Some stuff for you guys, because I'm in a giving mood and you're all pretty cool

Remember the online game, Faunasphere, that I posted about a while ago? Well I'm still playing it. Because it's still totally addictive. Really, what other game gives you goals like "Breed an all-white 'Hugger'"?

Okay, so the one I bred had 7 eyeballs and homicidal tendencies. Whatever, it met the criteria.

Because I like to push my addictions on other people, Jenny from Big Fish Games has given me 10 beta accounts to give to you guys! She even pre-made them with cute and cool screen names. Which, trust me, is preferable to having ME choose your screen name. You just wouldn't get any respect with a label floating over your head that said "Flaccidophalus" or "Princess Pherschnoogenfailure".

Trust me on that one.

So let me know if you want to play via comment or email, and I'll hook you up!

And, because so many of you asked (well, there was that one person, shut up), the recipe for 5 Minute Microwave Chocolate Cake in a Mug:


5 MINUTE CHOCOLATE MUG CAKE
4 tablespoons flour
4 tablespoons sugar
2 tablespoons cocoa
1 egg
3 tablespoons milk
3 tablespoons oil
3 tablespoons chocolate chips (optional)
A small splash of vanilla extract
1 large coffee mug (MicroSafe)

Add dry ingredients to mug, and mix well. Add the egg and mix thoroughly.
Pour in the milk and oil and mix well..
Add the chocolate chips (if using) and vanilla extract, and mix again.
Put your mug in the microwave and cook for 3 minutes at 1000 watts.
The cake will rise over the top of the mug, but don't be alarmed!
Allow to cool a little, and tip out onto a plate if desired.
EAT ! (this can serve 2 if you want to feel slightly more virtuous)*.

Let me know how that goes, since I am microwave-free myself. And that is all I have for you today. I think next week there's a book giveaway, or something. I don't know, I'll have to check with my people.**



*You're making chocolate cake in five minutes in your microwave. Just go for broke, yo.

**I'm just fucking with you. I don't have people. I used to, but I didn't feed them and they died.

Oh good, my digestive tract needed a friend

...I love the grocery store.

The universe just shifted everything into alignment, or maybe it's the wine: Random Tuesday Thoughts

Oh, it's Tuesday (yeah!), it's Tuesday (yeah yeah!), it's Tuesday baybeeeeeee!

(Trust me, it's AWESOME if you can hear the music)

Anyway, it IS Tuesday and you know what that means...time for Random Tuesday Thoughts! So grab the button, puke all your random brain bits into a post, and link up!

Notice how I bolded link up? That's because a couple of you (cough cough) haven't been, and then I don't know that you've done an RTT post until I get around to going through my reader like, FIVE DAYS LATER, and then I feel like an asshole for not stopping by earlier. You don't want me to feel like an asshole, do you?

You do?

Jerks. Well, just link up anyway. I'm going to continue to put it in bold until you remember. Link up, dammit.

Ahem.

I just went out to turn the sprinkler off and noticed that the neighbours have oh-so-subtly placed a large bucket of pinecones right next to our door. That makes no sense whatsoever, until you know that a) there is about an 8-foot gap between the houses, which is covered in rocks and is home to several pine trees, b) technically I'm responsible for said tract of land, because the property line is basically right smack up against the side of their house, c) obviously picking up pine cones is fairly far down on my list of priorities and d) they're in their 80s and their list looks a little different.

So, being that technically the local bylaws require structures to be at least 3 feet away from a property line, and that technically they're not in compliance, would it be awfully passive-aggressive of me to get hold of that information and leave a photocopy in their mailbox? With a pinecone? Sort of a not-very-subtle "I'll pick up my pine cones when you move your fucking house over 3 feet"?

Yeah, I thought so.

I can't find my glasses due to the Toddler Relocation Program, so I'm wearing my old ones. Which is saying something, since the ones I normally wear are 10 years old themselves. So I'm thinking, as I sit here contemplatively, with the wire from a missing nose pad stabbing me in the face,

For chrissakes, woman, go get some new fucking glasses already!

