Afternoon Tea

If you really must be trapped at your desk on a glorious summer afternoon, I have the recipe for a perfect small happiness:

1 cup of hot tea, with one sugar and as much milk as you’d like

1 bar of very good dark chocolate (at least 50% cocoa, preferably 65%) that can be broken into small squares

Break off a small piece of chocolate and hold it in your mouth as you take a sip of hot milky tea. The heat of the tea melts the chocolate into your tongue in a gloriously silky manner.

Repeat as necessary.

On Insanity

I think I paint my nails so I have something cheerful to look at during the day — that partially obstructed view of the mountains ain’t cuttin’ it.

When I was a kid, I was pretty sure I could handle a cubicle job, no problem. Jobs are just for money, right? Who needs a stimulating career if you’ve got a reliable paycheque?

Oh, how wrong I was. I’m seriously considering taking a pay cut and getting out of here if it means I don’t have to be trapped behind a desk, peering through multiple windows just to get a glimpse of the outside.

Pretty pretty Barbie pink nails.

Keep all sharp objects away from me.

Oh delicious downfall

I am on my third cup of tea so far this morning, and I feel great.

I mean, I’m a little jittery (and man, do I have to use the washroom) but otherwise, I’m great!  If you, invisible-Mother-Nature-type who lurks in the back of my head and tries to force me to make healthy decisions, really want me to be healthy, you’re going to have to let me have my caffeine.

Actually, you better pass me that bag of tortilla chips, too.

Seriously, how do the health nuts of Vancouver do it?  How do they drink a few beers and not crave a giant plate of nachos with extra cheese?  Maybe they’re not drinking beer.  But I refuse to give that up either.  I will not compromise my inebriated happiness for six-pack abs!  Haha…give up one six-pack for another…Oh god, easy on the tea there, buddy.

There are those who claim exercise can become addictive, and that if you get in the habit, your body will crave it.  These people need a drink more than I do.

The Fridays

Fridays are supposed to be the best day of my workweek and yet (oh, and yet) they are inevitably the worst.

Even though I hate waking up for work on Monday mornings (actually, every weekday morning — my hair is a study in filthy right now), somehow the workday itself always flies by. Getting back in the routine seems so foreign at the start of every week that the sheer novelty of working helps the time to pass.

Fridays, on the other hand? Worst ever. Even after a minor setback at home had me come in at 10:30 instead of 8 this morning, my last day chained to the desk is lasting an eternity. I’ve only been here 5 hours! Insanity.

I can’t wait to cycle home and be done. This week has been like an Everlasting Gobstopper, if they were gross and fun-sucking and lame. Which, actually, they might be, since I’ve never bothered to eat one and find out.

Restaurant Love

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I am super into food. If I didn’t watch myself, I’d turn into a blimp in a matter of days, not weeks or even months. I am that creepy girl who reads and memorizes restaurant reviews and cookbooks.

It makes sense, then, that I can get lost at dinehere.ca for hours. I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I will base a night out around whether or not a restaurant has been well received by the other foodies of Vancouver. Before I went to Chambar with my girlfriends, I reveled in the good reviews.

On the flip side, I used to work at a fairly well known bakery, and I like to chuckle at the bad ratings we used to receive. Ah, such fun to be young and surly!

On a semi-related note, my parents and I went for a once in a lifetime meal at the French Laundry while I was home. Should I really have spoiled myself for all other meals at the unripe age of 22?

Question:

How does one accidentally recycle a flashlight?

I don’t mean returning the flashlight to some sort of huge factory that deals in re manufacturing said torches.  I mean, how do you accidentally knock a reasonably heavy flashlight into a large container of recyclable paper and not notice?

I’m genuinely curious.

Know Your Era, eh?

It’s so damn hard to figure out what looks good on me, clothes-wise (and man-wise, but that’s another story). I buy what I like; sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. I love clothes, don’t get me wrong, but when it comes to what looks good on my own body…I’m lost.

However, Sadie from Jezebel recently dropped some knowledge that I can totally get behind. Disregard all of that crap about which celebrity you should look like — know your era, man.

This totally makes sense to me, especially after watching the entire first season of Mad Men in about 48 hours recently. I’m a late 50s/early 60s kind of girl; I need structured dresses, damn it! I’ve got the Joan Holloway/Christina Hendricks body — why not follow her example?

Can I help you?

Land that I love, etc

One more thing — sometimes, being in the States is freakin’ GREAT. I mean, I’m currently crunching on a giant garlic dill pickle that came individually wrapped from a roadside stand, and you can buy Bud Light with the lime already added (I know, right?!) at Safeway…or a gas station, for that matter.

The flag-waving bit is my favourite, though.  It helps that I’m here right around the 4th of July.  Patriotic Snoopy boxers?  Sign me up!  A giant eagle-and-American-flag decal for the back window of my pickup truck?  Why not!

My cowboy father will never understand why this stuff makes me laugh.  I’m not un-American, Pops, I swear!  I just don’t feel the need to prove that with a “these colors don’t run” tattoo.

Food Porn

I ran away to my parents’ house in Northern California for a bit of a vacation, so I’ve been spending as much time as possible away from my computer.

I’ll confess to being a bit of a food snob, although my age and relative poverty make the expensive things I crave somewhat unattainable. However, since I’ve been home, I’ve been dragging my parents to all of the local farmers’ markets and having way too much fun.

For example — see these gorgeous Rainier cherries? As I type this, I’ve eaten almost ten without even thinking about it. They’re just so beautiful! And so ripe! They look like perfect little pink and gold hearts.  I’m in love.

There’s more, though. My dad has a raspberry patch out back, and every night I wander out to gorge myself on sweet berries that burst and melt in my mouth.

I’ve accomplished nothing so far this week, and I’m perfectly okay with that.