On the dangers of spontaneous apartment improvement

While I wish I could tell you that I spent last Friday night doing something incredibly interesting and social, or at the very least relaxing, the truth is that I spent almost the entire evening waging war with what was essentially a gigantic sticker.

You see, a few weeks ago I finally received the Blik wall decal I had ordered online, convinced that it would be the perfect way to accent the dark blue feature wall in my bedroom. This wall had been blank for far too long, and the Blik decal seemed like the perfect solution – particularly when the website assured me it would be quick and painless to hang. So Friday night rolled around, and since I was tired of staring at the giant cardboard mailing tube the decal shipped in, I decided to take action.

This is the point where those of you who know me will start to shake your heads, knowing exactly where this story is headed. For those of you without that background, I should back up and explain: I guess it would be accurate to describe me as something of a compulsive D.I.Y. apartment improver. I love – no, actually I’m somewhat obsessed with – interior design, and when I moved into my apartment nearly two years ago I became dead set on transforming it from your typical, overwhelmingly bland rental into something you might see while thumbing through the pages of Canadian House and Home or Elle Decor. Ambitious? Yes. Problematic? Well, sort of, because all my planned improvements had to be carried out stealthily, without my landlord discovering what I was up to.

The first project I took on was transforming all the kitchen cabinetry from the most hideous burnt-chocolate-coloured wood into pure white. This was also my first experience painting anything, ever, which would explain how I managed to a) paint all the hinges shut then subsequently have to painstakingly scrape them clean again, b) discover that it takes no fewer than four thick coats of paint to cover the hideous dark wood, and c) step in paint and not realize it until a set of white footprints were found meandering across the hardwood floor. The second project involved painting two walls in the living room a very specific shade of purple – no, not purple, that sounds too tacky, it’s actually what I would call a “dusty plum” colour – and that went shockingly smoothly except for the part where I managed to dip the ends of my hair into the paint can and remain oblivious to this until the paint had streaked all across my back and hardened completely. 

I also painted the hallway pure white and the bedroom in two very complementary shades of bluish grey known as Manhattan Mist and Silver Hill (I’ll admit it, the names were a small deciding factor in choosing the colours) which surprisingly went off without a hitch, but somewhere in between all that painting I had decided that it would be a great idea to take down the massive and shockingly ugly ancient chandelier in the dining area and replace it with an entirely new fixture on my own, with no help at all. Keep in mind that I had never so much as flipped a circuit breaker before, when suddenly I found myself standing on an Ikea chair of questionable strength with a partially detached chandelier dangling precariously from one hand, an assortment of screwdrivers clutched in the other, strips of electrician’s tape clamped between my teeth, and just to top it all off, a freakishly large spider climbing lazily out of what was now a gaping hole in my ceiling. I’ll spare you the suspense: It ended well.  

But back to the Blik decal. As it turned out, the decal was much larger than I had expected, was composed of no fewer than 11 different sections (oh, the possibilities for mistakes), and was extremely… sticky. Which would explain why I was ready to break down into tears of frustration after the decal had managed to adhere to my face, my arms, my bedspread and itself, but – shockingly – not the wall where it was supposed to go. Three hours and two glasses of wine later the thing was finally firmly in place and looking amazingly good for something with such a disaster-laden installation, but I’ve learned my lesson: Next time I decide to tackle an apartment improvement project, I’ll make sure I’ve managed to coerce an unsuspecting friend into helping out.

Possibly the best cake you will ever bake

So, I’ve been on a bit of a baking bender lately. I’m pretty sure I can blame a particularly strong rhubarb-apple muffin craving for kicking it off, because since then it’s been a blur of baguettes and pizza dough, coffee cake and pita bread, and that chocolate-laden cake I proudly deposited in the office one morning. And then I came across a recipe for a walnut cake with an apple fig compote, and I knew I was onto something.

Here it is: The cake, in all its glory. Okay, so the photo doesn’t do any justice to the cake (in fact, this photo proves that I have some issues getting the focus just right). You’ll just have to take my word for it: You should bake this cake.

Here’s the recipe for the cake. Except you completely ignore the part about the topping, because instead you’re going to drizzle it with a simple citrus glaze and then move onto this recipe for the apple fig compote, which you will also modify by completely leaving out the lemon juice and rind, and substituting pure maple syrup for the sugar. You will then resist the urge to spoon all of the compote directly from the pot into your mouth, and serve it with the cake.

Enjoy. Your dinner guests are going to love you.

An introduction of sorts

The first thing you should know is that I’m not very good at introductions. They tend to rank right up there on the Awkwardness Scale along with excessive small talk and hugs from strangers, which is to say that I prefer to avoid them whenever possible. And yet, if I’m starting a new blog it would be weird to jump right in without saying anything, wouldn’t it? So here we are: An introduction.

The second thing you should know is that I’m a Talker – one of those people who, under the right conditions, can seize a topic and start rambling on about it for an indefinite period of time. It’s not that I love the sound of my own voice, it’s just that I can’t seem to make myself shut up. And this definitely translates through to the web. 

I’m not new to this whole blogging thing – at one point in my life, starting somewhere during the intense awkwardness of high school and continuing into the first couple of years at university, I sporadically posted a collection of over-shares, complaints, and what I had thought were witty accounts of everyday drudgery. And then it fizzled out. Because as it turned out, university was already brimming with activities requiring writing (the phrase “twenty page paper” still makes me shudder), and oddly enough I just couldn’t bring myself to write even more.

Fast-forward several years. Life has taken a turn for the interesting, and I’m finding that I have more to say than I can cram into a 140-character tweet. Sure, I have my Tumblr, but it’s primarily a place for me to post inspiring photos of other people’s work or the shoes that I’m currently lusting over. Let’s not start throwing too much text in there too. So, cue this blog. Just to make sure everyone’s expectations are on the same page, here’s what you can expect: I will write – irregularly, likely infrequently – about the more interesting tidbits of everyday life, about the things I cook and the things I eat, and about the places I go. I will also, most likely, rant about things. Because really, who doesn’t like a good rant every once in a while?

I think this is the point where the introduction comes crashing to an anticlimactic halt, and you all (well, those of you who are actually still reading this, which is probably exactly one person – hi Mom) sit there twiddling your thumbs and wondering when (if?) I’ll actually post anything interesting.