Why are there no men pimping their nudie webcams on Twitter? Is there an assumption at large that women don't like the pr0n?

I mean, not that I would follow them. Ahem.

Someone forwarded me an email with a recipe for a "five-minute chocolate cake" that you make in the microwave. How dangerous is that? Chocolate cake at your fingertips in five minutes flat? And they, personally, tried it and said it was amazing.

I now have an overwhelming urge to go buy a microwave.

That's right, I don't own a microwave. Our last one put on a spectacular light show before it died, but seeing as I didn't use it for much more than that, I didn't replace it. Real estate on the countertop is valuable in my house, people!

Our new bed arrived on schedule, in all it's memory foam goodness. Hubby texted me when it arrived. "Yay!" I replied, "Is it set up?" To which he texted, "Yes. If we fall out of it, we will die."

It's um, rather a lot taller than our old one. On the upside, nobody's fallen out of it yet.

FoN headed off today to spend two weeks at the cabin that she exploited her family to rent. I guess she gets cel service there, because she's sent a few texts. Mostly of the "It's beeeyoooootiful here, the lake is GORGEOUS, there are NO BUGS, did I mention it's beeeeyoooootiful?" variety.

Except the last one, which was "There's mice! Mice!!! Oh my god mice!".

Heh.

And on THAT fun note, time to join in the fun! Do your thing, people, make me (and Mr. Linky) proud!

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What Frogmama and I did while y'all were at BlogHer

Okay, it's an artists rendering, but that's because it's really hard to take a photograph when you're bungee jumping out of a plane, over Mt. Everest, at sunset. With a unicorn.

Also, it's not in color because you don't deserve it I'm lazy. If it was in color, you'd be able to tell that the plane was flown by Hugh Jackman and was farting rainbows. If someone wants to babysit my kid for 8 hours, I'll make a nice color version. Or go back in time and strap a camera to Frogmama's ass.


So, jealous much?

Dear Bitterness

Dear 98% of the Blogoverse that is attending BlogHer,

Eff you. I hate you all.

Love, "No really I'm not bitter" Keely



Dear Self,

Maybe you should have gotten your shit together 6 months ago and arranged to go to BlogHer.

Love, Me



Dear Universe at Large,

Can you please stop presenting me with blog material that, for reasons of morality and protecting the innocent and yada yada, I can't fucking blog about? Give me something I can use, yo.

Love, "Think of the children" Keely



Go see Kat for more bitterness letters!

Smell that?

In my medicine cabinet is a bottle of perfume that my friend Fashionista bought for me, in Byron Bay, shortly before we left Australia. It's very pretty; the perfume itself is green, and it's named something earthy-sounding, but I don't use it.

I'm not really a 'perfume' person, but I'm in love with the idea of perfume, of having a 'signature scent', one that someone wouldn't notice initially, but that when they smelled it later, it would evoke memories of me. (Also, by that point in our travels, I was also in love with the idea of smelling like a GIRL and not the flip-flops I wore in the last 37 hostel showers.)

I used the perfume regularly when we first got back from Australia, but when the bottle got about half-empty I stopped, panicked that once it was empty, I'd be unable to replace it. I became the 'non-perfume' person, that I really am, again.

I haven't touched it in a couple of years but this morning I noticed that there was less of it. Well, duh, I thought, it was evaporating. So I spritzed myself with it, thinking it might evoke some memories of my travels. But I forgot that I hadn't really used it while travelling; I'd mostly used it when I came home. When I came crashing back to reality. It smelled of regret, dissatisfaction and the heavy burden of familiarity.

(Also, a little bit like old lady.)

So much for my signature scent. I guess I'll just go back to watching it evaporate slowly. Like memories.

What about you - do you have a signature scent? Or something you can't smell without thinking of a certain time?

Does the Blue Man Group sleep on memory foam? I bet they bought the protective cover if they do : Random Tuesday Thoughts

So! It's Tuesday. I have to be honest, this Tuesday isn't as exciting for me as LAST Tuesday, when I was screaming like a teenage girl watching No Doubt perform. But my mind HAS been wandering all over the place today. Want to know where it went?

