Oh Halle, shake it gurl!
Happy Friday!
Friday, January 21, 2011
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
I Won A Trip...
... to Mexico!!!!
Eff off. I know it is the worst place in the world to be right now but by April it is gonna be awesomesauce. I just know it!
Eff off. I know it is the worst place in the world to be right now but by April it is gonna be awesomesauce. I just know it!
Ya, its like that.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The Weekly Whaaaaa
(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on June 08, 2010)
So a pig and a gerbil and a bunny got it on...
Ya, I got nothing.
So a pig and a gerbil and a bunny got it on...
Ya, I got nothing.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Random Sauce, Part Six
When you text and call a radio station to complain that your not-so-boyfriend boyfriend is married, it is not going to end well and you should not be surprised when you are vilified. Publicly.
~~~~~
No. This ain't fucking normal. You are also not fucking normal.~~~~~
Can you make a mallet out of paper?~~~~~
Put some magic on it.~~~~~
got lethbridge?~~~~~
Friday, January 14, 2011
Another Casualty Of My Snobbery
Dear Partylite:
We are over. It is official. I am ending this relationship today. This is where we get divorced.
For twenty years I have loved you, I have defended you, I have stated that while your prices were high, your quality was beyond reproach. I proclaimed from mountain tops that your scented wax and candle holders were the best there is. And that you smelled like yummy goodness. And I do not just go around calling things yummy or good.
For the last 18 months I have pondered my affinity for you. It has not been easy. You have become even more expensive and increasingly styleless...
There was a time when your scents were amazing and a small votive could fill a room with the smell of yummy goodness. Now you smell like wax. Wax flavoured wax. Which is neither yummy or good.
Your wicks are off centred and you burn badly because of it. There is sooting on my roof because of it. Who are you to make me get on a ladder to wash my roof?
And this consultant that sells you to me, even though I have always known she is a crazy bitch, she has crossed the line. She demands that I start to sell you. I do not want to sell you, I want to own you. I do not want to hear about her super crazy dramatic divorce or have her taking even crazier and more dramatic calls from her kids at my house when she is supposed to be there selling you to me. That is supposed to be our time. Not her time for divorce drama and pyramid schemes.
Partylite, I cannot make excuses for you any more.
We are done.
Over.
Through.
We are over. It is official. I am ending this relationship today. This is where we get divorced.
For twenty years I have loved you, I have defended you, I have stated that while your prices were high, your quality was beyond reproach. I proclaimed from mountain tops that your scented wax and candle holders were the best there is. And that you smelled like yummy goodness. And I do not just go around calling things yummy or good.
For the last 18 months I have pondered my affinity for you. It has not been easy. You have become even more expensive and increasingly styleless...
There was a time when your scents were amazing and a small votive could fill a room with the smell of yummy goodness. Now you smell like wax. Wax flavoured wax. Which is neither yummy or good.
Your wicks are off centred and you burn badly because of it. There is sooting on my roof because of it. Who are you to make me get on a ladder to wash my roof?
And this consultant that sells you to me, even though I have always known she is a crazy bitch, she has crossed the line. She demands that I start to sell you. I do not want to sell you, I want to own you. I do not want to hear about her super crazy dramatic divorce or have her taking even crazier and more dramatic calls from her kids at my house when she is supposed to be there selling you to me. That is supposed to be our time. Not her time for divorce drama and pyramid schemes.
Partylite, I cannot make excuses for you any more.
We are done.
Over.
Through.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Doggie Daycare
Really? This is where we are at as a civilization? People are dying because they aren't getting enough clean water to drink but you have a crisis and nuclear melt down because you are late and have to leave work early to pick Tickles up at doggie daycare after it's spa treatments.
Really?
I used to have a dog. She was the best. She never got doggie daycare. I'm not at all down with the doggie daycare business. By today's standards, this makes me a horrible pet owner and quite frankly unfit to own a dog.
