Let Me Introduce You to my New and Improved Toilet Brush!

God, how I hate winter, especially here in the land of seemingly endless ice and snow. (Not to mention hockey and the associated discussions thereof.) Not being a hockey fan (football players look better in their pants) and not appreciating the charm of whizzing down an icy mountain at fifty miles an hour just for the fun of it, for this Canadian at least, winter brings me little joy.

Sure, Christmas is a nice diversion and a good excuse to gain five pounds, but once that's over, it's a long, cold, dark, soul-destroying marathon of suffering until spring. I hibernate beneath my mountain of blankets, sipping hot drinks in front of the fire, and dream of the days when I won't get frostbite on my lady parts just by taking out the garbage.

Exaggerating, you say? Sez you. Me and cold have never gotten along. That would explain why at forty years young I have yet to downhill ski or snowboard, and I can count the number of snowmen I have built in my lifetime on one hand. I would move to Florida, but y'all have things like cockroaches down there and me and bugs larger than my thumb have also never been pals.

The alligators, though, I think I could handle. Same with the snakes.

But last week, a gleaming, silvery beam of sunshine dazzled it's way into my heart, and lifted the weary, hypothermic spirits of this blogger:

My brand-new stainless steel toilet brush. Complete with holder! Who knew that $8.98 (taxes not included) could bring me so much happiness?

Me and toilet brushes go way back. I knew we had a special affinity about five years ago when I was unexpectedly gifted one for my birthday by a relative. I was puzzled at first, even somewhat miffed after a time. What gives? Is my toilet a sexual hotbed of breeding bacteria to the extent that I needed a wake-up call on my special day? Was I remiss about the inevitable brown scum buildup that inevitably plagued the underside of the rim? Were veritable armies of amoebas poised to use any dangling man-parts as their last chance at freedom? I thought I generally cleaned it with as much gusto as the bowl required.

To this day I do not know the reasoning behind this special gift, but I treasured that brush for years, believing with all my heart that a special message had been sent to me from above. I took it to work and showed all my friends. They all told me that this brush was something special, and accordingly, I waited a full three years before I was finally forced on Superbowl Sunday to lift it from it's place of honour beneath the sink and press it into service. (I think we had stuffed jalapenos that year.) But alas...even the most treasured among us cannot hold out forever, and Golden Boy (as I reverently named him) eventually had to be laid to rest in that Trash Bag in the sky.

But he has been replaced by one even more worthy....and I have named him "The Silver Streak" due to the amazing speed with which I will be able to clean the john from this point on.

Notice first his oh-so-shiny silver suit of armor. No more will a casual guest be able to glance down from their perch on the throne and speculate as to what we had to eat the day before based on the flotsam stuck in the bristles. (They generally are incorrect, anyway. Just because you see corn doesn't mean it was chowder.) 

Notice too, (in this money shot of Ol' Silver posed in front of the majestic backdrop of the Canadian winter) that there is a handy little splash guard to help prevent unpleasant backsplash during the dirtiest and most debilitating of jobs. (And by this I mean it would likely be a week containing more than one evening of Mexican food.)

I'm cooking up a big feed of nachos this evening, (with extra spicy salsa on the side!) in the hopes that perhaps if I am lucky, tomorrow will bring me a true test of the Silver Streak's worth. Gaze upon his shiny exterior and drool over his versatility now, my fine readers, because as of tomorrow, he shall never show his face again. (After all, yesterday was Superbowl Sunday.)  :0)

Peace!

Celebrating my Homecoming With Seed Bread and Hieroglyphic Barf Bags

OK, I need to tell you up front that all the truly hilarious photos from Las Vegas are on my laptop, which is in my daughter's room, who is sleeping off a late trip to the Symphony (fer reals, y'all) and I don't want to disturb her. (She's frightening when she's overtired. Picture that chick in The Exorcist.)

 So those pics will have to wait for another day. I will however show you this one: Two grossly overpriced cocktails enjoyed in our hotel casino, clearly made with getting patrons hammered in mind. (Mine tasted like pure alcohol with a splash of juice for colour. A few more of these and I would have been hurling all over the craps table.)

In the meantime, it's early, I'm awake, and I feel like blogging. Allow me first to tell you that the bags under my eyes were like army duffells by the time I finally got home. It took two full days to stop falling asleep in the middle of the morning. And I must tell you the temperature change wasn't pleasant either. To top it all off, we had somehow left a tiny overhead light on in our car, and came home at 10 PM to discover that the battery was dead as a nit. Bob was not amused, and that's all I'm going to say about that.

BUT, the house was clean, the kids were healthy, the cats were still alive, and other than an ongoing dispute about which kid spent the most of the money I left behind on their own selfish pleasures, all was well. Can't wait for the next big adventure.

