Thanks A Lot

It's my mom's birthday tomorrow. It falls shortly after Father's Day so there's always a bit of an over lap in planning, which I'm usually left with the bulk of.

That's only partially a complaint. In all honesty, I like it that way. It leaves very little up to chance when I don't have to count on anyone, I know what's going on, I know that everything is handled (or failing that, that there is a back up plan) and I actually LIKE doing the planning. I LIKE making supper. I LIKE all of those things because it's one of the big ways I show that I care.

So when I was talking to my mom today and she mentioned supper tomorrow and that my brother had already spoken to her about it, I was a little surprised.

Before Father's Day I had asked him what he was planning and told him we needed to talk about it. Father's Day came and went and he didn't say a word. It's not unusual for him to just forget everything so I made a plan. I even took tomorrow afternoon off to make supper. I spent a week looking up recipes and figuring things out. I was figuring out desert and getting my grocery list together.

But no.

My brother had already spoken to her about dinner and failed to mention any of this to me.

I plan this shit out for every single occasion and the ONE time he decides to help it's by making all the plans AND NOT TELLING ME.

So all the hours I spent planning were for nothing. He left me without anything to do, which makes me feel like a fucking schmuck. And now because I'm mad, hurt and upset my mother wants to cancel everything and just not have a birthday because, you know, that doesn't make me feel even more like a fucking douche bag.

Awesome.

The best part is, if I hadn't spoken to my mother I would have gone to get groceries tonight and gone to make supper tomorrow so my idiot brother could show up with his own groceries in tow.

It's days like these I wish I could drink.

Put It In Your Face Hole

Rice is something I like when there's stuff with it. It's rare that I ever eat just rice. I don't really care for it alone. All that may have changed (sort of). I have discovered furikake*.

This shit is awesome. I bought some earlier and wanted to try it out. Since I had some left over rice from a few days ago, supper seemed like a good chance to try it out. I will never be sad that I did.

Between a sammich and the rice, I almost didn't want to eat the sammich. It was just taking time away from eating the rice. It was also taking up room in my stomach for the delicious, delicious rice.

I am suddenly INCREDIBLY happy I live within walking distance of the store that sells it. I have a feeling I'm going to go through a lot.

*Although it's spelled a little too much like Bukkake.

Drunk And Nerdy*

I went for supper with my friend Ted last night. Somehow we ended up spending nearly the entire time coming up with some of the best and worst drinks ever created.

The M. Night Shyamalan - A shitty drink, with a twist!

This drink is dedicated to the man and his films.

Jack - The depressing lead of the movie

Grenadine - The "something special" to lift up the lead and give him a little hope

151 - Like M. Night's movies, leaves you confused and wondering what the hell happened (and, if you've just watched one of his movies, you'll wish you were very, very drunk).

Cranberry Juice - The bitterness his movies leave you with.

Served in a Martini glass (chilled or not, it doesn't matter - much like his movies) rimmed with crushed cinnamon hearts (they claim to be cinnamon, but we all know they're not and they leave you with the taste of bile at the back of your throat).

Finished with a twist of lime (Every movie has his trademark twist, so something expected but not as obvious as lemon) - May be substituted with grapefruit if you're not feeling quite bitter enough.

The Adversary - Pronounced "Adver-ser-ee"

This is a drink for Sean Connery. It must be drunk while wearing a kilt and preferably while watching "Hunt for Red October".

Scotch - Obviously

Mike's Hard Cranberry - Something in-your-face, that clearly doesn't belong there

Served with a Jaggerbomb chaser (to get you drunk enough to slur and hyper enough to go head to head with Connery).

Sabotage - Pronounced "Sabo-t-A-ge"

This is a drink for the beloved Captain Kirk. It's a girly drink, designed to bring the ladies, to sneak up on them, knock them on their ass and have them wake up wondering what the hell happened.

Triple filtered vodka - Something easy to hide but strong enough to do some damage

Strawberry juice - A straight up girl drink

Shaved ice - No matter how hot, you're not going to melt this cowboy

Served in a chilled martini glass, rimmed in vanilla sugar with a chocolate drizzle.