Remember back in the day when you got a dog and you spent the time to train it to shit outside and not invest in pee pads or doggie diapers so it could roam freely around the house shitting and pissing wherever it wanted because you are to damn lazy to train the animal? Remember when you sat out in the yard and combed your dog out yourself? Remember when you had to fight with the dog to get it in and out of the tub to bathe it and had to wear a bathing suit because you were going to be drenched by the end of it? Remember when your house didn't smell like a barn?
I was 14 when I got my dog. I was lectured about poop patrol and feeding times. I was given a bag full of brushes and clippers and told I had all summer to get the dog trained; there would be no shitting or pissing in the house and by September, the dog better know how to let everyone else know she needed out to do her thing.
I had to spend the time training her, bathing her, combing her out. I didn't have a choice. And that bitch hated to be groomed even though that was the extent of her luxury life. Okay, maybe she did indulge in human food and when she curled up in bed with you, made damn sure she had pillow and blankie too. But there was no such thing as a doggie daycare.
When I had a dog, dog owners actually trained and took care of their dogs. All by themselves. Dogs shat outside, you had a shovel by the shed for poop patrol and grass seed for the spots burnt on the lawn from dog piss, and owners were full of dog hair after the once a week brush out. The. End.
When did we get to dogs requiring daycare? Weekly doggie day care. And not just any doggie daycare, kids. No, that would be so gauche, so kennel, so uncouth and just plain uncivilized. I'm hearing tales of canine spa treatments... pedicures and massages... because the dog suffers from anxiety and the drugs from the veterinarian just aren't getting the job done any more and it is allergic to...
... the hell?
Sometimes, it is really hard to like other human beings.
Really?
I used to have a dog. She was the best. She never got doggie daycare. I'm not at all down with the doggie daycare business. By today's standards, this makes me a horrible pet owner and quite frankly unfit to own a dog.
Remember back in the day when you got a dog and you spent the time to train it to shit outside and not invest in pee pads or doggie diapers so it could roam freely around the house shitting and pissing wherever it wanted because you are to damn lazy to train the animal? Remember when you sat out in the yard and combed your dog out yourself? Remember when you had to fight with the dog to get it in and out of the tub to bathe it and had to wear a bathing suit because you were going to be drenched by the end of it? Remember when your house didn't smell like a barn?
I was 14 when I got my dog. I was lectured about poop patrol and feeding times. I was given a bag full of brushes and clippers and told I had all summer to get the dog trained; there would be no shitting or pissing in the house and by September, the dog better know how to let everyone else know she needed out to do her thing.
I had to spend the time training her, bathing her, combing her out. I didn't have a choice. And that bitch hated to be groomed even though that was the extent of her luxury life. Okay, maybe she did indulge in human food and when she curled up in bed with you, made damn sure she had pillow and blankie too. But there was no such thing as a doggie daycare.
When I had a dog, dog owners actually trained and took care of their dogs. All by themselves. Dogs shat outside, you had a shovel by the shed for poop patrol and grass seed for the spots burnt on the lawn from dog piss, and owners were full of dog hair after the once a week brush out. The. End.
When did we get to dogs requiring daycare? Weekly doggie day care. And not just any doggie daycare, kids. No, that would be so gauche, so kennel, so uncouth and just plain uncivilized. I'm hearing tales of canine spa treatments... pedicures and massages... because the dog suffers from anxiety and the drugs from the veterinarian just aren't getting the job done any more and it is allergic to...
... the hell?
Sometimes, it is really hard to like other human beings.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Feta Rolls
For this recipe, I use pizza dough and pre-crumbled cheese. I know I just broke every food blog rule about cooking from scratch but a girl does not always have the time or the inclination to be La Goddesse De Martha Stewart. When you have a group of people arriving without much notice, this simple, fairly inexpensive, and highly adaptable recipe is ideal. The dough rises just the right amount while retaining the density I like these rolls to have and the cheese has just a hint of seasoning so as to not over power anything you serve these rolls with. When I use this recipe as an appetizer, I roll the dough in single strips, not doubled.
