"I Spoke Too Soon," or "The Horrifying Things That Happened Trying to Get to Belize"

From the mundane annoyances to the "Heads will fucking roll! Greyhound bus style" (and, to be clear, this I actually did text...back when I had a phone...more on that later...)

Wednesday Evening - my parents inform me that, to be safe, I really need to leave for the airport no later than 3:30, which really conflicted with the 2 hour wax I had booked for 2:15. Hard choice...

Friday, 3:40 - I managed to reorganize my appointments and make it out of the house in time to prove how sage my parents are: a huge traffic jam on the highway to the airport had some people stuck in traffic for 2 hours. My cabbie managed to cut that time in half by cutting through residential areas, though this left with me with the distinct impression that I was being abducted

Friday, 9:00 - Captain announces that we are going to be getting into DC a little later than scheduled: my 40 minute connection time has been cut down to 10 minutes by his estimated arrival time...

Friday, 9:50 - Emerge into the Washington airport. Flight departs in 5 minutes. It's in another terminal. I sprint in the hopes that they are holding it for me

Friday, 10:05 -They weren't. Go get in line at United's customer service behind 12 other people.

Friday, 10:30 - My flights for the next day are rearranged - I wont make my original flight to Belize, but there is one leaving that afternoon and I am booked on that instead, getting me in 4 hours later than originally. But no, because it was Air Canada's fuck up, they couldn't issue me a hotel voucher. Go back to the other terminal.

Friday, 11:00 - There are 30 other stranded people in front of me in line.

Friday, 11:20 - A stroke of luck! I get the last voucher for a Sheraton hotel room.

Saturday, 6:20 - I wisely opted to take the 6:30, rather than the 7:00 am shuttle that had been my original plan. Call Cam to make sure he'll make his flight.

Saturday, 6:45 - Wait in line line at United to get my boarding passes and check that my bag will be on the plane. I'm told that I have actually been switched to fly out on Continental, and need to go to the other end of the check-in to get my boarding pass there. And no, they can't access Air Canada's database to see where my bag is.

Saturday 7:05 - Have my boarding passes, but my flight boards in 40 minutes and I still need to go through security and change terminals. The line at security takes forever. I get chosen for the naked scanner. I leave a water bottle in my purse which requires my carry-ons to be thoroughly checked.

Saturday, 7:15 - on the train to my terminal. Where's my phone?

Saturday, 7:18 - sitting on the shuttle, it would seem.

Saturday, 7:30 - the lady at Dunkin Donuts will not give me cash back for my food voucher (which I only use 6 of 15 dollars) in the form of 2$ worth of quarters, which I need as the pay phones will not accept Canadian quarters (which are equivalent currency!!!!)

Saturday, 8:10 - Check at the flight desk. No, my checked baggage is not on the plane yet. But she's sure it will be fine. There's nothing I can do.

Saturday, 8:15 - on the plane, and you need to pay to watch anything on the TVs during a 3.5 hour flight

Saturday, 8:30 - flight is delayed. Possible engine trouble...

Saturday, 8:40 - I check to see if the delay will affect my connection. Departing Houston at 9:20? How many time zones over is Houston from D.C.?

Saturday, 8:43 - Dig out old itinerary. One time zone between Houston and D.C... 3.5 hour flight...

Saturday, 8:44 - Holy fuck - they checked me in on my originally flight out of Houston which, even without the engines falling the shambles, I would never have been able to make...

Saturday, 9:00 - I choose to ignore this for 15 minutes because, really, fuck, what's the point. But at length I inform a flight attendant. "What were they thinking?? Give me a second..."

Saturday, 9:03 - I can get off the plane now, but they have sorted out the mechanical difficulties and are about to close the doors. I'll stay...

Saturday, 9:15 - extreme winds have closed all but one runway, and there are some emergency landings that need to take place before we can take off

Saturday, 9:35 - emergency landing is in, "but there are 15 or 16 aircrafts before us, so we will be on the ground for a while..."

Saturday, 10:05 - survived the turbulence - now to enjoy my middle seat between two well-sized middle aged me who both like using 2 arm rests.

Saturday, 12:10 (Houston) - put on standby for the flight I should have been checked in on this morning...

Saturday, 1:30 - name called! Thank God! I literally scream that as I run up. One sec, the girl tells me, and goes and talks to a couple who said they would volunteer to depart at a later date. There is room for both of them on the flight, but if they opt to give it up to me, they forfeit the 600$ voucher they were promised for volunteering. Not a chance. "I'm sorry, no room on here for you"

Saturday, 2:00 - I am going to San Salvador tonight, over nighting there, and flying to Belize tomorrow morning. I just need to recheck my bag.

