What I Did Over My Summer Holidays - A recap of the last neglected weeks

No.More.Industry.

The last few hours of being shackled to my desk was such an exercise in patience. Pure and utter misery, leading to boredom tears and sighs of frustration. Like any other day, really.

Unofficially, Fridays are half days. Officially, we’re on call, but conveniently out of mobile range. However, my boss’ boss is in town, (for one whole miserable, terrible, angsty month) so we have to do the whole 8 – 5 thing and work, or pretend to work to justify our paycheques. This includes staying until 4pm on a long weekend Friday. This is nothing short of torture.

Today, my timesheet, if I had to record a daily timesheet, would look like this:

25 minutes preparing coffees, teas and opening cans of drink

90 minutes eating verrrry sloooowly. No one bothers you when they think you’re eating lunch

30 minutes on ‘business related industriousness’

45 minutes talking to boss about weekend plans

30 minutes hiding out in the ladies, attempting to pull back from the brink of frustration based hysteria

This means that I spent a hell of a lot of minutes G

oogling shit. And that loses it’s charm after the 325^th minute.

A recap

To potentially make up for the entirely unreasonable length of time since posting (I have located the source of fault to be the laptop. I don’t like the Mac version of word. Word.) I would like to present the following offering:

I went camping for the first time in 2+ years a few w

eekends ago. Only one of the five of us that went is a regular camper and he’s a bit of a princess, so I made fun of him and his 48 cubic metres of camping accoutrement until 12.32am the first night. That was when the heavens opened and I fell deeply in love with his kitchen tent.

The rest of the weekend reads: rain, rain, no sleep, rain, walk on the beach of death, rain, rain, no sleep, gunfire at 3am, rain, pack up, wait dejectedly for the ferry, collapse into bed, discover slug in the car, weep.

Notable moments include: Hodge getting soap on his contact lenses in an improbable and unlikely fashion, discovering that he didn’t pack his glasses and ferociously rinsing said contact lenses until he could get at least one in. This resulted in zero depth perception, which led to a fractured finger. For Realz.

I suffered a second degree burn on my finger as a result of my own stupidity involving a cigarette and a card game. Too zealous? Perhaps.

After two weeks of healing!

Sleeping (rather – not sleeping but laying awake listening for gunshots – to scare the bears away, I shit you not) in a tent designed for infants and not two adults as the label says, with a man who smelled pretty badly. I don’t know what it is about men and camping and the utter refusal to bathe. Next time, if there is a next time, I am sleeping in the car.

Walking on the beach of death. The only living beings on it were ourselves, the dogs and the carrion eaters that threatened to fly off with the miniature dachshund. Not so miraculous, Miracle Beach.

I did a City Chase last weekend. We didn’t finish, but we came close. Next year, that bitch is ours!

We are not great route planners, but what we lacked in foresight, we totally made up with misdirection and enthusiam.

Luch, my beloved mental doppelganger, is 8’10” and has a rather long gait, if you can imagine. Those long legs required his teammate, Hodge, to trot a bit to keep up with him. Seeing Hodge running, Rob would start to jog and then they would be stirring up the dust and leaving Pumpkin and I, in a murderous rage, in their wake. I did manage to jog quite a bit of it, but the effort left me with several stitches and shin splints.

Aside from broken bodies and not finishing, we loved it and can’t wait to punish ourselves next year. We have vowed to finish this time. Also, beer has never tasted so good as after a full day of running and doing odd tasks in the sun.

In other news

My alley, usually home to urination and suspiciously-like-human excrement, was witness to slurpee vomits today. So was I, in an aural sense. Fortunately I didn’t see it, rather heard it (and assumed that it was water being poured out until I looked up and saw a young man doubled over holding his half empty cup). It was enough to make me queasy, but not enough to dry heave, so…WIN! It was a red slurpee, in case you were wondering, so somewhat-but-not-really like the excorcist. The young man then washes his mouth out with slurpee and, presumably, carried on with his day.

Since I can’t really leave you on red vomit stories, I am taking another cooking class at the Dirty Apron. It is cocktails and canapés, and I intend on getting really, really, unreasonably legless and stay in bed all day Sunday.

Chin-chin, Anna xo

A Brief Summary of my Week:

In short: Too short on time, too awkward and put me to bed.

In long:

1. I have been struggling with time management. Rather, not having enough time to do the things that I want to do with the people that I want to do it with.

2. I have been having very awkward exchanges with everyone, At first I thought it was them, but I have continued to have very stiff experiences with nearly everyone I encounter, so I can only dedeuce that it must be me.

3. I have realised today that I must urgently attend to my eyebrows since I am starting to resemble one Miss F. Kahlo.

4. Am being screened by a certain good friend of mine and I wonder what misdeeds he is up to, or if he simply doesn’t care to talk to me.

5. Have been actively avoiding doing any time of constructive activity in my personal time, including the bet that I made to myself just a couple of short weeks ago. I have been dazzled by all the internet has to offer, even though most of it I find boring

6. I missed my mother’s birthday, again, so that officially makes me the worst daughter ever. Again. It’s a hat that I’m getting used to. I managed to make up for it by offering something that I will have to cancel because:

7. I am most likely going to Peru in a weeks time, which I railed against at first, but the traveller in me has convinced me that this is more than ok. First South America trip should always be paid for by the someone else, obviously.

8. I saw a particularly high maintenance friend during the week, who is broke as fuck, so declined (ed. Note: didn’t even bother to mention the tab regardless of ordering and subsequent consumption of food and beverage on the tab, rather she simply ignored the bill – as if that works, trust me, I’ve tried) to help with the bill. So, naturally, I tried to tip our waitress 4 cents. Unintentionally.

9. I had a hilarious, though potentially damaging conversation with my cousin T when she called me from Seattle on Skype. I asked how her boyfriend’s new place was and if he and his room mate had managed to destroy it with their innate bachelor-ness (Ed. Note. I asked if it was clean, dear god). Directly after saying that, I realised that I was most likely on speaker (I was) and had to grovel. Kill me now.

10. I found out that a friend that I haven’t spoken to in ages is getting married tomorrow. This is significant because I thought that she would never get married, and after having broken her last boyfriends arm (really), boys had kind of steered clear of her. I am really happy for her and her Brazilian man-child who is a healthy 8 years younger than her, making him all of 21. But, he is Brazillian and facebook photos show that he is very healthy. Mazeltov!

11. I had a friend come to visit from the old town. He is, in fact, my oldest friend and I cherish him dearly for that, among other things, as our relationship has weathered many things including time and distance. But, his visit was so god damned brief, that I am annoyed with him. He and his friend drove 14 hours, stayed for 24 and then drove 22 hours back (nap time, thank fuck). I got to see him for a whole of 2 hours during his stay, because he was sleeping, at a concert or I was working. And, to finish my whine, there was no quality time, due to his friend – who has the most incredible eyes, and the most unfortunate face – being here, and I didn’t want to exclude her from conversation. Because I can only be so much of a jack ass, and I’d already spent it being all stilted and shit. I found out on their departure that they didn’t have to leave straight away (I though he was working and I was wrong) and could have stayed another night. In summary: short visits equals balls.