Ingredients:
1 tin Pillsbury pizza dough
1 - 2 c. Kraft Feta Cheese Crumbles
parchment paper
Method:
-on the parchment paper, roll out pizza dough; spread and flatten to desired thickness
-sprinkle cheese on dough (you can use any shredded or crumbled cheese as well as add spices at this point)
Ingredients:
1 tin Pillsbury pizza dough
1 - 2 c. Kraft Feta Cheese Crumbles
parchment paper
Method:
-on the parchment paper, roll out pizza dough; spread and flatten to desired thickness
-sprinkle cheese on dough (you can use any shredded or crumbled cheese as well as add spices at this point)
-using a tall water glass turned on its side like a rolling pin, gently roll the cheese into the dough
-using a sharp knife, cut the dough into strips about one inch wide, cutting an even amount of strips
-fold every other strip in half
-place the strips folded in half on the lower part of the strips that have not been folded
-fold the long strip over the previously folded strip
-fold the dough toward you, forming a spiral and lay it on its side
-transfer the dough to a greased cookie sheet and cook for about 10 minutes
-check the roll for doneness and continue to cook until dough is browned
I like to serve these with salsa, guacamole, ranch dressing or marinara sauce. Because this recipe is so versatile, any dipping sauce takes these rolls to another level.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Just Thought I'd Let You Know Your Little Ugly Sweater Contest Sucked Ass
(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on December 28, 2009.)
Okay, okay. So the ugly sweater contest at work did rock a little bit. Every time someone decides to be an asshole to me at the torture pit, I will think back to the sweater contest and take solace in the fact that their fashion crimes will always overshadow any shitty thing I ever do at that place. How bad was it? Oh lawd, the ghost of Coco Chanel is going to haunt the lot of us for years to come. I could commit homicide and it would never ever be as bad as the blue cowboy on the pink horse on the grey cardigan or the sequined AND bejeweled number. Never. What’s worse is very few people actually went to places like Goodwill and Value Village to purchase these abominations against haute couture, or in this case, Office Casual. That’s right, these atrocities were *all whispery and tragic*hanging in their closets. Uh huh. Big. Fucking. Gasp. Best retort/defense I heard was this: “And I said to him (co-worker’s husband), as he was laughing hysterically, you probably fell in love with me while I was wearing this!” Yep. It was exactly like that. I, friends, am not creative enough to imagine this shit up and if I get my hands on pictures, I am soooo posting them!
Now, what did indeed suck ass was the potluck portion of the day's festivities. There were some lazy assed epic fails on that table. Let this be said, a bag of potato chips or nacho chips is flat out negligent and goes against the laws of a pot luck lunch. Even the munchkins who brought in desserts from the grocery store bakery get better points than you. You, dear, get cultural demerits. Like you have to wear that acrylic number you are sporting until you have that teenage boy goat-like odor.
The pot luck gawds were not shining on me. I was going to make not one or two dishes, but three. I know, how scandalous. Whatev’s. People flock to my desk when they smell my lunches. I had this shit locked up tighter than a duck’s ass puckered up for a nose dive. Or so I thought. I’m not even giving the ingredients this time around. I can’t be arsed. Yeah, that’s right, I don’t deal with failure well. If I had been a contestant on Top Chef, Tom Coliccio would tell Padma to tell me to pack my knives and fuck off. And they would be totally justified in doing so.
Reindeer dropping?
RASPBERRY SWIRL
This recipe is why I don’t bake. Baking is chemistry. Baking has rules that you have to follow, directions you must conform to. I don’t conform well and I think directions are for pussies who can’t figure it out on their own. I work in logistics quite by accident. I’m not a baker or pastry chef by choice. My entire training as a chef is cooking in a fast food restaurant for a couple of years and one semester of cooking/home economics in high school. The restaurant was a write off and the most profound thing I did in the home economics class was throw a used tea bag at Brian Preiston and Gordon Hodges. When it hit the edge of the counter and exploded everywhere, it immediately made up for five months of torture at the hands of The Mullet Boys!
This recipe turned out horribly and I’m sure the only people who will eat it are my nieces and only because there is raspberry jello on top. Do you know how to cook Cool Whip? I do. And I know how to do it using milk and marshmallows. Yes, you read that right but you can go back and re-read it. No, I will not be providing details privately by email.
