Take cover(s)!

You can be that person battling the rain with a little foldable umbrella in one hand and two bags of groceries in the other, praying your backpack is still waterproof, or you can be the prepared mom-person who wears a raincoat, stuffs all the non-squishable groceries in her backpack, and then covers the backpack with a backpack rain cover.

You can be that person who’s like, “Yeah fruits can get wet, they’re in grocery bags, they’ll dry off.” Or you can be that person who transfers everything into one bag and uses the second to cover the groceries, lest the avocados and milk get drenched (but you’re actually protecting the strawberries and Pillsbury Easter cookies, let’s be real.)

What did I learn today? I’d rather be the wallflower dork with the bright backpack cover than the drowned rat with wet notes because my backpack, I discovered recently, is no longer waterproof. Particularly on the middle section where my water bottle goes. You know, because keeping water bottles dry is the ultimate goal.

I mean, it doesn’t look that embarrassing, right?

The Food Thing.

A friend of mine recently moved into an apartment for the first time, and she asked me, “How do you do the food thing?” Of course I asked, “What food thing?”

“Like, groceries and cooking and all.”

Ok. Well THAT’S a loaded question. But it’s also a very fun question (for me).

While I explained my grocery/food prep-cooking methods via text, it occurred to me the other day that perhaps others might be in the same predicament.

So here is (what I hope to be the foolproof, overly detailed) run-down on the most important part (in my opinion, which might be redundant, since it’s my blog…) of “food prep”: freezing meat for food prep.

1. If you have or have access to someone’s Costco membership, Costco is a fantastic place to buy meat. You can get your chicken thighs, chicken breasts, ground pork, ground beef and lamb shoulder (now we’re getting a little fancy) all from Costco. They also seem to always have a great selection of salmon or another kind of fish as well. Loblaws (Loblaw Great Food?) is also a great place to get meat, but it’s usually sold in smaller quantities.
2. Don’t go cheap on meat. Buy decent quality meat when you can – it’s one thing to buy discounted bread or fruits when you know you’ll finish them within a day, and maybe it’s just me but with meat I wouldn’t cut corners.
3. Buy your meat when you have time to go home and split it up into smaller portions for freezing, ie. Pick a day or days that you know you’ll have an hour or two to debone, defat (is that a word?), and freeze your goods.

So now you have your meat, it’s time to start the labelling process. (Monica! Where’s your label-maker?) I like to use those small clear plastic bags like the kind you see at Bulk Barn for small quantities of herbs, or if you’re feeling the Ziplock, then Ziplock baggies work well too (they’re just more expensive). It is easiest to write before filling the bags, which may seem like an obvious direction, but hey, I know from experience that Sharpie on a cold bag of meat doesn’t work too well! Grab a permanent marker and write out the name of the meat (more on this in the individual sections), and date.

Chicken Thighs

1. Debone and defat (I’m quite sure this isn’t a word) the chicken thighs. Deboning helps the meat cook faster, and as a student, we all know time is a priceless thing we love to waste. I tend to take the skin off as well, but if you’re grilling the chicken in the oven then leave the skin on since it’ll help keep the chicken moist.
2. Wash your chicken and dry with a paper towel.
3. You may know that you like to cook and eat chicken in slices or chunks, so cutting up the chicken now will save you time later. Be sure to add a label such as, “cut up” or “chunks” since it’s a little harder to see when the chicken is frozen.
4. You’ll find a labelling system that works for you. For chicken thighs, I use “CH thigh” (Brilliant, I know).
5. Place chicken thighs in  Ziplock or small bags; I bag the thighs in groups of 2 or 4. Consider how many people you usually cook for and label the bag accordingly.
6. Double-bag that baby! Put all the labelled bags of chicken in a larger bag. I like using the meat bags or fruit and vegetable bags from the grocery store. Frozen knots are sometimes difficult to untie (I realize this sounds obvious or seems like it’s not a concern, but try tying a tight knot, freezing it, then untying it frozen, because you wouldn’t be defrosting the entire bag of chicken and come back and tell me how it goes), so if you’re tying a knot be sure you can untie it easily. Alternatively, you could twist the bag and grab it around a milk tab. (If that made no sense, and I’m sure it didn’t, scroll down and have a glance at the picture of ground beef).