One thing the trip DID do for me was get me excited to get into the kitchen again. (Five days of far too much pizza, french fries and dinner rolls will do that to a person.) So I decided to indulge one of my daughter's many whims and make her bread. Not just any bread, but bread that appears to have been rolled in birdseed. They sell a similar bread at the supermarket and she dies for it. ME? Not so much. I hate having crunchy bits in my baked goods. Makes me feel like I'm eating cat kibble.

So anyway, I made some really hearty whole wheat dough, studded with all sorts of crunchy bits and rolled in a hell of a lot MORE crunchy bits: Flax seeds, sesame seeds, cornmeal, hemp, and chopped sunflower and pumpkin seeds. I used almond butter and a flax/water combo to hold all that shit on. (Though not as completely as I would have liked...they're fucking seeds and nuts all over our damn kitchen every time she takes a slice. Seeds in my toaster. Seeds in my damn PEANUT BUTTER, seeds between my toes when I walk through the kitchen barefoot.

Oh well. Those seeds certainly are good for the ol' bod, so I suppose I shouldn't complain, (even though that's how I entertain myself on slow days.)

IN OTHER NEWS....on our flight home on American Airlines (on which I scored a free beer!) I absconded with the vomit bag from the back of the seat. My intention, being the hysterical, life-of-the-party gal that I am, was to use it to pack my son's lunch the next day. Hilarity would of course ensue. But when I got said bag home, my son pointed out to me that there were rows of oh-so mysterious symbols written on the back:

BY GOSH, I THINK HE"S RIGHT!!! Some stranger has written me a secret, coded message and relayed it to me via the handily-provided air sickness receptacle! Thank God I didn't have to blow chunks during the flight!

I post this for you all at this time in the hopes that someone amongst you, perhaps a turtleneck-wearing, tweed-blazer-sporting Robert Langdon type will come forward and decipher this cryptic message. I strongly feel that the key to my future is inscribed on this bag, and so I will sit here on my sofa and bide my time until that person steps forward and all is revealed. (You don't mind if I have a beer and watch soft porn while I wait, do you??)

And how was YOUR week?

WEBCAM PHOTO! Wheeeeee!

Cheers from me to you direct from Sin City USA!

Country Hicks in Vegas Brave the Strip and Pick Their Noses...

Hi everyone! Hi Mom! Hi Greg! Hi John Boy and Mary Ellen! We've now spent over 24 hours in Sin City, and I have lots to report. Before I begin I want to reiterate to all and sundry that the man and I are country folks who would far sooner shit in the woods than brave a city crosswalk. Keeping that in mind, here are my impressions, in no particular order, of the Las Vegas I have thus far seen:

Everything on the strip looks close, (likely because of the gargantuan proportions of like, everything, leading one to think that ones ultimate destination is far, far closer than it really is. We only walked from the Palazzo to the Stratosphere and back, and we were both pretty pooped by the time we made it back. I can tell you though that Bob was far, far whinier than I could ever be. He winged and whined about his sore hip, than his sore foot, than his sore other foot, until I almost felt like finding him a wheelchair and pushing his sorry ass around. We both agreed that I would do some shopping on Saturday without him.

You have to be a goddamn millionaire to truly enjoy yourself here. If you're going to stay in a resort on the Strip, start saving now. Everything here costs way too much, leading Bob and I to walk two miles to find a normal, everyday store and buy some snacks and some beer. Their liquor stores here have scary, highway-trooper-type security dudes in them that ask you menacing questions like, "What are you looking for?" but really they mean "Get what you fucking want already and leave, because your window shopping for booze is making my hardened Vegas ass suspicious." Nuff said, outta there.

The air in Vegas is as dry as a popcorn fart, causing me (not gonna lie here) to attempt to pick my nose raw just trying to make it feel less like someone has filled it with crusty concrete.Not only that, in only one day the skin on my legs is so dry that I'm scratching myself to the point that I have a rash on my stretch marks. Of course, three hot bubble baths so far might have contributed to that....

The Strip is very clean. When we headed out on the street at 6 AM to grab some breakfast at Denny's (me is cheap) there were all sorts of dudes out hosing off the sidewalks, cleaning up, I can only imagine, the vomit from the night before. People drink beer here on the street in broad daylight, people. Coming from Hooterville, Nova Scotia, this was somewhat shocking to lil' ol me.

Next Fact: Slot machines are incredibly cheesy, and mostly all the same once you get past the fact that they have different coloured lights on top. And rather addictive too...I can see how some people can sit there, hour after hour, watching their life drain away as they slurp gin and tonics and chase the big prize. ME? I wagered five bucks, played for an hour and managed to come out the other side with fifteen. I consider that successful.

WHOA! Gotta go. Madame Tussauds beckons. Hope they have a statue of Brad Pitt so I can fondle his wax appendages. Update on that later...TaTa!