I think it left a trail of brain slime, let's follow that...

Conversation with my Mom after she generously babysat the toddler so hubby and I could shop for a new bed in peace:

Mom: "So, did you get one?"

Me: "Yep!"

Mom: "What did you get?"

Me: "Memory foam."

Mom: "Ooooohhh...nice!"

Me: "Yeah! I even got the pillow. I was laying on my side and my spine was totally straight. Everything was in alignment. It was just like on TV. I was an infomercial! The infomercials are right."

Mom: "...I hate that."

I was driving home today and saw a billboard ad for the Blue Man Group. Their makeup looked very...shiny. So then I started thinking, what kind of makeup do they use exactly? Because spending that much time in greasepaint would pretty much stain you blue permanently. Are they willing to make that sacrifice for their art? Nah, it looks too shiny to be greasepaint. Maybe it's some kind of space-age formula, plastics based. Like...Flubber, or something.

Plus, how do they get it on and off? Do they spend hours in the makeup chair for each show? Or do they just bathe in blue stuff? Can you imagine trying to exist without getting blue fingerprints all over every single thing you own? They could never commit a crime. Do you think they have special shower stalls waiting for them the instant they get off stage? I'm now really concerned with the logistics of being the Blue Man Group.

Easily amused Inquiring minds want to know, people.

Hubby and I are considering buying an older used camper trailer to holiday in this summer.

And by older, I mean "older than ME", because that's what we can afford.

Yeah, I don't know why we think spending a week in a moldy canvas bag is a good idea, either.

Our new bed is being delivered on Friday. My inlaws are also going to be in town that day. Do you think it's rude to ask them to leave early so we can test out our new purchase?

By NAPPING. I'm talking about SLEEPING. Pervs.

A friend of hubby's is holding an informal karate class twice a week for friends and family. My dream of starring in my own action flick and doing all my own stunts but being really down-to-earth about it is that much closer to reality!

(I know, I said FoN and I were going to take karate once before. But we didn't. This one is free, I'm FAR more likely to go.)

And...I think I've outdone myself on randomness, this week. I'm having trouble coming up with a title. Want to play? Grab the button, post your weirdness randomness, link up with Mr. Linky and then visit your cohorts in randomosity! Be sure to leave a blue fingerprint comment!

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Tell 'em Welchbelly sent you

My self-proclaimed status as a raging geek has finally paid off.

Last week Jenny from Big Fish Games emailed me to say she'd heard I was a uber geek gamer (thanks, Sprite's Keeper!) and would I be interested in checking out a new online game they've been working on?

Uh, yeah? I love beta testing video games. They're often buggy and half of the time they end up being crap (cough LordoftheRings cough) but you get to see everything first, and provide feedback before things go live. Because all too often, nobody consults me before they design things. Like those incredibly stupid street layouts in the east end of town.

Anyway. The game, Faunasphere, isn't that far from launch so it's not buggy at all. And it's web-based, which means no downloads so you can play it at the office without anybody busting you for having game software on your laptop, not that that's ever happened to me. And it's totally freaking addictive.

The general premise is that you are a 'caretaker' for fauna, cute little creatures that have survived on a polluted planet. You and your fauna are there to clean it up. You explore, harvest, fight pollution, and you can help build larger 'community' projects. The whole game is very easy to learn, and kid friendly. It has happy messages like saving the environment and helping your community, plus some science lessons. Your kids will be all, "Mom! Did you know you can have recessive genes?" And you can be all, "Ha! I tricked you into learning something!"

(Actually, it may very well be meant for kids. If so, don't tell me, because I'm having fun. And I'd hate to look silly. Except you guys don't have a shred of respect left for me anyway, so I don't know what I'm worried about)

You can also breed your fauna to customize their look. (Don't worry, the game sticks with environmental and scientific lessons, and stays away from potentially teaching your kids about the birds and the bees. The fauna lay eggs. Which actually may make for an interesting conversation when you do have that talk with your children).

You can still get in on the Faunasphere beta if you want to play! Just head over to the website and create an account. Or you could wait until it launches in August, but, waiting is totally overrated.

