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it's great to have someone to cook with. i've had roommates who were never around, didn't eat vegetables or just hated everything i wanted to make. phil and i have the same taste in food (except, of course, when it comes to mustard and raw onions. BARF!) and we've been cooking up a goddamn storm this first week of living together.
i stole a couple recipes from other blogs, he pulled out some of his staples and i completely improvised energy bars for the first time, ever! it's always scary to just wing it in baking (it is a science after all) but everything worked out. i'm excited, too, about all the new techniques he's introducing me to. we just discovered an existing cable hook-up in the living room and while daunting, distracting and devious (i haven't had cable in at least eight years) the food network is ruling my life. martin picard, food jammers, diners, drive-ins and dives and, hell, even michael smith are consistently in the background while we cook, eat and paint shelving (more on that next week). here are some of the things we ate so far... and evidence of alli$on being a crazy (fun) person.
moving is a weird thing. it forces you to look through all the embarrassing shit you've collected, clothes you've grown out of and dust you've neglected to vacuum from under your bed. while i was throwing garbage into bags and keepsakes into boxes i tried to tally up how many times i've done this. i think it's my thirtieth move. that's fucked.
in six years i've evolved from living out of backpack to having more books, cameras, movies and kitchen gear than i know what to do with. (ok, ok, i know what to do with all of it: hoard, display, stare, love) i've decided that i no longer need to cart around empty booze bottles, broken skateboards, childhood stuffed animals, band shirts i haven't fit into since high school, movie tickets from dates with exes, every piece of furniture i've found on the street, etc.
you remember that time you had a house party and in a drunken, coke-fueled stupor you just had to bring out your grade eight valedictorian plaque, childhood home videos, pictures that prove your high school haircut/flatchestedness and onesie your mom took you home from the hospital in in an effort to, i don't know, entertain your bored friends? yeah, well, i've done all those things and it's over! i'm ditching the baggage, losing the junk and giving away the unopened promo cds i only acquired because they were free in the first place. it's a stacey mccool sale and none of you are invited. well, unless you regularly hang around outside my apartment waiting for me to throw boxes labelled 'free' into the night. in which case, look up! i'm all nekkid on the third floor... just playin'. i'm at work. sicko.
i can't 'no-bake'. i don't know what's wrong with me or my recipes or my patience but everything comes out a slop! i tried no-bake chocolate macaroons the other week and chocolate pie last night and it all ended up in grossness. well, that's not true... it ended up a delicious slop i had to eat with a fucking spoon and not at all what it was supposed to be.
does anyone have a tip for me? am i too impatient, constantly shaking the pie plate to see if the gelatinous goo has formed into something biteable or does everyone have this problem? either way, i suck.
in other news, we signed a lease (and, of course, ate at the black hoof [bacon jam! sweetbreads! tongue!] to celebrate). the bf and i have been busy painting, cleaning, removing, shelving, taping, sanding, filling and planning. i'm totally exhausted. we should be fully moved in by the end of the month so expect a shitload of before and after pictures, outrageous dinner parties and maybe even our first big fight. i know, i know, it's been four years - i think we're safe too.
i'm sitting here trying to recall high school. the formative years of my adulthood are but a faint memory. i'm looking through pictures of faces i recognize and names i've forgotten. i can't remember what classes i took, who i sat beside, my teacher's name(s) or what time the bells rung but i can smell that favourite blue plaid, feel the crunch of saran wrapped shitty weed in my jean pocket, hear the snicker of clear skinned seniors and clean nosed achievers. i probably hated you in high school: you probably made me feel like shit without knowing i existed.
the four, long years were spent bouncing between the quintessential loner (for me: robin tunney in empire records) and a try-so-hard-to-fit-in-you-stand-out rebel (lindsay weir, anyone?). angst! fear. rebellion! tears. i would never, ever do it again. the bad poetry, awkward attempts at romance and complete social ineptitude that encapsulated my life is not uncommon among teenage girls: i know this and i feel for you. stick it out, try not to get knocked up and hold onto your journals... you'll laugh at them in ten years. right before you set them on fire.