Shhhhhh! It's four AM in Vegas!

Ok peeps, I made hit out to Sin City with nary a problem but for the fact that I was awake for 22 hours straight and definitely looked the part. The two flights were awesome, and I can say that because I am likely the most easily amused person on the face of the earth. I spent my downtime at the Halifax Airport speculating if the person across from me was a tranny or just an over-the-top ugly chick. I spent my first flight marvelling at the banana muffin I was provided, and wondering how anyone could make anything taste that industrial and yet have it fill a void. On the second flight, the takeoff was better than sex (Bob pouted when I made that comment) but whatevs.

Coming into Las Vegas was bitchin. I spent almost two hours with my face plastered against the airplane window, marvelling at how nifty earth looks from the sky. Can anyone tell me why the midwest seems to be comprised of fields full of crop circles? I'm sure there's a simple explanation, but I'm too simple a girl to know what it is.

Our first view of The Strip was pretty wicked too. It makes it seem like the whole city just exists to provide workers to service the endless throng of gin-soaked idiots who can't WAIT to blow what little money they have. (That of course would never describe me, as I have never liked Gin. I am scotch-soaked idiot, thank you very much.)

Our first few hours were fairly uneventful as we were so FUCKING TIRED that we both basically fell asleep entangled in bathrobes will all the lights on in our suite. Yeah baby, I said suite, and although it's the most basic suite The Palazzo has to offer, it still makes me feel like I need to dress up just to go and take a crap.

Despite my best efforts at manipulating my sleep patterns and avoding jet lag, I was awake this morning at 3 AM local time and I can't get to sleep, so I decided to cough up the $12.95 per day for room internet access and come hang out in the dark with all of you while my husband snores blissfully ten feet away. I hope you feel special....

I mean, I COULD have taken that dough and headed down to the Casino and made my fortune on the nickel slots. (HAHAHAHA)

Anyway, if I can ever persude my husband to get his ass up, we're planning on venturing out on the strip and seeing some sights. I'll be back later to post some pics when we come back here in the afternoon and crash before tonight's official event at Madame Tussauds.

Have an intense day, y'all, and I'm off to take my second bubble bath in twelve hours. (I could do the backstroke in this tub, y'all!)

Later...

Sluts Are People Too!

OK, so I've officially decided on my first MUST-SEE in Vegas next week. I was glancing listlessly through some brochures last night, waiting semi-patiently for my damn husband to show up so we could dive into some tacos, when what did my wondering eyes light upon??

The Precious Slut Tattoo Company.

Now THERE'S a phrase that just makes you happy every damn time you manage to work it into casual conversation. I've managed to use it in context at least half a dozen times already, and if at all possible, I'm going to swing by there are get me a Precious Slut tattoo, just so I can spend the rest of my life saying, "You like that tat? Yeah, I got that at the Precious Slut."

I may even loosen the ol' pursestrings and hook myself up with one of their T-Shirts:

Because sluts ARE people too, dammit.

In other news, I had me a hankering for some corn tortillas yesterday, but didn't feel like driving twenty minutes to town to acquire some. So I started surfing for some recipes. And guess what? Every single recipe seemed to call for something called Masa Harina, which, I am sad to say, is not exactly part of our food culture here in the frozen north. So what's a tortilla-lovin' slut to do? Several websites advised me that Masa Harina is damn special stuff, and CANNOT be replaced by corn meal or corn flour.

OH YEAH???? OH YEAH??? Fuck you and the horse you rode in on, Unnamed Websites! I will be the FIRST PERSON to ever successfully make tortillas without your precious Masa Harina.

AND GUESS WHAT????

Holy shit, that just didn't work, people.

I gave up and ate soup for supper.

I think the Recipe Development fairy has jumped off my shoulder and fucked off somewhere, because I can't seem to create anything new to safe my life. I was working on some super healthy, extra- whole-grain-ey fruit muffins the day before, and although they looked fairly edible, they had the texture of a Nerf football and were about as flavorful as a plate full of grass clippings. I think I might spread them around the perimeter of my basement and perhaps thin the vermin population a tad.

And finally, an Anonymous comment that I got recently had me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. (Usually the anonymous ones are the folks who want to be discrete when they tell me just how badly I suck.)

++++++++++++++++++++

"Your blog keeps getting better and better! Your older articles are not as good as newer ones you have a lot more creativity and originality now keep it up!"

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Ok, assuming that the comment wasn't left by my Mom, I really appreciate that, dear sweet Anonymous Commenter. If you were here, I'd bake you a pie or help you trim your nose hair, because that's what friends are for.

And if it was my Mom, well, gee whiz Mom, you're damn special, if I do say so my damn self. Keep it comin'!

Peace....

I Don't Think Vegas is Ready for Me...Do You????

OK bitches, guess what yesterday was? Wait, you'll never guess and I don't have that kind of time.