The Sabre Tooth

Bacon vodka - Shot

Tabasco

Jalepeno Bacon Salt rim

Bacon Bit garnish

Meat on meat on meat, with a bite.

Substitute the Jalepeno Bacon Salt for Maple Bacon salt and add liquid smoke - You have yourself A Wolverine

The Jubilee

One shot of Blue Bols in a shot glass rimmed with Pop Rocks.

This one it pretty self-explanitory.

The Nightcrawler

Kirschwasser - Shot

Gin - Shot

Served separately, mixed in a glass and then shot.

Must be served under a black light.

The Deadpool

Redbull - Shotgunned

Green apple Sour Puss - Shot

Maple Syrup - Shot

A raw egg (served in a shot glass) - with Tobasco garnish

Red food colouring should be added to the first two shots.

Between each shot the drinker should talk himself out of each shot before doing it anyway.

Finished by punching yourself in the face.

The Bizzarro Superman

This drink is much like a traditional tequila shot.

Salt is licked off the hand followed by a shot of pure lemon juice. A shot of tequila is thrown over your shoulder. Finished by punching the person to your left.

And finally...

The Apocalypse**

This is a line shot.

3 shots - 151

1 shot - Snakebite

2 tumblers - 151

1 tumbler - Hot 100

1 pint - 151

Finished by burning down the bar.

*For the complete set of Star Trek theme drinks - go here.

** Not recommended for human consumption. Ever. For any reason.

Julia

There have always been women I've looked up to, admired and respected. They haven't changed much over the years because, I like to think, I've made some good choices. They're strong women who made it because they deserved it, not because anyone ever handed it to them. They're the kind of women we need more of.

Julia Child has been one of those women for a long time.

I like to cook, I always have and I love to bake. I'm perfectly happy to spend all day working on one project while friends and family shake their heads and wonder. I love kneading bread by hand or spending two days making perfect cinnamon buns. I find something special in cookies that are all just a little different. I find an amazing comfort in the smell of freshly baked pie. And when I found this bliss, I found Julia.

When I'm at a loss for what to do, when things blow up in my face, when I'm trying to get the goddamned waxed paper to curl in to a proper piping bag for the thirtieth time, I turn to Julia. She doesn't always hold the answer or fix everything but she does make me feel like it's okay to fail. For me, that's a BIG thing.

I know that Julia isn't the best chef to have ever taken up the ladle and whisk and I think that's part of why I love her. She was fallible and readily admitted it. I've watched hours and hours of her show and it always makes me feel so much better about my efforts. I don't get that feeling from any other cooking show. They're all so perfect and clean cut, everything works out right every single time. How is that supposed to help?

Julia routinely had things go wrong, and you know what? It wasn't the end of the world. She took the opportunity to show you how to save the day, to salvage the wreck or at worst, to just carry on because sometimes shit happens.

But you want to know one of the biggest reasons I love Julia as much as I do?

She was 32 when she started cooking.

I often panic that I still have no idea what I want to be when I grow up. I went to school and I love doing fx make-up but I know it will never be what I "do". There's nothing I can really point to and say "I want to be THAT forever and ever". I worry about reaching lots of life's milestones and I often feel like I'm so far behind that I'll never catch up.

Julia gives me hope.

I know it was never her intention and I know it's more in my head than anything. But I'm okay with that.

"Upon reflection, I decided I had three main weaknesses: I was confused (evidenced by a lack of facts, an inability to coordinate my thoughts, and an inability to verbalize my ideas); I had a lack of confidence, which cause me to back down from forcefully stated positions; and I was overly emotional at the expense of careful, 'scientific' though. I was thirty-seven years old and still discovering who I was." - Julia Child (1912 - 2004)

The Things I Do For You

Yesterday I had to stop for some groceries after work. This was a bad idea for several reasons, the two biggest of which being the "after work shopper" crowd that makes me want to kill and the fact that I tend to be hungry after work. 