Saturday, 2:30 - bag is in Washington. It will get into Belize 2 hours after I do tomorrow

Saturday, 3:15 - I desperately search for replacement footwear - It was knee-high rain boot appropriate weather in Montreal! The only place available is a Crocs stand. My feet continue to sweat away in my Hunters... 

La Belle Belize

I made it. To the airport.

All of my scrambling and freaking out led to survival.

Assignment in, legs waxed, fingers and toes painted, apartment clean and full of cat food.

I ate all the perishable food in my fridge, including an entire red pepper, 4 slices of turkey breast, a glass of milk, and, the charming final touch, a 2"x2" cube of cheddar cheese as I passed through customs [I thought they may accuse me of smuggling something illicit into the US in my sketchy nibbled, poorly/excessively saran wrapped cheddar cube].


I smothered She Ra in unwanted kisses and assured her someone would come by to feed her.

I wisely disposed of an empty milk carton on my way out.

Ambergris Caye, here I come.

Could I Possibly be Charming?

Sardonic, yes, but charming?

I just some how charmed myself into a new id card without having to pay. I put no effort into this - in fact, I put counter effort: when told that I could not simply reactivate an id card I thought I had lost, but found, my response was "really? That's ridiculous."

Presto. New card free.

New card did not work to take out library books. Gentleman at the counter typed in my id number, and with a sly wink said "It's due back in 3 hour in theory, but I've never seen you before" [insert elaborate shifty eyes].

I am more apt to believe there is some serendipitous witchcraft aiding me today as I endeavour to work my way through an epic list of chores of everything from finish a book summary to get my sunglasses fixed to pack and clean my apartment. Most exciting task? Pick up package, which I suspect contains my long awaited internet-order jeans!

Counting the Hours

I have become scary anal retentive this week friends. I leave for Belize on Friday night. I cannot wait. That said, I have become dangerously focused on all of the things I need to get done between now and then.

I think it all started with a truly alarming dream I had. I was lying on my yoga mat in savasana, when the person behind me stretched their arms up and started touching my shoulders with their green manicured fingers. In alarm, my dream self turned to see my German friend Madeleine - who, by the way, does not wear skirts and is physically incapable of walking in heels, let alone apt to paint her nails - who commented on how hairy I was (which is something much more along the lines of the Madeleine I know and love): "How could you go on vacation like dis?" And, alarmed, I looked down and my under arms and legs were forests of hair and I realized "I went on vacation without getting waxed!" I know that right about now, my diligent reader, you are rolling your eyes at my nightmare. But it was bizarre, because then, seated on my yoga mat I tried to think "how could I have missed my appointment before leaving?" and the dreaming became somewhat lucid, as I realized I couldn't have. Boom, woke up. Or so I thought. And the parts of the dream that had convinced me I must have been dreaming, not remembering my flight, for instance, I was suddenly doing. But I hadn't waxed! I went through about 4 of these dreams within dreams where I futilely tried to get my bod waxed in time for the beach. I think Christopher Nolan was going to do that, but Inception went in another direction, so as to better utilize a suddenly hot Joseph Gordon-Levit.

More of my dreams are Joseph Gordon-Levit sans Inception, not the reverse

So, I don't know if it is out of a legitimate fear that I could possibly forget my appointment to have all tropic-inappropriate hair removed or not, but I have governed every minute of my week. I have never been quite this obsessive in so many different facets of my life. I am taking care of household business (read: eating all the perishables in my fridge), getting ahead on my work, yoga daily, prepping my base tan, eating well, fulfilling TA responsibilities. Before bed every night I have been redrawing a To Do list for my week, and mapping out my hour-to-hour plan for the next day.

Do I need help?

Nope, because I'm going to Belize.

One Day 'Til Valentines, and I'm in Love

You all scamper to this post with shock, incredulity and blasphemous words of thanks, I'm sure.

Well, psyche.

No, no - the only person who I wake up with in my arms is She Ra, who, as others (most alarmed, my mother) are constantly reminding me, is not a person.