That’s it for now, dear internet. I wish you a happy and fulfilling weekend, filled with merriment and shenanigans because that is exactly what I am intending to do.

-Anna xo

That Will Teach Me To Control The Vigour!

Broken Bones

It would appear that I have broken my back. Not in the terrifying never-going-to-walk-again kind of way, but in a fuck-fuck-fuck this hurts kind of way. Admittedly the latter is not nearly as inconvenient as the former, but, man, it really hurts.

I am unable to give a play by play about the incident, just that I was fine when I picked my pants up, but by the time they were over my thighs (before they were buttoned), I had an intense, intolerable, excruciating pain running from the base of my neck to my shoulder blades. Did you pick that up? I broke my back when putting on my jeans this morning. Right.

This would suggest that I was wrestling with skinny jeans that require a mammoth effort to put on, or in the manner of Monster, who simply cannot be restrained and is Just! So! Excited! To! Wear! Denim! And that would be wrong. They were in fact the jeans that I wore last night, so they were even broken in for me for this morning.

So I haven’t been to the office today and have had, what would otherwise have been a very pleasant day: watching movies with Hodge*, and cuddling as much as back spasms will allow, having emotional conversations with the mothership (her emotions, not mine) and eating fudge and chips and last nights veggie shepherds pie (amazing, if I do say so myself). But just when I get comfortable, a lightning bolt runs through my spine and I count down the hours until I can take the next dose of Robaxacet.

Speaking of, that special time, the time for more drugs, is right now. Which certainly trumps blogging, so…see you!

-Anna

*What is the young man doing home? He got himself a bit of gastro sometime yesterday, so he’s having a legit sick day, too. We’re so in sync! Though he did ask me earlier today “How’s the period going?” So, that’s weird. Thought you might like to know.

In An Effort To Make An Effort

Row, Row, Row Your Boat

Well, you know those rowing classes I mentioned last post? Well, we had a sort of ‘newbie’ regatta over the weekend and we totally killed it. I can’t begin to express how dumbfounded my entire team was, as we were utterly prepared to lose and lose big.

Because I have been getting a 'whaaaa' face from friends when I say rowing…. That would be the long, skinny boating kind, with the oars and the seven other people, each attached to an oar. And I have to say; I really, really like it. Like really like it! I have been meaning to row for a number of years but never got around to it because, well effectively, I was too scared. All I can say about the anxiety of trying something new….I wish I had done it sooner.

So, our team, rocking the shit out of the regatta.* As I said, we were prepared to suck, because our lessons had digressed into just two of eight of us into getting any sort of feedback from the coach, none of it good. Essentially, our boat resembled Bambi on ice, with oars going willy nilly, but at impressive speed, I must say, and the boat tipping perilously close to tipping us into the drink.

There was the promise of beer to lure us to the finishing line, and that, dear internet, is the greatest of motivators! We were all so stunned when we won the whole lot, that there was no cheering, no high fives and no acknowledgement of the winning until we had that celebratory drink in hand.

Where old meets new and vice versa

I had KB come to stay for a week a while ago. And, while it wasn’t a traumatic experience as such, it certainly wasn’t the most enjoyable time. I’m pretty confident when I say, too, that the previous statement applies to all parties.

I don’t want to write too much about the whole experience, aside from advising my future self that is NOT a good idea to have dinner with your new boyfriend, old boyfriend and his current girlfriend** under any circumstances.

My final on-line remarks about this: I am witnessing the end of a friendship, KB’s and mine and, needless to say, I am inexpressably sad about it. Even though my feelings romantically didn’t run as deep as he wanted, I did value him and what he contributed to my life. I am truly sorry that KB is no longer a part of it.

The Weather, as reported by Anna:

This weeks forecast is rain, with a chance of dry periods, though that is not to be expected. Make sure you don’t get sucked into bright mornings, and dress inappropriately, because on your way home from the office, you will encounter a rain of biblical proportions. So make sure you bring that umbrella, in fact, surgically attach it to your body (go go gadget umbrella!), and try not to drown in the enormous puddles.

Though it is tempting, don't bother doing hair or make up, or anything even vaguely reminiscent of Making An Effort, as all good works will be undone in approximately 14.6 seconds, courtesy of Zeus and his thunder stick.

That is all, Anna.

*not literally, that was the other boats….hahaha….bitches!

**of whom, I know far too much about…most notably from disparaging gossip from KB.

Here and Back Again

What is that I hear you* ask?

'Where the eff have I been??' Here and there and nowhere in particular.

Life is good at the moment, and when things are good, it would seem that I have nothing at all to say. So, to summarize, Good Life = Boring. And even I don't care to read about the ordinary days of myself, so I have refrained from posting.

Or, perhaps, I'm simply uninspired. I set this ridiculous goal for myself and even wrote it down, on actual paper with an actual pen, and though it's niggling in the back of my mind, I have managed to successfully ignore it. That goal being to write a little bit, every day, up to and including this here blog, which has been sorely neglected.

So, now that I've started wiping out the cobwebs of this journal/diary/log/whatever, I have to run. I've started rowing classes, you see, and I don't want to be late.

See you back here soon!

-A

*You, of course, being the extremely interested and slightly nosy internet

In Which I Contemplate, Extrapolate and Masturbate

Black Day in the Office

Henceforth to be referred to as the Den of Industriousness (Ha!). We’ve just had some new ‘improvements’ to our internet connection and technical stuff in the office that I frankly don’t understand. These ‘improvements’ to my gateway to the outside world has resulted in corporate blocking of sites such as Facebook (typical) and its ilk as well as blocking any photos that are remotely interesting.

In addition to this travesty, the connection has slowed to a sails pace. It’s almost faster for me to write letters longhand and post them now. Dealing with a slow connection, like back in the ol’ dial up days, is the equivalent of sitting in traffic. There is nowhere to go (because that whole regular paycheque thing is kinda boss), there is nothing to see (because the screen is stuck on white until it’s reached it’s intended destination), and nothing to do. Perhaps I’ll try working tomorrow.

For the Love of Orange

I don’t know exactly what it is about fruit, but I struggle to eat it. I am a champ at buying it, ace at letting it sit in the fridge for a week or two until the stench of rotting food causes me to do a full fridge purge which sends me into a tail spin of guilt for all those malnourished kids in the world who would have enjoyed that bag of apples I so callously waste on an alarmingly regular basis.

That being said, I awarded myself a gold star this afternoon when I chose the orange over the chocolate bar. Unprocessed food, for the win! And, I have to say, it was satisfying and incredibly delicious. When I have fruit that’s as tasty as it was today, I wonder at my reluctance to eat it. I have two more oranges and a bag of grapes that I will endeavour to eat before their respective use by dates.

What Is That?

Apparently, I got dressed in the dark this morning (on reflection, I think I did). And when I got to work in the morning, I noticed this:

I have no recollection of eating any blue food, nor did I use Windex this morning, so I can only surmise that it is Smurf spooge.

-Going to watch smurf porn, Anna

If You’ll Indulge Me

Urine? You’re Out!

I have a few complaints that I would like to lodge with my body today, most of which have been plaguing me for the better part of the week. The foremost of these being peeing.

