I'll Try Hard Not To Pretend Allow Myself No Mock Defense

My mom had her surgery last week and everything was going well, and then things started going not so well and everyone was tense, and then things started going well again and that's where things stand right now. My entire weekend was spent out at my parents' place or fretting at my place so I didn't do anything fun or exciting or remotely interesting but I don't want to leave Friday's post as the first thing you see on my blog. You know, the post where I offend the happy people? It really wasn't my intention and I'm sorry if my stupid words hurt anyone's feelings. I use snarkiness as a defense mechanism. I'm working on it (ineffectually, evidently.)

So to sum up: I'm an ass. I'm sorry I'm an ass. And can you please think happy healing thoughts for my mom. The end.

For I Think I Lost Direction When You Threw Me Out Of Bed

I jumped out of bed yesterday morning and shook Shawn awake in one fluid motion. "It's 8 o'clock-I'm late-I have to shower-can you please deal with the dogs" I shouted as I ran out of the bedroom. He mumbled something sleepily in reply but I didn't hear him; I was already in the bathroom. I was furiously rinsing suds out of my hair when Shawn poked his head around the shower curtain. "Baby," he said gently, "it's quarter to seven. You don't need to rush." I rarely remember my dreams so when I do I have a hard time differentiating between them and real life. I dreamt that I was an hour late so when I woke up, I woke up in a panic and didn't stop to think.

Yesterday was rough. My mom had surgery in the morning and my brother jumped out of a plane (in Hawaii!) in the afternoon. The two events had nothing to do with each other; it was just an unfortunate coincidence that they happened on the same day. It's not surprising that that I woke up the way that I did. It's also not surprising that I spent the day in a similar state of frenetic energy. It's days like yesterday that make me realize how deeply my life is affected by my anxiety. There were times yesterday when I wasn't functioning because I was too busy envisioning a freak gust of wind carrying my brother out to shark-infested waters or other macabre scenarios.

I'm happy to report that everyone is alive and well. My mom's surgery went well and she is expected to be released from the hospital tomorrow and my brother managed to skydive without being eaten by sharks.

And I woke up at the correct time today and hit the snooze button a few times for good measure.

One To The Moment We Live In Right Now And One To The East West North And South

My brother, Westy, is a bit rough and tough sometimes. He can be full of swagger and bravado and the things that occasionally come out of that boy's mouth would make a pirate blush (which delights me to no end.)

Despite that, when he doesn't know he's being watched he is the biggest sweetheart.

Don't tell anyone, though. It might ruin his image.

Happy 22nd birthday, buddy! I love you bunches.

Grandma Has Got New Dentures To Eat The Crust On Pizza

Today is my Gram's 94th birthday.


I love her very much but she can be a tough old broad sometimes.

Like when she talks smack about the other residents of her retirement community (the term "old folks' home" is profanity to Gram) loud enough for them to hear it. I should probably be embarrassed but I think it's hilarious.

Especially when she says that she's too young to be stuck in a place with so many old people.

Dinner At Eight Was Okay Before The Toast Full Of Gleams

Last week in a fit of "I hate family drama, we're getting the fuck out of here for Christmas"-induced rage, I went online and looked up plane tickets. I didn't know where we were going to go, I just knew that I couldn't stay here (and yes, I do realize that I am a bit of a hypocrite for hating my family's drama when I so clearly embrace drama as a way of life.)

It didn't take long for me to realize that Shawn's work schedule plus two rambunctious puppies means that we have to stay in town. My furious searching did lead me to a cheap flight from Montreal to Vancouver, though, proving that rage isn't always unproductive. Shawn called his dad and a few clicks later, his flight was booked. Shawn's dad will be here from December 19th to the 28th.

Which leads me to my next bit of crazy: I decided that I would have my parents over for dinner so they could spend time with Shawn's dad (well, my dad wants to spend time with Shawn's dad, my mom wants to spend time with the puppies.) Due to family drama, my parents aren't having a turkey dinner this year and because Shawn's dad is in Vancouver instead of Montreal, he isn't having a turkey dinner. You can see where this is headed, right? I decided (because I am insane) that I would make a turkey dinner. On Sunday. Six days from now. I have never cooked a turkey before. I need help, peeps, and I'm hoping you will all share your wisdom.