Chicken Breasts 

1. Cut off the small, thin section that dangles off the breast and looks like an uncooked chicken finger/tender/cutlet. I cut all of these off then separate the cutlets into groups of about 8-10 and freeze them separate from the breasts. But your chicken, your choice, y’all!
2. Wash and dry the chicken.
3. If you want flat or thinner breasts for sandwiches or faster cooking, then cut the chicken breast into half lengthwise.
4. Cut int0 stir-fry chunks of strips if you want. I make about two bags of cut up chicken breasts.
5. Label. “CH breast” (Genius again.) Bag.
6. Double-bag. 

 

Ground Beef

1. (Pardon my assumptions about how it is packaged). Without removing the plastic wrapping, press the meat evenly into the styrofoam packaging, so that when you divide the meat into sections or portions, it’s more evenly distributed and easier to divide. Unless you want to play the guessing game, then that’s cool too.
2. Use a knife to cut through the plastic and divide the meat into portions. I tend to divide it into 6 or 8 sections. I was able to make 9 sections for some reason in the image below. Remove and discard the plastic (duh?).
3. Label. “Gr. Beef” (I bet you didn’t see that one coming).
4. Place portions in bags.
5. Double-bag a bunch of the smaller bags.

Ground Pork

1. Press meat evenly into styrofoam (just like the beef).
2. Cut through and divide portions. When I use ground pork, I tend to make things like meatballs and use more meat, so I divide pork into 6 portions. You do you.
3. Label. I’m not going to bother including my label example, because that’s just insulting.
4. Meat –> Bag. 
5. … Yes, you guessed it. Double-bag. 

 

P.S. 

• The same process works for freezing beef, steaks, etc.
• If you don’t dry off the meat after washing it, when heated, the extra water will make spark and crackle (not the right words at all, but it’s 1am people), when the meat is heated in the pan as it heats with the oil. Hot pan and oil does not mix with water. You have been warned.
• Double-bagging helps prevent freezer burn. I don’t know how so don’t ask me why. I’m in English, remember?
• Be a smart adult. I am not responsible for any food poisoning or illness or injury  or harm or whatever associated with the suggestions and instructions in this blog post. Wash your knives and sinks and cutting boards between meats. When in doubt, wash again. Raw meat ain’t funny folks.

 

So, now you can prep and freeze meat like a pro. A student pro. Live that student life efficiently! 

Finding your Big-Girl Pants: Part 1½

We’re now two weeks into classes and three weeks since Orientation started. Incase my online absence is suspiciously pointing towards two weeks of socializing and making new friends, need I remind the world of my social skills? Silly, world. Since my last post, my very optimistic sounding post, I have come face-to-face with more big-girl things. And since I like lists, here we go:

1. Leaky tap. Fill out a work order form for the apartment superintendent and hope that it gets fixed while panicking at the idea that you have just given someone permission to enter your apartment at some point, even when you are not home. *Hides laundry loonies*
2. Orange Juice. Since the local farmer’s market has been stocked with a wonderful surplus of choice in vegetables, fruit, and baked goods, I have somehow managed to avoid stepping foot in a grocery store for three weeks. The market does not, however, have orange juice. The one substance I require to function the way plants need carbon dioxide. Or humans and oxygen. You know. So I put on my big-girl pants and rode the bus to the shopping centre where I happily strolled through Loblaws, really buttoning up those big-girl pants when I had to ask for a rain check on the out-of-stock-on-sale-orange-juice. That’s what happens when you go to the grocery store after noon, people. Lesson: Wake up and get your groceries early. 
3. Laundry. I may have ironed my shirt in my last blog post, but I never actually did the whole washing machine/dryer routine. When you leave laundry for 3 weeks, and try to fit the whole dark load into one load, things do not get washed properly. I mean, of course I knew enough to separate darks and lights, and of course I did not leave a red sock in my white a-la-Rachel-Green, but I thought water in washing machines just penetrates all the clothing and soaks everything. Well, if you have three weeks of clothing, and a small washer in the laundry room of your apartment, it doesn’t. So do not try to stuff the washing machine. Also, invest in those Tide tablet things so that you don’t have to measure laundry detergent. Life gets better with those laundry tablet things.
4. Learn how to small-talk. Okay, so I’m expecting there will be another post on this at some point this year. This past week, I attended a faculty wine and cheese event, and had to endure the dreaded small talk with colleagues aka classmates, and professors aka those who assign you a grade that defines your academic progression. What did I expect? Painful, awkward, staring at the ceiling.
   What did I encounter? Slightly less painful, slightly less awkward, and I couldn’t tell you what the ceiling looked like. I received some great advice on what to wear for “business casual” before attending: “If you would TA in it, you can wear it.” Since it was a wine and cheese, and I enjoy wine but cannot tolerate alcohol well, I was that person who casually sipped and warmed my chilled white wine in my hands, which is a nice way of saying I pretended to drink it, subtly made half of my glass magically disappear, filled the half with water, and sipped my diluted now-warm chardonnay with effortless (what a lie) grace.
   What’s the point of diluting the wine? Why didn’t I just drink a non-alcoholic drink?
   There is no difference; I call it personal preference. There is absolutely no problem or judgment I expected for preferring a non-alcoholic drink. I honestly do enjoy wine, so I had no problem asking for white wine. I like the feel of wine glasses because in that superficial way, I feel more comfortable and classy with a wine glass. It all has to do with holding the wine glass itself, and just having a drink (be it alcoholic or non-alcoholic) in general so your hands have something to do, and nothing to do with what’s in the glass. If you feel confident you will be more confident. Fact. (Not proven, but you know.)
   Let’s put it this way. I once attended an alumni talk from a very successful graduate who talked about networking and socializing. Her #1 piece of advice for events? Get a drink (again, any drink, water, wine, etc.) and hold it. It makes you 90% (I made that number up) less awkward than you would be without a drink. It gives you an excuse to politely leave a conversation and “refill” or join another conversation along the way to maximize you networking. And it keeps you hydrated, since you know, socializing requires talking, which requires hydration. And I also made that last point up based on my recent experiences.

So, all that rambling basically meant: I had to take care of maintaining my apartment, I had to go to a real grocery store and do my own laundry, which takes a lot more time when you let it accumulate. I had to socialize in a professional setting and put to use the lesson I learned about professional socializing, that is, get a drink and (it doesn’t matter if it’s alcoholic or non-alcoholic), and mingle. All of which is a lot easier said than done. Which are things I am still working on. But I tried, and that’s why this post is a ½ step in the “Big-Girl Pants.” Like half a step when you’re walking. Like the running man. No, nevermind, not the running man. Just mid step.

Finding Your Big-Girl Pants: Part 1

Orientation Week.

Affectionately and unofficially known as the best week of your undergraduate experience, “O-Week” is typically synonymous with summer camp for frosh. Well grad students, I have news for you. Graduate school orientation is less faculty-team-building, and more pub nights with the few others in your program. Now, as someone who does not drink beer this tends to be a tad awkward since it becomes more obvious and is a general topic of conversation revisited when everyone orders another round of drinks except you. Anyways.

Walking around campus to the constant cheering and never-ending energy remains an exciting way to relive the O-Week experience without actually reliving it. At the same time, it also makes you feel old, despite my direct transition from undergrad to graduate school making me only one year older than the average oldest undergraduate student. And, as you might expect, with feeling old in a new city comes the old-people activities. Like laundry. And ironing. And cooking… Things that you might have learned as an 18 year old student living in residence, or as a 19 year old student living off-campus. Nevertheless, here I am in my twenties and sending snapchats of myself ironing to my friends to validate the fact that I now have my big-girl pants on.

