This all goes towards my current pet thesis, which is why do decent, hard-working, good people get PUNISHED in today's society? How does that make sense? Between me and the Dotytron, we've got like, 5 post-secondary degrees, and every year for the next 6 years, the Dotytron is going to be struggling this time to get a job (most likely) and we have to keep postponing all our home improvements because we like, pay our taxes and don't sponge money from the government and stuff. How does that make sense? Meanwhile, I see (or like, I have seen, at least once) contests that reward people for trying to quit smoking with cars and whatnot. I mean, I get it. I get that the costs to society of having to foot the bill to treat your emphysema or lung cancer are more than the car, but WHERE'S THE REWARD FOR NOT SMOKING IN THE FIRST PLACE? So some jacked up fatty carmichael is gonna win a car while I'm trolling sketchy sites of questionable origin for after-market parts for the Captain?!? What the hell? It's enough to turn you into a Tea Partier...or at least, to see the attraction for people who feel like other people are sponging off of them (ie. like my neighbour, Mad Eye Moody).
I've been a bit of a foul owl lately. I kind of dislike everyone and I only want to hang out with Dr. Rei, which is kind of the norm anyway, so no biggie. So sue me for having the best bff, k?
On the Friday before we left, I made us waffles, with a cinnamon sugar swirl, so they tasted like cinnamon bun waffles. Yeah, that happened.
Then on the way out of town, we stopped for rotis and doubles at our favorite place in the whole world. It's in Etobicoke and it's the ill na-na. My (boneless!) goat roti was exquisite and the doubles are the best I've ever had, anywhere, bar none.
We ate pretty decent BBQ from this place called the Three Legged Pig. We had brisket, chicken, ribs, and pulled pork. The sides weren't the best but the brisket was outstanding. Nothing really had a deep smoke flavour but the texture on the brisket was that perfect balance between chewy and tender. I like my brisket to have some texture to it, and this one did. I think I'm over ordering pulled pork out. I mean, a proper pulled pork sammy is good, but ultimately, you don't get that much smoke flavour and it tends to all taste pretty same-y. It's the sauce that sets it apart and the sauces at this place weren't that great (the Kansas-style one was too sweet and unnuanced) except for their South Carolina style mustard-based dipping sauce, which I quite liked.
Here are some photos from the weekend. My sis' nickname for the Big Yam is "city mouse" and Little Big Cuz is "country mouse." Both mice were being pretty darned cute. As were Miss Ramona and Little Ze. Once your kids get to be like, 5 or 7 or so, parenting becomes like, a 1/4 time job. They just do their own thing, hanging out, maxing and relaxing and bugging each other, instead of you.
Cousins holding hands.
Country mouse kicking back.
Grand Electric, eat your heart out - this is some real street food business. As you can see, the Big Yam is taking his mayonnaise application task, VERY seriously.
Most of these photos were taken at the Strong Museum of Play, which is basically kid nirvana. They also have a garden and a butterfly conservatory.
Under the Texan Sun dress. I was fully planning on returning this because I thought it would be too short. But then I decided: "f**k it" This summer is going to be about tanned legs and too-short skirts and messy hair. This number is 100% cotton and the muted-neon orange and grey color combo are impossibly fresh. It's pretty super-flattering, even with the cap sleeves.
This dress came and it fits like a dream. Super happy with this purchase.
I also snagged this one. I thought this would be nice for work, with a navy blazer or a cardigan. It's a bit crazy, but one of the things I like about my job is that it's okay to wear a "statement" dress like this. I don't have to be super-conservative all the time.
That effectively puts an end to my summer shopping. I'm looking for a pair of cropped pants or a longer pair of shorts and then I'm donezo.