Seeing as I sign all of my work memos as "Satan" I thought that this would be appropriate.

It’s Halloween kiddies. That creepy magical night when it’s socially acceptable to hide yourself beneath a costume and stroll the streets begging for candy from strangers. We can’t feed the homeless children shivering in the alley around the corner but we’ll give away a mini kitkat to anyone who screams “trick or treat” at our front door. We really are an odd people, aren’t we?

When I was young, trick or treating was a mixed blessing. These were the days when my brothers were far too young to be thrown in prison which meant that they were roaming the streets like wild dogs. Wild dogs with scissors. They would corner random children that didn’t have the benefit of a parental chaperon and hold them in a friendly headlock while cutting open the bottom of their pillowcase and emptying it into their own. (Yeah, we used pillowcases. we were a greedy optimistic bunch. I would get home well before them and immediately dump the contents of my sack on my bed and do an initial good/crap sorting of my loot. The crap pile was anything homemade and wrapped in saran. Second to those would be the tightly wrapped tiny rolls of pez like candies. I think they were called “rockets”. I hated those. Everything else would be shoved in a bag and hidden in the secret room built into the top of my closet. My mom had a carpenter build it- it was just a sheet of braced plywood with a hole cut in it just big enough for me to shimmy through. I had enough space to sit with my legs crossed and read or write by candle light. it was also big enough to hide my bag of “best” candy. My brothers would return with their pilfered goods and come to my room to add my candy to theirs. I would intentionally leave a few choice pieces so as to not raise suspicion. They would have a bag full of rockets and hard candy and other crap and I would sit in my closet hide-a-way and eat miniature chocolate bars and rasinettes.

I was a sly child.

I don’t think that Halloween is quite as innocent as it was when I was young. Costumes are purchased at stores rather than created. Being that we were poor, mine were most often a hobo, a hooker, or a punk because they were cheap & easy to make.

After returning to Vancouver from wherever the hell I was that time, I crashed on a friends couch for a short while. It was in the west end which equates to Halloween mecca. We had a small party, stocked the house with booze and candy and were completely overwhelmed by the nearly endless parade of kids that screamed for free shit at our front door. We ran out well before the stream of them did and started giving away cash. When that ran out, we just grabbed random shit from the apartment. I’m pretty sure that the kid that got my well worn copy of Dostoevsky’s “Notes from the Underground” was pretty pissed.

Happy Halloween crazy people.

So Suz & I spent a good deal of time on the phone last night saying things like “Oh my fucking God!” & “Holy Shit!”. Not exactly descriptive, I know, but we were a little on the “shocked” side to say the least.

Let me give you the condensed version. Old school friend of Suz & I (who shall remain nameless) meets ultra creepy guy a few grades ahead of us and they begin to date. He has one of those old windowless rape vans and everything about him makes our skin crawl. Even before he was busted for masturbating in public we thought he was creepy.  We had a serious hate-on for this guy. Eventually, they marry. Eventually, they divorce. Flash forward to yesterday.

He was arrested for a 16 year old cold case murder that took place in our old stomping grounds.

Moral of this story?

Trust your instincts people.

I love food. Clams of course are food. Therefore, I love clams. Take all of this stuff and throw it in a pot.

And you get this. And then you will be the happiest person in the world. Well, except for that clam juice stain on your favorite shit. That part kind of sucks.

For more goodness check out my food blog Fig & Pepper

It’s definitely a Vancouver kind of morning, which is almost like a Sylvania kind of day, but since none of you lived with Susin & I back then, you wouldn’t have any idea what that means.

It’s grey and wet. Not raining, just wet. The air is heavy and the moisture has made a thick blanket that obscures everything higher than a 4 story building. It’s not particularly cold, but the damp makes it seem as though it should be. When I walk the dogs in the wee hours of the a.m, it is still dark out and the misty air seems to huddle around the street lights like gauzy halos.

Later, after coffee and shower and locking the door softly behind me, I walk to work and the city is still asleep for the most part. It’s quiet and calm and there is no traffic to muffle the sounds of the birds or the soft slap of the leaves hitting the pavement in twos or threes.

