How To Talk a Lot Yet Say Nothing

Friday, January 14th, 2011, sore back muscle, navy blue eyeliner, I am stylin’, I dislike bendy rulers, talking to Lefty the cow

Yay, it’s Friday and I’m cosy in the house, contemplating putting on pants but deciding ultimately that it would be a colossal waste of my time since I don’t plan on going anywhere and if the postman should show up and make me open the door, big deal, it’s not like he hasn’t seen me sans pantaloons these past few weeks, in fact he should be positively used to it. Expect it even. So there will be no pants. “Liberation” is my middle name. That and “Delusional”. And maybe “Feral”.

Actually “feral” reminds me too much of Will Ferrell and that’s never a good thing. Will Ferrell makes me fear for the human youth of today. It seems they haven’t yet figured out that he isn’t actually funny, he just LOOKS funny. The ball will drop one day. We can only be there to console.

 Same with Ben Stiller. The sooner everyone figures out the dude’s scathingly awful and always sports a menacing glare that yells, “I strangle grandmothers!”, the better off civilization will be.

I think I’ve ranted about my Ferrell/Stiller hatred before. My hatred knows no bounds.

I had big plans for today that didn’t involve uber-procrastination and watching more snow falling or laughing maniacally at the chubby kid who just scooted by the front window, hit a patch of icy snow, did some alarming type of unexpected Riverdance before falling on his ass making his hat fly right off his head, or wondering what point of the iPad actually IS. No, I wanted to make oatmeal and clean the bathroom and do something disinfecty (it is a word) to the in-house dishwasher and start painting a Cylon Raider but have I done any of that? Hell to the no.

What have I done? Let my coffee get cold, informed BeckEye that a gentleman she has a crush on looks like a homeless woman’s vagina, called Free Flying a “Sky Muffin” and taught Mr. Peevers how to make possibly the best sandwich mankind has ever heard of (Marmite, peanut butter and cheddar).

So in a way I feel all KINDS of accomplished and therefore, am probably deserving of some sort of decadent cake or expensive red wine as a reward.

As no one is providing me with these things I will probably eat something boring then stare at a blank canvas for an hour before deciding, “Meh. Maybe tomorrow.” Which oddly enough is my motto.

I’m sorry this is a ramble, but no one really reads blogs on Fridays anyway, so who cares?

I hope you all have quite astonishing weekend. In a good way, naturally. Not in the, “I just opened my blinds and there was a totally naked Vince Vaughn looking back at me with his cold, psychotic, ‘I do meth’ glare, while holding the corpse of a kitten and wielding a machete.”

No one wants that kind of astonishment.

Presenting North Dakota: The Greatest State of All Time

Wednesday, January 12, 2011 – holy mother of fuck I’m tired, allergies, sprouted grains, lethargy

As you all probably gathered by now, I’m all about teaching people really useful or informative things; new swear words to shout, true historical accounts of things the way they actually happened (i.e., in my head), how to get out of doing almost anything. I figured a good thing to do would be teach you all a bit of useful information about the world, beginning with the United States. So let me ask you this. What is the most awesome state ever out of all fifty states? That’s correct! It’s a state I’ve come to know very well - North Dakota.

I bet you all never gave a hot damn about North Dakota did you? You all probably think it’s some empty, cold wasteland that’s practically in Canada and well…you’d be correct.

 But I’m here to tell you that ND doesn’t get the respect it deserves. North Dakota is a veritable wonderland of fantasy and adventure. And I know this because I found some guy on the web that says so, because he’s a native North Dakotan and he gave many perfectly valid, intelligent reasons as to why ND is the greatest state that ever existed.

Oddly, one of those reasons isn’t, “Because Veg hangs out there”. So clearly, he’s an idiot because I raise that state’s cool profile hugely. Even when I’m not there I’m sure they talk about me with hushed reverence and bestow me with honours. Kind of like when the mudders gave Jayne Cobb a statue (and a song) in Canton after he “donated” all that money to their cause. Look it up, TV philistines.

