Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fall Is Almost Done Edition

Posted on October 28, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

Yesterday morning I woke up and headed to the bathroom to change into my yoga clothes. I wondered why I was feeling so exhausted, when I had gone to bed at a decent time; then I looked at the clock. It was 3:45. I’m just glad I figured that out before I left for the yoga studio, because that would have been weird.

This morning it was -5 Celsius when I woke up, which feels officially like winter. I pulled on my legwarmers and dug out my gigantic mittens so that I wouldn’t freeze walking the dog. Fall just really flew by, and it’s been forever since I’ve done a Favourite Things post, so today I bring you…

Nicole’s Favourite Things: The Fall Is Almost Done Edition

Lee Valley Apple Peeler

Remember how I brought home 100 pounds of apples and fifty pounds of grapes from my in-laws’? I juiced the grapes (most of them, the rest I either ate or gave away to fruit-loving friends) and then mixed the thick, pulpy juice to make fruit leather. It’s amazing, and if I figure out how to write it up as a recipe without being totally vague (“puree some apples, add some juice, and dry it in a dehydrator”) it will be over at Yummy Mummy Club. In the meantime, check out the fruit leather!

The kids tell me this is The Best Fruit Leather Ever. Grapes, apples, and the secret ingredient: LOVE.

Seriously, it’s really good. But what does this have to do with the Lee Valley Apple Peeler? My husband gave me the apple peeler for Christmas – he knows what I like, apple peelers and diamonds – and I am not exaggerating when I tell you it is the single greatest apple peeler in the history of apple peelers. If you have a need to peel 100 pounds of apples, or any amount of apples, really, this is the tool to have. Peels, cores, slices, ALL AT THE SAME TIME. I think I’m a little bit in love with the apple peeler and that is not at all disturbing.

Apple carnage.

Halloween Festivities

Finally I got our decorative scarecrows up, only to have them taken down ten days later because the kids said they “didn’t fit with the theme”. The theme being creepy decorations.

Scarecrows are inappropriate additions to this house of terror.

A friend and I were talking about how as the kids age the Halloween decorations morph from happy little jack-o-lanterns into death and dismemberment. The cutesy little ghost and orange-hatted black cat are MY decorations, the kids put them up to humour me. Although, the black cat’s head is hanging on by a string so maybe “partially beheaded black cat” might be part of their overall vision.

In any case, we carved pumpkins this weekend and I de-gooped enough seeds to roast. This never happens. I usually get so bored with my job as pumpkin de-gooper and seed-cleaner that I end up throwing them out. This is a mistake! Warm roasted pumpkin seeds are more than worth it. Or kind of worth it, anyway.

Beauty Products

As you know, I’m always trying out new things – especially hair product. My, oh my, is my hair dry at this time of year. It’s only going to get drier and more straw-like. To add insult to injury, I realized this morning that it’s official: I cannot go six weeks between colourings any more. I’m starting to look like Arlene from Dragon’s Den and although I love her fabulous shoes, I want mono-coloured hair. In any case, I bought these giant bottles of Organix Coconut Milk Shampoo and Conditioner at Costco, and not only do I smell tropical, my hair is also noticeably softer.

I love buying gigantic shampoo.

Speaking of Costco, I bought Crest 3D White toothpaste in a pack of four, which is always a risk, as far as I’m concerned. This is the thing about Costco: it’s not the place to shop if you just want to try something out. But I’m glad I took the risk of buying an insane amount of toothpaste because this is the most amazing toothpaste I’ve ever tried. If it’s possible to be in love with my apple peeler, then I’m having a torrid affair with this toothpaste.

I’ve already used one of the toothpastes. Costco score!

On Thanksgiving weekend, we visited some friends (hi Sam!) and while having a casual conversation, Sam asked if I had been whitening my teeth. I probably talked a little TOO excitedly about this toothpaste. If you have a coffee/ wine/ grapes habit, you might want to consider this.

White teeth! I think that’s a book, actually. I’m pretty sure I read it for a book club back in the early 2000’s.

Sexy Ebola Containment Suits

My friend sent me this article today, and the title alone made me literally LAUGH OUT LOUD, no acronyms involved. “The Inevitable Comes To Pass: Of Course A Sexy Ebola Containment Suit Exists”. And of course, upon reading this article I had to find where one buys a Sexy Ebola Containment Suit.

Go buy one now before they are out of stock! It’s a steal at $59.99. Buy the boots and your partner’s outfit for only $189.99!