How big should my turkey be? There will be 6 adults eating it.

I don't have a roasting pan so I was just going to buy a disposable aluminum pan. Is this a bad idea?

How long and at what temperature does the turkey need to cook? I have a meat thermometer but I never know where to stick it so I'm not sure that it's completely accurate.

Does anyone have a good stuffing recipe? I've never really eaten stuffing before because it creeps me out that it's cooked inside the turkey but it has recently come to my attention that you can make stuffing outside of the turkey. So I need a recipe for cooked-outside-the-bird stuffing. Also, what is the difference between stuffing and dressing?

I am making garlic smashed potatoes but I need a few more side dishes - what is your favourite Christmas dinner side dish? (Shawn is allergic to carrots and I hate mushrooms. Bonus points if it's a beet recipe!) I was thinking of doing sweet potato mash smothered in mini marshmallows and a green salad but I'm not sure. Is it okay to serve sweet potatoes and regular potatoes? Is green salad lame? I feel like I need a green vegetable and I'm kind of bored of broccoli. Does anyone have a kickass brussel sprout recipe?

For dessert I'm planning to do a bourbon pecan pie and my grandma's pumpkin chiffon pie. I don't have any questions about dessert, I'm just bragging.

Just Beat It Beat It Beat It Beat It No One Wants To Be Defeated - Take 11

Random Tuesday Tidbits

Robin loved all of your comments. Miel et Cannelle brought up the point that we don't know Burt's financial situation, which is true and totally valid. It's possible that I'm being an insensitive douche (it's been known to happen.) The thing is, he chose the restaurant for their first date. He took her to a trendy oyster bar in one of the fancier downtown neighbourhoods. He set the tone. Anyway, Robin hasn't fully decided what to do about Burt yet but I will keep you posted.

* * * * *

My family got together on Sunday to celebrate my mom's birthday. We were all in charge of bringing something to contribute to dinner. They should have been suspicious when I offered to bring the salad course.


Why yes, those are my November beets atop the salads. Suckers!

* * * * *

We have had nothing but rain for days. I try to walk the pups but it only takes a few minutes of precipitation before Wolfgang decides he has had enough and starts to cry. He is such a delicate flower. He'd much rather curl up in bed and hibernate until it's sunny and warm again. I don't blame him.

When That Blue Heartache Starts Hurtin'

I remember family excursions to the Christmas tree farm. My siblings and I hunt for the perfect tree (we want height while my mom goes for fullness. She always wins.) My dad cuts the tree down with a hacksaw while we drink watery hot chocolate. My parents bind the tree to the roof of our station wagon - my mom flitting about with excessive amounts of yellow rope, my dad trying not to swear too much.

* * * * *

When I am eleven, my dad is living in Germany. My mom, attempting a return to normalcy, makes the trek out to the Christmas tree farm. I go with her, not out of love or respect for tradition but because she bribes me with a sundae from McDonalds. We manage to find a tree and cut it down and attach it to the roof of the car by ourselves - we are women, hear us roar. That night after we have screwed the tree into the stand and set it up in the family room and decorated it with years' worth of accumulated trinkets, the tree falls over onto the piano.

* * * * *

I remember Christmas dinner at my aunt's house. My mom's family is back east so we spend every holiday dinner at my dad's sister's house, avoiding her abusive husband and
dodging our maniacal cousin. We eat piles of ambrosia salad - the night's only redeeming quality and my first memory of emotional eating. When I am 20 my cousin dies and we start eating Christmas dinner at my parents' house, immediate family only.

* * * * *

It's a tired subject, but it seems that Christmas hits the stores earlier than the year before. Hallowe'en isn't over yet but Christmas paraphernalia already runs rampant and I can feel my Christmas Funk beginning. I don't know how to prevent it.

Mother Mother Can You Hear Me Yeah I'm Sober Sure I'm Sane

My mom is late for everything. If you tell her to be somewhere at a certain time, it's a pretty safe bet that she'll be at least fifteen minutes late. Her problem lies in not wanting to leave the house messy; the theory being that it's so much nicer to come home to a clean house. (Which makes sense, I guess, but it used to drive me crazy when I was a kid. My mom had four kids. The house was never clean.) Every summer we would take a family camping trip and every summer the four of us kids would sit in the car, fuming, while Mom ran around the house making beds, dusting, folding laundry, etc and Dad tried to convince her that she didn't actually need to have a spotless house to enjoy her holiday.