I’m not sure this ND guy’s done a whole lot of traveling though, because one of his reasons for North Dakota’s supremacy is:

“It is the home of places such as Fargo, Bismarck, Minot, Grand Forks, and Medora”

Yes. Yes it is. All world class cities of major importance and all in close proximity to some fine missile silos. Plus, I can never find a parking spot in downtown Fargo for all those movie stars and fashionistas hanging out everywhere looking glamorous while all I want to do is get into the IHOP.

Or some other posh restaurant that ND is full of.

My favourite of all his reasons though was this one, quoted verbatim:

“[ND is] a state that has a high percentage of it's high school graduates go on to collage”

I’m going to go ahead and assume one of those graduates wasn’t this guy, or if it was, we can be pretty sure he didn’t graduate in grammar or spelling. I mean we all make the “it’s” vs. “its” error now and then if we’re in a rush, even I do it sometimes because I know you’ll find this hard to believe, but I’m not 100% perfect, merely about 98.9%. I can forgive that. But “collage”? Although, I don’t know, maybe I’m the idiot because perhaps he just meant that North Dakotan high school grads are just really excellent at making kickass collages of stuff. Like, for example, the 49 better states. Or major highways out of North Dakota.

Sorry North Dakota, I’m kidding. I actually like ND. There, I said it. I’m somewhat amazed at myself but I do. People are nice, stuff is cheap, there’s low tax, lots of space, practically the lowest car insurance in the whole of the United States and it’s close to the three Ms (Minnesota, Montana and Manitoba) if it all gets too much and you need to get out fast.

And then there’s the accent. Ya, ya, you betcha! Who can’t hear that and not be cheered up?

I’m not sure that this is the best reason to toot ND’s horn but this guy does:

“[It is] a state that has a high percentage of church goers.”
This here would be the very reason I’d surround the entire perimeter of my ND apartment with garlic wreaths and photos of Alice Cooper and Marilyn Manson every night. Those repel devout church goers, don’t they? Garlic and goths?

So come on peeps, let’s hear it for North Dakota whose slogan isn’t, but should be: NORTH DAKOTA: SOUTH DAKOTA’S AWESOME HAT.

Whose state will I pick on next? Who knows? Suggest one if you want, I have vast and fabulous knowledge about all of them.

Mean

Monday, January 10th, 2011, Good God it’s still not July, where’s my cake, another unrecognizable, nonsensical, made-up scientific word on my yogurt carton, stubbed, throbbing right big toe, forks up the wazoo

Is anyone else over winter yet or am I alone in that skyscraper of doom? Long, frigid, seemingly never ending dark snowy days and nights are making me feel about six different kinds of disgruntled. Today I even growled at myself to fuck off after dropping my toast on the floor. When you’re feeling stabby at yourself, it might be time for a vacation. And I’m feeling VERY stabby.

Proof in point, the other day, while having my mellow slowly obliterated by some slow, whiny, annoying woman checking out ahead of me in the supermarket, all I could think about was the surprised sound she’d make if I suddenly jammed a fork in her butt cheek, with gusto. This diffused the situation somewhat by cheering me up immensely. Nothing makes a supermarket nightmare more bearable than dreaming about random acts of zesty violence with cutlery.

The problem is supermarkets make me testy at the best of times and she was using a lot of coupons which refused to scan, which combined, make a lethal combination for my mood. The only way to get through the experience unscathed is to fantasize about emerging triumphant through bloody mayhem. Lady, those savings aren’t going to be worth a rat’s ass if you’re stabbed in the buttocks with a fork.

There ought to be a dedicated line for coupon people. It should have a neon, glowing sign over the top of it that says “People refusing to pay full price, line up here” and if you have more than three coupons you have to stand in it under a giant flashing arrow and have a guy in a uniform fingerprint you and frisk you in front of everyone and possibly threaten to have your children removed and your husband castrated.

