Growing up Country

I grew up on a 10-acre corn farm that was single-handedly transformed by my father into a dense forest of pine trees. He planted so many trees because he was bored having moved from the hustle bustle of the Oshawa suburbs to the sprawling Whitby countryside.

We lived sandwiched between a strawberry farm to the south and cow corn grow-op to the north. Behind our house lay a forest to be explored and behind that, a field of tomatoes, hot peppers, and enormous eggplants to be picked and offered up to our parents. We were stumped when they accused us of eating our neighbor’s strawberries. Looking shamefully down at our berry stained shirts and pink fingertips we had no idea how they had guessed—it was as if they had been spying on us.

This was all really cool until puberty. I rode a yellow school bus until I was 19! My parents weren’t the type of people that understood living in the country meant your children needed a vehicle to get around. My friends were therefore chosen based on proximity. One lived 2km north of my house and I was forced to jog to her place for visits. I’d get to her home, red faced and panting, begging her for a drink. Her family always had at least 10 dogs at a time and no one ever trained them not to poop inside. Walking from her front door to the kitchen to get water was equivalent to tiptoeing around a field of land mines. I would almost always leave with feces on my shoes cursing the fact that I didn’t have a car and therefore couldn’t choose my friends.

Another friend of mine, Meghan had a pool. Her house was too far to run to so my mom would let me borrow her bike and helmet and I would set out on my adventure, bathing suit in knapsack on my back. She and I got along very well. The one major obstacle to our friendship was her older brother who hated us for being “rockers.” He would sit in the dark living room all weekend long watching rap videos with his large gold dollar sign chain hanging from his skinny neck. When I finally got breasts he spent commercial breaks coming out to the pool to stare, unashamedly at them. Part of me was proud of my new assets and part of me hated him. He was obviously just my type and became one of my first crushes.

An email I received last week, Re: Dickametized

Good Morning,

You can buy oxytocin in a nasal spray as it's broken down in the digestive tract. Half-life in blood plasma is about 3 minutes. Has been associated with feelings of trust and loss of fear.

The chemists take- “ Sounds like a great short term rufee esque product and might also help reduce the anxiety of coming down, and you can snort it.”

Regards,

EN

Boux's Picks

Some great music to listen to on the beach!

1) The Drums (Summertime!)

2) The National (High Violet)

3) Timber Timbre (Timber Timbre)

4) Black Keys (Brothers)

5) Broken Bells (Broken Bells)

6) Broken Social Scene (Forgiveness Rock Record)

The fine art of cooking for a man

Of course I was nervous to cook him a meal. I can’t really cook that well (fish excluded). I’ve always been healthy about what I eat, choosing low fat over taste. So I decided to stick with something I knew—fish.

My mom called me at 8am that morning to a) secretly see if I was being lazy and sleeping in; and b) inquire about my week. I told her about my menu for the dinner date, fish, quinoa, and salad, and she nearly lost her mind. “NO!! You cannot cook fish for a man, or anything healthy for that matter. Men eat meat! Make him succulent ribs so that you can make eye contact as you suck the meat off the bones. God! Fish! Really? What were you thinking? Grab a pen and some paper and write this down…”

I spent 40 minutes on the phone with my mom as I nursed my coffee in bed and jotted down notes. When we got of the phone I was overwhelmed. How am I going to make ribs? I haven’t eaten, let alone cooked red meat in a decade.

Just then, my phone rang and it was my aunt Erin, calling to see if I had her sandals she had left at our cottage. I didn’t. I started talking with her about how funny my mom was (her older sister) when she abruptly cut me off. “I’ll come get you now. Get dressed. Let’s go and pick up all the ingredients you’ll need to make a meal. I know just the places.”

We drove together to Bayview and Eglington and she introduced me to shop owners while we picked up cheese, baguette, red wine, ripe field tomatoes, basil, sea salt and ribs.

She had convinced me that I didn’t have the know-how to make ribs and to be honest I was relieved to have my fears confirmed. She suggested I go with her to Highway 61—Toronto’s best rib restaurant--to pick out ribs to serve as my own creation. The men at the restaurant called me cheeky when I told them of my plans and they wrote me out instruction on how to caramelize the ribs in BBQ sauce—I was amused.

