Delightful Sangria Recipe

Get a large bucket because a juice jug will just not cut it.  Put a few scoops of ice in first.  Not too much ice though, you don't want to water this perfect beverage down.  It's best to just add ice to your glass with each serving so you don't get ripped off on the alcohol content.

1 liter of cheap red wine
1 bottle of boones sangria mix
1 lemon cut into wedges
1 orange cut into wedges
1 lime cut into wedges
some orange juice (get the good stuff with pulp)
a few shots of triple sec
1 cup of raspberries
1 cup sliced strawberries
soda (you be the judge)


I used to make a variation of this with vodka as well. but I honestly don't recommend that.  I guarantee you will want to have several glasses of this and it would be a bonus for any bystanders if you could still form a sentence after.  Enjoy.. I know I will.

Thanks for sharing..

At some point or another everyone has met this person and been a victim to this crime.  When I come across this I'm only shocked the first time as these people are usually repeat offenders. Who exacting am I referring to? For lack of a better word, oversharers.  Now I know you have at least one person that instantly comes to mind.  That idiot thats doesn't have a social filter on what they can say to who.  I've come up with some basic guidelines to help you identify this person and place animosity where it is due.

OVERSHARERS:
-Tell personal things about themselves or others that you wish you didn't know.
-Make reference's about their sex life (when they are NOT attractive OR are related to you)
-Say funny yet revolting things with a straight face (note: laughing while giving too much info can alleviate the awkwardness and make you slightly less hated)
-Send spam emails that aren't appropriate for all 300 of their email contacts (example: A baby announcement with pictures of the birth and info about what they're planning to do with the placenta)
-Post facebook status updates about their rash that just won't go away while asking their 600 facebooks "friends" for advice.

Firstly there are exceptions to most rules and there are a few select people in your life you're allowed to indulge with too much information without an invitation.  For instance when your telling a story to your closest of friends it's almost expected that your going to give that extra shocking and maybe even repulsive tidbit.  It always makes the story that much more hilarious and memorable.  Overall I think if you're looking for a laugh while telling an offensive or vulgar story you get a pass.  Most people are willing to put aside the fact that you shit your pants if lets say in the story  it was at a piano recital, while wearing khakis.   But many people aren't as open to hearing about your bowels giving out if you have a straight face on and you're looking for sympathy.  Thats disgusting, your rotten, take that to the grave.

Hearing about a sexual mishap can be entertaining.  If a girl had a grand mal seizure while your were getting it on, I want to hear about it.  However, if you physically gross me out with your clothes on I do not want to picture you with them off, let alone in a explicate story where your fucking someone who is likely equally if not more unattractive than yourself.  Sorry, there is a reason why most porn is made with fit and somewhat appealing people.  No one whats to think about the reality that fat, greasy people have sex with each other.   Hmm this could pose a problem with my exception given above if you're close friends with greasy fat people.  Well if so thats your problem, not mine.

What exactly is it about people that have babies and feel like the whole world wants to know details of the birth?  To be honest I've been the person who has asked for the gory details, in which case let the flood gates open.  If you've been asked for details your not oversharing. But this does not mean if someone asks the weight of the baby you have permission to spout off about the amount of fluids that gushed out before and the 10 pound amniotic sac you spat out after.

Overall I would just like to say please make sure you know your audience before you verbally assault them.  Always test the waters first.  Please don't make yourself that person I avoid in the grocery store.

Only one way to go from here..

Last weekend myself and 7 others took off on a much anticipated snow shoeing trip up the mountain.  We had been planning this trip for over a month and for the most part none of us really knew what we were getting ourselves into.  I had done this same hike 2 or 3 times before but it had been upwards of 5 years since my last trek and lets be honest, I haven't done by body or brain many favours in last the 5 years.  Another key factor of the story is that in the past every time I attempted this athletic feat it had been sunny and dry, mostly in the early summer months.  Hiking 5km up hill with a 45 pound backpack on while trying out snow shoes for the first time is in no way comparable to any balmy summer time stroll I've taken up in the past.  In spite of all of this I was actually feeling really good on the way up.  I've been frequenting the gym for the past 6 months and am in considerably better shape than I was this time last year.  I kept my pace at the front of the pack looking back to see the pain on the others faces only boosted my spirits.  I liked being up front, having people suffer behind me (leave it to me to turn a hike in to some type of competition).  Just so your not let down by the rest of this story I'll tell you that at this point internally I was at the summit of good times mountain and from there on theres only one way to go, down.

