Touques and Turkeys

 

Today, Canucks everywhere unlaced their hockey skates and gathered to celebrate Canadian Thanksgiving. Though I wasn't lucky enough to sneak an invite to Ellen Page's dinner, I hosted my own star-studded evening to share all things Canadian with my dear friends.

The Touques and Turkeys Countdown

10 slightly burnt dinner rolls

9 songs by Michael Buble on our Canadian playlist

8 missed calls to my mother when I panicked about taking the turkey out of the oven

7 roommates and 7 dates (plus 4 very special guests)

6 players on the winning team for Canadian trivia

5 times I gagged while degutsifying and otherwise violating my first turkey

4 dirty looks I gave when people used the word ‘eh’ incorrectly

3 delicious desserts prepared by my beautiful roommates

2 Canadians present at dinner (Thanks for showing up, Biebs)

1 turkey neck extracted from the bird after dinner. I call it extra flavoring. My date called it a red flag.   

 

Happy Canadian Thanksgiving to my friends and family north of the border! May your turkey experiences have been far less traumatizing  than mine.

To Paint a Piano

I once had a dream of painting a piano (a stolen dream from Pinterest—but a dream nonetheless). When my piano-plunking roommate followed her heart out to Michigan, I pounced on the opportunity to give her abandoned 88-keys a facelift.

Before: Plain Jane

Poof!

 You may find yourself wondering (as so many people do) ‘Should I paint a piano?’ First, ask yourself these questions:

1.       Do I love sanding things for 10+ hours?

2.       Do I really need fingerprints?

3.       Do I have a gullible army of roommates to trick into helping me?

4.       Do I enjoy going to Home Depot 3 times in 3 days?

This entry isn’t intended to give you detailed instructions on how to do it at all; it’s solely for complaining bragging purposes (If you want directions, I used this blog and this eHow).

Essentially, here’s what you do:

Disassemble...

 

...sand, power-sand, paint-strip, cry... 
  

...sand, bleed, sand...

 

...prime, sand, prime, sand, paint, sand, paint...

...reassemble, touch up, high five.

A piano is one stubborn chunk of wood. While the legs are wooden, the body is particle board with enamel baked onto the thing. Gritty sand paper did nothing. Power-sanding made it look like a team of very dainty mice had gone skating across the finish. And while paint stripper burned a hole through my ‘Save the Elephants’ shirt, it left the enamel gleaming just as much as before I charred the ozone. 

Thanks a lot, extra-strength paint stripper

But after all the blood, sweat, and saw dust, she’s done! And let me tell you, she’s beautiful. Special thanks go out to

·         My dad, for the FaceTime paint tutorials (we named the Piano Merv after him, a terrible name that shouldn’t be shared with such a beautiful thing. Love you dearly, Pops.)

·         My other dad, for the spare canister of elbow grease she keeps on hand.

·         The many roommates and brawny men who helped this dream-turned-nightmare become a masterpiece. 

We were a little too ambitious with the appliques we bought and had to trim them down to actually fit on the piano.



My sweet baby