I TURNED THE BIG 4-0!!! Yay, forty years young.

Now, one would think that by the time I hit this ripe old age I'd perhaps have matured a little. I am pleased to inform you that it doesn't seem to have happened as of yet. Perhaps when I hit fifty I'll have learned to act my age, but I somehow doubt it.

The birthday was pretty low key. I read a little, baked a little, did as little housework as possible, and basically scammed family members into rubbing my sore shoulders as often as I could. (What can I say..we just have two feet of snow dumped on us and shovelling sucks ass.) Anyway, I have to take it easy for the next nine days and conserve my energy....because next Wednesday WE'RE GOING TO VEGAS!! YEAH, BABY!

Me and the Hubby are headed away to this Love Nest in the desert for five days of gambling, debauchery and good clean dirty fun. Sounds like the perfect way to usher in my forties, don't you think??

We're staying at the Palazzo Resort, which comes equipped with three televisions in every room, not that we're going to be doing too much hanging out in the room. What's the fun in that? I'll be downstairs in the Casino copping free drinks and pissing in my diaper as I play the slots. Sure, we'll wander into the buffet now and again too. A girl has to keep up her energy if she plans to both frighten and entertain her long-suffering husband.

In preparation for the trip, I made an effort to render myself unrecognizable....How do you think I look as a redhead with a porn star quality moustache???

I really need to be unrecognizable, as an arrest would really put a crimp in my daily schedule of personal debasement.

Now, this trip is going to have to be enjoyed On the Cheap as I am poor. (Most of the expenses are being convered by a Third Party who Shall Remain Anonymous, otherwise known as my Hubby's company.) So, if anyone has any suggestions for cheap eats and cheap thrills, hook me up! And if there happens to be a reader out there just overflowing with cash that needs to rid themselves of some of it, feel free to send it my way, cuz I'd really like to renew my wedding vows in a stretch Hummer while driving up and down the Strip, officiated by an Elvis impersonator. (No, really, I would like to do this. I just need the dough.)

I'll be taking my laptop with me to Vegas so's I can blog about all the adventures we'll be having there. Any Vegas businesses want to invite me over and entertain me? Email me, bitches.

A Quick Howdy-Doo Before I Spend the Evening Scratching my Ass on the Sofa...

OK, first off, I totally suck at answering comments, which I know guarentees me a lifetime spot in the Negligent Blogger Hall of Fame. I suck. And I know it.

SO, to the folks who were asking me if my seitan filet mignon can be frozen, my answer to that is, Who the hell knows??  It never lasts long enough around here to get that far. I CAN tell you that it stays good in the fridge, bathing contentedly in it's salty juices for at least a week, so if you need to make it ahead, you have some wiggle room.

In other news, just wanna remind you all that ME <-------- Not Vegan. As my header ↑ indicates, our diet is only 95% vegan. We don't stress too much about the occasional schmear of egg or dairy in our meat substitutes. I live in the middle of nowhere and I've learned that it ain't worth the pain to be that fussy. So although I knew there was egg in the Quorn, that wasn't going to stop me from giving it the ol' college try. Now in regards to actual eggs, well...I have't had one for almost four years.

We discovered a new vegan snack this Christmas, in a Sobey's store located in a part of Nova Scotia even less veg-friendly than ours. (I didn't think that was even possible!) Check out this new line of Canadian goodies from a new company called EVO....

We went for the Mexicali Samoasas, and they were pretty good, I think....they had a great crispiness to them, weren't greasy, and certainly weren't in any way unpleasant. They seemed to lack the spicy OOMPH we like, but then again, I've discovered that few people like their food as fiery as we do. It's a wonder we have any tastebuds left, come to think of it.

The only downside was the price. At almost nine bucks for eight appetizer-sized samosas, I think that unless I hang out my red light and start making a little cash on the side, it will be a while before we sample any of their other items. Four tiny pot pies cost almost ten bucks. Hell, for ten bucks I can make ten times that and have enough money for a few beer on the side!

Nevertheless, never a bad thing to have more vegan options in the freezer case.

Coming Soon-I think I'm going to get cozy with a zucchini this week. (Har Har.) Actually, it was my Mom's idea, but she's a little sickie. For now though, the sofa beckons. Let the ass cheek scratching commence!

Christmas Is....

...a big honkin' cast iron pan full of hypertension-causing, salty as old hell, white-bread rolls swimming in garlicy margarine and drenched in vegan parm.

Not to mention shlepping around the house in a twelve-dollar fake fur camo hat that makes you look like an escaped mental patient. Wearing no makeup adds to the effect...

I say if you're going to abuse the ol' bod at some point during the year, and humiliate yourself by looking ridiculous, this sure is the time. Merry Christmahannakwanaa, you bastards!

(Cheers! Where's the red wine, anyway...?)