I don’t drink ‘enough’ water*. ‘Enough’ being the required 8 cups as recommended by water experts the world over. There are a few reasons (none of them good) for my lack of water drinking, one of them being frequent bathroom visits that are just really, really inconvenient. I’ve found that the more water I drink, the more I have to pee. Makes sense, right? Volume in equals volume out. What doesn’t make sense to me is the intensity and immediacy of need to pass water (as my grandmother would say). Excess water pees (or EWP) are sneaky, sadistic pees that will demand attention the minute they make themselves known, and I’ll go from not needing the loo to going to burst in roughly 12 seconds.

What I am finding unsettling for the last couple of days is that my number of bathroom visits has increased by quite a few more trips per day. But get this…My fluid intake has not been increased. What the eff, bladder, what the eff? Perhaps I am sleep drinking, like I sometimes do with chocolate, drinking litres of water while I am comatose. Very interesting. I will have to investigate this phenomenon.**

Crickles and the Back Spasm

I think that will be my new band name, if I ever start a band. Mmm, maybe RockBand name would be more accurate as my musical (dis)ability should only be forced on those that love me and not the public at large. My back has been aching for the better part of the week. Mostly in between my shoulder blades and, well, it’s just uncomfortable.

I suspect it has something to do with ‘Iron Hands’ Hug giving me a back rub over the weekend, during which he attempted to crush my breasts into the floor. I think that he’s had more experience massaging men, than women, so I’ll forgive him this time. But, honestly, if I had implants, I think they would have burst their saline seams.

The crickles are another (probably) after effect of the massage treatment. That or osteoporosis, but being an eternal optimist (HA!), I choose the back rub, ‘cause having brittle bones sucks hairy balls. The crickles aren’t too bad, actually. They just surprise when, for instance, I sit down heavily and feel that pop in my spine, which isn’t un-satisfying as such.

Kitchen Wonders

A couple of years ago, when I was a stay at home girlfriend, I was really, really bored and thought that I would try my hand at making pasta because I was hearing everywhere that it was SO!EASY! Despite my limited kitchen supplies, one crisp day when I was energised by possibilities, I made pasta. Or rather, tried to. Making the dough was pretty easy, if messy, but I ran into problems with the rolling. What I lacked in rolling pins, I more than made up in wine bottles and figured that a clean skin should do the job just fine (Resourceful!)! Except that I was afraid of pressing too hard on the bottle, in case it should shatter and turn a pasta experiment into a pasta nightmare***. So I rolled, and rolled (and rolled) for about an hour until I estimated that it was thin enough, cut it into strips and boiled it. Verdict: Pasta FAIL! It was so thick and doughy and chewy and weird that I wasn’t really interested in ever attempting homemade pasta again.

Until Sunday. I bought a pasta roller a million years ago, before I went traipsing around the world, and it's been with the mothership for roughly 5 years until I moved to Vancouver and the minx packed it in my belongings. Since then, it’s been sitting in the back of my cupboard, ever neglected and unused.

It was a joint effort between Hodge and myself, and after one false start, we made fresh, homemade linguini (or whatever). You know what? It was SO! EASY! I can’t wait to make it again, it was so delicious and EASY!

In fact, I shall bid you adieu and try again.

-Anna

*Just doing my part to save the world again!

**I have just foolishly googled urination, and there are 36 - 148 causes for frequent urination, up to and including diabetes and cancer. Fun.

***Blood in lieu of tomato sauce. How macabre and dinner of terror like! PS. Don’t drink the red wine!

The Long Overdue...

ed note: I wrote this at work last week and didn't post it, due to requisite 'marination' time. However I took a super long weekend to recover from my two day work week, and, as much as I continue sharing the minutiae of my life with you, I was NOT going to pop into the office to post this. Here's to more responsible posting in the future.

Jolly Old England:

I loved London. There were the nasty bits, of course, that I didn’t appreciate – the crowds, the huge chunks of time that were spent in commute, the early closing of pubs – but overall, I really enjoyed myself. Certainly much more than the guy that was trying to fish his supa drunk girlfriend out of the gutter she’d passed out in on Friday night.* I bet that was a rough Saturday!

It helped that we were really central and everything was so accessible, if not walkable. I didn’t walk nearly as much as I do in Vancouver, which contributed to the roughly 12 kilos that somehow attached themselves to my midsection during the trip.

I have to gush about Hodge’s family, too. They were so lovely and welcoming (even if I was called by his ex-girlfriends name on more than one occasion [which would be three: cringe]) and generous with their time and space. They really made the trip incredible for me and I hope to return the favour when they’re in Vancouver next.

Re-Affirmations:

I don’t like talking in the morning. Or noise. I’m just not interested in chatting until I have drunk my requisite morning coffee(s) and I take offense to those who try and pull me into pre 10 am conversation. Some may say that I am cranky, I say, I’m simply accepting of my limitations.

I don’t enjoy mass transit. In theory, it works, much like communism, but in practice, it’s bound to fail (in my eyes). Also, public transportation in a new city causes so much anxiety, that I fail to see any of the merits of using the systems (like lower carbon emissions, cheaper [usually] than other modes of transport, faster [sometimes]) and I’ll have a panic attack and call a cab. Irresponsible? Definitely, but rest assured that my guilt and I have a terse discussion before, during and after the trip. Xanax, anyone?

I find it exceedingly difficult to sleep on airplanes. And, as an addendum, I burn with bitter resentment at those who do. If you are one of those people, like my mom and my boyfriend, then I am truly sorry, but we can’t be friends. In fact, if you could send me a lock of your hair, I will begin construction on your very own voodoo doll. Lucky you!!

Big, Big T*ttays

I have a love/hate relationship with shopping. I typically enjoy shopping for tops over pants, because, let’s face it, there isn’t anything that can destroy your self-esteem more than having to try on a larger size pant because your thighs are too big for the skinny jeans. Or having the outfit that you’ve envisioned for months dashed because it just looks … wrong on you, due to the unsightly bulges, tightness or sacklike nature of the item on your figure, etc ad nauseum.

Saying that, I was really looking forward to shopping in the UK because the media, at least, seems to be obsessed with ‘larger’ women and turning the screws of shopping outlets to stock larger sizes and have ‘realistic’ shaped mannequins on display in lieu of the size zero models designed to crush your spirit. I assumed that there would be shirts and pants to fit around my generous bust and hips.

I did find a shirt that I loved. Like, really loved. It fit really well, nicely swaddling my hips in creamy linen, flattering at the waist, but so tight in the bust that I feared I would bust open the seams if I breathed too deeply (read: at all). That, and they were squished together and propped up just south of my chin in a manner that was wholly unflattering and not particularly comfortable.

I know this seems counter-intuitive to mainstream society these days, but I would really, really appreciate smaller breasts. I find it really unfair that my boobs are an extra large while my waist is a medium. Not cool, genes, not cool at all (I’m looking at you, mother).

Tourist Time in LonDon

1. A bus tour of London. I went on a Friday afternoon with Hodge and his sister, Podge. We stopped over to get a live tour guide on the bus, and had to wait a bit, with much confusion over which bus we would be using. While the perspective was nice, getting to look around and up without feeling like an enormous tool in the crowds, the traffic was really bad and it took us two hours to navigate from Hyde Park to the London Eye (which I opted not to do – the Eye that is, the traffic I was stuck with). Our tour guide, Chris, was a relatively old guy, who seemed to be more interested in pointing out the pubs than the sights (in anticipation of a foamy drink post work?), and was slightly less than charming. Overall, I scored them a 4/10.