Maybe I'll see you there. I'll be the one with the floppy ears.

Dear So and So

Dear Kid on the Bike,

Yes, I realize that you belong to the halfway house down the street, and that you've probably had a terrible life and your mother doesn't love you and you likely have FAS. However, I've known several people who work for the organization that cares for you and I'm pretty sure that they don't teach you that your situation gives you the right to be an asshole.

In other words, please stop tormenting my dog by biking slooooooowwly past the fence while she loses her mind and disturbs the entire neighbourhood, because I've repeatedly asked you not to. And please stop using the pile of dirt on my driveway as a ramp for your bike. I realize it's been there a while, but I do have a plan for it and it's not much good to me if it's spread to the four corners of the city. Also, I've repeatedly asked you not to.

Now get off of my lawn and pick up your feet,

Keely



Dear Elderly Neighbour,

I'm very sorry that you are disappointed that my son hasn't lived up to your (entirely unfounded) prediction of early verbosity. I assure you that he isn't doing it intentionally. Please stop dropping un-subtle hints regarding his intelligence.

Now get off of my lawn and pick up your feet,

Keely

I could have solved this by just not coming home

So! No Doubt? Honestly, the best show I've seen in a really really REALLY long time. They looked like they were having so much fun, the sound was fantastic, the seats were good (a little nosebleedy, but great view). They were the only band EVER to say "You're the best crowd EVER!" and sound like they actually meant it.

Gwen looked fantastic. I want to be her. Can I be her? Who do I have to kill?

(I settled for buying a hoodie and not killing anybody).

We had a great dinner. I got to sleep all fucking night! And hog the bed! And then we had an awesome breakfast at Stella's followed by some SHOPPING. In a mall much less lame than the ones we have here. The kind of mall where (as FoN put it) there's a swirling vortex that sucks you in and suddenly you've lost 6 hours and $500.

Sigh.

Totally needed that holiday. Except for the tiny detail at the end. The part where, when I got home, my child wanted nothing to do with me. Actually climbed over his father to get away from me.

I was still a little deaf from the concert, but I'm pretty sure I could hear my heart breaking.

Sob.

Terrible photo, more later (What? It's Wordless Wednesday)

I effed with the space-time continuum and ended up on the ranch: Random Tuesday Thoughts

Hey kids! Guess what time it is?

Except, well, it's not really that time. Or, it will be when you read this, but not right NOW. See, right NOW I'm probably sleeping the sleep of the deaf after seeing No Doubt in concert, so I'm writing my Random Tuesday Thoughts in advance this week. Right, um, NOW. Well, like, NOW now, not NOW.

Holy crap I think I just invented time travel. And then broke my brain.

So if you want to play, grab yerself a button, piss out a stream of consciousness, and call it Random Tuesday!

I actually had to start this post on the crappy older computer in Internet Explorer. NOW I REMEMBER WHY I USE FIREFOX. You ever see somebody's blog post with like, an inordinate amount of space between paragraphs? Yeah, you can bet they wrote it using IE, saved it, and came back to it later. To find that their carriage returns had gotten busy and multiplied. Oh! And don't even get me started on the hula dance you have to do to cut and paste something between blog posts. ROAR.

Today I drove out to my parents house. I call it "The Ranch". They don't actually ranch, or farm anything, but it's about 20 acres, a half hour out of town. They were always city dwellers until they retired.

I know, most people downsize when they retire, but whatevs.

Anyway, they're off hiking and Mom wanted me to water her plants. So I loaded the toddler into the car and drove out to do that. Guess what? You can fit a lot of plants into 20 acres.

It took us probably an hour and a half. I even exploited let my kid help.

Teaching him how to operate a spray nozzle was probably not one of my smarter moves.

Need another time waster? I've probably spent the better part of my last three days' surfing time on Not Always Right. Wow - people are crazy.

Today I had this conversation with Fashionista:

Her: "Anything new?"

Me: "Not really. You?"

Her: "No, not really."

Conclusion: We're both boring as hell and the ride to see No Doubt is going to be a silent one.


