Last year, C. Dolly brought me back a beautiful wineglass from her drunkfest wine tour. Due to our well documented crow nature, it has managed to fascinate us both for a period of a year. When we decided to do a clam bake, we thought it was the perfect opportunity to put our painting skills to the test with some awesome, one of a kind painted glasses.
After much googling, youtubing and scratching our nether regions, we decided to take the advice of Martha Stewart, because she is our crafting queen. When in doubt, we always ask, “WWMSD – What Would Martha Stewart Do?” She would encourage us to buy her tried and true product, that’s what!
Martha Stewart, Multi-Surface Acrylic Craft Paint was the answer for our overwhelmed brain. There are so many different options and conflicting advice available on the internet and just as many pros and cons to all of them. We decided that paint rather than pens would give us more of the texture and artistic look we were going for. It was also available in a much wider selection of colours than pens and would give us options to blend colours for different effects. So far we are happy with them and they have stood up to the scratch test, hand washing and the dishwasher in the top rack.
Synthetic paint brushes, variety of sizes
Martha Stewart acrylic paint
Glasses of your choice, we chose stemless wine glasses and pilsner glasses
Wash and dry glasses well to remove any film or oil that may be on them from handling
Choose your colour palette and design. You can even tape a simple pattern on the inside of the glass if you’re unsure of your painting skills. If you’re painting something specific like cherry blossoms, or a tree, it would help to have the picture in front of you for reference (blossom count, colours, etc…)
Let paint dry for at least an hour prior to heating in oven.
Place glasses on tray in cold oven. Heat to 350F and bake for 30 minutes. DO NOT REMOVE!
Open oven door a crack, and let glasses cool prior to removing. Do not forget about them and turn your oven on in the morning to make sausages for breakfast. If you do, turn the oven off and let the glasses sit in the oven until cold and then find something else to cook. – R.Dolly
I happened upon someJesse James Crystal Balls that were on sale at Fabricland. I loved the colors and thought they would be beautiful lit up from within and wondered if I could get them on a string of Christmas mini lights. I honestly didn’t care if I was going to be able to work my magic and somehow get them over the mini light bulb because they were gorgeous and #crowlife took over all reasoning.
Once I arrived home, I was trying to figure out how to get those damn crystal balls onto the mini lights. I dreamt about it that night. A co-worker (most likely tired of listening to me whine about the fucking crystal balls) suggested tiny little mini LED lights that she found at a local Home Hardware. They come with their own battery pack attached to one end and let you choose between settings of constant, flashing, and fading. The LED lights were tiny enough to fit through the holes in the crystal balls and I was ecstatic!!! I used a piece of florist wire to secure the bead over the light. In five minutes I had a sparkly #crowlife creation that I was in love with. Lesson learned: Don’t pass over something you fall in love with just because you can’t immediately figure out a way to use it.
We’ve had really smokey weather here lately because of raging forest fires throughout the province. I can’t complain because my home and community are still intact. I do, however, have asthma which is triggered by smoke, horses and cats (so far, no seasonal allergies. Score!!!) The smoke has been thick and there have been many days where the world looks apocalyptic.
I’ve been exhausted and my brain feels foggy and sluggish. I’m going to blame the fogginess/sluggishness on the smoke and resulting asthma. When my husband (who has been relegated to a lifetime of listening to me find reasons for my quirkiness & clumsiness) reads this, he’s going to look at me like this:
Anyhoo, while driving to work this morning I was thinking about zombies. Don’t be alarmed! This is completely fucking normal for me. I was also doing a ‘wheeze check.’ I was the only one awake before I left for work, I hadn’t spoken yet and I didn’t want to walk into work and surprise myself and everyone else by wheezing out my ‘good morning.’ The wheeze level was low to moderate with a chance of coughing spells. Not too shabby.
I started thinking about zombies again and wondered what an asthmatic zombie would sound like. Totally normal stream of consciousness. I purposely made the wheeziest sound I could to see what an asthmatic zombie would sound like. Unfortunately, it just sounds like a regular zombie. I was so disappointed. I was hoping it would be a very distinguishing sound because I could totally outwalk an asthmatic zombie. I’d know that I wouldn’t have to run and I could take a breather and saunter along, staying just out of it’s rotting little grasp. Now I’m screwed because I won’t be able to tell if it’s a regular zombie or not. I don’t like to run.