My Valentine

I am in love with a yoga posture. Now I envision my nearest and dearest rolling their eyes. My relationship with yoga is kind of funny. I got really into when my last relationship ended, and I threw my whole self into it. I had been practicing it for a year before then, but I had been like one of those many practitioners (especially prevalent with hot yoga) who insist on only being there for the work out and who roll their eyes if an instructor dare to start the class with three Oms. I dragged people to it so as to salvage my rep as a fit-focused rugby player: "Just come and try it out. This ain't your mom's yoga."(never, sadly, did I ever actually say this). I feared being thought a work-out pussy.

But now I like the mental strength I gather from yoga. I am not going to bore you with it, because if you are almost anyone I know, I have heard you refer to this as the "touchy feely" or "artsy fartsy" bullshit of yoga, and I am a person who is much more comfortable preaching to the converted.

So, my new love? It pairs itself quite ironically with my constant, live-in love: Cat-pulling-its-tail pose.

Don't google it - only one, kind a sketchy looking website features it (what - does any stereotype you have for self-proclaimed yogis pair with computer-tech savvy? I don't think so). I have found the only photos the internet can profer. 
This pose has everything that I love in yoga: it is a back bend, a twist, a challenge to my pitiful hamstrings, and, though these photos do not capture how epic I pictured myself doing it in my mind, it looks really cool. It looks cool from where you'll be lying, any how.

Should you want to try out this saucy posture (it's ok, I'm very liberal minded - I will totally share my new love with you), take note I'm not yoga teacher. One website suggested that those with intense lower back pain might not try this.

Start reclining on your mat, propped up on your forearms. My instructor stressed that, no matter how much

you wiggle around your appendages from this point, you want to keep your core straight - hips and shoulders in line. Lift one leg straight into the air, shifting the opposite hip under you, and plopping the leg straight across your body, as high up as you can. My dream is to be able to grab my toes in my opposite hand - nothing has made me more scornful of my tight hammies. you then take your bottom leg, and scoop it up in the hand which makes rational sense (that is, the same hand as your straightened leg). You can keep your head propped up in your other hand, you extend it, trying to get a twist by flattening your shoulders on the ground. Now hold forever.

I think I like it because, glancing down at my torso (to ensure I'm neither leaning forward now back), my pear shaped physique is inverted by my squared shoulders and twisted hips. It is like an extreme version of how well practised party girls always pose for pictures. You know what I'm talking about.

I will not be spending my Valentines day in this pose though (I imagine). My friends Yule and Brielan and I are going to dress up a bit and go to Juliette&Chocolat - a truly dangerous restaurant around the corner from my apartment which strives for the most perfect variety of chocolate in its various form / my impending obesity.

I will, however, be sending lots of love out to all my friends, single or not.

Besos

Less Haut Couture, more Haut Cuisine

So as much as I would love this to be a fashion blog, I think my area of expertise inclines me more to comment on the contents of the kitchen than the couturier's closet. Sorry, no more bad alliteration.

I have been cooking up a storm the past two days. It is such a catharsis. I don't know if the release is in the cooking, or the devouring your own creation in some weird God-complex way, but either way, I enjoy it.

First off, I fulfilled my part of the throwdown challenge: Cauliflower Cheese Soup.

I followed my plan pretty exactly, and I am pretty pleased about the outcome. I would probably cut some of the dill - each bowl is reminiscent of mowing into a bag of Old Dutch, what with potato supplying the other main ingredient of the soup. Also, after a phone call with my parents (my father just realized he can send texts with his blackberry - sweet Lord...) I removed the buckets of soup that had been on the brink of hibernating in my freezer for the next month. Alert - cheese soups do not freeze well. The cheese separated upon defrosting and becomes very unappealing, according to madre Black. So, perhaps in future I wouldn't, in fact, make such an ample pot.

so much dill!

So much soup wouldn't probably be a problem if a) it wasn't mostly potatoes and cheese and I need to be in a bikini next weekend and b) if I didn't, the next day, try out a slow cooker chicken stew recipe.

Yule and I had planned a movie night and, knowing that she had inherited the cold I'd had the past couple weeks, I thought chicken stew would be the comfort food par excellence. That said, I've never found a good chicken stew recipe - I've always just done guess work, and while it always turns out delicious, I thought I would turn to the world wide web (yes, that is what www stands for, remember?) for some advising.

The comments I followed made the recipe so different that I may as well just copy for you the recipe here rather than direct you to allrecipes (my mom loves epicurious.com - I think allrecipes is the recipe website of the proletariat, and only in this am I in any way indie).