2. The London Dungeons. Also on a Friday afternoon. It was good fun, actually. They have actors that lead the tours around (you can’t proceed without them), and all of the parts are really well thought out and executed (HA!). The only criticism that I have of this trap is the waiting. There was a lot of standing, shuffling, rocking and waiting for the next part to proceed. If you’ve got good, supportive shoes, I heartily recommend a visit to the dungeons. They got a score of 8.5/10.

3. The Tower of London. We arrived just in time for a tour from one of the Beef Eaters, who happened to be one of the most charming people that I encountered in the UK, the family of Hodge and Podge excluded. A tip of the hat to you, sir, way to make history fun**! I didn’t check out all that there is to see in the tower, because it’s huge! I imagine that it would take a full day or two to really discover all that this place has to offer, and I have a limit on how much sight seeing I can do in a day. I would urge a visit to the vault to check out the 532 carat diamond that is in there, just because it is so ridiculous and covetous! The Tower scores 8.5/10.

Until the next, Anna

*true story...gutter troll!

*Nerd! Erm, that would be me, not him. He was lovely!

The (almost) International Edition

I had sort of hoped to write a post while I was away, but it turns out that when you’re visiting a city as big as London for the first time, there is no time for sleeping, much less writing. Particularly since I was jet lagged enough (but in serious denial) to be suffering from unpredictable bouts of crankiness, violent restless leg syndrome and suffering from short term narcolepsy, which has yet to leave me.

In the meanwhile, watch the video, because I love it. And if I love it, you shall love it! Go Rusty!!

A bientot, Anna

Posts from Last Week

What Just Happened?

I’ve had a bit of a whirlwind week so far. And I think it will continue until the end of the month. In fact I know it will continue until the end of the month, because I am going to London. Just bought the tickets yesterday, we leave in exactly one week to the hour. The hour!*

I’m sure that this isn’t cause for celebration for a lot of people, but this girl, this one right here, typing her excited little heart out, she’s never been. I’ve been through Heathrow a handful of times, but have never stepped out of the airport boundaries, ever ever ever. And I’m 96% confident that I am going to lurve it.

What about the 4% internet? I’ll tell you about the 4%:

1% - Rick. I'm missing out on seeing a really good friend, one that I haven’t seen in far too long by 6 days. Six days, universe! What a cruel mistress you are. As much as I would like to curse karma, or whoever it is in charge of shitty schedules (also responsible for public transit, I am confident that one day, when we’re grey and wrinkly that we’ll manage to organise a real life date. It is now officially on my bucket list. or would be, if I had one. I will start one today and ammend to list. Can a bucket list have only one item??

1% - Hodge’s friends. To be absolutely clear, I am not too concerned at all about meeting his friends. They seem like a cool bunch and I’m really looking forward to meeting them. What I am concerned about is my liver. I have been told three times since we booked the tickets 12 hours ago to make sure I pack my drinking boots, ‘cause we’re going to see the inside of a lot of pubs. I like pubs, but I like not drinking too. But, once I'm in a pub, I am incapable of ordering a non alcoholic beverage. It's the rules.

1% - Hodge’s sister. They’re really close and I think that if I don’t get the stamp of approval from her, then we’re done. So, that’s exciting! I don’t think any part of my future has ever been held in the palm of a peer, particularly someone I’ve yet to meet. Kill me now!

1% - Sleeping arrangements. They have an apartment in London where we’ll be staying. The spare bedroom, has two single (!) beds, is where the kids will be sleeping – Hodge, his sister and myself - …huh? Is that weird? It’s really his sisters bedroom, because she lives there full time, so we’re really invading her space, but Hodge thinks that we’ll put an air mattress in between them and he’ll sleep on that. I’m stuck on the idea that people still use single beds. I thought they stopped making them years ago, when the collective realised that the bigger the bed, the happier the soul. I don’t know if I will fully realise the dorm room-ness of bed-time will be fully realised until then.

So that’s that. I’ve genuinely given myself pause by writing that last paragraph and will require a very stiff drink to come to terms with that whole birds nest. (anxiety level up at least 5%).

The Mothership…

…has returned to her own neck of the woods and I am surprised and happy to report that she had a great time. This means, of course, that she wants to come back very soon, but I suppose there are worse things in life (like sharing bedrooms with strangers…what if I fart in my sleep? Anxiety +7 points).

During the weekend, I hosted not one, but two very successful dinner parties catered by Mama. They were delicious, I’m told – they were meat heavy, so I opted for vegetables – and well lubricated. Thankfully!!

I’ve also realised that by having friends over, I have increased my wine rack occupancy by 50%. I think if I were a good hostess, I would return the wine to it’s respective owners, BUT, I now consider the bottles abandoned and will do my duty as a surrogate parent to make sure they are well digested. Just give me time!

Birthday week!!

I had an early celebration on Friday, because everyone in the office is travelling for my (very important) birthday week. Since all of us are always up for eating lunch and drinking beer, we went to the pub.

And stayed there.

To the tune of 50,000 pints. Or near enough. I was quite drunk by 2.30 pm and took an early day, convinced my friends that we should go drink mojitos by the ocean, which led into a few other drinking dens of various repute as they night went on. And I had a great time. I think of it as my unofficial birthday party, because I have been equal parts lazy/busy/disinterested in planning an actual event, and I much prefer spontaneous happenings! They always turn out much better, don’t they??

Late last night

My super sweet and cool cousin T broke up with her long distance boyfriend yesterday. If it were anyone else, I’m sure that I would be complaining about how late it was and how long we spoke for, heartbreak and breakups, etc, but, it’s T and I’m crying with her.

The story is:

He lives in Seattle, she’s in Vancouver, which makes him an American and she a Canadian. Though they’re only separated by a 2 hour drive, the limitations on them making a further commitment to each other is hindered by the ugly beast called Immigration. T can’t work there unless she gets sponsored by a company, which is a big ask in ordinary circumstances, but is a huge ask in a flailing economy. S has a really great job and doesn’t really want to leave, because it’s what he’s always wanted to do for a career and he’s got a really good set up.

So where do they go from here? Personally, I think they’ll get back together and work out a solution together. That’s my hope, anyway. They’re really good people and so good together that I can’t help but want the best for them both, as a duo or separately, if that's how it's supposed to be. Watch this space.

And to lighten things up

I have joined a rowing club and I couldn’t be more excited!! I’ve wanted to learn to row for years, but it’s always slipped to the periphery of what I’ve been doing, until Bobo mentioned it to me a few weeks ago. He joined up and will be starting in May (in 5 short weeks) and I will be in the boat with him. Gold star to him for inspiration and motivation!!

This leaves me just enough time to hit the gym and use the rowing machine, because I will be damned if I am going to be the weakest link on the boat. I would simply die of shame, turn into a fish and get caught in trawler nets. It would be the WORST.THING.EVER. If I was the slowest kid.

