the kind words of friends, and older installements of Cooking with Lenora!

Hello bunnies!

Just a quick post to say THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! To Miss Lisa over at Weezi Clothing for posting a wonderful write-up on my Cooking with Lenora entries.

Check it out here- http://theweezistore.blogspot.com/

Also, be sure to check out her Etsy shop for your very own retro apron!!


Also, while you wait for more segments of Cooking with Lenora, here are a couple of past pseudo-"episodes" that I posted on my Tumblr.


http://lenoralenoire.tumblr.com/post/2817941478

and
http://lenoralenoire.tumblr.com/post/2731958840


Until next time, bunnies

XOXO
Lenora

Cooking with Lenora!!!

Hello bunnies and welcome to my kitchen!

I've been posting Cooking with Lenora segments on my Tumblr, but thought I'd go more in-depth today!

Today's instalment is extra special- with 100% more vintage lingerie!

Whatever shall we make today?

Today's dish is a sweet potato/mushroom/spinach/red onion curry pizza on a homemade gluten-free flax and garlic flat bread.

Today's outfit is a frilly pink vintage 1950s chiffon nightgown with matching robe. Today's apron is the same 50s pink chiffon number you've already seen ,but it matched my outfit too perfectly not to wear it again.

Today's cooking-companion cocktail is extra classy Jack n Ginger on the rocks, with cherries, served in a teacup-nothing says class like hard booze in a teacup. Vintage-sleaze naked lady cocktail pick for the cherries, of course.
Lets get started!!

sassy fatgirl in the kitchen-party time!


The flatbread-

I used Bulk-Barn’s gluten-free pizza dough flourmix , added ground flax, oregano, and lots of minced garlic.
One more photo of myself being domestic for good measure...

details-

2 ½ cups of flour mix
4 tbsp of ground flax
2 tsps each minched garlic, oregano and any other spices you’d like
Salt and pepper to taste.
4 eggs, beaten
1 ½ cups milk.

Combine dry ingredients. Add wet ingredients. Mix.

Get some dough on your face, and take a stupid picture. Very important.

Add to greased baking sheet. ( I covered my pan in tinfoil this time around, as this was the first time making this recipe, I didn’t want to ruin my new pans incase of failure )

Bake for 15 minutes while you prepare the topping for the pizza.

The sauce-

One small can tomato paste
2 tbsp. curry paste ( I used Patak’s extra spicy blend- you can use any curry blend you wish)
A few sprinkles of garlic powder , stir it up, et voila.


Once the flatbread is baked, smear on the sauce.

Toppings-
I used fresh baby spinach, chopped red onions, thinly sliced sweet potato, white mushrooms and a little sprinkle of grated parmesan( Not the powdery crap, the good stuff!)
I pealed and sliced the sweet potato and microwaved them for a minute or two between some paper towel, as well as the mushrooms before I added them to the pizza.





Assemble your delicious pizza masterpiece





Bake for an additional 15 minutes.

Drink your cocktail (or 2nd...or 3rd) while you're waiting.


Remove pizza from oven ( If you are tipsy by this stage ,please remember your oven mits...)

Slice and enjoy!!!

Stay tuned for more, folks. Hopefully Cooking with Lenora will be coming to YouTube soon!

Happy eating,

xo

Lenora

backpain solution= robot buttsex

Move over ShakeWeight, there is a new easily-misinterpreted-as-sexual “fitness” machine on the market- Back 2 Life backpain solution.

This lazy Sunday night finds me curled up on my couch watching Grease on television. One of the commercials that interrupted the movie had me running across the apartment for my laptop. I have been far too busy to blog lately, but how can I resist writing about a machine that looks like it is shagging you.



Ladies, gentlemen, undecided, in-between and non-labelists…. This is Back 2 Life. It is here to dish out some hot , gyrating, robotic passion the likes you have never seen.



Back Pain? No problem, it’ll hump that malaise right out of you.


Not only will you experience extreme robotic-pleasure (As illustrated in the photo below pulled from the commercial and tweaked a bit with my fantastic Microsoft Paint skills) but you will be able to play golf again, and lift children with unhealthy amounts of joy (As illustrated in the promotional Back2Life video on their website)





The television commercial was just fantastic. Elderly men in sweatpants laying on their backs, with expressions of shear ecstasy on their faces as a piece of plastic presses itself firmly, yet ever-so-gently, against their bottoms.

I tried to find the television commercial online to share with you, however my search was fruitless.The promo video on their website is equally entertaining, especially when they boast the product will make your muscles “supple”. Great word choice, perverts.

They also have ever-so-scientific looking schematics and re-enactments to describe the technology behind Back 2 Life, called “Continuous Passive Motion”….


As you can see, this just further illustrates how much using this product resembles being shagged by a robot.





As my search continues, I’ve found several infomercials on YouTube that are making me chuckle. My favourite being one that is hosted by former CNN reporter Bella Shaw, who opens the show with a flat-toned reporter voice - “I’m Bella Shaw and I know something about you”



This is about as far as I got into the informercial, before I decided to let this hilarious product and associated promotional materials speak for themselves without picking them apart further.

