One Year In

A year ago yesterday, I took up the virtual pen (stylus, I guess?) and started writing here.

It was a stressful time - I had just bought a house and was preparing to move in with TB - the first time I'd lived with someone who wasn't family. And a year in, well, now we are a family.

I still remember how quickly everything seemed to move. We only had a month to settle everything so our days were filled with lawyer visits, filling out forms, phone calls and emails to utility companies, landlords, bank managers and lots and lots of trips to take out money. So much money. All the money. Before I even had time to process everything, my apartment was rented, our down payment had cleared and we were sitting on our couch (RIP, Sinky Brown), which was now, officially, *our* couch, in *our* house.

It seems like just last week we were hauling our boxes into our little place, trying to find room to store everything. But then I remember all the things that have happened since - Sewergate, Not one, but two great house parties and, of course, our little furry Hoover, Lily, and all the hilarity that's come with having her - and I realize that it's actually been a pretty full year.

I'm really glad I've taken up blogging again, even if I don't do it as often as I thought I would. For me, the best part about keeping a paper diary was looking back over old entries and reliving past events. It's important to me to retain moments' "authenticity" and I'm usually surprised to find that things didn't happen exactly the way I remember them. This blog has been a great snapshot of our first year in our first house and the trials and tribulations (and super fun times!) we've experienced. So thanks to all (7?) of you for reading, and I hope you've enjoyed my first year back behind the keyboard as much as I have.

Now back to poop jokes and fart noises, as per usual.

God Bless the USA

Hidey-Ho, Readerinos.

I am bloody exhausted and poor as a church mouse (as opposed to those fat cat Temple rodents) so that can only mean one thing - I went cross-border shopping this weekend.

Since I was a teenager, August has always meant "family vacation time" - a tradition we continue to follow despite the fact that we are now all grown-ass adults. This means that, as years go by, we're a little more grumpy towards each other and a little more difficult to pin down, but we're a lot funnier so it evens out mostly. I tell myself it's a positive experience even though by the time we were declaring our haul at the border this year I was practically itching to get back to my house, my partner, my dumb dog. I love my family but it's really strange to realize that your definition of your "family" is shifting slightly. But enough introspection - on to the trip.

I'd like to say I was prudent. I'd like to say I only bought what was strictly necessary and weighed the pros and cons of each item carefully before purchasing them. I'd like to say that I didn't spend $120 here. I'd also like to say I didn't immediately do some online shopping as soon as I got home. I would like all those things very very much. I would also like a pony. Lot of disappointment going on today.

So, yes. Not stellar on the pocketbook or the self-esteem but the pantry and my closet are both looking boss!

We've got a pattern when we go to Syracuse - and woe betide if we don't follow all expected elements once we arrive. There's a trip to Destiny USA (RIP Carousel Centre), a day at the outlet mall, a quick tour around Target and the aforelinked Christmas Tree Store, and then a short pop-in to the liquor and grocery stores. You might think those last two a little odd but let me tell you - when your liquor stores are identical and province-run, the novelty of a rundown store with a hand-lettered "adult juice box!" sign is pretty much the definition of whimsical. And American grocery stores are the stuff of dreams! The frozen aisles, full of tantalizing appetizers and cookie dough, more choice in yogurts than anyone should ever need! It's a magical wonderland for chubby funsters such as myself. I always feel a little weird, flitting from aisle to aisle, oohing and ahhing as we complete our late-night grocery run. Like, my weekend getaway is just somebody else's Thursday night milk-and-eggs run and if they think of me at all, they have to be wondering at the disjointed state of my cart's contents ("sriacha chips, cake mix, dramamine and a hairbrush. Count me out of your weird night, lady."). But I do try to embrace my lameness and this trip was no exception.

Somehow, I didn't manage to gain a pound on this trip which is shocking and bizarre, but I'm chalking it up to my body's innate skill at processing affordable-family-restaurant food and not the 8.5 hours we spent walking the outlet mall (I wish I was joking.) I do, however, have a craving for vegetables that won't quit and I'm pretty sure my sodium levels suggest I've drank more Dead Sea than sweet tea in the last few days. But it was worth it, damn it. Midsized-town America understands me. It understands that I want my skinny jeans high-waisted and my knee-high boots wide-calved. It "please"s and "thank you"s and "sure thing, hon"s me until I glow from the attention. It finds me Birthday Cake-flavoured Oreos and makes sure I'm never more than 5 feet away from an Auntie Anne's Pretzels. I love it, unabashedly, and my visit there is always one of my favourite weekends of the year.