I wondered what I’d do if I woke up one morning and was faced with a zombie apocalypse. The world would be burning out of control. I’d have to lay low until most of the burning stopped otherwise my asthma would kick in and I’d end up as a zombie-in-training. Greens and yellows are not my colors. They totally wash out my skin tone. So green, oozing, rotting flesh would NOT be a good look for me. Plus, the sight of ooze would make me vomit. Every time I noticed ooze or rotting flesh dripping off of myself I’d start to vomit. I’d be an oozing, vomiting, asthmatic zombie. To any uninfected humans, though, I guess I’d just look like a regular zombie. I’d want to yell at them, “Don’t just walk on by. I’m special, damn it! Not just because my mommy said so, either! I’m unique. I’m a vomiting asthmatic zombie! Why aren’t you listening to me?” Sadly, all they’d hear is a normal zombie moan before they outwalked me.
I often hear parents tell their teenage offspring, that they have no idea how easy they have it these days. Parties are arranged via Facebook invites, you always have access to a phone to text/snapchat with friends and now you can even see where all your friends are with snap maps. I happen to find this all horrifying. I know parents who have their kids phones lojacked! No doubt I would have done this myself had I allowed my kids to have a phone when they were younger, but looking at this from a former sneaky teenager’s point of view, I would have to say that we had it better by far.
First of all, with cell phones, you expect someone to be reachable 24/7. Back when I was a teenager, you had to call a landline to speak with someone. Unless of course you were rich and had a giant cell phone, but even then, there were no towers so you couldn’t use it 90% of the time anyway. Parents were super polite back in the day as well, and they wouldn’t dream of calling someones house at 3am to see if you were there unless it was an absolute emergency. And, who actually wanted to admit to other parents that they had no idea where their children were? Without cell phones, it was possible to call parents at your curfew time from some random house assuring them that you were back at your friends house for the night and heading to bed. There was many a party where the music would go off and you would hear, “Quiet! so and so is calling their mom.” In later years, my mother became quite savy and bought herself a scanner so she could cruise by the parties being broken up by the police so she could locate her errant offspring.
Instead of sitting at home texting friends to see what everyone was doing, people would drive around by the car load, pulling ‘mainers’ (driving down main street again and again), until they met up with more cars in the 7-11 parking lot. At that time, someone would either admit that their parents were out of town and we would invade their house, or we would start the collection of pallets to have a pit party. Lots of time was spent out 4xing and an equal amount of time was also spent walking home. Either way, it was an adventure!
Looking back, we made a tonne of bad decisions, but managed to survive. Mostly due to luck rather than skill. By far, the worst decision ever was the night our POS car died on the way to a party out in the sticks and we decided we would hitchhike. We were so committed to making it out that we actually hopped into a van. With no windows. And no backseats. But…. it looked like the drivers were friendly enough and they pinky swore that they wouldn’t kill us. The driver assured us that it wasn’t a rape van and it only looked that way because he had a brother in a wheelchair that he needed to take places. Seemed legit, and we were super confident that we would be able to take them on if need be. This changed once we got in and saw that there was no way to open a door from the back where we were. We were the dumb girls that you watch in a horror show getting themselves into a terrible situation.
Unfortunately, we forgot how far out the party was. They were starting to get super irritated with us, but we just kept telling them that it was, “just a little further….” Half an hour later with two irritated out of towners (who so would not have been welcome at the party to begin with) and us rolling around the back of a rape van, we finally arrived. To see that the party was over. Oopsie. It was a pretty silent ride back to town, and I think that we were all pretty relieved to see each other go our separate ways. Looking back, every single one of us is amazed by our stupidity. But, we had liquid courage and if someone had a video tape of it, they could have used it to dissuade teenagers from drinking. -C.U.NextTuesday, R.Dolly
My Aunt Mona and Uncle Cecil are always super fun to be around and I wait like a stalker in the bushes for their yearly visit. They lived here for only a short period of time before moving too far away for my liking but they now live closer to their own children and, while I realize that my cousins have first dibs on them, it doesn’t make me miss them any less. My cousins are just as awesome and fun to be around as their parents which makes the betrayal a little easier to accept. While they’re here, they usually move their motorhome between my parents and siblings’ yards so that they get to visit with each of our families. Coming home after work and seeing their RV set up in our yard makes me giddy. This year, in addition to taking them on a night cruise on R-Dolly’s party boat and swimming in the middle of the lake, my husband came up with a fantabulous idea and made plans to visit a local craft brewery.