TRUFFLES
Who doesn’t love a wee bit of chocolate at Christmas? Truffles and Christmas go together, right? The goddess of all things truffle must know I’m atheist because baby Jesus would have never been presented with this mess and I imagine only the steamers Santa’s reindeer produce look worse than what I created.
Here’s the thing, I was thinking, 4 ingredients, 4 instructions, easy peasy, done like dinner. Second small recipe to pacify the potluck brigade. I shouldn’t have thought. It should have been so simple and so splentastic. But it wasn’t, not even a little bit. Big fail. Epic fail. First things first… you need at least 2 hours for this mess to set. Secondly, when you figure out how to roll this shit (because that is exactly what it looks like when you’re rolling it) between two ice cubes so it does not melt all over you, drop me a line. I should have just showered it in coconut and called it forest fresh reindeer droppings.
HOT ARTICHOKE DIP
I got this right because I could fuck around with the ingredients. Well that and artichoke dip is pretty hard to fuck up. I added to it, watched it bubble and bake with love in my heart. And no one ate it. Potluck brigade was all “Oh we will get it set up for you” and they didn’t. I can't believe I was actually losing my mind in Costco wondering what the hell kind of crackers I should serve with this.
Fuck it. Next year its squares from the bakery at Safeway.
Okay, okay. So the ugly sweater contest at work did rock a little bit. Every time someone decides to be an asshole to me at the torture pit, I will think back to the sweater contest and take solace in the fact that their fashion crimes will always overshadow any shitty thing I ever do at that place. How bad was it? Oh lawd, the ghost of Coco Chanel is going to haunt the lot of us for years to come. I could commit homicide and it would never ever be as bad as the blue cowboy on the pink horse on the grey cardigan or the sequined AND bejeweled number. Never. What’s worse is very few people actually went to places like Goodwill and Value Village to purchase these abominations against haute couture, or in this case, Office Casual. That’s right, these atrocities were *all whispery and tragic*hanging in their closets. Uh huh. Big. Fucking. Gasp. Best retort/defense I heard was this: “And I said to him (co-worker’s husband), as he was laughing hysterically, you probably fell in love with me while I was wearing this!” Yep. It was exactly like that. I, friends, am not creative enough to imagine this shit up and if I get my hands on pictures, I am soooo posting them!
Now, what did indeed suck ass was the potluck portion of the day's festivities. There were some lazy assed epic fails on that table. Let this be said, a bag of potato chips or nacho chips is flat out negligent and goes against the laws of a pot luck lunch. Even the munchkins who brought in desserts from the grocery store bakery get better points than you. You, dear, get cultural demerits. Like you have to wear that acrylic number you are sporting until you have that teenage boy goat-like odor.
The pot luck gawds were not shining on me. I was going to make not one or two dishes, but three. I know, how scandalous. Whatev’s. People flock to my desk when they smell my lunches. I had this shit locked up tighter than a duck’s ass puckered up for a nose dive. Or so I thought. I’m not even giving the ingredients this time around. I can’t be arsed. Yeah, that’s right, I don’t deal with failure well. If I had been a contestant on Top Chef, Tom Coliccio would tell Padma to tell me to pack my knives and fuck off. And they would be totally justified in doing so.
Reindeer dropping?
RASPBERRY SWIRL
This recipe is why I don’t bake. Baking is chemistry. Baking has rules that you have to follow, directions you must conform to. I don’t conform well and I think directions are for pussies who can’t figure it out on their own. I work in logistics quite by accident. I’m not a baker or pastry chef by choice. My entire training as a chef is cooking in a fast food restaurant for a couple of years and one semester of cooking/home economics in high school. The restaurant was a write off and the most profound thing I did in the home economics class was throw a used tea bag at Brian Preiston and Gordon Hodges. When it hit the edge of the counter and exploded everywhere, it immediately made up for five months of torture at the hands of The Mullet Boys!
This recipe turned out horribly and I’m sure the only people who will eat it are my nieces and only because there is raspberry jello on top. Do you know how to cook Cool Whip? I do. And I know how to do it using milk and marshmallows. Yes, you read that right but you can go back and re-read it. No, I will not be providing details privately by email.
