I finally got to another supermarket and got the rest of the ingredients I needed, so I pulled out Delicious magazine tonight and got to work. ‘Smoked Salmon and Pea Risoni with Coriander Mojo’. Only I had smoked trout, not smoked salmon. And I don’t really like coriander, so I left that out. Not really a great start, leaving out two of the four title ingredients. However! We press on! Started cooking the pasta. I like pasta. Chopped up about six ingredients, including a green chilli, for the mojo. I know. But that is really what it was called. If you know me at all, you will know I was thrusting my way around the kitchen waving half a green capsicum and declaring my MOJO was GONE, baby! Somebody stole my mojo! (By the way, my English accent is atrocious.) Got up to the ‘roughly chopped’ point then reached for the stick blender to blend it all into a nice smooth green paste. Got all the way to opening the drawer and fossicking around before realising I no longer OWN a stick blender.
I did not really deal with this very well. Started swearing (not in an English accent). Seriously considered driving over to Mr. T’s to steal the blender, before factoring in the half bottle of rose I had been drinking (I had been CLEANING. I needed HELP.) Decided instead to dump all the ingredients onto the chopping board again and wildly smack at it with the knife. This TOTALLY worked. (The wine may have been making this seem a little more effective than it was.) YEAH, baby! Now we’re cooking! GROOVY, baby! My mojo is BACK! OK, so maybe my mojo was not the smooth paste shown in the magazine; more of a chunky salsa look. By this point I DID NOT CARE. By God there would be mojo and I would be eating it come hell or high water or big chunks of garlic.
It was good. Big chunks of garlic not withstanding. Yeah, baby, yeah!
I have recovered from my ranting, I’m sure you’re all glad. And I remembered why I got diesel – because I had to drive to horseriding the next day and I didn’t have time to stop. But turns out you DO have time to stop when you leave work at 4.30pm, and where you have time to stop is Spotlight. Didn’t buy any material though; some bias binding and some bobbins (always bobbins) and some curved needles, because I really needed one the other day and I thought I had some and I didn’t, so I had to sew the nose on a stuffed toy with a normal needle and it was difficult. And then I continued on and went horseriding, at which I rode without my stirrups to correct my sitting position and lo, my arse is killing me today. Good fun though. You can’t say that about a lot of things which leaves your arse in pain, but I am looking on the bright side.
I joined a gym on Monday, because it was very cheap. I haven’t gone yet. I will do that tomorrow. The whole arse thing, you know. Don’t want to overstress the old bum muscles. I will go tomorrow. HONEST.
My mum has just texted me to tell me they have had an earthquake. She says it’s safe now, because the cat is asleep, and cats sense these things. The cat is 14 years old and sleeps 22 hours a day, so I personally wouldn’t be trusting my survival to her. Especially because my own cat senses nothing in the way of seismic activity, yet somehow manages to detect the most minute rustle of a chocolate wrapper.
So I went to the supermarket, complete with list, to buy foods. Specific foods. For recipes. Of course, the supermarket was out of stock of most of it. And I mean MOST. I hate, absolutely hate, supermarkets when they’re out of stock. I will actually have to go to another supermarket to get a lemon, risoni pasta, flat leafed parsley, coriander, fennel, baby spinach, Vogels bread, prawns and a motherfucking razor. Things got no better once I paid and got out. The travelator was not working, forcing me to take the trolley into the scary back goods lift to get to the carpark. Every time this happens (and it happens regularly) I SWEAR TO GOD I am never going back to Malvern Central, you broken down piece of shit of a shopping centre. The only reason I go there is a) it’s close, b) I know my way around the supermarket, and c) nobody else ever goes there, probably because they already got fed up with the out of stocks and the shitty breaking down travelators. God damn you all to hell.
And for the next part, I had only myself to blame. Even with ice cream in the car, and a clear run of crap going my way, I insisted on stopping to get diesel. I don’t know what I was thinking. There is only one diesel bowser at this particular servo, which means there’s only two… handles? pump nozzles? you know what I mean I’m sure. One of which was being used by a ute which had clearly just pulled up, and the other one was taken by the most incompetent piece of human kind ever to drive a car. Even though there were cars lined up for Africa, and he had already filled up and paid, he proceeded to get the watering can full of water and open the bonnet of his car. Which he could not do. For an ETERNITY, he fidgeted around under the popped bonnet for the little release lever that lives under there, which allows the bonnet to unlock completely. Only I could see him (the extra height of a 4WD) and I may have called him a motherfucking cocksucker, but you had better believe that everyone else would have done the same could they see him. He was STILL fucking around under there as the ute left, I pulled in, filled my car (which took forever as I was running on fumes), paid and left again. Still. There. That, my friends, is the definition of a motherfucking cocksucker. You car drivers with your fancy petrol cannot properly feel my pain, as there are multiple bowsers for petrol. But usually, there is only one for diesel and LPG, and this ratfucking bastard was blocking one side, filling up his fuck-knuckled windscreen water reservoir, oblivious to all his surroundings and the cars spilling out onto the street. There is a special place in hell for him, I am sure. I will personally call Satan and reserve it. I’ll make sure there is a broken travelator too, just to fuck him sideways.
It was the St Kilda festival this weekend, and since I live in St Kilda, I got as far away as physically possible. This was quite difficult, due to the horrendous traffic. I went out in the morning, and when I came back at about 12pm, my street was backed up like dooce. Eventually I got home, then realised I needed to get out again. Walking! Terribly underrated! Let’s do that! Hey, I’ve just realised I could have rented out my carpark for an exorbitant sum. Bugger. Maybe I’ll do that for Grand Prix.