I joined a boot camp class last year, and it was the worst thing ever. The class was heavy on cardio and light on circuit training, and my soul was crushed every Tuesday and Thursday morning when I practiced what I signed up for. Each class, we’d do a 2 km run to a destination, do some squats, lunges and planks and then jog 2 kms back to the gym, uphill**.

The thing with the running is, I don’t like it. I’ve earnestly tried and re-tried to give it a chance. I even went for a jog two weeks ago to see if I’d like it yet (I didn’t). I always get shin splints and there isn’t much that I dislike more than having sore shins for days following a run. And on the motivation front, I hated being the slowest in the class. There wasn’t much support for the slow ones, aside from occasional shouts of encouragement from an instructor who’d run back to cheer us on. So, after 4 classes, I stopped going.

I don’t want the rowing to turn into boot camp. But, I am pretty sure that there is a certain level of fitness that I should reach before I can be competent in pulling those oars for 90 minutes, twice a week. Fingers crossed that I can make that happen. Send me fit thoughts!

-Leaving on a jet plane (countdown is 32 hours…god…laundry…empty the fridge…take the trash out…) Anna

*I began writing this post last week, as the timeline suggests, so I thought to add a simple postscript, largely due to the lack of time I have to re-write. So make due with this sloppy post, internet.

*Not in the, 'in my day, we walked 40kms to school backwards, up hill, in the snow!' kind of way but in the, run to the park down hill, and finish with a 40% grade up hill run. Because that's a fun way to end classes. Jogging Fail!

They Want Brains...

…which is unfortunate, since mine seem to be absent.

I am tired today. There is a reason for this tiredness that causes my body to involuntarily stop, stretch, no reaaaaally stretch, before trying to resume what it was doing before it interrupted itself, only to find that my entire self has forgotten what it was doing previously.

I suspect that this is my body’s natural defence mechanism of distraction until nap/bed time. Eventually, I suppose, I will have no choice but to throw up my hands in frustration and acquiesce to its demands. It is, after all, holding my hands for a ransom I’m only too happy to pay: the sweetness of oblivion in the arms of my pillow top.

The reason for sleepy time is this nugget. I watched a film yesterday that was awesome! Someone recommended Watcher in the Woods, because of Ms. Bette Davis, and I cannot tell you how excited I was to watch an old school horror* movie. ‘Natch, when I asked the shop assistant where I could find this movie (that is supposed to rawk) I was met with silence and the blinking eyes of a stunned deer. But, since I promised myself that I would watch a scary movie, I picked up Paranormal Activity. It’s freaking awesome, even though the guy in it is a bit of a d-bag. I heartily recommend and it has the official AM seal of approval.

I digress, back to the full body and mind burn out. Post film, Hodge, being very tough, informed me that I needed a protector and that he would be sleeping at mine to “battle the demons” while I slept.** Since we were in a bit of a state post movie, we needed to dissect it to undermine its scariness quotient and laid awake chatting for hours and hours, probably waking up the neighbours with nervous giggling and squeals as we tried to out-spook each other. Effectively, it was the grown up version of a sleepover, minus the sleeping bags on the floor with parents yelling at half hour intervals to shut up and go to sleep – which I would have benefitted from.

*I hate saying 'horror films', since with a Canadian accent, it sounds very much like 'whore films'. When I was 15, one of the elderlyish uncles of a friend of a friend of mine was stepping out to pick up some films for us at New Year. “You like horrors?” was what he said, but what I heard was “You like whores?” I was well and truly horrified (HA!) and avoided him for the rest of the evening, thinking he was the most lecherous man alive. He probably was.

**Firstly, the only ‘demons’ Hodge would be protecting me from are the three queens that share the hallway with me, and I assure you, they have absolutely zero interest in what I’m packing around. It would be, in fact, me protecting Hodge’s honour. Secondly, … I can’t remember what my other point was except that it was a gooder, and now my fatigued mind has let it slip into the ether. Dammit, brain, smarten up!

Holiday for Whom?

The mother ship is coming to visit tomorrow, and has gotten off to a bad start. How can it be, dear internet, that she hasn’t landed, or even boarded the departing plane and already she’s shitty with me and I with her?

It’s one of lifes great mysteries and science is nowhere near close to figuring mother daughter relationships out. And this exchange decidedly did not help with M/D relations:

Call 1 - (8.10 am – Getting ready to leave for work)

Me – Hi Mum, what’s up?
Mum – I’m at the AMA website, I’m going to rent a car.
Me – Uh, ok.
Mum – It’s a really great price, so I’m doing it.
Me – Are you renting it for the whole time?
Mum – Yeah, I think so, why?
Me – Dunno, seems a bit silly to rent a car for five days and only use it once.
Mum – But, it’s a good price.***
Me – So get the car.
Mum – But you don’t think it’s a good idea.
Me – Who cares what I think? I’m just getting dressed at the moment, can I call you from the office?
Mum – Fine – click.

Following this is three more calls in quick succession, (I’ll spare the transcripts) where she wanted to discuss the merits of hiring a car at the airport vs. hiring a car in town, location of pick ups, what kind of car to hire, etc.

My patience reserve is very limited on a good day, and is appallingly low on a bad day and non existent on a grumpy-haven’t-had-coffee-yet day. I reached my limit on the last call. I have no time to figure out the minutiae of car rentals at 8.15 in the morning, and frankly I don’t care. Especially since the person in question (Mother dearest) wanted to get into a philosophical discussion about cars and related car things, but mostly why she’s right and I’m wrong. I had to tell her to do what she wanted and that I was, in fact, busy and it wasn't a good time for me.

It’s going to be a great visit. Can I call in sick for that?

***What she’s really doing here with ‘the bargain’ is this: She feels like getting a lower daily rate is a good thing, and $400/5 days trumps paying $140/1 day because it’s better value. And it is better value, if you’re using it. Every day. I wonder if this is but a $400 safety blanket…

Etiquette avec Mme. Mac

When asking for coins, cigarettes, lighters and/or liquor on the streets, do not interrupt the person you wish to beg from when they are on the phone. This is unseemly behaviour and will not result in a positive outcome.

Instead, you should wait, at a respectful distance, until that person is available to make your request.

Be prepared for them to decline the offer, in any case, and take this in stride.

Respectfully Yours,

-Anna Mac

Things I have learned today

Home Edition:

Reminding someone of their drunken obnoxious behaviour rarely has the outcome anticipated. Say it with me…anticlimactic and unsatisfying.

Wine is a cure all. And if it can’t be a cure all, it will be a can’t-be-assed all.

Dreams of obscure actors whilst sleeping lead to unnecessary internet stalking and imaginary celebrity boyfriends. Jonathan Rhys Meyers…I don’t even know if I find him attractive, but since I had a dream last night, I am obsessed.

Cleaning my house in anticipation of zombie mothership visits sucks old hairy balls. Additional lesson…don’t leave pancake batter to harden in bowl because washing that shit is on par with finding a cure for cancer.

BONUS:

Office Edition:

Subway sandwiches don’t age well. They become soggy, sticky and slimy in a mysterious and decidedly unnatural manner. I ate it anyway.

Meetings are for chumps. I, therefore, am a chump.

Washing coffee mug and leaving it to dry on the counter leads to mug theft. This results in mug/colleague stalking to retrieve it, and this is a travesty that is best avoided.