Honestly, I’d much rather see one million posts about Sexy Ebola Containment Suits than most things that are in the news these days. Bring it on, weird Halloween costumes. For example, this costume which is clearly Smurfette but there must have been some kind of licensing problem:

Troll-ette? You are fooling no one, costume website.

Or a Sexy French Fries Costume, because I don’t know about you, but when I hear “French Fries” I think “SEXYTIMES”.

There is also “Sexy Hamburger” and “Sexy Taco” but that makes me feel extremely uncomfortable, so you’ll have to be satisfied with the fries only.

Pretty Leaves

On a more wholesome note, this has been the prettiest fall that I can remember. The colours are gorgeous! It must have been that early-September snow?

This dogwood has never looked so pretty!

Fall Food

Fruit leather does not a meal make, so hooray for butternut squash season! I have a fabulous creamy butternut squash soup recipe over at Yummy Mummy Club, plus this very fun, very fast, very easy recipe for Dark Chocolate Raspberry Mousse Trifle. The trifle requires THREE TABLESPOONS of beer, which means you have to drink the rest or allow it to go to waste. Don’t be wasteful! Make this recipe and sip a brewsky while it’s chilling. You can be chilling while it’s chilling! Do people still say “chilling”?

You know you want it.

A very satisfying soup.

So there you have it! My favourite things – before winter sets in! And as usual, this is not a sponsored post, I didn’t receive anything for free, I just really like all these things! Also as usual, it’s giveaway time! To enter, leave a comment about what your favourite thing is about this time of year and you could win! A random winner will be drawn Friday, November 7. xo

Pumpkin Carving With No Blood Spilled

Posted on October 24, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

This week I was looking forward to having coffee on Wednesday morning with my dearest friend; between our clashing schedules this has been in planning stages for five weeks. Tuesday afternoon, Mark came out of the school with a little yellow post-it note in his hand, on which was written “Bring pumpkin carving knives tomorrow, please come Mom.” Apparently his class was pumpkin carving with their buddy class, and volunteers were needed so that no children would lose a digit and/or limb. I was by no means confident that I would be the best person to volunteer for this job, given that the last time I volunteered when sharp objects were utilized was when Mark was in kindergarten and the class was making birdhouses out of milk cartons; I managed to slice my hand open not once but twice during that shift. However, I couldn’t resist Mark and his begging eyes and so I agreed. Also he had already told his teacher that I would surely be able to make it; I cancelled my coffee date and slipped a bottle of Motrin into my purse.

My husband was more than a little alarmed when I told him of my project; he thought I should take his drywall knife, as being the safest object in our house with which to carve pumpkins. I have to say, he’s right. I was able to slice the tops off several pumpkins in short order, with no blood involved. If you have a drywall knife, I highly recommend it for pumpkin carving.

Have you ever walked through a school with a drywall knife in your hand? It’s a pretty uneasy feeling. I had it wrapped in bubble wrap for optics and safety, but I was still pretty nervous about it. What if a kid bumped into me while I was carrying it? What if a child grabbed the knife? So many things could go wrong but luckily none did; plus, it seems like I have to do the same exact thing next week for Jake’s class.

Mark’s buddy class is a kindergarten one, and it’s been a while since I’ve been around five-year-olds. Hoo boy, some of them are sure whiny. One little girl was – to the general alarm of the other members of her group – drawing hard-to-carve things like eyelashes, plus three large circles where the nose was supposed to be. I conferred with their group and helped them cut out the face, using one of those circles as a nose. The little artiste flipped out, saying that I needed to cut the circles on either side of the nose. “Those are her CHEEEEEEEKS,” she whined, “I need her to have cheeks. I WAAAAAAANT CHEEEEEEEEEEEKS.” It was very grating, but I wielded my power as volunteer-mom-with-drywall-knife and acquiesced to the requests of the other four members of the group, which was to leave the pumpkin without giant circles taken out of the face. The whining was bad enough, but the thought of the pumpkin with cut-out cheeks? Creepy as hell.

As if I haven’t had enough of pumpkins, we have our four giant ones to carve this weekend, plus we need to put up all our spooky decorations. Since I’ve already started buying Christmas decorations, and making up this year’s holiday card, and – thanks to my on-the-ball sister-in-law – I’m three-quarters of the way done Christmas shopping…I should probably focus some efforts on Halloween. There isn’t much to do except monitor the mini chocolate bar levels in the pantry – I keep buying them and two young people who are not me keep eating them.