In February 2014, Barkerville Brewing Co. opened it’s doors in Quesnel, BC and was the first craft brewery in the Cariboo region of British Columbia. Since opening, the Barkerville Brewing Co. has won two Canadian Brewing Awards and five BC Beer Awards.
Visit the Barkerville Brewing Co. website for further information and descriptions of their core brands and seasonal offerings.
“Beer has long held an esteemed place in British Columbia’s Cariboo region. The original Barkerville Brewery was built by an Italian man by the name of Nicolas Cunio. Constructed in 1865, the brewery was located in an empty lot between Barkerville’s drugstore and Masonic Hall. Cunio’s Triple X Ale amassed a number of prizes in the local fairs and, story goes, the beer gained its unique flavour and superior quality from natural spring water drawn from a nearby hill. But, on September 16, 1868, the town of Barkerville was reduced to a mass of smouldering ruins, with charred timber and heaps of rubbish replacing what was once the metropolis of the Cariboo. The first lick of flames appeared on the roof of the saloon near the centre of Barkerville a little after 2:30pm and, just one hour and twenty minutes later, the entire town was nearly burnt to the ground. Although the city was immediately rebuilt, with 90 buildings reconstructed in just six weeks time, the original Barkerville brewery did not survive much longer: it burnt to the ground again in the 1880s. It has taken over a century for a Barkerville Brewery to once again rise from the ashes and stake its claim.”
We’d never been to this brewery before and I was extremely excited…for the pizza. I’m not a fan of beer past the first ice cold sip. I had two sleeps until our lunch date and I was filled with anticipation every time I thought about it. Finally, The Day had arrived. We walked in and the first thing we noticed is the huge custom-made “Timber Kings” table. You can watch the episode where they crafted this beauty and the multi-beer bottle holder here.
We wandered around looking at the merchandise and then got down to business. Everything on the menu was sourced locally and we ordered a couple of pepperoni and capicola “Red Tomato Pies.” I was deciding between water and Pepsi while the guys each picked out their choices for their first set of beer flights and I was happy for them. Really, I was. The woman must’ve noticed my sad, yearning look because she said, “Oh, by the way we also have wine flights.” I was so happy that I almost leapt over the counter to hug her. Except that my legs are too short and I would’ve had to first climb each rung on the bar stool and then up onto the counter before crawling across it and finally lunging towards the floor on her side. Which would have been fatiguing and honestly, not very pretty. So, I carefully took my wine flight back to my table while trying not to trip on anything. I’m extremely accident prone and the last thing I wanted to lose was my unexpected, yet precious, wine flight.
The wine was from the Prince George winery Northern Lights Estate Winery. Out of the four types of wine, only one was iffy. Iffy in the fact that I would drink it if it was put in front of me, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to purchase it. The other three were magnificent. The highlight of our lunch was when my uncle sat down and placed his first beer flight on the table, flapped his hands and said “I’m so excited!!!!”Both my husband and uncle like different types of beer and they both found some new beers to add to their “must have” list. My husband purchased a growler of “Prospector’s Pilsner” for us to enjoy at our clam bake. I check every day and, so far, he’s resisted opening it.
The pizzas arrived and it was the best fucking pizza I’ve ever eaten. And we’ve tried many types of pizza over the years. The crust, cheeses, sauce and meat were all orgasm-in-your-mouth delicious. I could go on for days about the bliss that pizza created and I’m so happy that my anticipation of pizza perfection was realized. There’s nothing worse than the disappointment of unrealized expectation (I typed ‘unrealized sexpectation’ twice. Coincidence? I think not.) My rating for the Barkerville Brewing Co.’s atmosphere, food, drinks and service is 10/10. I can’t wait to go back and this time it’s for more than just the pizza.