Apart from that, Sunday was astonishingly windy, so much so that I got blown onto tiptoes while waiting at a pedestrian crossing. Now, I’m not all that big, but never before have I seriously considered the possibility of being blown away in a gust of wind. I am not Mary Poppins, people. I don’t have the skills to cope with such an event. It did not happen, but who knows what the outcome would have been had I been holding an umbrella. Hilarity, no doubt.
I am typing this at work, and I just leaned forward to squint at an email on my screen and my iPod earbud fell out of my ear and onto my desk. I vaguely felt around for it on my desk whilst continuing to read the email. Picking it up, I went to re-insert it into my ear, before realising I had picked up a small plastic footballer instead. I don’t think much sound comes out of one of those things.
It’s not only four year olds that push inappropriate things into their ears.
Or so I hear.
I am continuing this ‘posting with nothing to say’ thing. Are you enjoying it? Are you? No matter. Bloglines will deliver me to you whether you like it or not.
All my eBay purchases have come rolling in. Man I love eBay. The pumpkin KitKats were not bad; they tasted just like normal ones but with a really sweet aftertaste that I would not have recognised as pumpkin did I not know. Like a sort of pumpkin pie flavour? We don’t do pumpkin pie here. Or as I must pronounce it: PAH. South Park has a lot to answer for. As well as the KitKats, there was a cool bento-type box and some egg moulds, where you cook the egg, then shell it and ram it into the mould really quickly and lo, it becomes a fish. I am looking forward to trying this out. I’ll let you know how it goes.
And since I have been posting photos recently:
A little oak seedling on an unused (?) cricket pitch near the Yarra River. I thought it was a branch blown loose from the tree; I can’t believe it grew this big without being uprooted. And in the middle of a drought, no less.
I was listening to the radio the other day when the previously-sane announcer proclaimed, “And coming up next, the biggest song from A-Ha to date!” It was, of course, “Take On Me”. But how nice of her to assume that A-Ha were still, quite possibly, capable of coming up with another hit song several DECADES after their brief moment of glory.
Also, I have found quite possibly the best gelati in the world. Make your way to Federation Square, go straight past the chocolate chili and make your way directly to the gingerbread gelati. You will thank me. Possibly your arteries will not, but who listens to arteries anyway. I don’t want to HEAR about your atherosclerotic plaques. (I really don’t. I did my thesis on this crap. I don’t want to go back! You can’t make me!) Listen to the siren song of the gingerbread gelati instead. Can you hear the little chunks of cake-like gingerbread singing? All nestled in the gelati, getting soft and sticky, calling your name? Wait, that’s MY name. Where am I again? And don’t those rocks seem awfully close?
Hold on tight.
You know what? How about shorter posts? Will I post more if I don’t feel like I have to write 500 words? Let’s find out. It will be our adventure.
I figured out how to FINALLY get my Hotmail through my normal email program and the heavens opened and there was a choir of angels and it went BWAAAAAAAAH. My hotmail is old and stupid and doesn’t like POP3 forwarding or something, but by the delicious magic of Thunderbird it now downloads and I will never have to log into that crappy screen again. It is like a big weight full of coal and fish scales has been lifted from me. Honestly.
I have eaten about a dozen prawns tonight, and I seriously considered eating a dozen more. I like it when someone else cooks a BBQ for me. Especially when there are prawns. I also watched small children jump into a swimming pool over and over again, jac jac jac WATCH ME, jac no jac watch ME, did you SEE ME jac jac jac are you WATCHING jac? Yes. Yes, I am watching. You are an excellent diver. That looked a lot like a belly flop to me but you have come up smiling so I will not mention it.
Roses are red, but I only steal pink and orange ones.
Right, so, what’s been going on? Shall we bullet point? I think we shall.
- This week I have been out every single night, apart from Monday night, when a prowler jumped onto my balcony and I rang the police and the prowler took off and seven policemen turned up within five minutes, all piling through my front door in a continuous line, like they were coming out of a clown car. So I think that also counts as ‘doing something’, if by ‘something’ you mean ‘getting the absolute shit scared out of me’. Yeah. I haven’t slept much this week. Although nice to know that a full squadron of police-people (one was a woman, now I think about it) are at my beck and call.
- I’m taking horseriding lessons. My rising trot is coming along nicely, but my jump position is rubbish. And I have pulled a muscle in my thigh that I know is going to make tomorrow a rather gimpy day.
- My department at work is getting a restructure in a month. Joy. Cue four weeks of gallows humour and the rumour mill in overdrive until we get some answers.
- Jesus, these are like the Bullet Points of Doom. Let’s shift it up a notch.
- The Black Dog is looking very, very good and is walking around the place like he never took a 6-month break from the whole movement scene. He will be 9 years old in a few weeks. I never thought that dog would live to nine, especially a happy healthy nine. Amazing what a gold-plated spine will do.
- I bought about 15 things from eBay in one day, including a fabulous haul from Japan which features a bento box and pumpkin flavoured KitKats (destined for my friend in the ongoing strange food swap.)
- I went to the Australian Open and thought I had written a huge post about it, but it’s not here, so it must be in my head somewhere. I am also going grape grazing in the Yarra Valley in a few weeks, as well as to watch the polo at Werribee (I don’t know what this will entail, but I have asked for my horse to be done medium-rare). Quite a collection, no? I call it, “Drinking All Over Melbourne.” It is my leitmotif.
- Hey, remember my last leitmotif? It was underwear. Maybe I will have two leitmotifs, can I do that? Because I bought some great underwear in New Zealand… days of the week underwear. IN FRENCH. Right now, I’m wearing dimanche, even though it’s jeudi. It’s so wrong, yet it feels SO RIGHT.
See? Tennis. Proof! I was there!