Regardless, it had to be done.

While I was shopping I noticed a display of new and/or cheap stuff. This sort of thing goes completely unnoticed or ignored for the most part, but I was hungry and I needed something to distract me from having to kill everyone in the store just for being so fucking stupid and irritating. It was a display of italian soda or at least PCs version of italian soda. Two different kinds.

Blood orange (which I love anyway, bet you couldn't have guessed) and Coffee.

Hmm... coffee soda. Weird. 

You know I bought some, right?

Well now I'm going to try it. I have a feeling it's either going to be really good or incredibly, mind explodingly, tongue destroyingly bad. 

You're hoping for the latter aren't you, you jerk?

Here goes...

Well... it smells like coffee. Kinda. In that "instant coffee" kind of way.

*sip*

I... umm.... 

*sip*

yeah... That's... weird. It's like cold, sweet, black, fizzy coffee. At least one of those words doesn't belong in there. I think it's the "fizzy". My mouth is having trouble with this one, to be honest. Because the taste is telling my brain "hey, it's sort of coffee!" and then my tongue is all "wait a fucking second here. It's fizzy. Something is wrong. Very wrong."
I'm kind of thinking it might not be so bad as a float. At least then it would kind of be like an ice coffee... a fizzy ice coffee. Made with shitty coffee. Hey, maybe the ice cream would kill the taste of this. But why waste good ice cream? And why the fuck wouldn't I just drink an ice coffee? Made with good coffee instead of this "instant" taste, which is really throwing the whole thing off.
The funny thing is, it says "made with real coffee extract" while it tastes like they extracted it from the sludge that's been sitting on the burner in the office coffee pot since 9am. You know what I'm talking about, that last cup no one wants and everyone is too chicken shit to just dump. If you took that and made a soda out of it, it would be this. If that coffee happened to not actually be coffee but instead it was that bargain bin instant coffee. 
Really, I wouldn't buy this again. It's kind of bad. 
And by kind of, I mean really.
I've had the japanese canned coffee they sell as well and that stuff is actually pretty fucking awesome. Ice cold, it's one of my favourites. And it's not fizzy. It's also about the same price. Added bonus - It doesn't taste like a coffee bean just shit in my mouth.
Fuck you, PC italian coffee soda. You make my taste buds sad and that is a crime I cannot forgive. Go back to the hell from which you came!

On the up side, the blood orange one is wicked.

Izzy Magoo's: World's Shittiest Diner

If you ever come to Regina and are looking for food, you're in luck. We have one of the highest restaurants per capita in the country. This is also means you're in luck because you can be kind of picky. That many restaurants means you don't have to eat somewhere shitty for lack of choices (isn't life grand?). And luckiest of all, it means that even if you show up in town starving to death and so desperate that you'll eat anywhere, you STILL won't have to eat at Izzy Magoo's.

For those of you who don't know, Izzy Magoo's is a 50's theme diner. They've got the old timey booth seating, records on the walls, old movie posters and all the 50's-ness you can handle. It's one of those places that might be cool if it didn't look horribly slapped together on a minimum budget. Theme restaurants are something that can be costly to put together if you care to do it right and clearly these folks didn't. But hey, even the biggest dump can still pull off a decent meal, right?

I've eaten in plenty of places that were in serious need of a face lift and still got great food. This was not one of those times.

The first major disappointment - dessert. Mostly that there was none. As is NONE AT ALL. As in "where the hell is the sweet stuff?" This also means that there was no pie. Any place without pie immediately loses major points. 

The we ordered drinks. Paul and I got iced tea and as we all know, iced tea is hardly worth drinking without a wedge of lemon. Again - denied. No lemon. Apparently the owner has a "no lemon policy". I am so not making that up. You are not allowed to have a wedge of lemon with your drink.