I kind of get it, now. You come home to a clean slate. There's a certain appeal to it.

Our flight to the Dominican was scheduled to leave Vancouver at 6am Saturday morning. Because we were travelling in large group, and due to the multiple cancellations and re-bookings and general craziness the Swine Flu caused, we were advised to arrive at the airport at 3am. There really wasn't any point in going to bed and so, after the puppies were dropped off and we were packed, I cleaned the condo. I didn't even realize that I was channelling my mother at the time; it just made sense. I don't often identify with my mom. I tend to attribute my negative personality traits to her (the crazy, the guilt, the shrillness.) It catches me by surprise when I see her in my actions.

I scrubbed; I mopped; I laundered and I vacuumed up every last bit of Stella's hair. And it felt damn good when we got home at 3:30 in the morning, after 19 hours of travelling and a week of sun and too much alcohol, to climb into a bed made with freshly laundered sheets.

You'll Still Be The Same To Me A Comfort And A Mystery

Today my dad's mom, my last remaining grandparent, turns 93 years old. Happy Birthday, Gram!

Baby All I Want For Christmas Is You

It seems I've taken an unintentional blogging break and I have to say, I've enjoyed it. It's been a week now, of very minimal computer contact, and I'm getting a bit antsy. So here I am, trying to write a Christmas recap. Instead of writing about my family drama (this year's controversial topics: sesame seeds and adoption. Seriously) or Shawn's family drama (his dad was in town for Christmas Day which resulted in a bizarre competition between him and Shawn's mom for face time with the boys) I will instead leave you with Christmas-themed photos of my adorable pups. That way this recap will be more cuteness and less tears. I will say, though, that the performances by both my family and Shawn's family have further cemented my resolve to spend next Christmas abroad. Turtle, I so know you're with me on this one. 

So. The cuteness:

Wolfgang in my mom's reindeer planter

Bow gave my mom a giant teacup / planter for Christmas. How could we not put Wolfgang in it?

Stella with her Christmas present from Shawn's mom

A few things to note for the following sequence: 

- the santa hat was attached to Wolfgang by an elastic around his head.

- Stella didn't want to wear the santa hat, she wanted to eat the santa hat.

- as evil as Stella looks, she really does love Wolfgang. I think.

Crazy Insane Got No Brain

I know it's only Wednesday but I'm going to get all Friday Faff up on you. This is due to me getting minimal sleep last night. Why did I get minimal sleep last night? Our New! Puppy! had a rough first night away from his momma. That's right, Stella has a little brother. Wolfgang (gah! love it!) is a miniature schnauzer yorkie cross. He is 8 weeks old and weighs about 4 lbs and oh my word he is just the cutest little thing you could imagine. When my brain starts working again I will post pictures.

Last night was rough. We've got the pups in separate crates that we pushed together so Wolfie wouldn't feel so alone. He cried most of the night. When he tired himself out and actually fell asleep, Stella would start whining and wake him up. I predict fun times ahead.

In other faffy news, I just joined Twenty Something Bloggers. I do realize that I'm the last person in the world to join and I'm not going to lie, I am overwhelmed. Can someone please explain it to me? Is it like facebook? What is with this "friends" business?

Last, but definitely not least, the big news of the day is that Westy is coming home tonight. Last week he got traded from Penticton (400 km from where I live, so a very doable 5 hour drive) to Drumheller. Drumheller is in the middle of nowhere. It's halfway through Alberta, which means it's a 13 hour drive (through the Rockies!) from where I live. This made us all very sad. Long story short, Westy played 2 games there, realized that he hates Drumheller, and requested a trade. He flies home tonight. He's been traded to a local team so he'll be living with my parents again. So, uh, fun times ahead for him too.

So there you go, all the faffy things running through my head today. I'm hoping to skive off work early today to get home to my puppppies! And to sleep. Sweet, sweet sleep. How I miss thee.

Mama I Love You Mama I Care

Along with her nose, her skin and her baby fine hair, I also inherited my mother's rotten sense of direction and her impressive mastery of the guilt-trip. 

