything in my responses… #maybethealcoholwasnottheproblem#

 

 

Protein Brownies

Protein Power Guilt Free Brownies!

*I originally found a recipe by Anna Sward (ProteinPow.com) however I have made modifications:

1 cup Egg Whites

1 cup cooked black beans *Trust me you will never know they are in there. this is strictly for “moisturizing properties”) you might also try pumpkin puree, or other “moisturizers” but this worked for me!)

3/4 cup chocolate (or chocolate Peanut butter) Protein Powder -I used Diesel Chocolate PB.

1/4 cup Cocoa

1/4 cup Honey (you could use agave syrup, Date syrup or Stevia)

1/4-1/3 cup quick oats (or, 3 tbsp coconut flour, or ground almonds. You can experiment.)

5 TBSP Cottage Cheeze ( I used low fat)

1/2 tsp baking soda

Optional: Peanut butter.

 

Use and immersion blender, or regular blender: you want the batter to be smooth, and pourable like pancake mix.  pour into a small pan or glasswhere  – I used a small square pan and cut into 12 brownies.

Bake on approx. 340-350 for 45 min to 1 hour (when a toothpick or knife will come out clean.)

Convection oven takes much less time. check on them after 30 min.

The recipe as outlined above (with the quick oats, honey etc Nutritional info by my calculations, which were quite close to the ones with the original recipe as well:)

Per brownie:

Calories:  90

Carbs:      10

Protein:    9.3

Fat:  < .5 grams (however: check your ingredients. if you use regular cottage chz or add pb adjust accordingly)

ENJOY!! GUILT FREE AND PACKED WITH PROTEIN 🙂 also have approximately 2 grams fibre.

Protein Pancakes

Ingredients:

1/4 cup quick oats/instant oats (this part is not really that important.)

1/4 cup low fat cottage cheese

2 egg whites (or approx 1/4-1/3 cup egg white from carton)

1/2 scoop protein powder  (you can use a full scoop but factor that into nutrition info) I have used peanut chocolate, and vanilla.  I LOVE vanilla.

 

Preheat griddle or frying pan with a touch of cooking spray (Low heat works best)

Mix and mush all ingredients

Pour into 1-2 pancakes

Flip when starts to bubble

*I find it better to flip them sooner than later, you can always reflip, but if they get too dark they get very hard!

The nutritional breakdown is for this particular recipe without any toppings.  You can top with a light syrup for a few extra carbs.  My most favourite topping has become “Nuts & More” Chocolate peanut butter spread.  It spreads easily onto warm pancakes and tastes FANTASTIC.

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