I had great intentions on writing a lengthy satirical jaunt apropos mechanical coitus -turned back-pain relief, however, I think the creators of Back 2 Life did a lovely job making a laughing-stock of their product all by themselves.

(Side note- truth be told, I’m exhausted and can’t type anymore before bed. I will blog soon with a catch-up on my life.)

Much love! XO

(You can check out the hilarious promotional video that properly illustrates the robot-humping here http://www.tryback2life.com/ and that Bella Shaw video here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w__fHM0kuKg )

Parking-Lot-Camaraderie and feeling truly alive.

I feel I must write to you all. I can’t even bring you all up to date on my life before I can share this beautiful memory. That can come later. For now, I want to share this moment.

I’m looking out my hotel suite window, laying here on my newly-claimed-by-chance executive thrown. Unsure of everything yet feeling optimistic...some how I’ve tumbled into an alternate reality.

I’m looking out the window at a little group of men gathered around a big white truck. They are grey-haired, white-bearded and wearing fleurocent overhauls, with their favorite Canadian beer in hand. These men are fellow workers that my new employer has brought in from all over the East-Coast. This hotel is 90% fellow employees , doing a variation of jobs on one giant project. While I hold the operational management position , these vibrant men are the big , strong bones of this operation. The hard-working construction crews, and electricians. These men are how this company gets its money, how it stays afloat. These men are the ones deserving of the respect most management receive- management who’ve done no work the likes of what these men have seen.







The three currently sharing stories of homesickness over bouts of strong laughter drew me to say hello earlier, as I passed them. During the brief skip from my car, to the hotel door - I shared a moment with them. I juggled my Italian-takeout-dinner in my arms and giggled out a “You boy’s have the right idea!, while motioning down at the different six-packs of beer between all of their feet. I ask where they are from ,although their thick accents have already told me. These men call a varying spectrum of Atlantic areas home. Bathurst, New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, and Cape Breton . These are real, small-town, down-to-earth men.

I could think of nothing else on the elevator ride up to my room but grabbing my camera and stealing a shot of these men through the window. I clicked a few memories, and jumped onto the huge kingsize bed where I’m currently typing away feverishly. Photographs weren’t enough. I had to write. Even now I can hear their laughter floating up through the window…their parking-lot camaraderie is touching and brings a smile to my face.

My dinner has long since gone cold sitting on the table. Reheated spaghetti while listening to the three far-from-home-friends laugh and tell stories? This night is wonderful. I want to remember this , always. This is what I needed this very moment to feel truly alive.

.....

I stepped away to have dinner before I actually posted this entry. I have also turned on the amazingly beautiful movie Dr. Zhivago, only to be sidetracked. I hear more laughter …louder still…I peak down to see the 3-man group has since grown.



I can’t help but sit here and watch the scenes unfold out the window. Now they are playing old Cape-Breton folk music out of one of their trucks. I feel like I’m watching the single most beautiful thing that the majority of the world lacks…..but I can’t quite put into words just what that is.

Justice puffs.

Hello my dear, devoted and neglected blog readers (However few you may be!)

Firstly, my apologies for not updating….I know you’ve been wanting a Vegas recap, particularly about my adventures at VLV..one will come, when things settle down. I promise!

For now, it is late and my ovaries are cramping my style so to speak ...I have tried Midol PM, and admittedly, I currently occupy a somewhat altered reality.

Of course, this means I’m going to write about men’s personal hygiene products.

I randomly decided to Google-search the ingredients to my significant other’s body wash. Since we tend to have a rather vigorous ..ahem… intimate understanding of each other …on a daily basis....ahem...I am of course concerned with what may be lingering around on skin that may happen to wind up in my own body. Legitimate concern with the amount of icky chemicals on the market today, right?

Well I have been side -tracked by Old-Spice’s ballsy (pun intended) advertisements.

I present to you, dear readers, the “Deck Scubber” :

“Gets Rid of Dirt, Odor and Barnacles”

“An experienced seaman knows the gentler sex is unlikely to board a vessel whose deck, galley, and undercarriage has not been scrubbed as clean as the shiny inside part of an oyster shell. This Old Spice Deck Scrubber gets rid of dirt, odor and barnacles, working harder than lazy soap and lathering way better than just your hand alone. So start scrubbing, sailors, and don’t forget to wash behind your everything”
(via http://www.oldspice.com/products/product/97/Old_Spice_Deck_Scrubber/)

Really, Old-Spice? Barnacles?


Barnacles are annoying little creatures that get into moist areas and like to stick around, dearest Old-Spice.

They are technically categorized as fouling (“the undesirable accumulation of microorganisms on a wet surface“, should you be too lazy to Wikipedia-search it)…

Essentially, barnacles are the herpes of the sea.

So…am I correct in my assumption that this dick…err…“deck” scrubber , removes a particularly nasty little STI?

Now I can’t help but picture particularly promiscuous men, feverishly scrubbing their dirty “decks” with glorified lady-puffs.