If I'm lucky, I will inherit her ability to maintain her youth.  She does not look sixty years old:

Happy Birthday, Mom!

Love, Dill

You Look Like A Monkey And You Smell Like One Too

We're entering hour five of my Mom's surprise party. The crowd is thinning out. We have so much food left over. My brain is sleepy. My feet hurt. I am ruing the day I promised the Over-Thinker that I would post daily. In fact, I am shaking my fist at the Over-Thinker right now.

Okay that's a lie. I'm shaking my fist at myself and my stupid promises.

Pictures to come tomorrow!

Come With The Life Of The Party, Y'all

My mom is having a significant-ends-in-zero birthday this month. My family is planning a surprise party for her. So far we've sent out the invitations and drafted a preliminary grocery list. We're a bit behind in the actual planning part though, especially since the party is in 9 days. Uh yeah, NINE DAYS.

Here's where you lovelies come in. I need some ideas, some party planning GOLD if you will, to take this party from "thoughtful" to "bitchin'!" Keep in mind that it's an afternoon party of mostly older people (we're talking the 50 - 65 age set) so jello shots and strip poker are (probably) out of the question.

Turtle has the decorations down and Bow is in charge of making a guestbook where people can write messages to my mom. I'm making hot pepper jelly (because our mom is such a hottie!) for the party favours (even though after making over 100 jars of jam for our wedding favours I pledged to never make jam again.) Other than that, we've got nothing.

Help us out! Quickly! We don't have much time left.

I Told 'Em It Was My Birthday Just To Hear The Waiters Sing Off-key

There's something about my birthday that makes me blue. I don't know if it's the fact that I'm another year closer to thirty or if it's the buildup to the Festival of Hillary and consequent letdown. Or maybe it's the fact that the pitch-black mornings and non-stop rain have made the end of summer undeniable. Whatever it is, it makes me want to stay in bed all day and forgo showering and eating and you know, living. I want to melt into my sheets and become one with my flannel pyjamas. If it wasn't for good friends and pumpkin pie and a husband who gave me a macbook(!), I probably would have shriveled up into a ball of self-pity. Actually, I kind of did throw a pity party for myself (oh, and PS to Ben: that song is one of my favourites too. I can't figure out how to listen to it without first listening to the track it's hidden behind - have you?)

I had a fabulous birthday. Shawn surprised me with a macbook (her name is Ambrosia and she is lovely.) My family celebrated Thanksgiving and my birthday together like we do every year (I get pumpkin pie instead of birthday cake, which works out well because I would like to marry pumpkin pie.) Bow put chocolate eyeballs behind her glasses to cheer me up. She's thoughtful like that. We made her stay that way while we took about 30 photos. The chocolates melted. I laughed so hard that I cried.


My mom tried to get Stella to cuddle her, to no avail.

I love this photo because a: Stella looks like she is about to lose her shit and b: it looks like Stella is wearing giant slippers

Stella is a one-lady kind of pup.

The next night, Robin made a fabulous spread of munchies and we watched the Canucks beat Calgary.

my hair, not being weather-girl flippy! but not being as cute as Robin's hair

Cat couldn't make it out last weekend so we celebrated our birthdays (hers is the day after mine) this past weekend. We started off on a party bus.

The party bus had a pole. It should be noted that I was shit-faced drunk before I actually touched the pole. It was slimy. The interior of the party bus was "very hoseable" as someone so aptly put it.

not inebriated at all, no siree

After drinking cheap vodka from plastic bottles (which wasn't the brightest idea, Maxie you know what I'm talking about) we headed to Section(3) for drinks. I ordered my drink based solely on its name "The Donkey." I don't even know what it tasted like (taste buds burnt off due to cheap vodka.)

birthday girls!

From there we headed to the Hamilton Street Grill. I hadn't been before but I will definitely go back. The service was fabulous and the food was amazing.

crispy beef tenderloin salad

sablefish and wild mushroom risotto

lemon creme brule (my new boyfriend)

So Festival of Hillary is officially over, eight days after my actual birthday. I was going to try to stretch the celebrations out until the end of the month but I can tell that Shawn is getting pretty sick of hearing "but it's my birthday!" whenever he tells me it's my turn to wash the dishes. He threatened to kidnap Ambrosia if he hears it one more time so I guess I'll stop, if only to save my macbook from his evil clutches.