I have twitchy toes. I’m always wiggling them no matter how relaxed I am and my girls spend way to much fucking time making stealthy recordings of my feet. I guess I should be grateful they aren’t making porn. I have no idea when it started. Maybe I was born with it. Maybe it’s Maybelline.
I can pick things up with my toes and that’s been a lifesaver when I’m all comfy and the thought of moving almost makes you regret life. You know, when you’ve found that perfect, totally relaxed position on the couch and you spy something on the coffee table that you suddenly urgently need? I can pick up the desired object with my toes and bring it to my hand and all I have to move is my one leg. I know that the looks of disgust my family send in my direction when I do this are only masking their true feelings of jealousy. Because guess who’s still in their comfy position? The twitcher.
While we were still in highschool, R-Dolly and I were hanging out and had just finished making some Kraft Dinner. We grabbed a couple of forks, the pot of KD and headed into the living room to watch tv while we ate. The forks were set down on the coffee table and once we settled onto the couch R-Dolly realized she’d left her fork on the coffee table right in front of her. She sighed a sigh filled with the weight of the whole damn world and asked if I could pass her the fork. I looked at how close it was to her and decided that if she didn’t want to move, neither did I. I grabbed the fork handle with my toes and handed (or more accurately, footed) it to her. She looked at it for a second, shrugged, grabbed it and started eating. That’s when I knew that we were going to be friends for life. It’s a true sign of trust when there’s a fork (held firmly between my toes) coming at you from this direction as I slide my calf along the top of my knee until my twitchy toes are dangling the fork over your KD:
I’m also proficient at holding a pen between my big toe and pointer toe and writing my name, which would be totally awkward if I decided to sign all legal documents in public using my toes. “Oh, I need to sign this? Let me get out my pen (I wouldn’t want to use a public pen. Who knows where people’s filthy hands have been???) and my handy-dandy toes and I’ll sign that baby right now.” I would slip off my sandals, wriggle my toes to get them warmed up, slap my foot up on the desk, pick up the pen with my toes and sign my life away. While that would be so much fun for me, I have a feeling that their reaction would be the same reaction my husband gets on his face as my twitchers try to make their way across the couch to rest on his legs. Total and complete fucking horror.
Maybe I ruined him of feet for life because of my twitching. Maybe he was never really a foot person. In the beginning of our relationship, we would be on the couch and he’d let me rest my feet on him. Then, after he made sure that I was trapped/married, he didn’t want my feet on him, anymore. When I asked him why, his response was, “Your twitching toes creep me out.” Huh. I told him I could keep them still and we tried again. I thought I was doing well. I couldn’t feel them moving but he disagreed. I totally didn’t believe him so I asked the girls to take his spot and see if Daddy was just being a little bitch. Apparently, in that instant, he wasn’t because the girls both said they were still twitching. I watched my pretty little toes and they didn’t look like they were moving at all but after three test trials, I admitted defeat.
Thanks to my wonderful husband, my girls are now footophobes. I’ve had to live with the fallout from his foot-loving deception for years. I’ve found a way to ease my troubled mind, though. He’s always the first to fall asleep. So, every night after he falls asleep, I turn off the lights and wait. Like a predator. Once he’s fallen into a deep sleep, I stealthily sneak my toes towards him like a lion stalking it’s prey and touch his leg with my toes. Sometimes he wakes up and looks around all panicky-like but I’ve learned to tell when he’s going to wake up and quickly move my foot back and pretend to be in a deep, blissful sleep. When he doesn’t wake up I leave my toes on him for a minute and let the peace and happiness sink in. Either way, the sneaky grin of revenge is on my face as I fall asleep. Every. Single. Night.
We Dollies decided to throw a low-key boating excursion to celebrate the 2017 summer solstice a.k.a. Litha a.k.a. Midsummer’s Eve. We live in ‘Beautiful British Columbia’ so for us, that fell on Tuesday, June 20 at 9:24 pm. Low-key, for The Dollies, was a whopping four people and it was perfect. The word “solstice” is from the Latin solstitium from sol (sun) and stitium (to stop) because the sun appears to stand still on the solstice as it reaches it’s highest point in the sky. The summer solstice is the day with the most hours of sunlight during the year.
