A couple of weeks ago, my friend Kat and I went out with some friends for the night, and after bar hopping a couple of times throughout the evening, we decided to walk down along Front Street in search for one last place to get a drink before heading home. While we passed by the Loose Moose, Kat and I laughed about our first times at that pub, and then simultaneously remembered that time in the late spring of 2015, when we went there after the mac + cheese festival with my friend Marta.
I then remembered that writing about this outing was my very first post on my old blog, Sundresses & Serial Stories, which I had diligently worked on prior to starting Emulating Emily. Rereading this ‘welcome post’ was interesting, seeing what occupied my mind when I was just twenty, as well as what clearly had to be dealt with at that time. Not to mention how carefree I was with my eating habits pre-lactose intolerance (no, I’m not crying, there’s just something in my eye).
And with that, I’ve included below my original blog post from June 2015:
I had been anticipating Liberty Village’s Mac & Cheese Festival like you wouldn’t believe. The thought of stuffing my face with as many different types of macaroni and cheese as humanly possible in the span of a few hours had my mind reeling with excitement weeks in advance. Of course, I knew that I had to bring two of my best friends because (first and foremost) they’re gourmet food lovers and also, wouldn’t it be a little weird if I showed up at this thing alone with stars in my eyes and drool saturating the corners of my mouth? Events like these are better done in groups. When the three of us waited in line for nearly an hour without complaint to buy the tickets needed to exchange for the food, I knew exactly why I am so close with them.
Liberty Village was swarming with people hungry (literally) to get a peek at the epicurean dishes awaiting them. The first tent we went to offered mac and cheese sushi – cheddar macaroni with a pulled pork centre, crusted with breadcrumbs, nested in a pillow of white cheddar sauce, and lightly drizzled with spicy ketchup. I was swooning. We moved from tent to tent, sampling whatever caught our attention and picking off each other’s plates without question. By the time I found the tent I had been dreaming about for days prior – lobster mac and cheese – I basically glided over with my four tickets in one hand and the other open to receive the plate and fork. It was divine; I really can’t think of a better word to describe that entire situation, other than it tasted like cherubs were frolicking on my tongue and for once, none of us were talking, so that we could just enjoy the dish in blissful peace.
After ingesting an unnatural amount of food, we decided that we needed to go out for drinks. We found ourselves on the King St. streetcar heading east to Yonge, and walking over to Front St. to the Loose Moose pub. We dropped ourselves onto bar stools and ordered a round, Kat and I opting for vodka-infused raspberry lemonade and Marta choosing a strawberry flavoured beer. We drifted through conversation, and onto the topic of how I had been hanging on to my ex for far too long [side note: at the time this post was written, we had broken up four months prior]. This was an unsurprising topic for me, since they both are relentless in trying to snap me out of that phase and I was ever-willing to bring up the topic and throw a little pity party for myself each time.
I realize this legitimate revelation was much needed, but there was this mix of anger and frustration combined with an inability to comprehend how it all truly had nothing to do with me, which left me refusing to completely let the whole thing go from my mind.
It wasn’t until the two of them made me lay everything that I was feeling out on the table, from what my daily thought processes are like to what my reasons for believing certain things are, that it hit me how ridiculous I’ve been for the past four and a half months. Because I’m so close with both them and they know me like the back of their hands, saying these things out loud made me feel really stupid. I found myself reluctant to continue speaking, to admit it all, because I knew that it was ridiculous what I was thinking in my daily routine.
Why do I hold on to complete nonsense for no reason? Why do I insist on dwelling on things that only make me sad? When they told me that it seemed as if I liked torturing myself with these negative thoughts, I finally had the long-awaited epiphany. I knew that things had to change immediately and so we did some purging of my various stupid mindsets and routines (i.e., they forced me to delete his number from my phone and unfollow him on SnapChat, so that I couldn’t see what he was doing day-to-day). Obviously, I needed another drink to just relax and let them take over and pick at my brain for a bit. By the end of the day, when I was lying in bed ready to go to sleep, I had this grin plastered on my face and there was zero tightness in my chest. I hadn’t realized that these thoughts were consuming my mind so much and thus, that it was seriously stressing me out. I’ve realized that just because you let go of a relationship that didn’t work out, doesn’t mean that everything you felt and did while you were in the relationship has been discredited. For the first time in what seems like forever, I’m putting myself out there and having a good time. I don’t feel like I need to hold myself back for pointless, unchanging reasons.
And so, with that… I begin my blogging journey as a twenty-year-old Torontonian student, taking on this beautiful and exciting city one adventure at a time.
To this day, I still think that that outing was one of my favourites with Kat and Marta, and I’m forever grateful to have them as my friends. Who knows how many stupid things I’d have done in my life if it wasn’t for them asking, “what the hell are you thinking?”
Have you ever had your friends have to knock some sense into you? Also, what’s your favourite way of eating mac + cheese? Let me know in the comments!