When I See The Apple In Disguise

Saturday morning, Turtle and I set off on a road trip. We took the old highway even though the day before, the BC Liberals had taken the toll off of the Coquihalla Highway. Turtle likes the old highway better and unless it's raining, I can't be bothered to argue. Turtle is persuasive. It's a four and a half hour drive from my house to Penticton but it takes longer when you stop at fruit stands to buy bags of crisp, wax-free apples and giant acorn squash and peaches (in September!) and that yummy red garlic that costs so much in the city.

The South Okanagan Events Centre is not complete yet but was granted a temporary occupancy permit for Saturday night's game. When we drove by earlier in the day, we could see a bunch of construction workers milling about. The penalty box was welded an hour before the game started. The floor was covered in concrete dust. It was exciting, though, to see my brother play in such a large arena. The building holds 5,000 and it sold out for Saturday night's game.

Westy didn't score any goals (though he did score in Friday night's game - Go, Westy!) but his team still pummeled the other team, 4-0.

We got home late last night, after hitting some nasty bridge traffic. Today I'm at work but I can't stop thinking about the peaches sitting on my counter at home. I've decided to make peach cobbler, but I can't figure out whether the peaches need to be peeled or not. I've never made a peach pie or cobbler before. Do you leave the skins on? They're not tough like an apple skin. The lazy part of me thinks that I should leave them on. I don't want to ruin this peach cobbler, though. This is the last of the summer fruit. I want this peach cobbler to knock me on my ass.

I Got Rusted Anxiety

We're going to Montreal this weekend. Whenever I think about going to Montreal I start to have a meltdown. This has resulted in me not thinking about going to Montreal. Not thinking about going to Montreal means not packing for Montreal or even doing laundry so my clothes are clean to pack for Montreal. There is no end to this crazy.

Shawn's dad is flying us out to see his new house. Aren't we spoiled? The problem with Shawn's dad flying us out to visit him is that we now have to spend all of our time with Shawn's dad. Aren't I rotten?

I like Shawn's dad. What I'm worried about is Shawn's dad's family. They couldn't make it out to the wedding so this trip is less about him showing us his house than it is him showing us off to his family. His large family. His large family that speaks French.

Being Canadian, I "speak french." By that, I mean that I had to take french right through high school and if you dropped me in a situation where I had to speak french or die, there's a slight possibility I'd make it out alive. I can muddle my way through reading french but there is no way I can converse in french (apart from asking where the bathroom is. Or asking if you want to sleep with me tonight.)

Here's my problem: his family also speaks English. Um, yes, I know I am crazy. Stick with me, we're getting to the point.

If his family only spoke French, I would have an excuse for how awkward and socially inept I will be. Without the language barrier, I have no excuse. Just anxiety issues.

I am not good at meeting new people. I almost threw up when I met Angella and she's pretty much the nicest person ever. Multiple people told me that she was the nicest person ever and yet, I was still all "but what if she doesn't liiiike me?" Yes, high school was a fun time for me.

I'm not shy. I'm not cold or uninterested or unfriendly. I genuinely like people; I just don't like meeting people. My stomach knots up and my hands sweat and I blush every time I open my mouth to say something. Not that it matters that I'm saying something, no one can hear me because I'm speaking so quietly and mumbling. Oh the mumbling. I actually have intelligent, insightful things to add to the conversation. You wouldn't know it though because I'm bright red and muttering incoherently. (Okay so I realise that this sounds like shyness but it's not. It's anxiety. Unmedicated (for now) anxiety.)

I kind of want to throw up just thinking about it. Or maybe I want to throw up because I just ate a rotten almond and wow, is there anything more gross than a rotten almond?

I'm trying to focus on the positive. I've never been to Montreal before; the furthest east I've been in Canada is Ottawa. It's warmer in Montreal than it is in Vancouver right now. I actually am interested in meeting Shawn's dad's side of the family, despite the distress it's causing me. But the real kicker, the thing that clinched it for me, the first thing Shawn told me about when his dad invited us out: authentic poutine. I have never had authentic poutine before. I'm told that western poutine cannot even be compared to Quebecois poutine because they are not even in the same realm. We're in Montreal for 3 days. I plan on eating poutine every day. My poutine adventure will be photographed extensively. There will be taste tests. We will eat poutine in various establishments and document the differences and similarities.