Once we got to the Edwards Lake we knew we were only about 1 km from the cabin. Of course the direction of the cabin from the lake was still unknown.  There were two paths that were visible in the snow, both going in the same general northern direction.  We began to cross the frozen lake towards the point where the path split.  This was the point as which my exhaustion started to kick in.  Plowing through the not so light and fluffy powder was not as easy as it looked.  It was apparent on the others faces that they were feeling my pain.  After a quick discussion we veered on to the NW side of the trail.  Once we reached the forest again we saw an arrow drawn in the snow, it was pointing in the opposite direction.  Of course we ignored it, that arrow could have meant anything.  To be honest the cynic in me felt like someone was trying to fuck with us.  What I should have been thinking is most people doing these types of treks are granola eating hippies who just don't go around fucking with people.  The thought probably never comes in to there stinky dread covered heads.  If you haven't already figured it out, we took the wrong trail.  GOD DAMMIT we took the wrong trail.  Not only did we have to back track but we still had at least 1 more uphill km to go once we got back to the lake.  The only thing that had the ability to lift my spirits at this point was seeing the desperation in Brett's eyes.  Brett is my sisters boyfriend.  He and I are somewhat mortal enemies, in a sort of joking / I will punch you right in the mouth kinda way.  I would like to extend a thank you to Brett.  Seeing the anguish in his face gave me the strength to push through the horrific pain and make the final ascent to the cabin.

Finally we had arrived!!  We were instantly greeted by a group of 8 Pender people who had hiked up the day before. Euphoria spread through the group.  Thankful and satisfied we hurried inside and claimed our spots in the sleeping loft.  Turns out there was 4 others who where also staying at the cabin as well.  Not 2 hours later 6 more people showed up.  I don't know what you're imagining when I say 'cabin' so maybe I should elaborate.  It's about 30 x 20 at most.  Theres a small kitchen like area, with no running water.  A medium sized table with benches around, which closely resembles a picnic table.  A wood stove at one end beside a latter to the loft upstairs and one seriously rank out house.  When the last group of hikers arrived we were at max capacity in the loft and most of the cold soggy floor on the main level was spoken for as well.  Believe it or not they decided to make a snow cave to sleep in.  The very thought of sleeping outdoors snow cave or not revolted me.  I was more than happy to have my tiny spot in the corner of the loft and put up no argument when they set out to build the cave.  Little did the fools who were thanking god for their spot in the loft know what was to come next.

The next few hours were a bit strange.  I'm going to summarize this quickly because it's hardly relevant to my story.  A hiker went missing coming down from Mount Steel to the Edwards Lake cabin.  His wife had been with him on the way down and they got separated.  Once it got dark we sent out search parties from our cabin to no avail.  By the sounds of it he was the kind of guy who could survive for 5 days with his nalgene bottle of water and the mountain equipment co-op clothes on his back. His wife was confident he would be ok but it was a tense situation in our 600 sqft cabin.  By no means the kind of scene where you can enjoy putting down a few bottles of wine.  Lucky for us the Pender people had  spend 5 hours earlier that day building an outstanding snow fort.

Seeing as there was over 13 feet of snow at the cabin the snow fort was more of a snow cave, completely underground.  They had used a tarp for the roof and door area making it completely encapsulated.  This is where trouble had unknowingly started to brew.  Of course it was nice to be out of the cheerless, gloomy cabin with others who were up there to have a good time but there was a price to pay for the super happy good times in the snow cave.  I believe this cave was built for one reason only: hot boxing.  Don't get me wrong, there was a day where I would have been more than happy to hot box a snow cave. That day is not today and I have known for some years that I can not handle smoking weed while drinking.  Actually come to think of it I can't handle smoking weed sober.  This is one act that almost always ends up with me feeling like the room is spinning, trying to sleep with one eye open which is likely to result in barfing.  In this case I had already downed a delightful bottle of red wine so you could say my judgement was slightly clouded.  There I sat in the hot box for the next 3, 4 or maybe 5 hours (the time frame is a bit hazy) enjoying another bottle of wine and some ultra delicious pre-mixed candy apple martinis.  Please note that at no point did I ever actually smoke any weed.