Ordering office supplies is more effort than its worth, as I discovered when I received the rolodex for fuller figured girls today. Seriously supersized rolodex.*

Yeah, that old saying that a messy desk means an organized mind…I disproved that theory today. If I’m being honest, I’ve been disproving it for years.

Forgetting what day it is and thinking you have no time leads to RESULTS! At least until I realised that I still had twenty four hours to complete the tasks at hand. Now I’m writing.

I can’t find everything on the internet. There are still some mysteries in the world. Shipping industry, I’m looking at you.

When in doubt, make it up!

*American Rolodex! Ha!

In Conclusion:

Thank you for all the wonderful lessons, life. I really appreciate you taking time out of your busy day to lovingly coach and guide me into being a better, if slightly demented and increasingly hysterical, person.

Now piss off.

-A

Bad Decisions

Gumdrops and Lollypops

I am guilty of many things. Among those, and certainly most pertinent to today’s post (brought to you by the letters F and I – as in effing idiot) is idealism.

Internet, I imagined a world where past and present collide, shake hands, do the hokey pokey and managed to coexist peacefully. A world filled with gummy bears and chocolate frogs, with fountains pouring forth Coke Zero and muscled demi-god masseurs insist on soothing the aching muscles of backs for eternity.

Instead, I’m sitting with a warmish cup of coffee, filled with grounds and prepared to drink it as penance (since my cilice is at the cleaners) for doing a Bad Thing. To be honest, I’m being lazy and cannot be bothered making another cup of coffee to replace it and, really, grind coffee seems like an apt punishment*.

This post is perhaps more confessional than I would like it to be, but I think I just want someone on my side to tell me that I am doing something nice and, if not exactly the right thing, certainly not the wrong thing.

KB phoned awhile ago to say that he was moving back to Vancouver for the summer and would I mind if he stayed with me, to which I replied, of course not. You’re still a friend and you’ll always be welcome in my home. Particularly since I am intimately aware of his financial situation and the ever rising cost of tuition.

Then, last week while having a glass of wine with Hodge, I mentioned this to him. I don’t know exactly what I was expecting, but I certainly did not anticipate his reaction (or non reaction) of shutting down. We quietly finished our drinks, forced some conversation on the walk home and parted ways in the corridor as he went up to his and I went into mine.

At lunch Friday, Hodge very clearly stated, when pressed, that he was in no way comfortable with this arrangement. He asked me how I’d feel if he told me that his ex girlfriend was coming to stay for three months and live at his place. I understand where he is at and why he objects to this arrangement, I really do.

But.

I feel faced with the decision of helping a friend, at the potential cost of my relationship, which is a crummy place to have landed myself. Way to go, nerd.

On a lighter note:

The Strange, The Hilarious and The Unexpected

I was waiting for the cash machine at the local 7-11 (or the Sev, as we say on the dirty side of town) behind 3 of the slowest possible ATM users, one of whom I suspect has never used a cash point ever, ever, ever,** when lady who had been yelling at passerby on the street, entered the shop, walked behind me and grabbed a Coke from the cooler and began to walk in circles (as you do when you’re jazzed up on *ahem* coke [big or little c]). Mid circle, I think she forgot what she was doing, swaggered over and asked me for spare change, which I declined, and then hot foots it out of the store with a 2L jug tucked somewhere in her voluminous coat. “I ain’t stolen nothing”, she bellowed at the store person who noticed the theft and very casually crossed the road into oblivion. It was satisfyingly surreal and boosted my mood immediately, particularly since oblivion, to her, meant just the other side of the road.

*As does sitting in my ‘climate’ controlled office with no coat on. It’s March and the air conditioning has turned on, insistent on making my personal space rival the temperature of a Siberian winter. Naturally, my efforts to disable the fan and air conditioning mechanisms have been met with snorts of derision from inanimate objects.

**seriously.annoying. Honest attempts at inserting card in various ways, all of them wrong; one withdrawing cash with four, FOUR different cards; another apparently low on cash, but high on hope, repeatedly trying to make that ATM sing.

-Head in the Sand, Anna

In Which I Sleep and Wonder About Dog

Sleep of the innocent?

I am a very deep sleeper. Once I am out, there isn’t much in this world that will wake me. Storms, parties, snoring (lucky for all those boyfriends present and past). It is a fear of mine that Ed Mundy will somehow find his way into my apartment and murder me in my sleep. Silver lining of that scenario*: I’ll never know since there isn’t much, aside from a bomb (not sure as this one is currently untested), that will rouse me from my slumber.

*uhhh, is there ever a silver lining to a homicide?

Hodge suggested that I try a sleep cycle alarm clock, and wouldn’t you know…there’s an app for that.

I downloaded it last night onto my iPhone and slept with it under my pillow, in spite of the warnings to not do that….but, I remain a rebel at heart and rules be damned – take that phone, you're not the boss of me! The idea behind the clock is that it monitors your sleep by movement, since we all (that is, you and I, internet) move differently at different phases of sleep, and purports to wake you up when you’re the least asleep so you’ll be more refreshed. Sounds good right?

I still woke up like a bag of ass this morning. It was rough and much the same as most mornings. Punishment for having slept on the phone despite manufacturers warnings?

No, this is the reason:



I have two issues with this situation:

1. That I was, in essence, in a coma for most of the night.

2. That this app provides daily (ahem, nightly) statistics so you can monitor your sleep. This in itself is not a problem, because I’m sure the designers of this wanted to prove that we were getting our $0.99 worth from the alarm clock, and super geeks can totally compare and contrast each others sleep patterns in the night**. The problem that I have, and I realise that this is specific to me and me alone, is that it’s so disheartening to know that I will wake up groggy for the rest of my working days.

**Dating compatibility by sleep cycles?? Next new thing? Yes? No?

And yet another that offends:

I did a career ‘test’ a couple of days ago and it’s still irritating me. My results were that I was an organiser and that my ideal profession was being an administrator/accountant/boring. Whaaat?

When I was in junior high school, my classmates and I all had to take one of these tests and it was meant to give you an idea of what you were meant to studying toward. It was pretty exciting, mainly because we were excused from an afternoon of regular classes and anything that I got out of regular classes for seemed illicit and exciting and dangerous.

That was true right up to the moment I got the results back… Holy mother of Sean! My would-be professional goal in life, my ideal career, the job that would make me the happiest: Director of a summer bible camp. Seriously. I couldn’t make that up, my imagination stretches only so far.

There were many things inherently wrong with this career path, the most obvious being that I did not attend any church, and I was moderately aware that I was well on my way to being a slightly agnostic, mostly atheistic person that is highly critical of any organised religion.

The second being that I was never baptised into any faith, because my mother had a fight with the pastor/minster/whoever was in charge of doling out G-D and walked out, tiny me in arms, before I could be baptised and surely no bible camp worth it’s salt would let someone doomed to purgatory*** run a bible camp.

There are many more reasons, that in the name of tact, I have decided to omit from this pious b-log.

The point, which has gotten away from me, is that these career tests can be so limiting. I’m still faced with the same dilemma at 29 as I was at 13: I don’t know what to do with my life. Or rather, I haven’t been able to find a job that will pay me to sleep, read and eat yet, but I’m looking. I’m in love with possibilities and think that most things (astrophysics, neurosurgery and dentistry excluded) can be attempted and attained by anyone, should they desire only to try.