Okay, Random Tuesday Thoughts just aren't the same on a Sunday. I'm officially calling Time of Death on this one.

But it's Tuesday for YOU! (Well, probably. If you're playing by the rules. Not naming any names. JULIE.) So get all randomy and hook up with Mr. Linky! Mwah, dahlings! I'll see you when I return!

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More Mom than Un, sorry

On Monday I'm heading out to the highly cosmopolitan city of Winterpeg to see No Doubt in concert. And I'm kind of freaking out.

Not about the concert, although I imagine it will be fabulous and Gwen Stefani will spot fellow moms through the crowd and invite us backstage to drink wine and give each other pedicures while playing dress-up in the latest L.A.M.B. goods. No, I'm freaking out because I'm going to be away from my son overnight.

I don't talk about parenting or my kid much on this blog and that's because it's the UN Mom. So this isn't about parenting or my kid. This is about me being a big fucking softie and crying about leaving my toddler alone with, horrors, his father, oh boo hoo.

I mean, seriously, it's not like I'm sticking him in a cage for the duration. He'll be fine (though hubby may have some scarring). I've just never been away from him for more than 8 or 9 hours, and never overnight. I'm going to miss him.

Okay, I'm not going to miss the temper tantrums he's been throwing at every diaper change and nap time and for that matter, it'll be nice to be in company that's continent. And I'm not going to miss the random wake ups (yes, still) that only seem to occur after I've JUST drifted off to sleep.

But, still. What if he needs me? What if he has a nightmare and I'm not there to rock him and pat his little back?

I mean, it'll be nice to have a whole bed all to myself and no toddler-clock and there's very little chance that anyone will wake up covered in their own feces. And it might be nice to walk through a crowd without being perpetually on the edge of a panic attack that my companion will be abducted when I glance away. Or eat a meal without having something thrown at my head, or drink my coffee without having to explain that it's "hot, I said it's hot, no don't touch I said it's HOT wait awwwwww....well what did I just tell you?"

Hm.

You know what? I think he'll be fine.

But at least we didn't have to master driving on the opposite side of the road

A few years ago - okay, like, SEVEN, good gawd I'm old - my friend Fashionista and I took a little tour of the South Pacific. And by 'little' I mean many months long, living out of a backpack and making money doing things like killing our souls picking oranges.

One of our first major stops was New Zealand. Having booked our flights through a travel agent, she also suggested a bus called the "Kiwi Experience". It wasn't a tour bus, she assured us, we could get on and off where we wanted. It was much cheaper and easier than having to navigate NZ Rail, and though it stopped in pre-determined locations, NZ isn't that big and hit all the ones we wanted to go to, anyway.

So, starry-eyed and refreshed after Singapore, we arrived in Auckland with only the lingering stench of German armpits to remind us of our flight.

(I have nothing against Germans. Just THOSE Germans. The ones that apparently had a personal vendetta against underarm deoderant, who insisted on reaching up to the overhead bins oh, at least 30 times in that flight, their overhead bins which were inconveniently located right next to ME)

We spent a few days in a cute little hostel, adjusting to the time zone and travel and spending 24-7 with one other person. There may have been some growling, and the realization that I left the fucking charger for my digital camera in Canada, but we survived. And when we were ready to go on, we called up Kiwi Experience and told them to send the bus. They'd pick us up at the hostel! How awesome is that!

We figured it was only, at most, a 2 hour drive to our next stop. The bus was arriving early in the morning, we could be there by lunch, and on Hot Water Beach by 2.

The bus pulled up and the driver hopped out. He was kind of...bleachy. With an orange tan, and one large earring. Fashionista and I glanced at each other. Was there a pirate theme we were unaware of?

"Hi girls!" he chirped. "Let me get your bags!" He fired our backpacks into the belly of the bus and ushered us up the steps. We glanced around. Everybody looked...well, youthful. And kind of hungover.

"One more stop!" the driver announced. We chose our seats, picked up a few more travellers, and we were on our way!

Um...weren't we?

