In which I geek out rather uncharacteristically, which is to say, fashion-wise.

So.  Shoes.  ADMITTEDLY, I have shoe-pairs in the dozens, but 88% of them are ballet flats in various colors and then maybe 10% is heels that I have almost no occasion to wear, and the other 2% is my boots, which I wear every day.  I love shoes and I love the idea of having somewhere to wear fancy shoes to (also, of not having bunions so that I could wear said fancy shoes for more than eight minutes), but I'm not a madwoman re: shoes.

And ok, more or less everyone in Joel's class is feelthy reech, because they are all the only children of doctors or lawyers or what have you.  But Sam is reedeeculously feelthy reech, and has a deep and abiding fondness for designer shoes.

So there was a party at her house last night, and we get there and Claire is trying on Sam's dresses because she wasn't happy with any of her own, and I'm all, I am discontented with my jewelry.  And Sam is like, Let me bejewel you.  And one thing leads to another and then suddenly we're all trying on Sam's ridiculous collection of shoes and Joel sneaks off to find a tv and some sports because the party right now consists of him and ten rabid girls and then Morgan and Shannon show up and I'm all Look how HIGH these boots are! 

aside: look how high these boots are

And Shannon squees and Morgan is all, Where are there boys and sports?  So Morgan slinks off to find Joel and Shannon joins the shoe-wearing-party and she knows things about designers and apparently these are Louboutins that I'm wearing here?  Whatever, they were leopard-print and made my legs look amazing.

But the ones which I loved and never wanted to stop wearing EVER IN MY LIFE were these dainty Cinderella darlings:

You cannot see them close enough here.  You MUST see them closer:

Closer still!  To the GooglePhone!

They have a teacup handle on the back!  Me googling these shoes was brought to you by Shannon, who so helpfully informed me they were Miu Mius.  Google let me in on these are worth more than my car!

*hem*  So.  Many thanks to Sam for both hosting a party and for letting us traipse around in some very valuable footwear.  She is indeed a generous soul.  If I ever get my hands on these delicate beasts I may very well keep them in a glass box in my room.

Slimcado

Slimcado?

SLIMcado?  Really, Victoria?  This is what you've stooped to, this low-fat avocado?  *whispers*  What's that, Google?  The slimcado is actually just an avocado from Florida, where it's less dry than in California so the avocados get more bigger and less denser?

Sorry, Victoria.  My bad.

Still, slimcado?  Ok, so my beef is just really with the marketing.  Which, hey, it worked on me.  Although Joel was all, That avocado is going to end up being one massive pit inside and, like, zero cado.

Nay!  Muchas cado.  And I snagged a few more facts from my googlearning, namely that because of the extra water weight, slimcados tend to be...er...lighter in flavor.  Like, more wateryish.  But that people who grow up on slimcados find the haas variety too oily.

Well, bring me on the oilyeshness.  Chopped up in a salad I probably wouldn't notice, but eaten alone in slices this was definitely not the avocado I'm used to.  Although it came out of its skins with CLEANLINESS and would make a lovely garnish.

I can never get that perfect firm sliceyness from a hass.  If there is one talent I lack entirely, it is choosing a ripe avocado.  That, and sports.

But back to the wateryness.  So, this would not be extra-delicious spread on a bagel, which is how I like my avocados, unless you dumped on, like, eighty seconds of salt.  It kind of tastes like avocado-melon.  I may or may not but will probably not buy one of these ridiculously expensive marketing ploys again.  But for now...

Robyn comes a-rumpusing.

Ok, so Robyn came out for a few days of low-key shennanigans, mostly involving many games of Jeo-party and a Canucks victory (le woot).  Because we are the UNDISPUTED CHAMPIONS of errand-running, we set out to eat breakfast, buy a black coat with a hood for Robyn, some sweat pants for me, an unnamed something for Robyn's brother (who probablydefinitely doesn't read this blog, but JUST EEN CASE), and unnamed something else to complete my sister's birthday present, and to get my stitches taken out.

Breakfast was, at always (at John's Place) a triumph.  Robyn had (as everyone does always all the time ever) the eggs benny and I had some french-toasted-banana-bread with sauteed bananas and cashews and banana liqueur, all drizzled with cream cheese icing.  Gutenness, John's Place.  Is there anything you won't french-toast and then let me pour sugar-goo on to?

