Sunday, May 27, 2007

This Weekend: A play in four parts

Act 1: Friday

Friday evening, Joel and I went to Eat! Vancouver (exclamation point totally necessary). Never been? Us neither. But imagine, my friends, if the stalls in the aisle of Costco, you know, the ones that hand out little samples of Blueberry Bran Bars or Chicken and Monterey Jack Chimichangas, if those stalls were to rendezvous with the PNE, and their illicit love child were to be blessed with all the culinary attributes but none of the bizzare ingredients of an Iron Chef, THAT is Eat! Vancouver. Tiny kiwi slushies, scallops wrapped in bacon and skewered on a toothpick, slivers of mango, the world's only good potato salad, all free. Like the potato salad? Here's the recipe. And a bag of baby potatoes. Want some rice? Have some rice. Slip it into your goody bag you got when you came in, and walk by the rice place again. Walk by the rice place NINE TIMES!! That's right, in addition to the delicious samples of tasty tidbits, many places handed out freebies. All told, Joel and I got:

nine bags rice,

two packets of splenda,

three razors for Joel,

two razors for me,

five tea bags,

five packets of flax seeds,

four packets of raw sugar,

five servings of psyllium and oat bran cereal, which I actually kind of like,

and seven ketchup-packets of honey.

So we got free stuff, and we got full, and we got to have an evening out with our landlords. Well worth the twelve-dollars-and-one-food-bank-donation-each we spent to get in. OH! AND we had a cheese tasting. I've never been one to sit around and savor cheeses for their own sake, but if someone's going to sit me down and tell me about six different kinds of cheeses and let me spread them on bread and munch on them, I'm all for it.

Act 2: Saturday day

Saturday morning, Joel and I went on a mad shopping spree. We went back to Ikea to return the coffee table we bought the last time we were there, and which we may have inadvertently dented quite badly while still in the package, but which we don't feel bad about returning, because if furniture can't withstand a good ramming-into-an-overcrowded-hatchback, then it deserves what it gets. We also dropped by the massive Linens 'N Things, which is unignorably RIGHT NEXT to Ikea, and for which we had some gift card money. I had no idea. I would sell my right ovary to live in the L'NT. We found this fabulous space-saver shelf thing that goes over our toilet, to make up for the nostoragespace that we have in our bathroom, and we got the most badass doormat in the neighborhood (my sister actually commented on the badassedness of our doormat today when she came to visit, but that is another story), and we got a massive wooden salad bowl with these matching serving spoons, except the only pair of serving spoons left were broken, so we cracked open a set that had salad bowl/serving bowls/and spoons, and stole the spoons out of there. NOT stole as in did-not-pay-for, but stole as in the girl had to call in for the code because there was mysteriously no price tag on them, and someone's going to buy that set, and have to come back and say 'We didn't get any spoons.' And to them, I am very sorry. But isn't the bowl gorgeous? Doesn't it make you want to eat salad? Then we went to the mall and I bought ultra-high-quality running shoes for wayyyyyyyyyyyyy too much money, which goes against everything that I stand for, but Joel and I have this discussion every year and YES! I value my knees over the amount of money I am about to spend, and YES! I realize that running is my only real sport and that this is the only sports-based expenditure I am going to make for the next twelve months (except maybe some really cute jogging shorts once I stop feeling so fat), and YES! logically it all makes sense, but my gut reaction to paying through the nose for shoes that AREN'T EVEN CUTE? Still sour. Also, I bought a pair of darling brown board shorts with yellow and blue stitching.

Act 3: Saturday evening

I think I've mentioned this before, and if I haven't, let me do so now. Our landlords are the most gregarious people in the land. When Joel and I move out, we will have forgotten how to conduct our own social lives. We won't be able to make friends or plan events for ourselves. It will be a disaster. Saturday night, our landlords threw a pop star party. Everyone came dressed as their favorite pop star, and there was much kareoke. Since I've always wanted to be Avril Lavigne because she's so raw and edgy, even more so now that she's all processed and hot, and still raw and edgy, and because she's more distinctive-looking than Kelly Clarkson, who I've also always wanted to be and who I share a birthday with, I dressed up in my favorite black short-pants and my favorite miscellaneous tight t-shirt with something random on it (knots, in this case), put on too much eye make-up, and affected a completely disinterested manor. Also, because I wouldn't be generic punk without a rad pair of chucks, and because I don't own a pair of chucks, and because you can't wear shoes indoors and the party was indoors and my outfit wouldn't be complete without a pair of chucks, I borrowed a pair of Joel's socks and made...

That's right, ladies and gentlemen. Those are not, in fact, a pair of Converse high tops, circa 1992, they are socks. Socks meets four Sharpies meets old shoe laces. Rad, though, hey? I won best-dressed, and I give credit to the sock-chucks. Here they are from the side.

I know. Yes. Two and a half hours. Totally worth it.

Act 4: Sunday

Mine own seastar Greyhounded out to visit me today. We assembled a coffee table, played a round of one-on-one Taboo (which I won), visited my grandparents and played two matches of Sequence (Kruegers vs. non-Kruegers, which Joel and I won, and boys vs. girls, which Boo and I won), played one-on-one-on-one Taboo with Joel (which, since I have a Swedish mind meld with both Boo and Joel, I won), polished off a bag of dried apricots, and ransacked the Walmart before parting. Dried apricots and stomach acid, in case you didn't know, are like Mentos and Died Coke. If you don't believe me, you can come over and listen to me fart.

On that winsome note, I will end this longest post ever. Many happy returns.


Anonymous said...

Nice read Rachie! And... it's not just because I'm your mum.

Those shock socks are an inspiration!

Anonymous said...

i miss u rachel! love to both u guys!

Jane said...

Brilliant post. Awesome socks.

Michael LaRoy said...

you and your sock-chucks are officially my new combined heroes. Also, mad props for the new formation of words, for which I must give all due credit, as a fellow new-word-smith myself.

Nostoragespace. n, 1. a measurable area comprised of a complete and utter lack of storage space; 2. a measurable area with the potential to be filled with facilities, upon and within which can be stored things. E.g. "oh look! Here is my nostoragespace. Doesn't it look fabulous next to my barelyanyroomtomove in my little bathroom?"