Apparently not. The driver switched on the microphone and started narrating cheerily. In an "I'm still young and hip oh aren't I cool you guys can relate to me right?" kind of way. And then we stopped, to view Auckland's dormant volcano, which was interesting as a narrative but in practice was a grassy hill with some cows on it. Everybody piled out of the bus to take pictures except for us. I glanced at Fashionista. She had her eyes closed and was rubbing her forehead and chanting something. It sounded like, "It's not a tour bus it's not a tour bus it's not a tour bus".

But it was. The drive that should have taken us two hours at the most took ALL DAY. We stopped at every nook and cranny and lame point of interest between Auckland and Whitianga, all narrated in an irritatingly upbeat tone by the pirate bus driver, complete with tired jokes. When we finally arrived at our destination he announced, "And we'll be staying at the XYZ hostel downtown!"

Um...no we won't. We'd already booked ourselves into a hostel that sounded FAR more appealing. I quickly looked up the XYZ hostel in our "Let's Go" travel guide, which confirmed that, OH HELL NO NO WAY were we staying there. And there, in black and white, something I'd totally missed: "The XYZ hostel is the usual stop of the infamous Kiwi Experience bus".

Infamous?

I dashed to the front and informed the driver that he had to drop us off at the hostel we'd chosen. He didn't seem thrilled, but apparently it was in his contract, and he silently piloted us (and one other person) to our hostel after dropping everybody else off. He didn't help us unload our bags. Like we'd somehow personally insulted him.

We stayed a few days in our hostel of choice, which was fantastic, and made friends with the other girl the bus had dropped off there. The hostel owners informed us that the Kiwi Experience bus was locally referred to as "the Fuck Bus". It's main function, it seemed, was ferrying 19 year olds from party to party.

Fantastic.

Now, Fashionista and I weren't there for antiquing and shuffleboard, but we weren't intending to be unable to remember our travels, either. This little turn of events was casting a sour shadow over our original itinerary.

As it happened, a friend of ours was travelling NZ at the same time. Having intended to work, stay, and surf, he'd done the sensible thing and bought a used vehicle. He and his rattly, leaky sleeper van picked us up and we spent some time touring around the North Island.

We eventually hooked up with the Fuck Bus again, since our friend showed no signs of moving further south. It had a driver that was a clone of the first, and passengers that were mostly clones as well, but it wasn't ALL bad. We met some great people, and we did some things we wouldn't otherwise have done (like climbed a glacier, and went inner tubing in a cave).

We also went places we wouldn't otherwise have gone. Like a whitewater kayaking resort in the center of nowhere, which would have been fantastic if the country had not been in the middle of a drought. And a mining town where everything but the one hostel closed after 7pm. And a 'hostel' that was really a bunch of trailers by the side of the highway, with nothing for miles but a bar conveniently owned by the same people that owned the 'hostel'. And nowhere to eat but the steak dinner they offered (for $12). And nothing to do but sit in your trailer OR participate in the fun 'garbage bag costume' activities that the bus drivers made up.

Ahem. Anyway. Bygones.

We DID have fun despite ourselves. But we still got refunds on our tickets for the AUSSIE Experience bus.


(Totally claiming this as my Driving Spin Cycle for the week, too)

I'm a distraction! I'm a distraction!

To hopefully divert your attention from the fact that I can't come up with a real post, here's a drawing of SuperKeely as a zombie.

Are you random yet? You should be random. Why aren't you random?

Wheee! It's that time o' the week - time to let all your randomness hang out. So c'mon - you've spent the weekend celebrating your independence, now join the damn crowd! Write a post that contains nary a segue, grab that funky purple button, and link up!

I'm tapping this out on my awkward laptop because I was working on a logo/business card for a friend (all my software is on here). The friend hasn't responded well to my usual approach to these requests, which is to ignore it and make excuses until they a) forget they asked in the first place, b) get pissed off enough to ask someone else or c) move on to some other kind of business endeavour. For some reason he keeps phoning no matter how often I grunt a non-response.

This friend is half responsible for my "I'm blogging" excuse, though. He was the one who said to me sometime last summer: "Do you have a blog? You should have a blog. Why don't you have a blog?".