I wear a scarf but no gloves and a thin grey cardigan. I am perfectly warm while I walk the 7 blocks to my office. I like this time that I have in the quiet beginnings of the day and the only thing missing is the sharp briney smell of the sea. Other than that, it’s a Vancouver kind of morning.

You know how sometimes certain ingredients just make you smile and feel all fuzzy inside? I came home with a big block of Parmesan, a carton of heavy cream, butter and some fresh bread. Add a giant handful of prawns and scallops, some cilantro and a whole hell of a lot of garlic and viola! We have the number one reason why Steve will never leave me for a younger, hotter woman.

And now we lounge, feet up and 2 snoring dogs.

**Update**

By request- here’s the recipe- but keep in mind I’m more of a “just throw shit in” kind of gal so all measurements are approximate.

Pour a very large glass of wine. For you (obviously) not the pasta.

Melt 3 tbsp butter in a big sauce pan add 1 finely minced clove of garlic (I also add a couple tablespoons of roasted garlic- if you don’t have roasted, mince 3 or 4 cloves instead of 1) and a small handful of finely chopped onion. Let it brown over med heat. Once browned, sprinkle in about 2 1/2 tbsp flour and stir like crazy. Once it’s “pasty” but not lumpy stir in 1 cup chicken stock (or beef or fish, you can buy cans of it in the soup aisle if you don’t make it) Now stir in 1 cup cream (light or heavy) Simmer on low while it thickens

In another pan saute whatever veg you want- just a few min on med/high- add the seafood- flip flip flip add the cilantro (or basil also works great)

Take a large gulp of wine.

Just before the pasta and veg are done add 1 cup fresh grated parm a big pinch of salt and a whack of cracked black pepper to the sauce & stir till melted. Mix pasta, sauce & veg in a big pot and then send me presents because I’m wonderful.

My Dearest Lilith,

No Suz, you will not die in surgery tomorrow. I have called in every karmic favor that I possess to ensure your safety. That, and I can’t ever be without you. It just isn’t realistic, nor possible. I have assured the “powers that be” that they will face a wrath like none ever faced before should any ill befall you. While telling them this there were many threatening gestures and much flailing about so they are very well aware that I am serious. I am not to be messed with when it comes to people that I love.

However, I must say that, though I would drop everything in a second flat to be there for Gray should anything ever happen to you, I WILL NOT FUCKING MARRY YOUR HUSBAND SO STOP FUCKING ASKING ME! (In this instance I speak not only for myself, but for Steve & Stan as well.)

So. We’re at a crossroads I guess….. How about you just come through with flying colours and not make me live in your basement and spend everyday teaching your son odd but extremely hilarious phrases? Deal? I can feel Steve & Stan both nodding in agreement.

I love you Susin. You will be fine. You have to be and you will be fine. I know this to be true.

Love,

Cimmillia

xoxoxoxoxoxoxo

Between Thanksgiving, a crap load of new freelance projects, one of the dogs puking more than her body weight in the hallway, and life in general, it seems like I have no time. No time to read a book, let alone blogs. No time to write for enjoyment vs. a paycheck.

Grrrrrr.

Is it bad that I’m literally counting down the seconds until I’m off at Christmas for 10 days? Being that it’s only  October???? I have purchased a good many Christmas gifts already actually, as I’ve discovered the fun of online shopping. I click a button and people bring me shit!!!! How did it take me so damn long to discover this magic?? I get things delivered to my office and it’s like my birthday everyday. I now understand how they manage to sell all of that craptastic junk on the old shopping channel. (Does that still exist?) Despite my new purchasing pleasure I have thus far refrained from snapping up the incredible topsy turvy tomato plant or the ever popular snuggie. (Now available in fashion colours and snuggies for dogs!) I will tell you right now- my dogs would chew my face off in the middle of the night if I ever seriously even entertained the thought.

So.. In lieu of my regular drivel brilliance, I’m posting a question. (Excellent way to cover up the fact that I have nothing to say while still being able to blather on endlessly. Clever me.)

What are you guys “waiting for?” Got something new in the works? Almost anything will be more exciting than this post. Well, except maybe folding socks or mastering origami.

Actually, that origami shit is harder than it looks.

As you were.