Now excuse me for a second but I'm paying for a drink and paying a lot more than it's worth. Enough, I would imagine, to pay for the actual cost of the drink itself and still have enough left over to buy a whole bag of lemons. So why, exactly, is it that I can't have a piece of a fucking lemon? I'm the customer, I want a lemon, that should be reason enough.

So we get our lemonless iced tea and we flip through the menu. It's a lot of standard diner food with a bunch of 50's buzz words and car names to jazz it up. 

Paul gets a burger, Jen gets a sammich and I get some fish and chips (which I'm informed comes with lemon). I ask if I can substitute my fries for "frings" which is a combo of fries and onion rings. The server says that's fine. 

Two minutes later she's back to say it isn't.

I could order just fries and then get an appetizer order of onion rings. Paul suggests he change his salad to onion rings and then we can just swap each other half of our respective fried side dishes.

Great, let's do that.

When our orders come, the fish appears to be the "Captain Highliner" variety and the server plunks down a squeeze bottle of Kraft tartar sauce.

Awesome.

Do you have any idea how easy it is to bread fish yourself or, for that matter, to make your own tartar sauce? I do it all the time. And it kicks Kraft's ass.

When we ask for a second plate so we may let our fries and onion rings co-mingle our sever grimaces a little. 

"There is a $2.50 plate charge."

What?

"If I bring an extra plate."

You're kidding.

"It's a rule."

She's not kidding.

"And we're out of lemon."

Jesus.

"Sorry."

How about comment cards? Do you have any of those?

"No."

I can see why.

She tells us the owner doesn't care and we can complain all we like. He won't give a shit.

Great business strategy. 

So you see, if the half-assed atmosphere doesn't drive you away, if the food isn't sub-par enough, if the music isn't crappy enough, if there aren't so many rules you want to scream, if the fact that the owner clearly treats his staff like shit all aren't reason enough not to visit this festering dung heap - just keep in mind, he cares about you just as much as he cares about his staff. You're the customer and should be listened to carefully, treated well and cared for and about. After all, you're the one with the money.

Besides, business owners who treat their staff like shit should be strung up by their balls.

More Adventures In Gwenland

The egg-deviling went well I think. The dark spirits were summoned nicely and despite a few of them bickering back and forth it was all ready to go by 10pm. I've also learned yet another lesson about how stupidly easy it is to impress most people, especially at a potluck.
I've always been the kind of person who worries that if I half-ass it, everyone else will go all out and I'll end up looking like a chump. So I make myself crazy trying to pull something amazing together, because I'll be damned if I'm going to let anyone out cook me... bastards. Then I turn up with my creation, which I lovingly hand-crafted and spent hours fretting over, only to find that everyone else half-assed it or bought something at Safeway.
Deviled eggs have taught me a few valuable potluck lessons.

1. They are just enough work that most people wouldn't have made them (because as we've learned, they are lazy bastards who are trying to make me insane) but easy enough that I put them together in about 15 minutes.
2. Doing even the simplest piping job with the filling (I put the filling in a zip-lock and cut off a corner) impresses the shit out of most people.
3. Everyone seems to love them, which is both confusing and great.

I think I'm starting to see why they have long been a potluck standard and a favourite of the leave it to beaver/father knows best type of 50s mom crowd.
Now all I have to do is find a way to make the recipe something jusut a little different so I can claim it. That way I'll never have to make anything else for a potluck ever again.
On a completely unrelated note, sweet jesus... am I really that old? *sigh*