I had the opportunity to travel to Europe when my girls were little. A friend called me up and asked if I wanted to go with her. Ummm…let me think abo…FUCK YES!!!!!! My husband is not a museum lover, so he happily stayed home which meant more travel money for me. My awesome second mom and dad came and stayed with him to look after the girls while I was gone. We signed up for a Contiki tour and went to London and Paris with day trips to Scotland, Bath and Stonehenge.
Guess what the fuck was in the British Museum??? Bog Bodies!!!
I’m the weird Dolly who is in love with horror and weird shit so I’ve learned a lot about bog bodies since that trip. Unlike most ancient human remains, bog bodies have retained their skin, hair and internal organs due to the unusual conditions of the surrounding area including: highly acidicwater, low temperature, and a lack of oxygen. These conditions work together to preserve and severely tan their skin. While the skin is well-preserved, the bones are generally not, due to the acid in the peat dissolving the calcium phosphate of bone. I spent a lot of time inspecting the bog body of the Lindow Man/Lindow Man ll and the oldest mummy ever found: a 5400 year old Egyptian body originally named “Ginger” because of his still visible red hair. “Ginger” is now known as “EA 32751” because of recent ethical policies for human remains. Sensitive bitches unite! So, anyhow, poor “EA 32751” (who would probably prefer to be called “Ginger” because it’s more humanizing than a number) was found naturally preserved in a shallow gravesite with pots and flints surrounding him. One theory about how the bodies ended up in a bog is: “Celts do appear to have performed human sacrifice as part of their religious rituals. And, since the Druids were the religious/scholar/priestly social class, they almost certainly would have participated in human sacrifices, and probably officiated at them.” –Celtic Studies Resources
This made me question what I would like to be buried with. I’m going to choose my most prized possession and be buried with my husband so I can be clutching his mummified penis. Upon further reflection, said penis is going to have to be taxidermied first so that it doesn’t shrivel down into a dried flattened piece of raisin-textured skin. I want to be gripping that shit in all it’s glory if we are ever exhumed for research or to prove that I didn’t poison him.
Plus, how awesome would it have been to live near a bog? Your husband pisses you off? You send him towards the bog to retrieve the flint tool that accidentally fell out of your hand and onto the material floating on the bog. He lovingly goes to retrieve it and WHOOOOOPS….another bog body!
One of the highlights of the trip was going to Stonehenge. It was truly, mind-fuckingly amazing. I can’t even explain the feeling you get when you approach the massive stones. I don’t think anyone could accurately put into words how that feels. It’s massive and the history is fascinating.
Stonehenge is an ancient prehistoric site which has been a place of worship and celebration for the summer solstice for thousands of years. It is considered by many as a sacred site which clearly marks the summer solstice. If you stand at just the right spot inside Stonehenge on the day of the summer solstice, facing northeast through the entrance towards the rough hewn stone outside the circle – known as the Heel Stone- you’ll see the sun rise above the Heel Stone.
The summer solstice celebration at Stonehenge attracts hundreds of druids, pagans, wiccans and spectators who gather to celebrate the Sun God from dawn until dusk. Litha is the pagan name for Midsummer’s Day, or summer solstice, and is traditionally marked with yoga taking place at the break of sunrise and sunset. Other rituals that are followed at Stonehenge on this significant day are: fire rituals; meditating in nature; magic, chants and prayers; dancing and music; and setting up Litha altars around the bonfire.
The Dollies decided to celebrate the summer solstice in style! We chose to worship the sun god while on the water. We had our cocktails and dessert made before starting our homemade pizzas with a delicious homemade marinara sauce. Check out ourTop 10 Plants for the Modern Mixolologist’s Gardenwhich we picked fresh for our recipes.
We loaded up the flat-deck party boat with our food, drinks and dessert and headed out to the middle of the lake to take in the solstice at 9:24 p.m. It was relaxing, fun and even inspired a little karaoke (I haven’t sang in front of anyone other than my husband and children.) Thankfully, it was dark by that time because voices carry a long fucking way over water. We’ll just blame it on the power of the summer solstice.