There, I got that off my chest. No one was hurt.

In other news, I didn’t get enough sleep last night and I’m grouchy and there isn’t a single, new, decent sci-fi show on at the moment I can spend the long winter nights obsessing about. God, I miss “Battlestar Galactica” and “Firefly” and “Lost”. Can someone just go make more of those, please?

Someone might want to send me some coffee and the mood of a four year old in an Ikea ball pit. In return I won’t fork you. Have a delightful Monday!

A Chocolate Cake You Say?

Those of you who don’t want to bake a cake and who came here looking for a real entry, you'll find it below this one or if you're really lazy you can just click this sentence. Fly like the wind my friends!

Hey my little charmers! I’ve had numerous – yes really, numerous – emails and comments and things from people saying “post your chocolate cake recipe, or die motherfucker!” (or at least words to that effect), so I decided I better comply so I can live a few more weeks at least. Just for you guys (the rest of you can go play outside till we’re done). I hope your waistlines enjoy it very much because it’s not exactly slimming.

Veg’s Stupdendously Moist, Uber Decadent, Super Simple and Resolution Busting Chocolate Cake

Note: I roll imperial but I will convert to metric as well to keep everyone happy. How nice am I?

8oz. of Self Rising Flour (225g) If you must use All purpose flour use a teaspoon and a half of BP and a teaspoon and a half of Baking SODA also. SR is the best though if you can get it.
12.5oz. regular granulated sugar (350g) Caster would work too but hey I am never that posh
3oz. cocoa (85g)
2 large eggs
9oz. of 1% or skim milk (250ml)
4.5oz. canola oil (125ml) I imagine other oils would work too but Canola is my favourite I think
9oz. boiling water (250ml)

*I have to admit for the dry ingredients I do ounces and for the wet I use MLs. This is because I'm schizo.

Method: Throw everything except the flour and boiling water into a bowl. It works no matter what order you throw the stuff in even if you forget and put the flour in first – it is just harder to mix that way. No need to beat the eggs in advance or anything. Just throw it all in. Mix the shit out of it with a whisk. If you’re posh and have an electric mixer, knock yourself out but I mix by hand. It should be sort of sticky and thick and gloopy. That’s ok. In fact that’s perfect. Then add the boiling water and mix some more till it’s thinner. Don’t worry if it seems too thin – it isn’t. Add the flour gradually and mix that baby up till it’s good and battery and the flour is absorbed. It might still be fairly thin but no worries, it works just fine, I assure you. Once this is mixed do the following:

1) Get two round 8 inch or approx. cake tins
2) Line with wax paper and grease on top of the wax paper with margarine (this is important as this stuff is sticky later)
3) Divide mixture between the two tins
4) Put the tins into a preheated oven at 350 degrees F/180 degrees C/if you’re cooking with gas it’s Mark 4 (I looked it up, I swear)
5) Bake for 30 minutes. This may vary by oven (if you use gas you might want to check after 25 to be safe) but 30 minutes was perfect for me with my old ass, seventies looking electric oven.
6) Lick out the bowl of chocolately goodness – it’s a shame to waste it, right?
7) Lick the whisk/spoon too
8) Laugh at all the mixture you got on your hands/face/floor/countertops
9) When 30 minutes is up, pull those suckers out and leave the cakes in the tin on the counter for maybe five minutes or so
10) Using the edges of the wax paper ease the cake halves out of the tins and rest them on a plate/rack/other surface that isn’t a dog or child, to cool
11) After maybe 20 minutes, gently lift the cake halves and rest them top down on the palm of your hand to peel off wax paper. It should come off easily. Wait till cakes are half cooled to do this or you’ll end up with cake stuck to your hands. Replace cakes on surface to finish cooling. If they’re more than half cooled I usually stick ‘em in the fridge to finish.
12) When cool fill with your favourite filling be it fresh whipped cream or a delicious buttercream as follows
.
Chocolate Buttercream: Put a metric buttload of butter or a decent margarine spread in a bowl. The amount is up to you. If you don’t make enough you can add or make more. You can use low fat versions but they’ll be thinner. I use an olive oil based spread and it works just fine. Add a trainload of powdered icing sugar and blend thoroughly with a fork. Sprinkle in a little cocoa to taste and blend again.  Add a little milk if you need to thin it out. Spread on one half of cake, top with other half. Sprinkle some virgin icing sugar on top of cake. Eat the fuck out of cake and moan ecstatically. (you can leave out the cocoa for a plain butter cream if you prefer)