Have you heard about the lady who wrote to “Dear Prudence“, asking her advice on how to handle trick-or-treaters who are not residents of her neighbourhood? This pitiable woman lives on one of the more modest streets in one of the “wealthiest neighbourhoods in the country” (Beverly Hills? Park Avenue? I don’t know.) and she is unhappy with hordes of poor children who do not reside in her neighbourhood trick-or-treating at her house. I mean, is Halloween supposed to be a charitable act? Is she supposed to just provide candy to just anyone? Maybe these errant trick-or-treaters should be frisked and asked to show ID with a current address on it. This poor woman is only in the “doctors, lawyers, and business owner” section of the neighbourhood, not the “billionaires, famous people, and media moguls” section. Those boxes of chocolates can run $10 each, so really, she is in a terrible situation. WHERE IS THE JUSTICE IN HALLOWEEN? She shouldn’t have to give out candy to JUST ANYBODY, least of all those impoverished ruffians. WHAT DOES SHE PAY TAXES FOR IF SHE HAS TO PROVIDE POOR CHILDREN WITH CANDY ON HALLOWEEN, GODDAMMIT?

I bet you anything she does that “Switch Witch” thing.

On a more pleasant note, I was purchasing some lotion at Bath and Body Works, and the fellow at the counter kept calling me Miss. Miss! I felt youthful and full of vigour, until I overheard him talking to his co-worker with regards to some sale signage. “I can’t see clearly, I don’t have my contacts in today.” Well, okay then. I’ll still take it. It’s kind of nice to be viewed in soft-focus, not unlike Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca.

Maintaining cardiovascular health, one asana at a time.

Posted on October 20, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

Apparently all one has to do is write about the possible return of Hammerpants in order to witness for oneself the return of Hammerpants. This morning as I was leaving the yoga studio, a young man popped in, holding a skateboard, and wearing wildly-patterned Hammerpants. There you have it, people, proof that truly, everything old is new again. And also that we never learn from our mistakes. For the record, he seemed like a very nice young man, Hammerpants notwithstanding. Don’t judge a book by its cover, etcetera.

But who am I to talk fashion! Look what I bought:

So pink!

To you, they might just be bright pink running shoes, but to me, they are a symbol of a new era. I last bought running shoes approximately fifteen years ago, and my last cardiovascular workout was approximately ten years ago. I used to be quite devoted to aerobics and spin classes – remember step aerobics? – but then when I was pregnant with Mark I was too worried to continue with them. We bought an elliptical trainer for the basement, and I did use it post-partum to help lose some weight. I got pregnant with Jake when Mark wasn’t quite nine months old, and the workouts stopped soon after. Once Jake was born and I had a colicky baby and a one year old, exercise was pretty much the last thing on my mind. I was lucky to remember to eat anything at all, and pushing a double stroller on snowy sidewalks was enough of a workout, thank you very much.

Fast-forward a couple of years, and I started practicing yoga. Eventually I did a closet purge and my running shoes that had been gathering dust for years went into the donation bin. My husband, however, has been telling me for the past SEVERAL YEARS that he is concerned I do not get enough cardiovascular workouts. The conversations go like this:

Mr: I’m worried you don’t get enough cardio.

Me: I exercise a lot! I do yoga every day!

Mr: That’s not cardio.

*Digression: this isn’t really true, as anyone who has practiced Ashtanga yoga knows. One word: vinyasa. Also, one cannot go into kapotasana without getting the old heart thumping, am I right, fellow Ashtangis? And yet, we’ve had this same exact conversation so many times that I have given up trying to convince my husband that yoga is good for the heart and cardiovascular system.*

It’s impossible to do this without getting all sweaty and increasing your heart rate: therefore, it is a cardiovascular workout. Will someone please convince my husband?

Me: Well, I walk the dog every day. For at least half an hour. That is cardio.

Mr: Maybe it’s cardio if you’re seventy. I don’t think that’s enough for you. You wear heels when you walk! That’s not a workout.

Me: I only wear one inch heels.

Lather, rinse, repeat this same exact conversation for at least the past five years. Maybe more, I’ve blocked it out. Anyway, last week I realized that my husband worries about me and my heart health, and really, would it be so bad to squeeze one or two turns on the elliptical trainer per week? It certainly wouldn’t hurt. In any case, I needed shoes, and so I bought the above-shown hot pink runners. Then, I got so excited about my pretty new shoes that I briefly entertained the notion of going to spin classes. Those were fun, way back in the late nineties/ early 2000’s. Loud music, group energy – sounds great to me!