Chicken Little Meets The Exorcist

I got myself another job. For now. I'm not exactly sure about the whole thing and it's only temporary until the end of March. But what the hell, right? Could be worse and they pay me money, which is nice.
Anyway, we've got this training day/potluck/gift exchange tomorrow. I'm not really sure how to feel about that since I've only been here three days. I mean, I've only just managed to learn four names (that leaves me about thirty short) and I'm already getting hit up for presents and food. I suppose I be getting some back, but I'm broke and lazy. You know how it is.
So I spent a while looking around for something to make for tomorrow. I could certainly just buy something but I don't want to look like some lame-ass who can't cook to save her life. Especially because I CAN cook and quite well too. The trick is to find something that is tasty, cheep to make and easy enough that I won't be up until four in the fucking moring making it and cursing whoever devised the evil potluck bullshit in the first place.
I think I've hit on a solution. One I'd never really thought of before. But lately I've been on this nostalgia kick. I really love vintage stuff, especially old cookbooks. Even more so the ones that contain recipes and pictures that are just a little terrifying. But that's me. I figure, tho, it's probably best not to show up with something too scary. So I compromised.
Deviled Eggs.
Oddly enough, I've never made them before. Ever. I honestly didn't even know what was in them. Eggs, obviously but beyond that it was a mystery. And after looking up the recipe I realized how simple they are and (best of all) I have everything I need to make them at home.
That being said, in about half an hour, when I get home, I will be starting on my very first journey to deviled-eggdom. If you don't hear from me soon, something when horribly, horribly wrong. And just in case, I'd just like to say I'm sorry I did that thing to you that time, it really was a stupid thing to do and please don't put my dead body in any lewd positions and take pictures.

Food For Thought And Also Eating

I love food. I love talking about food. I love eating food. I love cooking and baking. I love the food channel. It's all wonderful. By that same token, I'm also a food snob. This seems to be a constant source of entertainment for most people who know me well. I'm not a picky eater by any means, I just like quality food. Is that so wrong?
Now, all that being said, it's come to my attention over the years that I eat some weird things. I never thought anything of it until someone would see me eating something odd or it would come up in conversation and suddenly I'd have a room full of people laughing and asking all kinds of silly questions.
So, now to get this all out in the open, to get it out of the way, to save myself a lot of time later - here is a list of the weird shit I like to eat. A lot of it is ethnic type food, which thankfully is becoming much more common and the rest is shit I picked up from my family.

Raw fish - I eat sushi on an almost regular basis. I love raw fish. Yes, I can hear your jokes from here. Thanks. Oh and this also means I eat quite a lot of fish eggs. Tasty.

Pickled herring - I'm german, what can I say? I also love Kraut and sardines. It seems to be a genetic flaw.

Smoked eel - I love smoked eel more than I love most people. Fuck you if you don't. More for me.

Peanut butter and pickle sandwiches - They're good. Seriously. Try them. Smooth peanut butter, dill pickle, bread. Seriously.

Perogies with peanut butter - the only thing in the whole world that goes together with perogies as well as sour cream is peanut butter. Would I lie to you?

Tofu - I eat A LOT of tofu. I actually like it. You would too if someone cooked it for you properly.

Red bean paste - there's a chinese bakery in town that makes a variety of buns, my very favourite of which is the red bean paste (or sweet bean paste). The only thing I love more than those were the red bean paste dumplings my favourite chinese restaurant used to make. Man, I miss then so much.

Black tree fungus - It's crunchy, it's chewy, it's delicious. Leave me alone.

Seaweed - I have two packages in my freezer as I type and I often go and pull out a piece to eat. Just seaweed on it's own. It's good. Really.

hmmm... that's all I can think of right now.
I can't be the only one who eats weird shit! I just can't!

Waffle Time!

Last night I was watching TV and I came to the conclusion that I needed a waffle. Why a waffle? I have no idea. Luckily for me however, I have a waffle iron, I found a decent recipe for waffles and I actually had ALL the stuff I needed. So at 9pm I made waffle batter. (I'm one of those weirdos who actually has to make them from scratch because frozen store bought waffles are disgusting.) While I made waffles I learned three very important things.

1. Vanilla soy milk works really well in waffle batter and it makes the waffles kind of sweet.

2. I ALWAYS over fill the first batch of waffles. You'd think I'd learn.

3. My waffle iron makes farting noises which make me giggle like a small child. I am just too mature for words.

I also had to make all of the batter which made more waffles than any one person should ever eat in a single sitting, so now I have tasty waffles in my freezer I can have any time. In fact, I had peanut butter and jam waffle for breakfast instead of toast. Sometimes it's good to be me.
Oh and I was watching Scrubs while I ate breakfast and I happened to be watching an episode that starts off with John C. McGinley singing a happy little song (John C. being the #1 reason I watch Scrubs, it made me giddy**). Now you can enjoy it too!