***Though I am confident now that there have been reservations made in my name in all the circles of hell. It’s how I roll.

-Bedfordshire bound Anna

Where I Accidentally Share Too Much With Everybody (Including You!)

In Which I am Utterly Alone

All of my colleagues have flown the coop that we typically call the office*. They’ve gone to drink beer and champagne in other (warmer) parts of the world, leaving me to languish here, alone, bored and disinterested in anything that even remotely resembles work. As such, I have seemingly exhausted my usual supply of interesting internet fodder and decided to write to you, fine internet.

*Collectively, it’s called the office, I generally refer to it as ‘that place’.

This is the point where I curl up and die, right?

Sooo, last night Hug came by bearing a borrowed plate and some news.

The Plate:

Randomly, and quite charmingly, he returned my plate with a box of crème brulee mix and a tube of garlic bread crumbs. Crème brulee I get, because, honestly, who doesn’t like being the recipient of boxed tasty goodness**? That was a really sweet gesture. But, bread crumbs? In a lifetime of strange gifts, garlic breadcrumbs take top (odd) spot.

I gave him a look that was meant to impart, ‘thank you, but what the fuck’? He said, well, I know you like cooking with bread crumbs. Err, I admit to having a conversation with your friend about bread crumbs, but I have never, ever cooked anything with bread crumbs. But, thank you for the very sweet, if bizarre, gesture.

The News (or Oh Sweet Jesus, take me now):

Hug is moving next month into another apartment in our building and the layout of his apartment is exactly the same as mine, just two floors up. Naturally, in preparation for doing a serious purge of A-Lot*** of stuff he asked if he could take a look around mine to get a feel for space.

In a move that I hadn’t anticipated, though on reflection makes sense for a gay man (priorities!), he headed straight for my bedroom. As soon as he was at the door, I realised that it was a mess; there was a mountain of clothes rivalling Mt Kilimanjaro in size, bras hanging off lamps, a layer of dust covering my chest of drawers. .

I did what any person would do and beelined it to the bedroom, attempted to sneakily remove undergarments from light fixtures while pushing mounds of dirty clothes under the bed. Until… I noticed the industrial sized box of condoms beside my bed with a bottle of lube on the window sill. Oh man! I tried to usher him out without being too obvious and even shut the lights off while he was still in there (subtlety, thy name is Anna) – perhaps to distract him with my strange behaviour so he wouldn’t notice the Costco amounts of sex I’ve been having.

He didn’t mention it, nor did I. I hope in five years or so, we can share a belly laugh about that awkwardness. Or not.

**upon reading the packet, I think I have been gifted a white elephant. It takes milk AND cream AND time to prepare it. Please note: next time, bring wine.

***Hug is an amateur hoarder. He currently owns no less than four coffee makers, various once used kitchen gadgets and tons of food. It will be great for when the apocalypse comes, but not so much for moving this month.

Til later, internet. In the meantime, I'll be flaunting my sexual life in front of all of my celibate friends! Yay!

-Anna

In Which I Win, Lose and Commit a Crime

Win! Or was that Lose?

If I were a man, my behaviour towards my apartment would be easier to reconcile as I have limited furniture and stuff in general, my walls are bare and I haven’t washed the floors in three months. In short, I live like a male college nerd, minus the nudie posters in the bathroom.

However, the times, they are a-changing.

You are reading from the blog of a soon to be owner of a couch. After 9 months of living solo (plus 3 months with my last housemate) I have decided to do something out of character and get some sort of seating that is not the queen size inflatable mattress in the middle of my living room floor.

To do it in my own awkward and slightly irreverent way, I have got a couch from a friend of a friend*, who I have yet to meet, and am buying his sofa, that I have yet to see. I’m putting all my faith in Jez that he’s not misspent my $350.

Also - I, on a whim, bid on a couple of paintings at a gallery on Saturday. I won!! Huzzah. They’re super cute and (me thinks / me thought) a bargain at $170 for the pair. Until I went online and found them for $75 each of 3 for $200, so that kind of sucks. (I got gub and neutron…gub is my favourite)

*This might turn out to be an urban legend couch…it happened to a friend of a friend of mine … true story!

Panic in the Laundromat

Confession: I am a lazy laundress. I don’t like the communal laundry room in my apartment building (2 washers & 2 dryers for 40 units!) because, frankly, I am a lazy, lazy person and I don’t enjoy scheduling a night to do my laundry. I would much rather toss in a load before work, forget about it for 2 days, then have to re-wash 4 times to get the smell of mildew out of my t-shirts.

BUT

It became necessary for me to do my laundry since I *almost* had to resort to the bathing suit bottoms for lack of clean drawers. Erm…almost.

I’ve worked out a system to minimise the cost of laundry day ($2 wash, $2 dry) and maximise the efficiency by staggering loads and using the dryer once for two washes. (Summary 2 wash = 1 dry). I just have to time it right, and since my preferred dryer runs for a looong time, I rarely have any issues.**

Last night, though, someone fucked with the system. And if I ever find out who it was, we will have a discussion about laundry etiquette before I mash his face into dirty underwear whilst making him wash his mouth with liquid laundry detergent.

I went down to do the swap, only to find my dryer usurped by a load of mans clothes. He stole my dryer, and by extension, my money. I found my clothes sitting in a slightly damp heap on top of the dryer.

I contemplated putting food dye or a couple of damp tissues in to teach him a lesson, but dismissed it as silly (I wouldn’t want to permanently damage my favourite dryer), so I turned the machine off. Put my second load into the vacant (!) dryer and gave the world the finger, with a message to pass it on the thieving asshole.

I had a slight attack of the guilts when I picked up my last load, so I turned his machine back on. Which gave me a thrill because he’ll wonder forever about that dryer and it’s lack of drying ability, hopefully leaving me and my damp clothes to a clean and happy (and dry) future.

** How OCD was that paragraph??

I dare say Old Cock:

On my walk to work this morning, I saw a real live, honest to Jiminy deerstalker!! I imagine that the man who was wearing this lovely hat is an English gentleman, as a Canadian man only actually stalks deer, in camo apparel lined with day-glo orange.

Swagger Like John Wayne:

A friend invited me to take a yoga class with her on Saturday, and because it’d been approximately 42 years since I’d done any exercise, I decided to go. Ohmygad, two days on and I’m still sore. I’ve been broken by Hatha.

During one part the instructor had us do this move: Squat and place our hands on the inside of our feet, so both the feet and the palms were flat on the floor. In this position, we were supposed to take a turn around the studio, because the Taoists think that doing this ungainly walk for 10 minutes a day is the key to perfect health***. I did a small circle, realising with alarm that I would most certainly be the last person to complete the circuit, so I did a teeny circle and went back to my mat (hoping that I did a passable job of faking it). The whole thing was (a) far too reminiscent of school gym classes (where I tried to fake it but always got caught), and (b) not very yogi at all of me, but I can honestly say that this girl doesn’t care.

***Google let me down on that, too. Suspect that she made the whole thing up, sadistic bitch.

-Anna

Kitchenland Nightmares

I am, for the most part, completely useless in the kitchen.