TRUFFLES
Who doesn’t love a wee bit of chocolate at Christmas? Truffles and Christmas go together, right? The goddess of all things truffle must know I’m atheist because baby Jesus would have never been presented with this mess and I imagine only the steamers Santa’s reindeer produce look worse than what I created.
Here’s the thing, I was thinking, 4 ingredients, 4 instructions, easy peasy, done like dinner. Second small recipe to pacify the potluck brigade. I shouldn’t have thought. It should have been so simple and so splentastic. But it wasn’t, not even a little bit. Big fail. Epic fail. First things first… you need at least 2 hours for this mess to set. Secondly, when you figure out how to roll this shit (because that is exactly what it looks like when you’re rolling it) between two ice cubes so it does not melt all over you, drop me a line. I should have just showered it in coconut and called it forest fresh reindeer droppings.
HOT ARTICHOKE DIP
I got this right because I could fuck around with the ingredients. Well that and artichoke dip is pretty hard to fuck up. I added to it, watched it bubble and bake with love in my heart. And no one ate it. Potluck brigade was all “Oh we will get it set up for you” and they didn’t. I can't believe I was actually losing my mind in Costco wondering what the hell kind of crackers I should serve with this.
Fuck it. Next year its squares from the bakery at Safeway.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Blessed
The difference between genius and stupidity is that genius has its limits. When you want to test the depths of a stream don't use both feet. ~ Chinese proverb
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Random Sauce, Part Five
Breathe air, drink coffee.
~~~~~
You don't always get what you want, but you always get what you need.~~~~~
Think twice before asking someone to do something for you.~~~~~
When you give your word, when you make a promise, and you have to break it, apologize. It sucks to be on the receiving end of a broken promise.~~~~~
The Mobius Strip... is this time folding into itself? Is the beginning the end? Is the end the beginning with a twist?~~~~~
Friday, January 7, 2011
Is It Friday Yet?
(Originally posted on my old blog "The Domestication of a Punk Rock Foodie" on January 06, 2010.)
I have been smoking at work. Go ahead, judge.
I’ve also been longing for last week where it was all about me and fresh pj’s. I thought I missed work. Turns out, not so much. The problem with going on Christmas break is that, while you are away, the paper gremlins come along and turd out faxes and mail all over the place and you are left to dig through piles of paper to find your desk. Rumor has it I still have a desk on the cube farm but its currently cleverly disguised as a paper holder. When you look at it from the right angle, my desk actually looks like piles of paper are levitating. All week I have been losing my mouse and keyboard which is cool with me because when I opened my email on Monday morning, there were 96 (not including spam) reasons to grab my stuff and go back home.
I think now would be a good time to adopt my niece's philosophy about asses and sofas.
When asked what she was going to do for Christmas break, my niece Janelle responded, “Park my arse on the sofa and read.” She’s eleven and deeply profound. Her verbage cracked me up. When I was half her age, I came home from school and ALLEGEDLY said a particular boy was a fecking koont (say it in your head with a Scottish accent. Uh huh, now you’re getting it). I cut Janelle some slack on this one because someone cut me slack when I was a kid and she didn’t rat me out to the Proper Authority Figures when I ALLEGEDLY said a sales clerk at Please Mum could go suck a bag of dicks.
Don’t be all judgey. You would have done the same.
Perhaps you would have had more tact and said something less vulgar but who the hell asks for your name, address, phone number, email address, and work phone number when you are purchasing a shirt? And paying cash? I still have no idea why this rocket scientist who was cleverly disguised as a sales clerk wanted this information. When I asked her why she required this information as all I wanted to do was pay for a $10.00 shirt, I was the recipient of one of those minimum wage sighs, followed by the obligatory mall employee eye roll, and the embellished “now I have to work” banging of the finger on the delete key on the till. I’m sure I’ll be going straight to her version of consumer hell for adding wear and tear to her trailer park low budget press on nail manicure, but I will never understand why purchasing a shirt requires surrendering my personal information. Consequently, I dropped the “suck a bag of dicks” bomb, Janelle giggled, and I took solace in knowing karma was going to keep that snotty little girl working in a mall, lunching in a food court, and wearing a name tag for a living.