Note: This thing should stay good and moist for a good three days in the fridge in a plastic container.

I believe even a chimp could make this. You guys have no excuse. If you make it, let me know how you make out.

The One Where I Deconstruct Art Like A Pro

Wednesday, January 5th, 2011 – frigging cold, Rice Krispie Squares, gaseous, trolololo, got my paint freak on

Holy Jesus in a taco, January is boring. It’s only five days old and already I’m all, “When is it not January anymore?” and “when’s the next holiday?”

To celebrate the new year I made a new painting. It’s been a while, I’ve been letting my painting mojo sun itself in the Mojo-Caribbean or wherever mojos go when they’re not making you do something productive, so the last few months I haven’t painted anything at all. Figures that when I do finally get back to it I produce something that looks like someone swallowed a day-glo paint stick then threw up their lunch and graffitied all over it.

what the fuck, eh?

As some of you know, I normally paint actual things in a slightly abstract manner, but with clear obviousness as to what it is. I do not normally paint a giant mish mash of nothing in a very abstract manner, like someone filled me up with Red Bull and amphetamines and gave me a paint gun.

I don’t understand abstract modern painting. I like it. It can be tres jolie! It gives me pleasure without knowing quite why. But I don’t GET it. I don’t look at it like some frowning artists who dress in black and tweak their tiny beards and adjust their berets and say, “Oh, this represents the mind’s confusion and chaos over complicated and erroneous judgments and the guilt of the aura when confronted with societal free falling and anarchy!”

No, I’m all, “This says I had an accident in a paint factory and mushed everything up real purty!”

I showed it to my sister who emailed me back the following: "I imagine the walls in hell must look a little bit like this." Well fuck yes.

So that’s what I painted and I enjoyed the hell out of it too. Something about making a free form mess on canvas and adding more crazy over the top just appeals to my sense of liberalism. It’s not anything. It’s a big, colourful burrito of trash, kind of like the inside of my head. And I’m ok with that.

It also needs a suitably pretentious name, so I welcome all suggestions, even filthy lewd ones.

Hell, especially filthy, lewd ones!

Pain and Cake

Monday, January 3rd, 2011 - Eek cold! Giant gimpy hand, coffee, urge-to-kill threat warning: negligible

So 2011 is underway properly now and I'm in Canada the next couple of months which means we’re back to the harsh reality of January – the greyest, most depressing month there is, unless you live in Australia or have a nice Mexican vacation or a birthday or a lottery win ahead, to warm it up for you.

Personally I think January in the northern hemisphere ought to be a “nap three times a day” month and this should be compulsory with possibly a complimentary cabana boy/girl to serve you cocktails or hot chocolate, depending on your state of mind. It should not be    –26 degrees and sudden asthma when you try to take out the garbage.

I welcomed 2011 by baking possibly the best chocolate cake ever produced by a human. It was from an old basic recipe that I’ve tweaked over time and changed to make it my own and although it’s fairly basic, I now have the quantities and ingredients so correct that even NASA would be impressed at my scientific abilities in the kitchen and probably have me work on the next generation of space shuttle technology. It’s moist, chocolatey as all fuck and has a delicate light-chocolate buttercream filling. My cake I mean, not the space shuttle, although granted, that does sound like a step in the right direction.