It's good to have goals.

And My New Grandma Bea Arthur Come On Over

*Disclaimer for Jess: This post has pictures of food. If you are hungry, stop reading now.

This weekend was relaxed and slow and exactly what I needed. There was not 1 gin & tonic involved (shocking, I know.) Since moving out of downtown Vancouver, our social life has decreased somewhat. I think I'm okay with that. I haven't felt that bone-crushing exhaustion I used to feel Sunday afternoon after a weekend of bars, clubs and patios. I actually feel almost rested up and ready for the week ahead. It's bizarre and a bit unsettling but also nice. It's nice to feel healthy again. To not wake up feeling like you've been run over by a truck. To not be able to actually feel your sore liver. That being said, I am definitely in need of a girls' night out. I want to go out with my ladies, drink far too many gins and dance my ass off. I just don't want to deal with public transit at the end of the night :)

Last weekend I made the mistake of hoping Westy's team would lose on Friday so I could drive up to Vernon to watch their next game. Well I got my wish - they did lose on Friday. But then they lost on Saturday too, forcing their playoff series to go to the dreaded game 7. Fortunately they managed to pull off a win, advancing them to the next round. I was toying with the idea of driving up to Penticton this weekend to watch games 1 & 2 of this series but in the end my laziness won out and I stayed put. Turtle drove up for Friday's game and won a bucket full of jelly beans - clearly karma was trying to tell me something. Westy's team won both nights so they're ahead 2-0 in the series. I refuse to make any sort of predictions - I am keeping my big mouth shut. Games 3 & 4 are Tuesday and Wednesday.

I went to visit my grandma in the "retirement community" on Saturday. We had coffee and these:

I think the highlight of the visit was when she told me that she thinks my uncle is a "stupid ass." It was hilarious. He is a stupid ass, it was just funny to hear my 92-year old grandma say so. Or it could have been when she said she has solved Vancouver's homeless problem. She thinks we need to lock up the homeless because "then they'd have homes." What can I say - Grandma has an opinion on everything and Grandma's always right.

I made a banana cream pie this weekend for Easter dinner at future MIL's house. It was not a success. It was the first banada cream pie I've ever made and it will probably be the last. It tasted really good, it just looked like crap. So much so that I can't post a picture of it here because it will make you throw up in your mouth a little. It didn't set fully so it was very gooey looking. It also got that nasty pudding-skin on the surface. It was not an attractive dessert. So I smothered it in whipped cream and sprinkled it with nuts and told everyone to eat with their eyes closed. Now I need to come up with another dessert for next weekend's Easter dinner at my parents' house. Suggestions?

I'd Just Like To Try Some Carrot Cake And Wine

Friday was my dad's birthday so we had everyone over for dinner. I made carrot pie for dessert. It really is made from carrots, I promise. I can't describe it - it's sort of similar to pumpkin pie because it uses the same spices, but it's also very different. It's lighter than pumpkin pie and almost ... fresher (for lack of a better word.) The topping is a pecan-crunch that I could probably eat just on its own.




I've never been a fan of quiche but I made one for the vegetarians. It turns out that I love veggie quiche. Probably because I used a shameful amount of cheese (a shameful amount of 2 types of cheese) so it wasn't so much a veggie quiche as it was a cheese pie. Cheese is my crack so I shouldn't be surprised that I liked the quiche.



Other than the family dinner my weekend has been tame. I'm still sick and I'm woefully behind in my soul sucking english course. I spent the day writing a paper and feeling very bitter about it. It's finished now though and I am officially halfway through the course. Which means that tomorrow I get to be a slacker. My plans so far are to sleep in and then watch the Canucks game. Hopefully Stella agrees with the sleeping in part of my plan.

Update: It's 7:30 Sunday morning and Stella has spent the last 20 minutes whining (even though I managed to stumble outside with her at 7 for her morning pee, she's had food and water and she's got toys to keep her satisfied.) She just wants to play. And so here I am, on my sleep-in-morning, up before 8am. I do not love it.