And while my inventive set-up of a kitchen counter with a bed sheet tucked into the cupboard a-la-makeshift-ironing-board is all kinds of luxurious laundry tools, I can’t even take credit for the idea (thanks Mom!). However, I started to realize today, there were so many ways I could approach this Orientation Week:

1. Ambitiously, I wrote down all the general graduate student activities into my planner, alongside the program-specific activities, including the times and locations. I could go to all of these activities, which would result in 5 hours of sleep per night and a burnt-out Felicia by Sunday night.
2. I could ignore all of the activities, sit in my apartment, and watch Friends like it’s still the summer it feels like outside (cue 30 degree weather. Celsius, incase anyone thought that was sarcasm).
3. Sweat on my bike and rush to roughly 50% of the activities – rushing, since I still have not completely mastered time management while biking, and biking, since walking is overrated. Spend the remaining 50% of my time learning how to hand-signal at stop signs and traffic lights properly so as to avoid as much tippage as possible while on a moving bicycle with a full backpack.
4. Repeat Option #3, but also use the remaining 50% to complete big-girl activities. Cue: Mom’s voice telling me to iron that one shirt with wrinkles that I know I’ll wear soon.

Clearly, based on my anecdote about make-shift ironing boards I chose #4, but you must know that I fully considered all four of those options. Dear Reader, I washed my floors, too. Housekeeping is a skill I fully enjoy at the moment, because I can fully, one hundred percent justify that it is important to establish good housekeeping habits before getting into the depths of an MA. Right? Maybe. But hey, feeling like a big girl, singing that Pull-Ups song, “Mommy, wow! I’m a big kid now!” while dancing with the wet-wipe Swiffer is a productive use of my time. Those five readings for the first class next week can wait. Besides, when it comes time to do them, I’ll already have my big-girl pants on. (I hope.)

“They’re people too.”

During one of my reading weeks in undergrad, I visited a friend who was going to school in Vancouver. I expected to come back and tell everyone I wanted to move to the West coast, since it seems like a widely accepted fact that once you go to B.C., you never want to leave. (I mean, in some ways it’s very true – just walk to the edge of the water and look at the mountains on your right and the ocean on your left. It’s simply beautiful.) What I did not expect was to come back and think about how I walked past those on the street begging for money with no home to go to and no job to support themselves.

Homelessness can be a sensitive subject – a passionate cause for some, an ignored but accepted part of society to others. Either way the topic raises potential for heated debates and I will admit I am hesitant to write this blog post, especially since I do not actively engage in the politics of or current conversations about these issues.

When you grow up in a relatively big city, it becomes a habit to walk past the homeless and beggars without sparing a second glance. In Vancouver, I responded to the greetings the same way I always have: by carrying on. My friend reprimanded me, and said “Why do you just ignore them? They’re people too.”

“They’re people too.” They’re people too.

When I was travelling in Shanghai this past summer, I self-toured the city alone. I passed an elderly homeless couple begging for money on a busy street corner, and I noticed every person passed by without a second glance. The elderly man was wrapped in a sleeping bag, with a knit hat. He appeared to be sleeping. He eerily resembled the likeness of my own grandpa, and I felt a knot in my stomach unlike the cold-hearted response I had trained myself to possess. I pulled a small amount of yuan from my purse, and handed it to the elderly lady, who kept up an on-going plea to passers-by that sounded almost chant-like. As soon as I had given her the money, I was immediately verbally harassed by a group of women standing nearby. Not understanding a single word of Chinese, except for my numbers one to ten, I stared, startled, and tried to communicate that I could not understand what they were saying. Though their tone of voices seemed to soften towards me when they realized I only spoke English, I got the sense that one woman was trying to tell me I should not have given money to the elderly couple. An argument broke out between the elderly woman and this woman from the group, which escalated to the two shouting curses (I’m guessing, since they were repeating words and throwing their arms in the air).

Weren’t the elderly couple people too? 

While trying to adjust to the new city of “Queenstown,” I walked around the main downtown area and passed a number of homeless people. Of them, one called out to me and said, “Good evening, miss.” Under the cloak of my sunglasses, I kept my eyes straight and walked by without any acknowledgement, but inside I shrunk, tried to ignore the feeling and I couldn’t deny that I felt disappointed in myself. (Think, Gus from Cinderella trying to take all his cheese cubes and fit into the tiny mouse hole unsuccessfully.) I could hide my eyes with sunglasses, but I couldn’t hide from myself.