This is where my memory fails me so please note I'm going off information gathered from about 5 different sources as to what took place next.  I claimed I was going to bed.  My friend Michelle tried to coax me in to staying up but apparently I was quite adamant.  From the evidence I found in the morning I've concluded that I went into the cabin (where everyone else was fast asleep) pulled off my boots and second layer of pants and left them in a pile at the bottom of the latter.  This tells me I was VERY gone by that point.  Never in my right mind would I leave my things scattered about a tiny cabin with a bunch of near strangers.  I then climbed up into the loft and trampled a few people on my way to my spot in the corner.  WAIT before I go on I'm going to give you some background on myself:

I give myself credit where credit is due.  Always have, always will.  Since the age of about 9 I haven't puked once without warning or in a place other than the toilet or the outdoors (well...maybe the odd bucket).  I'm just not that kind of person.  Theres been several times in the past 10 years where I've been around someone who is not so lucky.  To be honest I usually looked down on them with disgust, pretending to understand.  I should also tell you that I truly have a talent at holding my booze.  I can drink a copious amounts of liquor for my size.  I know, I must make my mother SO proud. Well all this changed on that monumental night in one fell swoop.

At this point I've gotten into bed.  There are some allegations about the details from here but from this entire black out I have one single memory.  I'm sitting up looking down at my pillow wondering WHO the hell puked on it.  There is no way I could have done this, I'm just NOT that person.  That moment of "clarity" left as quickly as it came.  Oh and I'm super glad I emptied out the clothes from my backpack and left them in a neat pile right beside my pillow, perfect target.  In my mind it magically cleaned itself up and I slipped back into a blissful slumber.  In all reality my sister (also suffering from a slightly more classy black out) bagged up the 'soiled' bedding and put it out on the deck.  Thanks Kristy, your a real champ.  Oh apparently also as an extra treat to the other 25 PEOPLE at the cabin I then went out on the deck and blew chunks all over the entrance area below.  I don't like to do things half-way.

I woke up around 5 hours later on Carey's twin mattress, with Carey next to me and tried to piece together the events of the night before.  I laid there before the sun came up for about an hour, swallowing sadness (like a boss).  I took this time to connect the dots and come to some conclusions on the matter at hand.  Here are some semi-legit excuses considering the situation:

-Altitude sickness.  If you remember reading a previous post I got extremely ill at my last snowy mountain adventure as well.  I'm seeing a theme.  It must be the altitude!
-Dehydration.   I drank about 500ml of water that entire day.  Mostly on account of Carey looking like he was going to drop dead on the way up if I didn't give him my precious water.  Being the nice girlfriend I am I gave him the better half of my tiny water bottle (sort of like he gave me half of his tiny bed? Thanks Carey).
-Karma.  Maybe a higher power thought I needed a reality check.  Point taken. I will most definitely have more sympathy for all you no warning pukers out there.  Turns out it really can happen to anyone (I'm using anyone pretty loosely).

THE REALITY: You can get stoned in a snow cave hot box and weed + boozey = projectile vomit. Lesson learned, the hard way.

That morning is up there on my list of 'reasons to kill myself'.  Kidding, but I bet the suckers sleeping next to my barf all night were thinking up ways to end their lives! Hahah.  Anyway after I packed up what little dignity I had left I said some quick sorrys to the innocent bystanders who had to huff in my aroma of my vom all night long, we were ready to go.  Before we departed I noticed a beer bottle left on the bench outside (mine of course) and I squeezed it into the area between my back and my backpack.  The same spot you would put a really large sword or staff if you were a ninja.   Now I'm dragging my ass 5 km back down this godforsaken mountain (with a bag filled with bedding and barf no less). Not 5 minute in my snow shoe slips off my foot, great.  Carey's laughing like a hyena behind me as I bend over to put it back on.  Then, believe it or not, the bottom of that icy cold stale beer poured down the back of my neck.  Obviously I lost it and chucked the bottle in the bush, which seemed like the only option in that moment.  I took a deep breath and reach into my fanny pack (I know they're super gay, but hands free.. you can't beat that!) and pulled out my tiny water bottle.  It seemed lighter than it should be.  Maybe because 3/4 of it were missing.  My fanny pack, crotch and snow pants are soaked from the leaky water bottle.  All I could think was, THIS IS BULLSHIT! who did I shit on to not only get handed the short end of the stick, but get beaten relentlessly with it.