I started looking into nearby classes and became immediately discouraged for the following reasons: a) all the classes seem to require special cycling shoes, so I wouldn’t get to wear my pretty pink shoes anyway, b) special cycle shoes are available for rental but wearing shoes that have had someone else’s sweaty feet in them seems gross to me – there’s a reason I don’t like bowling, c) a 45-minute class would take ninety minutes once I factor in travel and sign-in time, d) we have a home gym in our basement for that exact reason – extreme convenience. What is more convenient than one’s own basement?

I did realize something strange when I was looking at one website. It was for a Spin and Hot Yoga Studio, and putting aside my general distaste for hot yoga, I read the “New Student Etiquette” for both spin and yoga classes. It was fairly straightforward – no heavy perfumes, no smelling of alcohol or cigarettes, which is completely reasonable given the sweaty gross atmosphere of a hot yoga class. I would imagine being next to someone stinking of White Diamonds or smoke would be pretty gross in a hot-as-hell room. Then I came across the following rule:

Practicing in your underwear will not be permitted.

I thought about this for a long time. Is this a problem in hot yoga classes? Is this an actual issue that needs to be addressed? I have been practicing yoga at my beloved studio for seven and a half years, and not once have I seen a person practicing in their underwear. Not once. I had visions of very sweaty people in giant granny panties, or maybe a thong. Does this happen? I don’t know. Perhaps they mean sports-bra-like tops? A lot of sweet young things wear those with cute little booty shorts, but I wouldn’t classify that as underwear. It’s a mystery.

Anyway, I concluded that for my little workouts I would be content with our home gym, and Saturday I did actually exercise. I did some interval training that I remembered from lo, so many years ago, and it felt pretty good. I blasted some great 80s music and sang along breathlessly, which made Mark quit his Skylanders game and creep upstairs quietly. Call me! On the line, call me any, any time. Call me!

I told my husband the RPM’s I maintained and the levels I kept with, and he was actually impressed, which just goes to show that Ashtanga yoga and dog walking are actually great at keeping one in cardiovascular shape. I guess I’ll still do a workout once or twice a week, though, because I can’t let such cute shoes go to waste!

Say Hello To My Little Friend

Posted on October 17, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

I have had “Mairsy Doats” going through my head all morning, which has to be some kind of record for “weird earworms”. I am winning the contest, people, the contest to see who can get the weirdest thing stuck in one’s head for the longest period of time. If you don’t know “Mairsy Doats” it is a song that was commonly sang by grandmothers of my generation, and it goes like this:

Mares eat oats and does eat oats and little lambs eat ivy. A kid’ll eat ivy too. Wouldn’t you?

And repeat. But it has to be sang very quickly so the words slur together, like this:

Mairsy doats and doasy doats and little lambsy divey. A kiddly ivy too. Wouldn’t you?

In other words, I’m slowly going insane. I’m searching for something, ANYTHING to get this out of my head: the theme song from Cheers, Hey Joe, Clap for the Wolfman, and nothing is working. Nothing. I keep attempting snippets from songs, and this is what happens:

Clap for the Wolfman, he’s going to rate your record high. Clap for the Wolfman, you won’t dig him till the day you mares eat oats and does eat oats…

I feel like Scarface, but instead of saying “Say hello to my little friend” and shooting everyone in a violent fashion, I am saying “Say goodbye to my little brain” and drinking coffee. So not at all like Scarface, I guess.

Yesterday I went to buy pumpkins for carving; I’m pretty behind on my usual fall festivities. I haven’t even put up our decorative scarecrows, and it’s only two weeks until Halloween! This is unacceptable. The scarecrows must – MUST – go up this weekend. Apparently having a freak snowstorm and then even more freakishly warm weather is great for fall colours, because the leaves that are left on the trees that are left are gorgeous. I stared at my friend’s beautiful mountain ash this morning; it’s gloriously orange with the most beautiful red berries. I took a photo but it just didn’t do it justice; you will have to trust me that the city looks gorgeous.