“They’re people too.” 

In a situation where I felt relatively safe on the sidewalk in broad daylight and I knew the language and culture of the city, why didn’t I reply? Maybe I was concerned for my safety, since you read stories in the news where “things happen,” and as a single woman in a new city, not inviting conversation with anyone, be it on the street or in a store, is another habit I have developed. But where is the line between being polite and inviting conversation? Surely a smile and a nod, or a reciprocated, “Good evening,” is not an invitation, right? Part of me wants to say, “Of course not,” but another part of me, likely in my mother’s warning voice, says, “You never know.”

There is no easy answer for this type of situation from my limited experience, and although some may easily respond with no hesitation, while others see it as “no big deal,” it’s the kind of thing I feel as though I am constantly debating. Being alone in a new city has given me another perspective, but no matter the situation, I can’t forget that “they’re people too.“

The Queenstown Chronicles Hits the Town: Round 1

Attention folks, The Queenstown Chronicles have officially moved into town… I mean, at least for a few days. At this point, however, I think a few days is all I can handle. Warning: Tonight’s blog post may be the kind dripping and oozing in fresh, melted mozzarella disguised as a casual pasta sauce. 

We always watch movies that, at some point, usually use the saying, “There are ___ types of people in the world…” to describe how the protagonist fits into none of the categories mentioned. Prediction? Said protagonist is an anomaly to some type of rule. As much as some of us want to feel like we fit in and belong to somewhere or something, we also love to be one. An anomaly, I mean (don’t deny it). Where, you might ask, does this rambling anomaly talk come into play?

Well I’m going to start with that categorizing habit, just like in movies.

Category 1: The Unemotional Poker Face, also known as the Ice Queen

I like to think of myself as being an unemotional person at most times. I practice keeping emotions in check and keeping up my poker face, which, contradictory to the “unemotional” part of my category title, actually involves emotions. This nonchalant, casual attitude is the updated version of the teenager’s “I don’t care about the world.” A young adult “Ice Queen” does, in fact, care about the world, but has been burned too many times to commit to showing too many emotions. Emotions are felt at an intensity level of 50%, and anything beyond that is immediately pushed away. It’s the classic too-many-emotions-leave-dangerous-room-for-a-hurt-heart situation. But like, hey, we’re almost taken seriously as adults now, aside from that post-grad #yolo phase, involving Starbucks on a whim and shopping sprees when you meant to pay off student debt (or so I’ve heard).

On the flip side, having the ability to keep emotions in check has also paid off. It adds a level of rational thinking to an otherwise emotionally-charged situation. It opens up the possibility to distance yourself, or perhaps reconsider impulsive decisions. Am I trying to defend the infamous “Ice Queen” status? Maybe. Or maybe I’m trying to rationalize it.

Do you fit into this category? I know I sometimes feel as though I do.

Category 2: The Family’s Babied Baby, also known as the Youngest Child

There are couple kinds of “Youngest Child” children, two of which include, one, the child who is forgotten, and two, the child who is spoiled. I’m referring to the latter, with no hint of a complaint and every bit of gratitude. Although spoiled may be an exaggeration, or a harsh word, I mean to use the word in an endearing way. Being spoiled as the baby of a family means you feel as though you never fully grow up, or feel some kind of guilt when you try to, or in some ways, you never want to. Being spoiled involves being sheltered and constantly protected from the terrors of the world, as much as possible.

As a product of the “Family’s Babied Baby” situation, being spoiled also means that your parents stocked up your first apartment pantry with enough non-perishable food to support all of the residents in your apartment building in the event of a zombie apocalypse. It means six different kinds of tomato sauce, two different kinds of Greek yogurt, small bottles of all the authentic Chinese cooking essentials, and most importantly, Costco-sized bags of ground meat, chicken breasts, and deboned chicken thighs, (all in labelled, dated, individually-portioned Ziploc bags, and double bagged to protect against freezer burn, of course).

