Monday, February 13, 2006

Microwave Oven

What's this? Is that ...? Why yes, Lily did make shepherd's pie. And from scratch, ya'll. I feel like a real woman; not like them fake ones who, you know, carry external sex organs and proudly show off their collection of just-add-water gravys. To whom, you ask? Why, to terrorists, you silly goose! Stoffers: A sleeper cell's best friend. Vote for me.

Crocker, Jemima, Uncle Ben, I have everyone beat. Float like a poached egg, sting like a really hot drop of grease from the meat drippings I was deglazing with the portobellos I dropped into the pan way too fast and now regret because I did the exact same thing with curry just a year ago but it was worse then because that frying oil came from nowhere so it was hardly my fault no matter what anyone said each time I felt an urge to pick at the offending scab-turned-scar which has since disappeared.

That settles it. Master of the kitchen.


Isn't this fantastic? I vowed that I wouldn't wear pants this winter season and as luck would have it, global warming has made this possible. Opaque leggings under skirts, I just have to maintain these wardrobe staples for the remaining weeks of February before March arrives to signal the end of this depressing weather. Montreal same time last year was an Eskimo wonderland. I was bundled up more tightly than a Mexican stowaway in the glove compartment. Forget about drowning polar bears, being a fashionista is a full-time job and no one will convince me to sport Uggs.

Cleaning the apartment, listening to Mylo's "Destroy Rock & Roll" (fantastic nuanced electronica) and The Cardigans' new album "Super Extra Gravity" (flawed, but fully digestible), I'm pretending not to have received any of my neighbours' calls. These guys have been trying to track me down for days. They have parties every other day and never use their own vacuum because apparently mine works better (well, what do you expect? It cost my dad a small fortune). So would I mind lending it out for awhile? It's not a huge favour to ask and they'll return it, they promise. Let me think if over: No. It's the principle of it all. Rather than fix their broken hoover, they rely solely on my appliance and I'm expected to haul it out for them everytime they feel like using it. And they never return it after they're done with it. I'm always prompting them days afterwards only to be told they haven't even begun using it. I'm tired of dealing with moochers who've never seen an opportunity they didn't like. Just the other day, the neighbour's girlfriend tried guilt-tripping me as I was heading out. So she doesn't like the filth over at his place? Deal with it. Who do they think I work for? Big Bob's Pick-n'-Trade Palace? Not only do I have to keep quiet about their 3 a.m. dry heaving contests, but now I have to be available to pick up their food scraps and broken beer bottles? Please, please, please, to anyone thinking of having children: Instill some old world values in them. Teach them to be a little considerate. A little civility goes a long way. I often want to sit these people down and make them attend a crash course on the basics of common courtesy. But that's obviously an absurd idea considering the amount of time they're used to being on their knees.


Bag lady: This guy killed my boyfriend!

Hobo: No, I didn't! Not directly!

Bag lady: He gave him vodka so he fell into a bus!

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