Stay in school kids.
I’m not going to lie, I didn’t do much on my break. Apparently, I put in one day at work . We started at 8.00 am and left at 1.00 pm. What was actually accomplished in that time was nominal but the good news is, Whoville got packed away and it doesn’t look like Christmas puked in certain offices any more.
What did I actually do for a week? I stayed up late and slept in a lot even though I was totally convinced this was going to be the week I was going reset my body clock. Hmmm not so much. . The week was really an homage to pajamas and snacking.
I was completely relaxed and romantic during the break too. I made love to my sofa, love seat, chair, computer chair and bed.
In an effort to feel like I had accomplished something, I did two things. First, if something was tucked away in a drawer or closet and I was annoyed by its existence, I put it in the middle of the room and found a permanent home or garbage can for that item. Secondly, I ripped apart a wardrobe that serves as a book shelf and desk and a catcher of all things I can’t be arsed to put away where they belong. I did this last August on my vacation too.
How the hell did I accumulate so much shit in four months?
When I did this exercise in August, I was determined to keep all my shit organized. When I was done cleaning, sorting, alphabetizing, purging, and shredding, the inside of the wardrobe looked lovely. It was a ode to organization. For a day. Maybe two. Chaos started with ATM receipts. I save them and reconcile them with my bank statements. I used to be really good at this. Used to be. Every month when my bank statement arrived, I would be on it that night, highlighting and shredding and it was all good. Now? Let’s just say that the ATM receipts that weren’t in the bottom of my purse or preventing my wallet from being closed, were in a crumpled pile in a Ziploc. Did I mention I spend a large portion of my day accounting and filing? Scandalous, I know. I’m down to two piles to sort out. And yes, one of those piles is four months of ATM receipts.
MAKE
Menu
Banana Strawberry Smoothie
Scones
Quinoa Porridge
BANANA STRAWBERRY SMOOTHIE
2 c. banana
2 c. strawberry
1 c. milk
1 c. strawberry or vanilla yogurt
-peel and slice bananas
-wash strawberries and cut tops off
-put fruit in blender or food processor with yogurt and milk
-blend to desired consistency and serve immediately
SCONES
¼ c. cold butter
1 ½ c. all purpose flour
¼ c. sugar
½ tsp. cinnamon
1 tbsp. baking powder
¼ tsp. baking soda
2 eggs
½ c. butter milk (if unavailable, add 2 tsp. lemon juice to 2% or skim milk)
1 c. fruit or cheese of choice
-preheat oven to 350 degrees
-combine dry ingredients
-beat one egg and combine it with the buttermilk
-thread the butter through the dry ingredients until texture is like gravel
-add the milk and egg mixture and mix
-add fruit or cheese; blend through batter
-mix and separate into two balls
-flatten the balls into two disks, five to six inches in diameter
-slice each disk into four sections and place on an ungreased cookie sheet
-beat the second egg and brush it on the scones as a glaze
-bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until the scones are brown
QUINOA PORRIDGE
½ c. quinoa
¼ tsp. cinnamon
1 ½ c. almond milk (or soy with 1 tsp. almond extract)
½ c. water
2 tbsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 pinch salt
-preheat saucepan over medium heat and measure in quinoa
-season with cinnamon and cook until toasted, stirring frequently
-pour in the almond milk, water, vanilla, and stir in the brown sugar and salt
-bring to a boil and cook over low heat until thick and grains are tender (about 25 minutes)
-add more water if liquid has dried up before porridge finishes cooking
-stir occasionally to prevent burning
THINK
You should not take part in your own persecution. – Bobby Seale
LISTEN
Pixie Lott – Cry Me Out
Dan Balan – Chica Bomb
The Buzzcocks – What Do I Get
READ
Chantel Simmons – Stuck in Downward Dog
WATCH
The Nature Of Things: The Everlasting Oasis
Start here:
VISIT
The future of books, here today… audible.com
GO GREEN
Have a swap meet with your friends. The idea is that everyone gets together and swaps belongings they no longer want or use. Anything left over immediately goes to a donation bin.