Back to the pumpkins; I went to the Co-Op yesterday, thinking it would be an easy trip. Pick out four cute pumpkins, boom, done. I ended up staring at the pumpkin selection for an uncomfortably long time because they were all enormous. Where are all those cute small pumpkins? Not the little tiny decorative ones; those are adorable but I need ones that are actually carveable. It’s a family tradition that we each get a pumpkin to carve so we have a family of pumpkins. A family of weird looking pumpkins, but a family nonetheless. However, at Co-Op all the pumpkins were absolutely huge. Huge is not always a good thing, guys. I could barely lift them. After staring at the pumpkins and weighing my options – huge pumpkins versus driving somewhere else to hopefully find smaller ones – I decided that laziness was a virtue and started hauling out the less-enormous pumpkins. They were all battered and weird-shaped, but I feel that this will add character. I set them all on the front step but I think their still-mammoth size is distressing to Barkley. He keeps randomly barking at the windowed front door, and when I go to look, nothing is there but the pumpkins. Poor doggie. He’s trying to protect us all from being overrun by giant orange spheres.

Last night when I was driving the kids home from karate, MC Hammer’s U Can’t Touch This came on. When I changed the channel, the boys protested. They love that song! Love it! So I turned it back and listened as they sang along. How do they know it? It’s a mystery. I clearly remember Hammerpants being a large part of the fashion scene, back in the day. All the boys in my Grade Nine class walked around in those pants, so patterned and colourful. Sadly, I’m sure this will be back in style before we know it. The other day my girlfriend’s beautiful daughter was wearing acid wash skinny jeans with combat boots, and while she looked adorable, I felt like Methuselah. It’s funny how the crazy styles of the 80s can look great on the young, but when I saw a woman my age walking down the street wearing relaxed-fit, elastic waist acid wash jeans that were clearly a vintage/ saved item from 1986, I felt sad for everything. We cannot go back there, people. We must leave the acid wash – and, probably, the Hammerpants – to today’s youth. On that note, I am going to the mall to pick up some nice blouses, slacks, and sensible shoes.

According to Buzzfeed, Elvis is my boyfriend from a past life.

Posted on October 15, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

Happy Belated Thanksgiving! I had full intentions of writing an emotionally-charged gratitude/ thankfulness post, but then my post-Blissdom cold morphed into a Super Cold which left me unable to sleep or function in a semi-coherent way. I was also at my in-laws’ for five days and now I’m catching up – again – on the mountain of laundry that somehow appeared although I actually did laundry twice whilst at my in-laws’. I also cannot comprehend the date: how is it halfway through October? Jake was looking at his calendar last night and said “Hey, it won’t be too long until Christmas, and then I get a new calendar. The year is just flying by!” Tell me about it.

I’m thankful for many things, not the least of which is the approximately one hundred pounds of apples I currently have in my house, and the fifty pounds of grapes. Fruit leather, coming up. Now that I think about it, I really am not sure why I thought this was an appropriate amount of fruit to take home, but there it is. My husband suggested last night that I make some grape juice, but the thought of the juicer and the insane cleanup afterwards just seemed overwhelming, especially after we spent the majority of the day in the car. Fortunately there was not much traffic, and so my husband had very few people to swear at; another thing to be thankful for.

I was so sick last week that I actually missed a School Council/ Parent Association meeting. Such a thing has never happened before. I made it to the meeting, but my friend looked at me and said “Um, I think you should go home. NOW.” Meanwhile, I blinked at her uncomprehendingly. What? Nicole doesn’t understand. By all accounts it was quite the dramatic meeting so I guess it was for the best, since I probably would have passed out, drooling on my notes, while the activity took place. Staring blankly into space and drooling is probably not the best way to chair a meeting, although it might be an interesting experiment.

There was a music tag game going around last night, in which one puts their music on shuffle and notes down the songs that come up. It’s quite an interesting portrait, this peek into people’s playlists. Here’s mine, and I must note that I thought I had written down ten songs, but it was pointed out to me that I actually wrote down nine. I was a queen in calculus but apparently I can’t count to ten. I blame the road trip!

Nicole’s Shuffle Playlist: My Personality, as represented by music

Dreadlock Holiday (I don’t like reggae. I love it.)

Islands in the Stream (Sail away with me. To another world.)

Fast Car (Take your fast car and keep on driving.)

Me and Mrs Jones (We got a thiiiiiiing going onnnnnnn)

Nights on Broadway (Blaming it all on the nights on Broadway. Blaming them love songs. Blaming them straight to the heart songs)

Linda Put The Coffee On (I got sunshine and red wine, a friend of mine taking it easy)

Thrift Shop (Is that your grampa’s coat?)

Over My Head (And it sure feels nice)

BUST A MOVE (Okay smarty, go to a party.)

When I did this exercise, I actually fretted for a moment, as to whether or not I should post these songs. I mean, Islands in the Stream? Really? There are two ways to face it: with total confidence that this is a fabulously eclectic collection of music, or with shame. I’m going for the former.