Slow Cooker Chicken Stew

Ingredients

1 white onion

1 tablespoon of oil (though I used reserved bacon fat from the cauliflower soup)

Cubed chicken breast (as much as you see fit, really)

3 cloves garlic, crushed

2 apples, peeled and cut into eigths

3 red potatoes, cubed

3 carrots, cubed

1 sweet potato

1 cup water

2 cup chicken broth

1 can condensed cream of celery soup

1 package onion gravy mix

Black pepper

Italian seasonings

Preparation

1. Sautee onions in a large skillet - I brought mine near carmelization, but to each their own

2. While onions are cooking, cube your vegetables (to which you can obviously add any you prefer, some broccoli would be a nice addition I think) and throw them in the slow cooker

3. Add cubed chicken and crushed garlic to onions and cook through

4. Mix condensed soup, water, broth and gravy mix in a seperate bowl (I did not do this, and found stirring everything together in the slow cooker somewhat difficult). Add to slow cooker

5. Add cooked chicken/onion/garlic mixture and stir everything together. Cook on low heat for 8 hours.

And voila!

It looked like chicken, but it smelled like bacon. Amazing.

 

I also think it needs salt, but don't think I have good enough judgment on that matter as to advise how much, so to each their own. But seriously, it is delicious.

Off to heat up leftovers.

Sartorial Distractions

I have been utterly caught up reading fashion blogs, as of late. I think I could spend hours looking through archives of fashionable, put together people, wearing the latest trends and innovative classics. They fill my mind with longing for weather that would allow me to wear something other than skinny jeans and snow boots.

They remind me how wearing a great outfit changes your day. It makes you feel ambitious and proud. What does one aspire to when they wear a t shirt and sweatpants? I can tell you, from very intimate acquaintance with such a state, the answer is "very little."

So, thus inspired, though without deft camera nor photographer, I took it upon myself to don something I could be proud of and, as the weather leaves me snuggling inside with peppermint tea and books, I will share the ensemble with you.

Turtleneck, Theory | Button-up, Clothing Swap (thanks Kathy) | Vest, Elie Tahari | Belt, Banana Republic | Wide-leg Slacks, Selfridges | Kilt Pin, Raphaelle Bijoux

The kilt pin was a recent acquisition, which I am rather proud of. A little shop on St Viateur, just off St Laurent, where I also picked up these delights:

Throwdown Dos

Ok, after our first resounding success with the Addictive Sweet Potato Burritos, which I received an encore of praise for last night while we reminisced on them during the SuperBowl, it is Chopper's recipe pick. And his choice?

Cauliflower Cheese Soup

I do admit I give Chopper mad props for actually having searched through cookbooks for a recipe (I feel like cook book recipes just have an added legitimacy that websites don't), but I will certainly be tweaking the recipe. Here is my plan:

Cauliflower Cheese Soup, a la Sydney

Ingredients

2 large potatoes, diced (though not peeled)

2 cauliflower, cut or broken in florets (reserve 4 cups of florets)

2 carrots, peeled and chopped

6 cloves of garlic, peeled and crushed

2 small onions

1/2 package of bacon, diced

3 tsp salt

8 cups of vegetable broth

3 cups of a grated cheddar cheese (white and orange)

1 1/2 cups of milk

2 tsp of dill

1 tsp of caraway seed

Directions

1. Fry bacon in the bottom of a large pot. Remove bacon, and soften dice onion in the reserved liquid.

2. Add potato, cauliflower (except reserved florets) carrot, salt and broth and bring to a boil, simmering until all vegetables are tender. Wait to cool, and puree in a blender (the recipe doesn't specify to wait for cooling but this is so crucial if you want to avoid a huge mess/scalding yourself). Add to pot.

3) Add remaining ingredients, giving the florets a 20 minute head start to soften up (don't forget that bacon). Stir.

Chopper's already made this (on Saturday, which I think could be almost cheating...he must have already had the ingredients at the ready...), but I wont press him for a full review until I finish it. Tomorrow night I think. My big changes were, for one, to double the recipe - who doesn't love having a big pot of soup leftovers? Chopper said his recipe was enough for he and Jimmy to have one very large dinner, and that just wont do. I also thought that adding bacon would give a nice smokey flavour, and would allow me to cut down a bit on the cheese, which is also the logic behind caramelizing the onions first. I also figured I would substitute veggie broth for water - looking at this recipe, I can't help but wonder where the flavour is supposed to come from!

I'll let you know how it goes!