I have been smoking at work. Go ahead, judge.
I’ve also been longing for last week where it was all about me and fresh pj’s. I thought I missed work. Turns out, not so much. The problem with going on Christmas break is that, while you are away, the paper gremlins come along and turd out faxes and mail all over the place and you are left to dig through piles of paper to find your desk. Rumor has it I still have a desk on the cube farm but its currently cleverly disguised as a paper holder. When you look at it from the right angle, my desk actually looks like piles of paper are levitating. All week I have been losing my mouse and keyboard which is cool with me because when I opened my email on Monday morning, there were 96 (not including spam) reasons to grab my stuff and go back home.
I think now would be a good time to adopt my niece's philosophy about asses and sofas.
When asked what she was going to do for Christmas break, my niece Janelle responded, “Park my arse on the sofa and read.” She’s eleven and deeply profound. Her verbage cracked me up. When I was half her age, I came home from school and ALLEGEDLY said a particular boy was a fecking koont (say it in your head with a Scottish accent. Uh huh, now you’re getting it). I cut Janelle some slack on this one because someone cut me slack when I was a kid and she didn’t rat me out to the Proper Authority Figures when I ALLEGEDLY said a sales clerk at Please Mum could go suck a bag of dicks.
Don’t be all judgey. You would have done the same.
Perhaps you would have had more tact and said something less vulgar but who the hell asks for your name, address, phone number, email address, and work phone number when you are purchasing a shirt? And paying cash? I still have no idea why this rocket scientist who was cleverly disguised as a sales clerk wanted this information. When I asked her why she required this information as all I wanted to do was pay for a $10.00 shirt, I was the recipient of one of those minimum wage sighs, followed by the obligatory mall employee eye roll, and the embellished “now I have to work” banging of the finger on the delete key on the till. I’m sure I’ll be going straight to her version of consumer hell for adding wear and tear to her trailer park low budget press on nail manicure, but I will never understand why purchasing a shirt requires surrendering my personal information. Consequently, I dropped the “suck a bag of dicks” bomb, Janelle giggled, and I took solace in knowing karma was going to keep that snotty little girl working in a mall, lunching in a food court, and wearing a name tag for a living.
Stay in school kids.
I’m not going to lie, I didn’t do much on my break. Apparently, I put in one day at work . We started at 8.00 am and left at 1.00 pm. What was actually accomplished in that time was nominal but the good news is, Whoville got packed away and it doesn’t look like Christmas puked in certain offices any more.
What did I actually do for a week? I stayed up late and slept in a lot even though I was totally convinced this was going to be the week I was going reset my body clock. Hmmm not so much. . The week was really an homage to pajamas and snacking.
I was completely relaxed and romantic during the break too. I made love to my sofa, love seat, chair, computer chair and bed.
In an effort to feel like I had accomplished something, I did two things. First, if something was tucked away in a drawer or closet and I was annoyed by its existence, I put it in the middle of the room and found a permanent home or garbage can for that item. Secondly, I ripped apart a wardrobe that serves as a book shelf and desk and a catcher of all things I can’t be arsed to put away where they belong. I did this last August on my vacation too.
How the hell did I accumulate so much shit in four months?
When I did this exercise in August, I was determined to keep all my shit organized. When I was done cleaning, sorting, alphabetizing, purging, and shredding, the inside of the wardrobe looked lovely. It was a ode to organization. For a day. Maybe two. Chaos started with ATM receipts. I save them and reconcile them with my bank statements. I used to be really good at this. Used to be. Every month when my bank statement arrived, I would be on it that night, highlighting and shredding and it was all good. Now? Let’s just say that the ATM receipts that weren’t in the bottom of my purse or preventing my wallet from being closed, were in a crumpled pile in a Ziploc. Did I mention I spend a large portion of my day accounting and filing? Scandalous, I know. I’m down to two piles to sort out. And yes, one of those piles is four months of ATM receipts.