Happy Thanksgiving!

No Cash Cab, But Heart-Pumping Cab Rides Anyway.

Posted on October 7, 2014 by Nicole Boyhouse

So I didn’t get to ride in the Cash Cab, but I did have a fabulous time in Toronto (well, Mississauga, really) this weekend. I had been fretting a little that I was leaving the kids for too long but they were absolutely fine. Everyone had a great time and as my husband said, It’s GOOD if they miss you. It’s good for them. It’s true, of course.

And I had a great time – I was busy enough not to miss the children desperately, and I met so many wonderful people (*waves at everyone*). All the late nights, the constant hugging and handshaking, and the less-than-perfect nutrition (read: snack mix and Bellinis for dinner) has caught up with me, since I’m nursing a cold. Post-conference illness, it’s a real thing. Not to mention flying; airplanes are just one giant petri dish of recycled air that I don’t want to think about too much. Someone told me once that airplane seatbelts have very high levels of fecal matter on them, apparently from people not washing their hands after using the teensy little lavatory. Ew! I have always had slight misgivings about headrests as possibly housing lice of epidemic proportions, but happily my headrest was vinyl.

Despite the germ-factory that is an airplane, I really do love flying. It’s so exciting, the thought that in a few short hours I’ll be somewhere totally different! Adventure awaits; it’s the miracle of flight. I remember the first time we took the kids on a winter vacation, how amazed they were that we could leave a snow-and-ice filled city, and just a few hours later land somewhere warm and full of flowers and green grass. It’s truly wonderful, and I still get a little thrill about it. Also, there’s something really nice about being forced to be inactive for a while. It’s kind of nice to just stay in your seat, watch a movie, and eat cute little snacks from the cute little flight attendant.

And yet, there is a big downside to flying, and that is other people. Most people, I think, are kind and decent, but it’s a one bad apple kind of situation. On the flight home, there was a dog on the plane. It was a little dog, like a “purse dog” and the poor puppy whimpered and/or barked the WHOLE TIME. Now, I’m a dog lover, and I’m sure that dog’s ears were in pain with take-off and landing, but OMG. People, a high-pitched whimper for four hours. My husband had given me his fancy noise-cancelling headphones, so I was able to tune out for most of the time, but take-off and landing were agonizingly noisy. I would far rather be next to a screaming baby than be anywhere near a whimpering dog.

Further to that, I would rather be on a flight with a whimpering purse dog than with the crazy woman behind me on the flight to Toronto. According to my friend who was seated behind her, this crazy lady put her headphones down on the seat behind her, where they evidently fell off. The woman then looked around her to find the headphones, and noticed an older lady in the row behind her who was wearing a pair that were the exact same colour and style. What are the chances? The older lady must have stolen them, or so said Headphone Lady. “My headphones were here, and now they’re not. It’s funny that you have a pair exactly like the ones I JUST lost.” The older lady explained they were her own headphones, to which Headphone Lady replied, sharply, “If you wanted to BORROW my headphones, you could have asked!”

Slight digression: who on earth would ask to borrow a stranger’s headphones, and for that matter, who on earth would loan out their earbud style headphones to a complete stranger in the row behind them? That’s pretty gross, and also very weird considering that Air Canada just hands out headphones, free of charge.

All through the huffy exchange, to which several witnesses said that the older lady had been wearing the headphones for a while, and had not picked them up off the floor but taken them from her purse, I fretted that this would turn into some sort of strange headphone brawl and the plane would have to turn around. Remember the Bubble Guppies lady (who was not a robot) of just a few weeks ago, who got into some trouble over headphone-related anguish? I was a bit worried this would happen and we’d be forced to land in Winnipeg or somewhere and I’d be late for the Yummy Mummy Club meeting. Everyone just stay calm, I wanted to yell, there are enough headphones for everyone on board this aircraft. After landing, when we were all deplaning, my friend noticed the headphones lying on the floor, thus proving that the headphone-wearing older lady did not, in fact, steal the other woman’s headphones.

Headphones aside, it was a great weekend. Here are some of my favourite photos:

PJ’s and Bellinis

The Lentil Carnival, on the red carpet with the creepiest carny ever, with the possible exception of the guys who would grope teen girls while buckling them into roller coaster rides at the Calgary Stampede during the 80s and 90s.

The strong man at the Lentil Carnival. I asked him if he felt objectified, and he said he was paid to be objectified. Which doesn’t make it BETTER, muscular guy in little shorts.