Your probably wondering when this is all going to turn around for me.  Don't hold your breath, it doesn't.  Not every day ends the way you want it to.  Actually most don't.  This one ended with me eating McDonald's and feeling sorry for myself, but I could think of several worse outcomes.  The only good that comes out of this story is that you can read it and feel better about your life.  Your welcome, you owe me.

Like a BOSS..

I've always loved the gratification of creating something from nothing.  Mostly I like creating things that other people appreciate.  I'm a real sucker for a good pat on the back!  I've gotten into many different hands on crafts over the years but nothing has appealed to me quite like cake decorating.  I don't know exactly what started this obsession (I'm thinking a combo watching too many episodes of Cake Boss and the 350 pound woman living inside me). In the past year I've made several creative cakes, all with completely different themes (I'll post some pictures shortly for your viewing pleasure). Luckily for me my sister has grown quite interested in cakes as well, making her the perfect help for these massive projects we commonly take on.  Unluckily for her that 350 pound woman lives on the outside of her.  She's always loved bavarian cream a  little too much!

Cake decoration takes an insane amount of time.  I find myself playing it down when people ask details, probably because it would make me sound necrotic and obsessive if I told them exactly how many hours were spent creating the perfect cake.  I'm just not the kind of person who would be able to show up with anything less than perfect.  Like most hobbies I gotten into I've noticed my stress levels hit an all time high while creating cakes.  This is most likely because if my product doesn't turn out flawless I'll start over (alternatively if time doesn't allow this I would either fake a serious illness or slit my own wrists, depending on the day).

I've been reading this cake blog recently which is quite interesting.  It's entertaining enough but I'm just shocked and the kind of cakes this girl is willing to share with the world.  To be completely honest 85% of them are terrible (FYI I make up percentages ALL the time, I think it's some kind of disorder I suffer from). They look sloppy and cheap and resemble something that would be produced in grade 9 cooking class. I mean I will give points for creativity and mostly they're a step up from what you would get at the grocery store but come on, is she blind!?  I think I follow the blog religiously just to boost my own self confidence. The more I look at her junky cakes the better I feel about my superior decorating skills. I think it's comparable to going bathing suit shopping with someone whose 20 pounds overweight.. it always makes that 10 pounds you've been carrying around on your ass look more like 5.  So thanks to the cake blogger for making my cake skills look first-class and if you keep testing your new creations I'll happily go bathing suit shopping with you.

In closing I'll let you know that my sister Kristy and I plan to start a cake decorating business called 'Simply Cakes' in the next year so we can start making some cold hard cash for our blood and sweat.  Not literally blood and sweat, thats insanely unsanitary.  Oh and I guess I should clear a few things up.  My sister isn't 350 pounds (yet).  Also I'm not the type of person who would ever be able to slit my own wrist... I'm far more likely to go down with a pill cocktail and a half dozen candy apple martinis.

About The Cynic..

 I am a 23 year old with a house, a chocolate lab, an enjoyable job, a 1990 Toyota Corolla, a twin sister and an above average boyfriend.  Well by boyfriend I technically mean fiance, but who can stand that word?  Until he's my husband, he will continue to be my boyfriend.  I live in the same small town I grew up in.  I have some seriously great friends and one or two I could probably do without.  Overall my life is as I expected and I wouldn't trade it for anything short of a 649 ticket with 6 matching numbers, plus the bonus.  I'm mostly all talk but there aren't many things I wouldn't do for a few million bucks.  Here are some things I would give millions to never deal with again:

1)Eating Habits.  People who DRAG their teeth across their metal fork while eating.  This mentally and physically revolts me.  In my opinion dealing with that sound is comparable to being raped in a female prison. Not only does it likely cause oral damage but it gives me the NO feeling throughout my whole body.  Hense the comparison to being raped by a bull-dyke. While we're on the eating topic I should say I do find it personally offensive when people think it's remotely appropriate to come within a 1 mile radius of anyone while devouring a loaded subway sandwich. Don't take this the wrong way, everyone loves a properly made sub but WHY someone would get extra onion on their mid-day sandwich is beyond my thought process. That oniony smell which is often confused with the scent of ripe B.O. lingers for an obscene amount of time.  I like onions, I like garlic, but most of all I like my personal hygiene not coming into question.

2)Facebook Updates.  I'm going to try to keep this one short and sweet because I could go on about several topics in relation to facebook annoyances.  For the time being I will only focus on one major type of facebooker: the status updater.  I like to know where you got the idea that anyone with a pulse cares about the fact that you: hate your job, are in love with the man of your dreams, have a rash, or that you don't have plans for Friday night. SHUT THE FUCK UP! The only thing I find satisfying about someone posting 8 updates in one day is that then I actually have an reasonable excuse to talk about how much I personally hate them.  The best thing facebook has created to date is the 'hide this person' option for your homepage.  Because honestly, as much as you hate those mother fuckers that are updating hourly you have to keep them at arms reach (or literally speaking, on your friend list).  I mean theres always a chance they might get pregnant, paralyzed, or punched in the face.  Nothing like getting an earful of juicy gossip only to be derailed by a closed profile!

3)Simpleton Grammar. I am no genius when it comes to punctuation, spelling or even grammar.  If you're this far into my blog it's likely that you're nodding your head.  I'm also not a mental fucking retard.  I'm not university educated or even college educated for that matter but any half wit should be able to recognize basic English.  Saying things like "I seen that movie last night" makes you sound just as hillbilly as saying "I seen cousin Mary sucking cousin Mikes dick last night". You SAW it, past tense you goddamn idiot.

That's enough negativity for now, it is Friday after all.  I just figured anyone reading this garbage would need a crash course on some of things that are closest to my heart.  From this I hope you will all think twice before hitting that 'share' button on facebook, willingly grinding metal on your pearly whites or sucking your cousins dick.

Christmas Cheer & Fear

The holidays are finally over!  Don't get my wrong, I LOVE that time of year.  Theres always enough food to feed everyone twice and no one looks at you funny when you pour yourself a stiff one before noon.  Luckily for me, my boyfriends family celebrates Christmas Eve so I never have to sacrifice my regular family tradition.  This year I approached Christmas morning for a semi different angle then I usually do, an extremely hungover angle.  A very regrettable unplanned action.  I don't know why is it I choose to sabotage myself on the second favorite day of the year (close second to my birthday).  Luckily I proved that nothing can keep me for enjoying all the glories of that festive morning.  After getting through a day like that with a smile on my face I must admit I felt pretty unstoppable.  That was until Dec. 30th rolled around....

After years of talking about going away for a snowy New Years vacation we had finally planned something to get excited about this year.  With one of my best friends turning 30 on New Years it seems only appropriate. After about 100 emails and countless hours of internet searching for a cabin rental (which over New Years is not easy OR cheap to find) we found the perfect lake side cabin.  Going through Christmas knowing we still had 3 nights of worry free fun ahead of us over New Years made the holiday that much more sweet.  Finally the morning of Dec 30th had arrived, we could depart on our final holiday of 2010.  Chris (birthday boy, friend & driver) showed up to pick us up as planned at 7am.  That is when the bomb was dropped.  "I have the flu" were the first words out of Chris's mouth.  Something I may have left out about myself is that I'm borderline obsessive compulsive about germs.  My worst nightmare had come true.  A 3.5 hour closed window drive up to our snowy heaven in a contaminated truck with a poisonous human who had spent the night puking and pissing out of his ass.  I took every possible precaution on the way up but it only delayed the inevitable.