**Bet you would never have guessed that Dr. Cox is MY favourite character, eh?

A Link's As Good As A Nod To A Blind Bat

If anyone is interested Over The Hill Orchards has THE most amazing prairie cherry juice EVER. I bought some at the Farmer's Market yesterday and I will be buying more next time. Holy hell is it good.

The Curry Gods Are Mocking Me

Yesterday I wanted some curry. Wait. Let me clarify. I spent the entire day thinking about curry, how much I love curry, how much I wanted to eat some curry, about how I would gladly knock over an old lady to get at some curry. So after work I headed downtown to Punjabi. They're open every day and they are my favourite East Indian Restaurant in the city. (Seriously, I go there enough that the owner knows me. It's kind of sad.)
Now, I have almost no sense of smell. I don't know why. Most things just don't get in. But when you step in to the Scarth St. Mall the curry reaches everyone, even me. It reaches in the the depths of my hunger and makes me crazy until I've eaten enough that I need a nap. And when I stepped in to the mall that is what I expected.
Nothing. Not a sniff. I started thinking my nose had finally packed up for good. Until I saw the doors. Closed and locked. I actually groaned and then I tried not to cry. A sign out front explained that they were closed for the day. Sorry for the inconvenience.
Out of my love of curry and need for food I broke down and turned on my loyalty to Punjabi. I went to Flavours of India. I know it's not the worst place in the world. I know lots of people love it. I'm just not a huge fan. Especially when I know what I want and I can't get it. Nothing else is going to measure up.
I did get some chana masala, aaloo matar, rice and naan. It was enough to fill the curry gap. It was decent. But I know I'm going to have to go to Punjabi next week to actually get what I want.


On a side note, can someone please tell me how the troglodytes of this city votes FOI best Indian Restaurant? Over Punjabi? Or Selam? What the fuck? (but ten those same freaks voted McDeath's best fries...)
See, I'm not a food snob, everyone else just has white trash taste buds. It's like their mouths are taste bud trailer parks.

So Much For A Lazy Sunday

My cats woke me up at 7.30am. At this point they should just be thankful that I didn't kill them both. Since I couldn't get back to sleep I watched some Star Trek (I finally picked up season 2 of TOS) and talked to a friend of mine for a bit. Now, being the frightfully clever person I am, I decided that it would be a good idea to spend all day making three batches of perogies. Alone.
Why? Why do I do these things to myself? *sigh*
So for the last five hours I've been rolling out dough, developing a wicked hand cramp from using the rolling pin, boiling perogies (which makes the kitchen even hotter) and washing dishes. And the best part of the story, I have to go to work tonight so I'm not even going to get to enjoy them until way later.
I'm pretty sure there is something wrong with me.


*In the event that you've never had or heard of perogies, you are missing out on one of life's greatest treasures. I will gladly give you the recipe so you can free yourself from your sad, pathetic, perogy-less life.

Like Drinking And Driving

Baking and blogging. Just don't do it. You think you've got a handle on things, but you're wrong. Bake for 10 minutes, yeah I can't do that. Wait... What's that burning smell? Oh. God. No.

These are the cookies of an attentive baker.


And these are the cookies of a blogger.

*They've been quarantined as you can see.

I know, it's not a pretty site. But let me be an example for the rest of you. Pay attention to your cookies.
(Lucky for me I have a grandpa that loves burnt baking. Seriously. I have cousins who will back me up on this one.)