And I will read this the next time I'm in a car with my family, radio always in between two stations, as I bicker with the GPS while sitting in a backseat packed with filled-to-bursting grocery bags. Because I will need the reminder that I chose this. And that I love it.

Soak it in

TB and I have been trying to squeeze every drop of fun out of the summer (okay, I've been squeezing drops of fun. He's been splitting his time between fun squeezing and demon slaying in Dead Souls). The idea that summer is over too fast is pretty universal, I'd say, but all the more apparent here, when summer is basically 3 months of nice weather surrounded by long periods of either waiting for snow, shovelling snow, or waiting for the snow to melt. No harm, no foul, I love the changing seasons, but I do love to sit in the sunshine while it lasts.

I've really come to realize something these last few weeks, and I'd like to share it with you. It's a little crazy and maybe too controversial, but I feel I have to say it:

I love weekends.

So glad I got that off my chest. So brave.

We imagined this building was Hogwarts, mostly.

I've had a lot of stellar weekends this summer and I'm pretty much addicted to them. This past weekend we decided to go for a walk sans dog, so we could grab lunch and poke around in shops without worrying about Ms. Scrunchface. TB found a free bench in a park nearby and we just sat there, looking like contented lizards, faces turned up toward the sky.

Our lunch was somewhat lackluster so much so that I DIDN'T EVEN INSTAGRAM IT but the afternoon was lovely, just the same. I hate the idea of jinxing stuff but I gotta say, I'm pretty happy with life right now. I'm a little bit sentimental these days because we're coming up on Labour Day, which, as I'm sure I've mentioned at some point before, is my New Years. I continually divide my year into "school year" and "summer" and it certainly doesn't help that Labour Day weekend is also our 1-year anniversary of moving into the house. Basically, I'm in full reflection-mode, thinking about how much has changed since this time last year. Add to that the fact that it's the time of year when a good percentage of my coworkers and friends are moving on to other positions, or, in some cases, other countries, and I'm basically permanently trapped in a glass case of emotion most days. But between the goodbye parties and the farewell cupcakes, I have birthday gatherings, short getaways planned, and some great friends coming into town, which delights me in a way you might have thought impossible. And in between there are these moments of quiet reflection, making me feel lucky for this little life I've carved out.

Oh, also we saw this on our walk:

I told TB we should leave a "deposit" in it and then scribble on the note "No it doesn't. Wouldn't flush."

We are in our 30s.

At Lease I've Got My Cooking: Fancy-Ass, Grownup-As-Hell Mojito Jello Shots

So as I said in my last entry, it was my birthday at the beginning of this month. And yes, Nosey Parker, I turned 31 years old, which is not the new 21 but is, in fact, still pretty great. As I mentioned, I'm not much bothered by aging, though the esthetician charged with waxing me last week swore that I looked much much younger, which, I'll admit, is a comfort. Thanks, Brittany.

To celebrate, I threw my first birthday party in at least a decade at the delightful casa de Sparta (our humble abode)*. I was reading about tips to make an outdoor party a success and came across a great list of rules that can apply to any party. I regrettably forget the website, but by far my favourite suggestion was to only make what you really love and buy everything else. I'd add to that: buy stuff that requires no prep wherever you can. Last party I made 2 hot dips, 1 cold dip, hot appetizers, cheese plate, punch, the whole deal. I didn't do any prep the day before so I spent the day of the shindig running around crazily, trying to time everything perfectly and ending up incredibly stressed out, to the point that I failed to pay attention while making the guacamole and sliced right through my thumb an hour before everyone arrived. This led to an overly-maddening last minute dash to finish everything without the use of my left hand, as well as the invention of at least 3 new swear words ("fucktumbler" was the stand-out)