Bet he's sorry now.

On a tangent that is totally unrelated because this is supposed to be random, that's pretty much how hubby and I got together. Someone said: "Are you dating? You should be dating. Why aren't you dating?"

And look how well that turned out. So, hey! High hopes for this whole blog thing.

Yes, I am highly suggestible, why do you ask?

You ever have a whole post planned around photographic evidence that turns out to not look that impressive after all?

I hate that.

If my son makes it to adulthood with all his limbs and eyes and the majority of his skull intact, I'm throwing a huge fucking party. You read it here first.

What brought that on? Oh, just, EVERYTHING HE DOES.

I've been getting a LOT of google searches along the lines of "what to do with your girlfriend". I'm going to take the high road and assume these people are looking for date ideas, but I have no idea how they end up here. Hubby and I don't really get to go on dates anymore, and even when we did, we spent a lot of the time with our backs to each other on separate computers, playing MMOs. We're those uber geeky people whose avatars get married in-game.

Well, except for the part where I would never fucking do that.

At any rate, I totally don't recommend suggesting that as a fun date to the majority of girlfriends.

(Just the awesomest ones. Heh)

In New Zealand, an ad agency created a billboard that bleeds when it rains to remind people to drive according to the road conditions. Um, am I the only one who would drive into the fucking ditch after seeing a bleeding billboard?

Okay, gotta go continue my charity work now. Random it up, ya'll!*

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*I feel I can say this because I'm still drinking mojitos.

It's ALLLIIIIIIIVE!!

My phone, that is. Hubby fixed it, by doing what I wouldn't dare and plugging it in.

He also fixed the stove, because he fucking rocks. Although I used the oven tonight and broke that, but I'm not sure how. I flipped the breaker - even though the stovetop was still working - and then the oven worked again, which probably means it's possessed, or something.

I'm okay with that. You don't really have to buy replacements for possessed appliances.

Happy Canada Day from President's Choice! (Or: Celebrating the birth of our nation with some dead cow. Vegetarians, fair warning)

A while back I posted about an opportunity to stalk some people dressed up as butchers who were handing out coupons for free meat. They didn't do this little piece of performance art in my city, and apparently President's Choice heard me whining felt badly enough about that to send me some of my own. They even threw in the seasoning!

And what better way to sample the offerings than a summer barbecue?

Except, well, it didn't really produce much summer for a while there, and our barbecue hasn't been used in 5 years and I'm not convinced it wouldn't spontaneously combust. So I went to the source of all things grilled - my Dad.

(In other words, we called up my parents and invited ourselves over for dinner. But in our defense, we brought food and booze).

President's Choice has expanded its fresh meat offerings to include the "Tender and Tasty" and "Free From" lines. As far as I can tell, the "Tender and Tasty" line is just, well, meat, although it's GOOD meat - the beef is cut from Canada AAA or USDA Choice grade beef, restaurant quality beef superior to previous Canada AA choices. The "Free From" line is hippy beef, raised without the use of antibiotics or steroids and (I assume) played soothing music and allowed free access to art supplies.

I marinated two of the steaks in PC Steak Marinade and we seasoned two with the PC Sea Salt and Black Peppercorns grinder.

(My Dad: "So this is just...salt and pepper."
Me: "Yeah, I guess."
My Dad: "You know what this would be really good for? Camping. To put in your camping kit."
Me, after Dad has mentioned his camping kit 4 more times: "Dad? Do you want it? To put in your camping kit?"
My Dad, acting surprised: "Well, sure!")

(I felt like I had to bring more to the table than just dead cow, so I also made mojitos. President's Choice has this handy little mojito 'kit' for sale right now so I picked one up. I gave up bartending a while ago but clearly I miss it occasionally. Plus I got to feel all Southern and minty fresh, ya'll.)

Tangents aside, those steaks were gooooood. They were...well, Tender and Tasty. I thought the marinade was fantastic, though Mom pronounced it "too salty" (but you have to consider the source there - Mom thinks salt is the Devil's seasoning. Or she would, if she were religious at all). The Sea Salt and Black Peppercorn was....salt and pepper. We went over this. Dad added his own bbq sauce when he thought I wasn't looking.