Heartbreak and Injustice

Loss and guilt are weighing heavy on my heart today. Last night I spent almost an hour in my apartment with my brother, sitting and crying.

Our uncle Gord died on Tuesday.

This is such a cruel, cruel injustice. He wasn't old. He wasn't sick. He wasn't in karmic debt. He was a good, good man, the love of my auntie Kelly's life, surrogate father to her children, a loving and supportive keystone in a family plagued by misfortune and loss, designated driver par excellence. He got up for work on Tuesday morning, when the crash of him hitting the living room floor awoke my aunt. He had a massive heart attack. Paramedics guess that he was dead before he hit the floor.

You don't know what to do when this happens. When you are away from a home filled with grieving people. I wish I wasn't in this foreign city, numbing me.

Gord was an amazing man who I loved very much, and I can't believe this has happened.

"The greatest talk show host who ever lived...

...Bernard Pivot."

If you have no idea who that is, you clearly did not spend a wildly unproductive Sunday watching the final clips from various Inside the Actors' Studio interviews.

If you do not have a fondness for Bravo's Drama in the Afternoon - when I'm home in Calgary I like to wake up in time for back to back episodes of Law & Order and Without a Trace, watched from the [dis]comfort of the eliptical - you may only know of Inside the Actor's Studio from Will Ferrell's charming imitation of host James Lipton on Saturday Night Live. It gave us the word "scrumtrellescent." For that, and very little else, I thank you, Will Ferrell.

Inside the Actors' Studio is hosted by this guy:

James Lipton does, in fact, always end his celebrity interviews with a series of questions that were apparently originally conceived of by Eharmony Proust, and used "to magnificent effect for 26 years" by Bernard Pivot.

When you watch a ton of people answer this same set of questions, it is only a matter of time - and in my case, probably a surprisingly immense amount of time - before you start drafting your own answers. Seriously, I watched about 6 celebrities in a row say they would like to be a composer/singer/musician before I thought "LAME! I would do better!"

Not to rag on them too badly though - here are some of my favourite answers I stumbled across

What is your favourite word? "Delicatessen" "Jack MacFarlan"/Sean Hayes (answering as Jack) or "verdurous," Daniel Radcliffe (I know, right?)
What is your least favourite word? "Spelunkers," Robert Downy Jr or "Flabbergasted," Ralph Fiennes 

What turns you on? "Everything" Al Pacino or "Watching my dogs play," Kevin Spacey
What turns you off? "The dentist drill," Hugh Jackman, "Not breathing," Johnny Depp or "Financial advice," Hugh Laurie
What sound or noise to you love? "The sound of a can of tennis balls being opened," Jason Bateman, "The sound of the accoustic guitar being played badly," Hugh Laurie
What sound or noise do you hate? "When your nose whistles," Michael J Fox, "That noise when you've got a pencil and you're writing with a pencil and the end breaks off but you still find yourself dragging the pencil across the paper for a little bit..." Daniel Radcliffe
What is your favourite curse word? "This is unprecendented; it's 7 syllabals. It's 'sonofacuntlovingwhore,'" Robert Downey Jr, "fucking fuck and all it's fucking cognates," Hugh Laurie, "fuck. Or. Rat bastard," Spacey "You...dentist!" Sean Penn
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? "I would like to be an astronaut," Salma Hayek,  "a neurologist or a theoretical physicist" Robin Williams
What profession would you not like to participate in? "a job in the French court, apparently it's a good job, but wiping the king's ass," thank you, Matt Damon
If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? "You know I've got a son I'd like to set you up with," Eric McCormack answering as "Will Truman," or "Aw, you make me smile," Salma Hayek (because she does, she just DOES). Oh, and because it is ridiculous, "Your brother's over there, and the girls are over there" Mickey Rourke.

And MY answers? Funny you should ask...

What is your favourite word? 

Oubliette

What is your least favourite word? 

Clot

What turns you on? 

Having someone rub their hand up and down the entire length of my back

What turns you off? 

Lack of ambition

What sound or noise to you love?

The sound of my cat licking her paws

What sound or noise do you hate? 

The sound when you have cardboard or metal in a freezer and it rubs up against the ice build up and screeches.

What is your favourite curse word?

Cock

What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? 

well, actor, but otherwise a zookeeper

What profession would you not like to participate in? 

a Chick Sexer. In large farming operations, there is a person who is responsible for determining the sex of newly hatched chicks, which apparently is rather difficult. Chicken pedophile.

If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates? 

You know Dante made that shit up, right?