This time around I decided to play it cool(er). My sister made posh cucumber sandwiches (which were so good that I instantly gave birth to the Royal Baby) and sangria (she's the sangria whisperer) and I made guacamole (cruelty free, this time) and smoked salmon dip (insanely easy and amazing). I had planned on buying mini cupcakes from one of the stores in town but that turned out to be one of those things I should have done ahead and instead resulted in me taking the bus to three different shops before I said "eff it" and made a dozen cherry chip cupcakes with cream cheese icing an hour before showtime. Faboo! I cut up some cheese, put some veggies on a tray, tossed out some crackers and chips, bought a 2-4, made mojito Jello shots and called it a day.

<record scratch>

Say what? Mojito Jello shots?

Oh yes, son.

I took my recipe from this fabulous website and I have to say - it turned out really well. I kind of want to make this my signature dish. Meatloaf be damned.

How we do?

Ingredients:
6 limes
12-15 Mint leaves of average size
6 tablespoons of sugar
1/4 c. of water
3 tablespoons fresh lime juice
1 package of gelatin
1/2 c. of rum (I used a dark rum because it's what I had on hand, but I suspect a light rum would produce a clearer colour of "Jello")
1/2 c. sparkling water or club soda (I used lime Perrier). You could use still water too, in a pinch.

Tips N Tricks:

We began this process the night before the party (starting at 11:30 to be exact. Great time to try new things. Always.), in order to give the gelatin time to set. This isn't a "oh my god, I have to bring something to this bachelorette party and I only have an hour!" kind of thing. A bottle of Skinny Girl margarita mix is probably a better bet in that case.

I put the finished lime halves in an empty egg carton I had reserved for just this task. This way, any spillover was just fine - there was no "drip-through" and we recycled the egg carton when we were done with it. The webpage I linked to above uses a muffin tin with crumpled up foil inside the cups - I suspect that would do just fine as well.

If you're using fresh mint from your garden (this girl was), make sure you don't pick the mint leaves for garnish too early - they'll wilt after a couple of hours. Ask me how I know.

Break it Down:

1. Cut the limes in half lengthwise and scoop out their innards. Reserve the juicy lime innards and liquid in a bowl.

The most time-consuming part of this recipe is hollowing out the limes. We had three people on the task and it probably took 30-45 minutes for 6 limes. Bonus: you find out pretty immediately if you have any existing cuts on your fingers! What fun! I don't own a grapefruit spoon, but I bet it would be an awesome tool to have here. As it was, we used steak knives and soup spoons to do our carving. Flipping the almost-empty lime halves inside-out and scraping them with the spoon seemed to work well to get the last of it out. Don't worry if you can't get every bit out - it's fine. Make sure not to damage the lime peels too much - these are your showstoppers in this recipe, after all.

2. Wash the emptied lime halves and dry them lightly with a paper towel. Place the fruit cut-side up in your 'holder'.

3. In a small saucepan, combine the 12-15 mint leaves and the sugar. Muddle the hell out of it with a wooden spoon (or if you're some kind of domestic god/dess, use your fancy muddler). I used 12 leaves and I thought the end result could've used more mint, so next time I'd use 15 or so.

4. Add the quarter cup of water and the lime juice. I guess you could be fancy about straining out the pulp at this stage, but I just took a couple of spoonfuls from the bowl of lime innards. The shots still came out pretty damn clear.

5. Sprinkle the gelatin package over the top and let it sit there for a minute or so. Turn the stove on low and stir until the gelatin disappears, about 5-10 minutes.

6. Pour the liquid through a strainer into a container with a spout - I used a 4-cup Pyrex measuring cup. The strainer will get the lion's share of the mint and lime pulp.

7. Add the rum and sparkling water to the mixture and stir.

8. Pour the finished product into the lime halves, filling them to the top. I had a little more liquid than needed for the 6 limes/12 lime halves.

9. Carefully move your little beauties into the fridge. I left them there overnight so there'd be no last minute freakouts, but my (admittedly limited) experience with gelatin makes me think that 4 hours should be sufficient.

10. Carefully slice the lime wedges in half. I had thought I might do them in thirds but frankly, this size looked better.