Do you fit into this category? I will not insult your intelligence and bother writing if I believe I do.

So, let’s go back to the common movie phrase and how the protagonist does not fit into any of the categories. However, rather than believing I do not fit into any category and thinking of myself as an anomaly, I consider myself to fit into both Category 1 and Category 2. As much as I want to think of myself as an anomaly to the “little-girl-feels-alone-in-a-new-city” pattern, I realized today that I am not. I had this grand idea, based on my fortunate and recent experiences of travelling alone, that I would be able to handle being left alone in a new city. The idea involved:

1. Excitement, once my family headed home, since my fridge and cupboards were fully stocked,
2. Curiosity, to explore a new city by myself, as I thoroughly enjoyed doing while travelling alone,
3. Some kind of confident, explorer-feeling, like travelling.

Fitting into both categories makes me realize that I am not any different than the movie protagonist who fits in no category. Movie protagonists are designed to be relatable on multiple levels to many different kinds of people. Vague statement, I know. But if you think about it, relating to the uncategorized movie protagonist really does induce a sense of belonging. At least, in a new city with no friends, no family, and no school community (since it’s August and I’m an early-bird, but not in the morning-person understanding of the phrase), I belong to some kind of vast, global community of young adults (rather than the fresh, young, average 18-year old first year student) experiencing the realization we are not quite as independent and fearless as we thought.

Initiation of The Queenstown Chronicles

So, I tried to start this off with some kind of “Hello!” but it seemed awfully cheery and somewhat redundant. So, I’ll just jump right in.

I’m Felicia. If you read my extremely elusively-titled page, “Sorry, who’s blog is this?” you will find a 190 word description of me, a disclaimer of sorts, and why I decided to start this blog.

Now, I’m starting to feel the need to explain this “Sorry, who’s blog is this?” page, since I tried to avoid too many parenthetical asides also known as commentary to my own soliloquies. I mean, I’m not trying to sound like Hamlet or anything.

1. “bacon-loving” is more than me simply telling you I love bacon more than all other foods. Bacon is a God-sent gift – like manna in the Bible (no, I’m not kidding). Bacon is a great example of “good things in moderation” a principle by which I was raised to stand. You see, to love bacon does not mean one wants to eat bacon at every meal; that would mean to give yourself a heart attack. Don’t do that. Bacon-loving means you appreciate and savour the thing that you truly enjoy. Bacon cheers me up. Bacon is very pretty (like, aesthetically speaking the different shades of pink, red, and off-white don’t clash and also don’t give off a Valentine’s Day vibe. So props to you, bacon). Bacon tastes good. Bacon is also salty and fatty and unhealthy. But that is A-OK; there are positives and negatives to all things we love, because nothing and no one is perfect.
2. See that bacon metaphor? I think I just explained “chonic metaphor-user.”
3. “tell-it-like-it-is” is quite self-explanatory. I hope I don’t insult your intelligence with #4, but I’m direct and assertive about things (I mean, most of the time).
4. “perilous” Note: sarcasm… I hope.
5. “MA in English Language and Literature”: If you haven’t picked up on my word vomit, my over-analytic tendencies or my excessive explanation of a metaphor by now, then I’m not sure if you have been paying attention. Excuses: I make connections in everything I see, do, read and think. I also assume my word count should hit 2500-3500, you know, the standard undergraduate paper word count minimum. I think it’s an English student thing.
6. “new city” stands for a new location for my physical presence, as well as the terrifying thought of living alone for the first time in my life. I’m making the ignorant assumption that most people experience this (and by this, I mean doing their own laundry, obviously) somewhere around the age of 18, but I am reluctantly crawling to this milestone in my 20’s.
7. “mediocre and exaggerated”; “equal parts practical sarcasm and wishful thinking”: Okay, so these contradicting statements pretty much describe me (or so I think). I also assume that the statements are self-explanatory (plus, I have almost surpassed the word count of a standard proposal and clearly this blog post is too long for a “Hello, this is my first post” kind of post). Oh, well. I am nothing if not thorough (positive thinking).

QED.