MAKE
Menu
Banana Strawberry Smoothie
Scones
Quinoa Porridge
BANANA STRAWBERRY SMOOTHIE
2 c. banana
2 c. strawberry
1 c. milk
1 c. strawberry or vanilla yogurt
-peel and slice bananas
-wash strawberries and cut tops off
-put fruit in blender or food processor with yogurt and milk
-blend to desired consistency and serve immediately
SCONES
¼ c. cold butter
1 ½ c. all purpose flour
¼ c. sugar
½ tsp. cinnamon
1 tbsp. baking powder
¼ tsp. baking soda
2 eggs
½ c. butter milk (if unavailable, add 2 tsp. lemon juice to 2% or skim milk)
1 c. fruit or cheese of choice
-preheat oven to 350 degrees
-combine dry ingredients
-beat one egg and combine it with the buttermilk
-thread the butter through the dry ingredients until texture is like gravel
-add the milk and egg mixture and mix
-add fruit or cheese; blend through batter
-mix and separate into two balls
-flatten the balls into two disks, five to six inches in diameter
-slice each disk into four sections and place on an ungreased cookie sheet
-beat the second egg and brush it on the scones as a glaze
-bake at 350 degrees for 20 minutes or until the scones are brown
QUINOA PORRIDGE
½ c. quinoa
¼ tsp. cinnamon
1 ½ c. almond milk (or soy with 1 tsp. almond extract)
½ c. water
2 tbsp. brown sugar
1 tsp. vanilla
1 pinch salt
-preheat saucepan over medium heat and measure in quinoa
-season with cinnamon and cook until toasted, stirring frequently
-pour in the almond milk, water, vanilla, and stir in the brown sugar and salt
-bring to a boil and cook over low heat until thick and grains are tender (about 25 minutes)
-add more water if liquid has dried up before porridge finishes cooking
-stir occasionally to prevent burning
THINK
You should not take part in your own persecution. – Bobby Seale
LISTEN
Pixie Lott – Cry Me Out
Dan Balan – Chica Bomb
The Buzzcocks – What Do I Get
READ
Chantel Simmons – Stuck in Downward Dog
WATCH
The Nature Of Things: The Everlasting Oasis
Start here:
VISIT
The future of books, here today… audible.com
GO GREEN
Have a swap meet with your friends. The idea is that everyone gets together and swaps belongings they no longer want or use. Anything left over immediately goes to a donation bin.
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Monday, January 3, 2011
Ya, What He Said
"But to answer your question I am constantly faced with theories of God, and angels, and hell. It’s everywhere. But unless there is an ounce of credibility to it, I reject [it]. I have to. You can’t lie to yourself. If you do you’ve only fooled a deluded person and where’s the victory in that?" ~ Ricky Gervais
Ricky Gervais. Atheism. Two of my favorite things.
Go here and here if you care to read words I wish I had wrote about ideas that float around in my head all the damn time.
Ricky Gervais. Atheism. Two of my favorite things.
Go here and here if you care to read words I wish I had wrote about ideas that float around in my head all the damn time.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Blessed
Be soft in your practice.
Think of the method as a fine silvery stream, not a raging waterfall.
Follow the stream, have faith in its course.
It will go its own way, meandering here, trickling there.
It will find the grooves, the cracks, the crevices.
Just follow it.
Never let it out of your sight.
It will take you.
~Sheng-yeh
Think of the method as a fine silvery stream, not a raging waterfall.
Follow the stream, have faith in its course.
It will go its own way, meandering here, trickling there.
It will find the grooves, the cracks, the crevices.
Just follow it.
Never let it out of your sight.
It will take you.
~Sheng-yeh
Saturday, January 1, 2011
More And Less
More time reading books, less time on The Grid.
More writing, less researching.
More healthy food, less detrimental slop.
More cooking, less take out.
More love, less harm.
More grace, less gossip.
More movement, less stagnation.
More light, less blindness.
More wisdom, less acrimony.
More Buddhism, less attachment.
More writing, less researching.
More healthy food, less detrimental slop.
More cooking, less take out.
More love, less harm.
More grace, less gossip.
More movement, less stagnation.
More light, less blindness.
More wisdom, less acrimony.
More Buddhism, less attachment.
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