11. If you're into garnishing, take the small mint leaves and affix them to the side of each shot.

12. Place on tray, serve, get daintily crunked.

The final result. I realize the plating is somewhat lacking but if you knew how I lived normally,
you'd be mega-impressed right now.

Final tip? Make sure to tell everyone that these are awesome "Jello" shots otherwise everyone will just quietly stare at them, thinking they're just a tray full of lime wedges and judge you for being a citrus-obsessed weirdo.

Enjoy, grown-up-fancy-ass-you!

*One guess which one of us gave it that name. One.

31.

Mature: Started cleaning this bright and early the next day.
Immature: It took me most of a week to bother finishing
and I drank out of my hand in front of the sink when there
were no more clean cups.

The beginning of this month marked another year of  my continued existence, and for the first time since teenagedom, I threw myself a little shindig. It wasn't as big as our Christmas party and didn't require as much prep work, but it was really nice to try out the back"yard" and have some folks over.

Lily surveying the post-get together scene
(read: searching for dropped Doritos)

In the past, when birthdays rolled around, I would make entries about how "old" I felt at 21, 23, 26. I made those posts knowing full well that my life's work would be to build a time machine for the sole purpose of slapping those versions of myself in the face. And y'know, now that I'm in my 30s, I'm more okay about aging than I was then. Not that I'm peachy-keen on the mysterious marks that have shown up on my alabaster skin or the parts of my hair that are more "just for men" than I'd like, but I'm not too perturbed yet. I was never really a raving beauty, y'know? I'm not saying that to fish for compliments, I mean, I do okay with what I was given, but having never had a conventionally-envied face or body, I don't feel as bad as I might about "losing" any of that. Now, we'll talk in my 40s, but for now, the 30s feel pretty good.

And the past year has been kind of a big deal, really. I bought a house, moved in with TB and adopted a Hoover dog. And every one of those decisions gave me at least 2 mini panic attacks, but in retrospect, I'm so glad I went through with all of them. Our place really feels like a home now, and we feel more like a team than ever. Granted, 1/3 of our team doesn't pay a single goddamn bill, but she eats most of the stuff we drop on the ground so it pretty much evens out.

When I was little, I was always torn between this ache to be grownup and this fear that all the fun stuff in my life would disappear once I became an "adult". As the owner of a mortgage and a barbecue, I think I can officially call myself a grownup now, and I have to say, besides the early mornings and the bills, the overtime and the eating vegetables, being an adult is pretty awesome. Here's to another year of cocktails, dirty jokes, board games, Rock Band, pretty frocks, meaningful work, mini-vacations, deep talks, picnics, jello shots, fancy-ass dinners, lovely family, sexy shoes and perfect friends.

Bring it on, 31.

But first, a nap.

A Wrinkle in Time: Pugstock 2013

Okay people, I'm ready to talk pugs.

Frankly, I'm always ready to talk pugs.- I'm one of those people now. We pretty much all saw that coming though, so let's get over our shock and onto our genetically questionable little mushfaces, shall we? 

We shall.

This post is going to be light on writing because that's not why you're here. You're here to see pugs. Pugs playing, pugs panting, pugs wagging their little donut tails. And who could blame you? That's why I went to Pugstock, too.

I'll just say this: Pugstock is a great thing. It's a well-organized, well-attended, welcoming event that made me feel like I belonged even though I'm definitely new to this "pet ownership" game. The organization it benefits, "Under My Wing Pug Rescue", is a small, dedicated group of folks who are committed to finding homes for these little morose-faced cuddlebugs and they've been great to us - going so far as to help find Lily when she pulled a runner. They've answered our questions with good-natured patience and even gave us a bed to put her in when we picked her up. If you're looking for a good group of people to donate to, these guys could definitely use the cash. Anyway. Let's get down to brass tacks:

We bought Lily a fancy dress a few days before the event so that she'd look her best for all the 2-legs and 4-legs alike. She took the dress-up, like most of the things we throw at her, with good humour and a little bit of depression.

But then she realized we were taking her in the car, so all was forgiven. We can't tell if she likes the car or if it stresses her out, but she always wags her tail and pants like me during a 5K as soon as the engine turns over so we're going to side with "positive experience" for now.