Last week, I attempted a vegetarian stroganoff with tofu, and it was hideous. Disgusting, even. To be fair (to me) the recipes were ‘healthy’, which stroganoff isn’t, so much. So, what I created wasn’t really stroganoff, but it wasn’t really edible, either. Instead, it was a congealed mass of egg noodles, low fat yogurt and tofu with spices.

Again, to be fair (to me), it was the day of the flaming, intolerable tooth pain and, potentially, I suppose, could have coloured the dining experience. In any case, that recipe has been exiled to the never, ever again pile.

One area where I do tend to be proficient in the kitchen, however unlikely that might be, is baking things. I can usually turn out a decent cake or batch of cookies.

I typed a really self-righteous post glorifying my baking skills over the weekend, while I had a cake baking, and it turns out that it was slightly premature. The cake in question, a moist yellow cake, was fucking atrocious. Not due to the recipe, but the supposed baker.

Steps to baking fail:

1.Not having a mixer, stand or otherwise, of the electric variety, I had to use my body as such

2.Being lazy and not being bothered about actually spending 70 minutes creaming the butter and sugar

3.Not understanding the significance of having the rack in the right spot in the oven

4.Using the timer on the stove to time the baking properly.

The recipe called to cool the cake in the pan for 10 minutes, then wrap it in cling film for the rest of the cooling time. Trying to wrap a still very warm and very crumbly cake is an impossible feat, as I found out. This is he area where I excelled: throwing mostly inedible cake all over the kitchen during cling film wrapping theatrics.

After giving a slice to my neighbor, the new official taster, we determined that the cake was really, really unusable and that I should, perhaps, destroy what was left of it. So I did, but with a tear in my eye, from the concrete-like shards that pierced my skin as it shattered in the bin.

This left the dilemma of needing to make another of the super moist (ha!) yellow cake for the birthday Hodge for tomorrow (now today - lazy posting).

I would like to state, for posterity, that creaming butter and sugar with a dinner fork is a wonderful way to ruin perfectly good shoulders. And fore arms. And wrists. But, it is done. I baked a perfectly edible cake that is very, very moist, though still quite crumbly - which seems unlikely, but is true none the less. And it is delicious, particularly when paired with the chocolate cake that turned out perfectly (the first time)!

However, because there certainly wasn’t enough cake failure in my recent past, I had to do a quick cover up when Hodge stopped by unexpectedly. The tea towel disguise bonded to the cake and they stuck together like glue. Only a minor disaster this time, and I’m still using the cake, cloth fibers be damned.

Beating well after each addition, AM

Lofty Goals

I had a dream last night that I won an award (from the Ace of Cakes crew) for this blog.

The prize?

A book about Venezuela, signed by…me! (seriously! Also, what a random prize for my subconcious to award, well, anyone.)

WIN!!

-AM

Conversations:

She: I love, love, love the Earls in North Vancouver!

He: Yeah, that is a sexy one, isn’t it?

She: It really is, the epitome of what Earls should be.

He: All of their girls are hot.

She: They are, like, like, so hot. Much hotter than the girls downtown. OMG, check out this top!

They: looking at mesh top circa 1987, murmuring pleasure at its singular awesomeness.

She: Yup. Earls in North Van is the best.

He: It is.



Postscript:

He & She: bad ass septogenarians. Get on wit' your bad selves!

Mouth Rape – warning…some graphic content involved:

To preface, I don’t mind going to the dentist, as such, but I loathe the lectures about proper dental hygiene from the 14 year old hygenists. They are the sole reason for my irregular visits to have my mouth checked and teeth cleaned, and by extension, my bad teeth. How’s that for the North American-style passing of the buck?

I had a dental appointment yesterday since I’d had a toothache (haha – liquid, dripping pain) the night before, brought on by a wonderful loaf of French bread and cheese. Which is pretty sad itself since I'll be associating intense pain with french bread and smoked cheese for a time, I'm sure. I told the dentist this (not about regretting that it was bread and cheese, just the facts) and he came up with:

MY OPTIONS:

- remove the tooth (the very last one)
- root canal with a crown and post

PROFESSIONAL RECOMMENDATION:

- remove the offending tooth

I have been a bit bewildered for the last 24 hours, solely due to the quick decision (approximately 18 seconds) I had to make regarding its status in my mouth. Upon reflection, I know that I would have removed it in any case, because it’s apparently a ‘useless’ tooth – with a cavity, and no lower tooth to keep it in place* - but I can’t help but feel a teensy bit bullied into having it out. I made the call, but trying to decide if you should keep your damaged tooth with an expectant dentist and his assistant waiting for your answer with their heads cocked and syringes of novocaine in hand is unnerving.

Is this weird? They asked if I wanted to see the x-ray. Of course, I'll finally get to see the result of wearing a lead apron. They asked if I wanted to see the tooth. I hesitated, but in the end, how could I not. Then they asked if I wanted to keep it. Uh, no, but...thanks?

Later that evening:

I was watching tv, eating room temperature tomato soup that was so not satisfying, when KB called, which began the flow of blood that would not stop. I looked like a cage fighter, bloodied mouth and all, which was pretty cool, but on the second hour of bleeding, I had some genuine concern that I would bleed to death, alone, in my apartment and no one would find me until the scent of decay alerted passerby that something was wrong…

I'm fairly alarmed about having teeth removed with no intention of having fakes put in. In my case, there would be no point, but how fucking hill-billy is that? I might have to start eating road kill and marry my brother if they find me out. Fingers crossed that those wisdom teeth will come in soon.

It’s fine now (but I managed to get mouth blood all over my cream sheets, so that’s annoying), I did come into the office today, but am planning on taking the afternoon off because all my good drugs are gone. And that is as good an excuse to watch a movie as anything, no?

* I had the lower one removed years ago from a tragic pillow fight incident.**

**haha, not really

Further cementing the notion that this just ain’t my week:

I find it impossible to peruse a grocery store in an orderly fashion. I will walk kilometres in grocery stores, even if I have a list, because that’s how I roll. Inevitably, I spend a lot more time shopping for groceries than I would like to, but, there you have it…I just can’t shop any other way.

During one of these trips earlier in the week, I managed to slip (it was more of a skid and slip) in the produce section. It was about as graceful and comedic as a slip can be, I have no broken bones and I didn’t even spill the milk or break the eggs. But, worse than that, I had a witness…gah…a witness that I see regularly. The shame, the shame!

It was so slippery, I thought I must have stepped into an oil slick or puddle of greasy water, and I was so very surprised to find that it was a spinach leaf that tripped me up. A fucking spinach leaf. I was completely undone by a speck of green on the lino.

The highlights of this unfortunate incident:

The very concerned, very masculine Olga that asked me in a deep, gravelly, breathless voice if I was ok. (I was)

The look of shock on Hodge’s face when he realised that I was not where he expected me to be, rather on the floor in a yoga-esque position, 3 paces behind him.

And the confused expression on both Hodge and Olga’s faces when they searched for the giant puddle of cooking oil that was my undoing. ‘Ummm…there’s a bit of green there…?’

Oh…remember the dream.

-remember to floss twice a day, A