So, in conclusion, I’m lead to believe that Old Spice’s man-detailer and Deck-Scrubber are essentially shower-puffs of justice...crotch-justice.

Go justice-puffs.

Oh hey!

Just a quick entry to let you all know, my pretties, that this spot will be a lil' quiet for awhile....

LAS VEGAS, HERE I COME!

I'll be back April 5th..expect a long update with many photos!

XOX

Lenora

Nun puppets, big hair, "The Rockabilly Check-List dude"- all a typical night in Moncton

Last night marked the first time I'd gone out in Moncton since New Years Eve.

The lovely Miss Eddie Vee and I attended the Moncton High School production of Nunsense. Eddie ( an art teacher) made the nun puppet, and scored some free tickets to the show, so, we went and had quite a few laughs. It was surprisingly racy and hilarious for a highschool production. I was pleased and impressed. I particularly enjoyed when the chubby lady superior character got high and rolled around on the floor. Good wholesome family entertainment.

Miss Vee's nun puppet.

Moncton High is my old stomping ground...The old woody smell of the ancient auditorium hadn't changed, and stirred memories I'd all but forgotten. The creek of the wooden chairs were the same, and reaching down under the seats, I was happy to find some of them still had the wire hat racks, from when gentlemen still wore hats and stashed them under their seats.

I love these seats. The building was built in the early 1900s, and still has lots of original features. These seats are magic to me...I can't help daydream about the lives of the generations of people who have sat in them...the conversations they've over heard, the heartbreaks and delights they've witnessed.

As always, we were a tad obnoxious and recieved many dirty looks from the conservative Maritimers that filled the other seats. Balls to you, ya darn sticks in the mud!

After the show it was off to my humble abode for a quick wardrobe change before we scurried off to the Paramount Lounge, to see The Mighty, The Katacombs, and the Rockin' Rebels.

As always the Moncton crowd was predictably terrible. Many new faces, but many faces I'd have preffered not to see. Eddie and I occupied the back table and people- watched.

The Katacombs

While we were dazzled by the overwhelmingly poor accoustics of the Paramount, we couldn't help but notice Mr. Rockabilly Checklist. Now, Moncton doesn't really have a rockabilly scene. 98% of people don't know what Rockabilly is...Eddie Vee and I stick out like sore thumbs...and so did Mr. Rockabilly Checklist (See above photo, he is playing the stand-up bass). He looked very familiar, and blatantly stared at my tits all evening (can't blame him, my cleavage was indeed awe-inspiring). Of course, he was in the next band to play after the Mighty. Once his band took the stage...it was yack yack yack.

Now, one thing I hate, is when you go to see a band, and all they do is bloody talk.

So, like the bitch I am I yell out " LESS TALK, MORE ROCK!!!!!" He is obviously taken a little by surprise, says something about no one ever telling him to shuttup that he likes it... This is not the outcome I wanted. I said less talk, more rock , damnit! So, I pipe up once again " I'LL SAY IT AGAIN! SHUTTUP!"....and the rock finally begins with Miss Vee laughing hysterically and humping me in victory.

After his set, Mr. Rockabilly Checklist makes his way over. My anxiety hits me like a hard-crashing wave, and I feel like I have to vomit. I take a deep breath and prepare my bitch-sheild.

He begins to talk about how much he enjoyed me telling him to shuttup, and just as I'm about to spit out " Allow me to say it again."....

"Do you remember me?" says Mr. Rockabilly Checklist.

Well damnit.

Apparently I know Mr. Rockabilly Checklist.

Only, he wasn't always Mr. Rockabilly Checklist.

He refreshes my memory a bit...and I remember this stand-up bass playing semi-douche used to be an annoying goth kid that would randomly lick people's faces. I remember he once liked my face at a metal show, and I punched him square in the balls. He liked it.

So, Mr.Rockabilly Checklist is also Mr. Once-upon-a-Goth, Face-licker extrodinaire.

Joy of Joys. Goddamnit, Moncton, why do you always throw such odd things my way?

By this point, Eddie Vee is getting increasingly tipsy and wonderfully obnoxious; just how I love her. I'm painfully sober since I was the DD. We deal with various assholes, douchebags and idiots- you know, the typical Moncton show-goer.

By the time the Rockin' Rebels hit the stage, we've had just about enough. We try to enjoy a few of their "new" songs....that sound suspiciously exactly like all their other songs. Sorry boys, you are my friends and all, I appreciate what you're trying to do...but...well...sorry to say you've missed the boat.

The thrasing and spazzing drunk girl to my left, who was whipping me with her goddamed hair had earned herself some of my famous death-glares. Her friend across the bar notices, rushes over, taps her friend on the shoulder, points in my direction and pulls her away. Apparently I'm scary. Miss Vee announces that once her drink is finished, we can hit the pavement. This fills me with joy. After a few more douche-encounters, we are safetly high-tailing it home.

Goodnight, Moncton. You haven't changed a bit, and I won't miss you at all while I'm in Vegas.