 When we got there, it was basically my dream come true. Pugs (and pug-friendly people and animals) as far as the eye could see! These little fellows (and ladies) are the pugs that were up for adoption at the time. I fell in love with Shandu - one of the larger pugs in the green harnesses. Lucky is the person who gets to wake up to her insane, smiling mug every morning.

Lily was really well-behaved, especially considering the amount of noise and action that was going on in the community centre. She even made a few friends!*



*sniffed half-heartedly at a few dogs' back ends. But she did seem rather fond of this little guy, who she went over to immediately. ---->

There were competitions for oldest pug, best trick, longest distance travelled, etc. This one was for "cutest wrinkles" - a tough field, to be sure and great contenders, all of them. We considered signing Lily up for "best head tilt" but she really does it best when I sing the first two lines of Chicago's "If You Leave Me Now". It was too loud for her to hear my voice above all the others, so I decided to leave my Peter Cetera impression for another day.

While my unbiased opinion is that our little lady had the cutest attire, I definitely was fond of the "mama's boys" shirts on this dashing duo.

I have nothing of substance to add to this photo of an adorable chubby pug wearing a scarf.

Lily took her first (for charity!) nail clipping like a champ. At first she didn't know what was going on. Then she did. Now I doubt we'll get her to submit to it so easily again.










There were other awesome dogs there, too, including Charger, below on the left, who counts cell phone and remote ingesting among his finest talents. The Great Dane on the right looked like Gulliver among the Lilliputians for most of the day. So great.

But, all good things must come to an end, so after a few hours of sniffing, wagging and petting, we trotted our little Miss back to the car for a well-deserved nap. 

Oh, and apropos of nothing? We also saw this sign that same weekend and it is, by far, my favourite garage sale sign of all time.

It's also printed on the back of a Labatt Blue beer box. Game, set, match.

Everybody's working for the weekend

Whew! Life has been kind of hectic around here and I admit that I haven't spent time stopping to smell the roses*. Almost all the chaos has been positive, though, so I can't complain. I've half-written a couple of posts on my very recent, very stellar weekends but the general fast-pace of life (read: lengthy naps) has kept them from being polished and posted.

Let me take you back, waaay back to the May 2-4 weekend, which was the first of many lovely breaks. I gave it some serious thought while drinking sangria and sniffing lilacs and I think Victoria Day is my favourite long weekend of the entire year. I mean, most holidays there are some spectacular expectations placed upon you: family get-togethers, lavish parties, time-consuming meals - but not Victoria Day. No, no. Queen Vicki asks nothing more of you than to walk down to the liquor store, put a folding chair in your backyard and sit in the sun until you crisp like a Frito.


Well, Ms. V, I like to say I did my part for Queen and Country.

The weather was gorgeous here that weekend. My back area is nothing special to look at (that reads dirtier than it did in my head), so my family very kindly offered to help me tidy it up. My dad and TB put together the remainder of our patio furniture (delightfully called a "chat set"), my mom and I weeded and planted, my sister... well, I'm pretty sure she just bothered the dog, but the company was nice. We added earth to the front yard so that it looked less like it did back in February and more like an actual thing you'd want to look at. I'd insert a picture here but it's still in rough shape and, frankly, I keep forgetting to snap a photo on my way out the door.

In the back we were faced with a plethora of options for planting, but we settled on tomatoes, cucumbers, green beans, peppers, lettuce, strawberries, dill, basil, irises, wood violets, and some other plant I've already forgotten the name of; I'm equally excited about all of them. Okay, maybe a bit more excited for carrots because TS has recently gotten into canning and I love pickled carrots more than anyone under the age of 75 should have the right to.

I got a killer sunburn, for which I am entirely and regrettably responsible, and relaxed the days away in asphalt-covered comfort.

They were pretty relaxed, too.

Tune in next time to read about young men selling their youth, a sideways-walking dog, and the glory, the unspeakable happiness that is: Pugstock. Yes, Pugstock. I'm almost moved to tears just thinking about it.



*a lie. I've pretty much only been smelling roses, I just haven't blogged about it, lucky for you.