After all the ingredients were collected Erin drove me home.

The ribs were good and he seemed to enjoy himself in my company. I was secretly proud despite the fact that it had nearly taken an entire village to prepare this simple meal.

Although I had promised my aunt, my roommate and the boys at Highway 61 that I would lie about the ribs when asked how I’d made them—I couldn’t. I had a nervous blurt and told him the entire story. God I’m a nerd.

New Years 2011 resolution: Get better at having secrets and lying.

Pen Pals

After enjoying what might have been one of the most entertaining pre-drinks at Ross’s house (from the That’s What Friends are For entry), we piled into cabs and went to The Rhino for jukebox and bar service.

It was they type of evening that seemed blessed, even magical. The bar was filled with people I wanted to talk with and we had arrived with the perfect mix of friends. I was talking with one of my best friends and roommate when, we were approached by two extremely handsome men. So handsome in fact, that I was put off by their appearance. The thoughts that went through my head were:

They’re too good looking to be interesting

Cant’ believe we’re being interrupted by gorgeous jocks

They are probably cops or construction workers

The taller one with shoulder length dark hair and blue eyes started talking to me. My next move was to get this creep to leave me alone by asking questions I assumed he’d fail at.

“So, what do you do for a living?” I asked

“I build things,” he answered with a grin.

--Ha, I knew it! Too handsome to be smart, he’s definitely a construction worker. Which is always sexy but not always mentally stimulating. I decided to ask one more question:

“Did you go to school for that?”

“I went to Dalhousie, I studied Physics.”

--Oh shit! He’s hot. Not what I was expecting from him. I kind of wanted him to fit my stereotype, and I kind of wanted to keep talking with my perfect friends that I came with. The last thing I wanted was to meet another handsome stranger. I was already dating a few men and fostering crushes on others, the last thing I needed was another crush!

I didn’t really think men like him existed outside of movies or Sophie Kinsella novels. As we continued to chat, I lost track of my surroundings, time, and my friends. The best part was his accent (which I confused with South African, as I have a tendency to believe that people with accents are either from Quebec or Cape Town). He has the faintest Newfoundland accent and it’s glorious!

We exchanged numbers and full names, and as such he has become my handsome pen pal/facebook friend. Over the next four months we texted back and forth and poked each other on FB, until one fateful day I asked him to come up north to my neighborhood for dinner, and he agreed…

How listening to Audio-taped romances by Sophie Kinsella changed my life:

Not only do I enjoy trashy romance novels but I also overindulge in hedonism by having them read out loud to me as I perform other activities such as driving and lounging around my apartment. Each one of her novels (read in a thick British accent) has been inspirational for me. Most memorable, was The Undomesticated Goddess.

The story introduces you to a high-powered lawyer living in the London downtown core, who gets fired, moves to a remote rural village, becomes a housekeeper, and learns to love cooking and cleaning. And, of course, falls madly in love.

Each of her novels teaches you important lessons such as:

1) I can relate to the protagonist—I’m busy, underappreciated, and destined for more.

2) There is someone perfect out there for me (like the gardener from The Undomesticated Goddess)

3) Fate will decide my future

4) Things aren’t always what they seem

5) Be true to yourself

6) Hard work pays off

These books are basically geared at people exactly like me (and much younger). People who are: uncertain about their career choice, looking for love, egocentric, and believe they are destined for something remarkable.

While listening to the Undomesticated Goddess I was inspired to clean my apartment from top to bottom, make my friends a gourmet lunch and attempt to make ribs for a man. Although I cheated with the ribs, I think both parties appreciated the effort that Sophie inspired in me.

The difference between a boy and a man:

A man knows how to build a house (or at least fix parts of it).

A man knows how to get his car keys out of his locked truck with a hanger.

A man asks you if you’re going to finish the meat on your plate before helping himself to it.

A man can lift you up.

A man looks down at you when you make eye contact.

A man isn’t afraid to wear his favorite Speedo around.

A man can play at least one musical instrument.

A man studied something like math or physics.

A man prefers to drink beer.

A man has traveled the world.

A man explains why he doesn't know about baking with, "Because I'm a man"

And when a man leaves your home your roommate says, "Wow! He's a man!"