I was disappointed by the "Free From" steak, though - it was a little tough compared to the "Tender and Tasties" and not as well marbled. While it's nice to feel that your dinner had a good life prior to it's incarnation on your plate, and it's nice to think that you're not adding a bunch of chemicals and crap to your body when you eat it, I would not normally pay that dearly for the privilege (you are, after all, still cramming red meat into your maw. Not the healthiest of choices in the first place). The "Free From" beef was over $35 a kg, ya'll - like, 8 bucks for a tiny 8oz steak. If I didn't have coupons I would have shit a brick gasped audibly. I admire President's Choice for trying to make organic meat more accessible, and sourcing more of their meat from Canadian producers (the "Free From" line includes chicken and pork as well), but I think if you're that dedicated to making your food free from hormones and antibiotics, you can purchase it from local farmers for much less.

So, verdict? President's Choice Tender & Tasty is just as advertised, their Free From line is pretty good too (though way too expensive for moi), they make some kickass marinades, and my mojitos were AWESOME.

"Re-integrate Keely into the Matrix" has a nice ring to it, too

Yesterday I may have convinced one or two of you to go out and buy Sims 3. Well, now I feel I must issue a warning: those Sims can be destructive little bastards.

Apparently my phone-Sim felt maligned by my portrayal of her whorish self in yesterdays post, because immediately after I hit 'publish', I headed upstairs to bed, lalalala, went to the bathroom first, phone in hand, swung my arm a little and - FLOOP! - straight into the toilet bowl it went.

I swear to you, I couldn't have made that fucking shot if I'd tried. It was the Sim, forcing my hand and launching herself to an untimely (if somewhat more dignified than her first) death.

I picked up the phone, which seemed okay, and I remembered my phone-salesman friend saying that the WRONG thing to do was hit a bunch of buttons to see if it still worked, because that fries things, and that in the event, you should just turn it off. So I hit the button to turn it off.

It immediately did it's best imitation of a strobe light on a Japanese game show and vibrated across the counter top where I'd set it.

Fuuuuuuucccckk.

So I pulled the battery, and it's drying out now, but I don't have much hope for it. I just got the stupid thing, and I didn't put the 'extended warranty' on it. In fact, I remember having this exact conversation with the salesguy when he tried to sell me on it:

Me: "Will it be covered if I drop it in a toilet or if my toddler throws it at the ceramic tile?"

Him: (giving me a look like I'm the first person in the history of cel phones to ever anticipate that happening) "Uh, no, sorry."

Me: "Well, those are the two most likely scenarios right there, so it's not going to do me much good."

Him: "Well, you get a free 1GB memory card with it."

Me: "Is THAT going to help me if its in the toilet?"



...Yeah. In addition to having to replace it at full cost, I've been phoneless all day and frankly, I'm freaking the fuck out here, people. I had no idea I relied so much on that shiny, chunky, camera-y, vibrating bar of touch-phone goodness.

Went to text FoN to tell her what happened. Oops.

Went to check on my Sim to apologize for outting her as a total slut. Oops.

Went to grab a quick pic of my son making a sandwich out of his toast and some crayons. Crap.

And then, bravely I thought, left the house to run errands. Do you have any idea how BORING waiting in line at the grocery store is? I actually had to read something about somebody named Speidi. What the hell kind of name is Speidi?

And the torture in line at the bank. Precious minutes when I could have been twittering my agony to the entire blogosphere, lost.

Do you think it would be very obvious and self-serving if I were to email LG and ask to, um, review a Voyager on my blog?

Or maybe a "Save Keely's Social Networking Life" campaign on twitter. With a Paypal button.

In other news, my stove has also crapped out. Unsurprisingly, because this is just the way the universe works for me, it will cost me approximately the same to replace THAT as my phone at full cost. Also unsurprisingly, that's approximately the same amount of money we can possibly come up with at the moment without selling our son.

...We don't really need to eat, do we?