Screw starting the year with a lettuce eating binge! Start with cake and work your way down, that’s what I say. I like to keep my resolutions real. “Eat cake but eat slightly less cake!” is one of them and “Don’t make resolutions” is my other one, which has the mysterious smell of irony about it.

I also started the year by managing to injure myself in Walmart yesterday. Now I don’t know about you, but almost every time I’m in Walmart I think about hurting myself just to make the experience end, but this time was purely accidental.

You know how they have their exercise equipment on a little platform thing at the back of the store? Well I was in the middle of doing some very scientific research into the resistance level of a stationary bike by pushing the pedals around with my hand, when it (my hand) somehow got wedged between the moving pedal and the body of the bike, crushing the living shit out of it. I don’t even know how this happened, it was like a mystery force just sucked it right in there like it was a 747 engine or something.

The pedal kept trying to turn and my hand kept getting more and more crushed while I tried to summon for help in a ladylike manner, by delicately exclaiming things like “Holy mother of fuck it’s trying to kill me, it’s trying to kill me! I’m very injured and important, please help me, AAAAARGGGGGH!”

Once I managed to finally get free, my hand looked like a Christmas ham after it’s been stomped on by a pissed off Kirstie Alley. There’s a quite impressive black bruise all over the knuckles and some lovely swelling. It looks almost like I’ve been punching the shit out of Snookie for an hour, which coincidentally, is a fantasy of mine.

No guitar or uke playing for me this week. At least I can type, aren’t YOU lucky?

I hope 2011 is starting off in a pleasing manner for you?

Happy 011111011011!

Saturday, January 1st, 2011 - that's a lot of ones, I'm cold, are there no good movies on TV anymore?

Happy new year my little party monkeys! I hope your New Year’s Eve was a hoot and a blast and didn’t involve too much tucking your dress into your panties (especially you boys), dropping burrito crumbs in your cleavage, or bending over random gutters watching your dinner reappear in liquid form. Not that I wish to suggest any of MY celebrations have ever ended this way…

Well, they don’t allow such behaviour at the nunnery.

Me? I was spending New Year’s here in cold-assed Canada, having cramps of the lady variety and feeling grouchy, uncomfortable and like I possibly had some small, rabidly violent, martial-arts-practicing ninjas living inside my boobs. This resulted in my welcoming 2011 by sitting on the couch, scowling and ingesting Kraft cheese slices while watching Toronto and NYC basking in most unseasonal, balmy sweatiness, causing Dick Clark to almost have another stroke.

For those of you wondering why I didn’t go and take my succubus-like sexy talents out on the town to mesmerize the local male population (you can call me “Lost Girl”), it was –24 degrees C. here (minus 11F), thanks for asking. Minus twenty four. Even if you wanted to go out and bounce around festively in the snow, you couldn’t, unless you actually wanted hypothermia and frostbite, in which case, it would have been your lucky night.

I lit some candles and sat there in my pajamas making lame fun of Ryan Seacrest and the vast plethora of boy-bands trying to entertain at new year’s TV extravaganzas. Particularly New Kids on the Block, who are yet to learn the delicious definition of irony. Maybe they should just suck it up and change their name.

“Slightly Creased Kids on the Block” or “40 Year Old Bankers On The Block” are my suggestions.

I didn’t even have a drink. Yes, you heard me correctly. No alcohol passed my lips. No wonder I was grouchy, right? Cramps, Ryan Seacrest, aging boy bands, no cake, copious slobbery close ups of delirious couples kissing and no alcohol. What is this fresh hell?

Today though things are looking up. I had some good coffee and I cooked up this savoury French toast sandwich with fried onions, peppers, spicy tomatoes and melted cheese sandwiched in the middle in a big, sticky, delicious goo. Yeah. It was sexy good.

Other than that, it feels like Sunday. And Lord knows, I hate Sundays. Happy MMXI people!