  It all started around about 11pm when my ice cold Granville Island Winter Ale started to taste funny.  Thats when I knew something might be up because normally that flavour of beer is beyond delicious. I decided with little reluctance that I should hit the hay early that night so I wouldn't get run down and in turn become vile and polluted with this horrific flu myself.  I fell asleep rather quickly only to be jerked awake an hour later by the cold sweat draining from my pores.  I could still hear everyone downstairs having a gay old time.  I went to the washroom (which luckily was located adjacent to our room) as more of a test than anything.  There and then my worst fears were confirmed, I had most definitely been infected.  That bathroom with the shitty slanted low ceiling and the hideous vinyl floor is where I spent a better part of the next 10 hours.  Luckily for me about 2 hours in to my sentence my drunk friends made there way upstairs.  A little after that with help from my stank-ass booze breath boyfriend I received the best gift of the whole Christmas season, a bucket.  It's amazing how much you appreciate something so small when your body is ejecting fluids from all of your orifices at once.

"You'll be fine, it's probably only food poisoning" said my lovely boyfriend Carey had said.  I may be a bit of a germaphobe but come on Carey, I can't mentally give myself the flu.  This was especially annoying coming from a person who has NEVER in his life had the flu.  Never, which I find that borderline offensive. Anyways that paints the basic picture of my 3 days at the cabin.  Carey came up at about 11:58 on New Years Eve and popped open a bottle of champagne to ring in the new year (I didn't get my New Years kiss for about 5 more days due to my toxic state).  Though I did everything in my power to avoid the smell of that freshly opened champagne it's the thought that counts.  1 point for Carey.

I know your waiting for it... the reaaallly thin silver lining.  I didn't once succumb to 'the fear' (meaning I didn't shit my pants).  Just kidding, that hardly seems like a silver lining.   I don't think I've mentioned this minor detail yet but I'm getting married in July! This I'm sure will be the topic of many rants and raves to come.  Anyways, since the day Carey proposed I've been on a pretty serious diet and exercise schedule.  Obviously I have no plans of being a whale on my surely glorious wedding day.  There had been some cheating in the month of December and I was getting off track (and dis-pleased with my daily weigh in's).  So after 3 days of puke and dia(rrhea) I arrive back home with a flat stomach, sunken cheekbones and a whopping 8 lbs lighter.  My self loathing quickly turned into narcissistic pride.  And so with great joy began 2011 with a nice jump start, which was enough to get my back on track to being merely skin and bones by late July.

Happy New Year to me!!

Legit Motives

While deciding what on earth I would name my blog I considered many things. I came up with words that I feel people may use to describe me. Some good, most bad. I find it substantially easier to pick out the negative attributes of others than attempting to locate the positive. I searched the definitions of these words and found only one that truly suited me, cynic.

Cynicism: a distrust of the apparent motives of others

Since as far back as I can remember I've questioned peoples motives. Good or bad I wonder why people do what they do and most importantly as a friend of mine often says "how does this affect me?". If a near stranger does something nice for me, such as bringing me a coffee, I would likely misconstrue this as them trying to butter me up so they can ask me for a favour. Or maybe I would think they were trying to poison me. When someone is doing something callous or evil it's a lot easier to define their motives. They have likely been wronged are trying to level the playing field.

Now your probably thinking one of two things: "Finally a blog worth reading!" or "Wow, another bitter bitch trying to spread more unhappiness". If your leaning towards the bitter bitch thought don't stop reading just yet. This blog is called HOPE for the cynic.

Hope: a belief in a positive outcome.

Yep, even the sour side of me has hope that everything will always turn out right sooner or later. I think thats what makes all the difference. There has to be a small percentage of your being that has hope. Whether it's hope that the annoying girl you have on your facebook breaks all her fingers and is unable to post another status update for 6-8 weeks, or hope that you lose 10 lbs overnight. If you don't have hope for anything you might as well tie up a fresh noose and prep for a hasty 20+ year overdue abortion your mother should have had.

What I hope to do with this blog is make you think and mostly to make you laugh. It's likely going to be a collection of rants, times when I've been wronged and occasionally you may fine a post with a silver lining or a happy ending (and I'm not talking about the kind you get after a thai massage). Regardless I hope you enjoy it, or better yet, I hope you hate it. That way you'll have something to rant about too.