Drop Everything You're Doing And Go Now

If anyone in this city is up for some serious sushi action, Miso is the place you should be.
I'm always a little skeptical of any place that's "all you can eat" because it usually means "we've cut enough corners that you can stuff your gob until you puke for only $10". But this place has made me a believer. Unfortunately it's not $10, it's $22 which I'm not complaining about at all. I know I got my money's worth. I'm stuffed and everything was fabulous.
I can't think of a single thing to complain about. The food was amazingly delicious, the wait staff was quick, friendly and very helpful, the restaurant was spotless and tastefully decorated, they had barley tea (which made my whole day). They even have a section of "floor seating" which I love. The music was a bit strange but not painfully loud, and if nothing else it was good for a laugh.
If I had the authority to hand out stars they wouldn't just get four or five, they could have every star I've got. Everyone should go there. Seriously. Now.

Hitler-esque

I knew it had to happen some day, I just wasn't expecting that day to get here so quickly. I've finally been compared to Hitler.
I know what you're thinking, did I go oppressing an entire people again? Was I staging book burnings? Or giant rallies where everyone hails me and all of my soldiers do that goose stepping thing? And I have to answer you no. As much fun as some of that sounds. I just haven't had that kind of time lately.
No, friends, it was because I eat fish.
I was discussing food with Jarred, the other person running the theatre, (between the two of us I amazed we haven't burned to building down yet) and my not eating meat came up. I mentioned that I eat fish and Jarred laughed.
"You can't call yourself a vegetarian if you eat fish."
I explain there are a lot of kinds of vegetarians, including those who still eat chicken. They only cut the red meat (which we took a few minutes to make fun of). But around here it's just so much easier to say "vegetarian" than to try and explain all this to some of the meat lovin', commie hatin', rednecks who populate our fair province. They barely understand that, I think trying to reason with them any more than that would cause wide spread panic and rioting.
"So why don't you eat meat?" He asks.
"I don't feel good about it." It's the simplest answer. "I like to feel good about what I'm eating. Meat doesn't make me feel good. So I don't eat it."
"But you eat fish?"
"Yeah."
"So you don't feel bad about eating fish?"
"Not really."
He laughs. "So, like Hitler with the Jews? He didn't feel bad about killing them either."
How can I argue with logic like that?
"Yes, Jarred. I'm like Hitler. I'm the Hitler of fish." (At this point I take great pride in my restrain to make a comment about ovens.)
So yes, I am the Hitler of fish. Are you all happy now?
*sigh* I'm going to eat some tuna now.

Good Idea Bad Idea

Good Idea - Making hashbrowns and eggs.
Bad Idea - Not looking at the spices before you dump them on your hashbrowns.

I got home late last night after work and as it had been a really long day I was hungry. So I decided to use up a couple of the baby potatoes I bought last week and make hashbrowns and eggs. I cut up the potatoes and boil them, then dump them in to the pan. They get some pepper, some garlic, a little dill and some cayenne.
But wait. Why is the cayenne a funny colour?
Because it's cinnamon.
Last week I made gingerbread cookies and somehow, when I put the spices back in the spice rack, the cayenne got pushed to the back and the cinnamon got put in its place.
Damn it all to hell.
By that time it was 1am and I was fucking starving so I decided to just say "screw it", just add the cayenne and move on. I don't know if it was necessarily a bad idea, but it certainly wasn't something I'd do again on purpose. And it was made even weirder by the strong cinnamon smell coming from the hasbrowns.
I did eat them. I was too hungry and too lazy to make more or just toss them. They weren't terrible. They weren't good either. I think that if I was still eating cheese wiz they might have been okay (cinnamon bagel and cheese wiz = awesome), but the ketchup just didn't cut it. Neither did the toast and cream cheese (though cream cheese, as it always does in my opinion, made it better).
So lesson learned. Always be careful to follow your own filing system if you have one and always look at the label on the spice jars before you dump them on your food.

And I Don't Even Like Cake

I'm not much of a girly-girl and I certainly don't sit around day dreaming about my wedding. In fact, just typing that made me gag a little. But that aside, should hell ever freeze over and I actually get married, this is the cake I want.



Best... Cake... Ever.

More Crap to Waste Your Time

I found this site earlier today and have been laughing like the juvenile humored being that I am ever since.
Enjoy.