Ok, but the errands part of the errants.  Alas!  Alas.  We found a black coat, but it looked no good on Robyn (it looked amazing on me, though, so I bought it).  We found no sweat pants, due to the dearth of Urban-Planet-Garage-Dynamite-Sirens at the mall we went to.  We forgot entirely to find the unnamed thing for my sister.  We DID get the thing for Robyn's brother, AND got my stitches taken out.  So...the imperative things got taken care of, but not the fun things.  Also, we got a parking ticket.  In Victoria.  Where, previousmente, I was convinced they didn't give out parking tickets.  Robyn has some sort of parking-hoodoo on her.

And then we went home and made the World's Worst Candy but also an amazing shepherd's pie.

And then we went and saw Where the Wild Things Are, for which I had incredibly low expectations, but for which I SWOONED!  A review will be forthcoming later at a place that is not here, but suffice it to say Squeee!  And also, awww.  Overall we called the day a win.

If I'm going to keep this up all month...

...I'm going to have to start blogging in the mornings.  I crawled into bed at 6:30, and only just got up to microwave a heat bag because I'm basically a lizard now and make no body heat and Joel's off somewhere learning how to suture people.  Remind me to tell you a funny story about that.

Festive things!

Ok, so Joel's class carved pumpkins for their secretaries about a week ago, and it was the first time I had to miss out on something because I was just too damned tired to go.  Cue the tiny violins.

You'd think what with the disappointment and all that I'd be all for it on Saturday when Joel was like, We should carve our own pumpkins!  But I am recalcitrant that way, and I wanted nothing to do with this fun-having.  By now, though, Joel knows that if he just gets excited enough about something, that eventually I'll agree to do it, and that after I've acclimated myself to the idea of doing it, that I'll actually get excited as well.

By the time we hauled ourselves out to ye olde produce mart to pick up some fleshy canvasses, I'd come around.  I love festive-flavored things.  I thrill to traditions.  We used to all carve pumpkins up at my aunt Syl's place in Kamloops, and there were so many of us that we had to do it outside and our hands would freeze from the chilly pumpkin guts.

I had wanted to go as the swine flu this year (I was thinking of affixing a few hula hoops to myself to represent....I don't know, a molecule of contagion, or something, and then glueing plastic piggies to my torso) but we weren't going out and also I am a wreck of uselessness.  Instead we represented the scourge in pumpkin form.

The fellow on the right is making a break for cleaner doorsteps.

Hallowe-eats.

Ok, so I more or less range from vaguely tired to convinced that there is not enough sleep in the WORLD for how exhausted I am.  I take many naps.

I am still up to shenannigans, though, between said naps.  We had a quiet Halloween evening at home with some friends and a few rather violent games of Cranium Pop 5 (aside: I am the UNDISPUTED QUEEN of sculpturading.  You have no idea.  If it exists, I can make it recognizably from a lump of purple plastercine).  But this post will have nothing to do with my Cranial skillz, and everything to do with tasty treats.

So Robyn came over for a visit (more about which later.  I do have 30-odd days of posting ahead of me) and I capitalized on our previous success as bakerettes to talk her into helping me make caramel-apple-candies.  Which I invented.  It turns out that I know shit-all about candy-making.

There are those who think I can do no wrong in the kitchen.  To them I say, take a gander at this nasty crap!

They were not long for this world, the soupy, skeevy bastards.

At any rate, I sort of threw in the whole holiday-treat-themed towel because this epic fail depressed me so much, but then I came across a recipe for chocolate bones that didn't look like too much work, and DUDE!  THEY ACTUALLY LOOK LIKE LITTLE BONES!!

That is a nommable plate of bones, you might say.  Triumph!  And then I got all back in the groove and wrapped some apple slices in strips of puff pastry, and they actually sort of looked like little mummies before I cooked them:

But then they totally looked like little mummies after I cooked them:

And then they looked even more like mummies after I drizzled them with The Decay of the Ages (i.e. leftover caramel from the CandyFail):

And then I made some snot rolls:

And then I made a big bowl of Phlegm To Be Eaten With Chips, and there are no pictures because we ate it all IN SECONDS and I promise, if you ever throw a party and invite me I will make this dip for you and I promise to call it something more acceptable like Jalapeno Popper Dip, which will not take away from how much it really does look like a big bowl of phlegm, but which you will love anyways.

NaBloPoMo

Ok, so I've been meaning to come on here and tell you all about Surgery 2.0, but then I was so tired and then time passed and I continued to be tired and also the amount of things I had to say was accruing interest and I sort of got overwhelmed.  But it's officially National Blog Posting Month again, so I thought I'd dust off the old typing fingers and get at her.  Unfortunately, a late night last night + daylight savings time + night-church = early sleeps.  So, anticipate things in the days to come.  Until then...how about that bag of popcorn!