like old mother hubbard...

...we've got nothing in the cupboard. or fridge.

exhibit A:



exhibit B:



it's not even like we're poor...just lazy.

(we do have delicious yoohoo though - jealous?)

wisdom of the ancients

"nec morbos nostros nec remedia pati possumus"

-Livy, Ab Urbe Condita, preface 9 (adapted)

he was talking about the flu and green tea. or, at least in my drug-addled state, i'd like to think he was. *shudder*

serena organic blend

i am now a coffee. it's like, my greatest dream realized. and not only am i a coffee, the most perfect of beverages, but i am a starbucks coffee...made delicious with the blood, sweat and tears of oppressed coffee-growers.



i...i have no words to express this joy.

the coffee saga

it has recently come to my attention (and intense embarassment) that one needs to clean one's coffee maker. not just the pot (which i probably do a little more sporadically than i should), but the whole coffee maker. those of you acquainted with me (who, i assume, would be my whole readership...i don't think i've established a japanese fanbase yet) know that i'm rather obsessed with tidiness - i windex my keyboards with cotton swabs, for crying out loud. the necessity of cleaning a kitchen utensil should not have come out of left field (now, i've always wondered, are things just harder to see from left field? why is left field a surprise? hmmmm...).

here is my coffee maker...well, sort of. mine's a little less technologically-advanced. and waaaaaaaaaay dirtier. i couldn't find a good image of a dirty coffee maker online. apparently i'm the only person who might be inspired to photograph, and disseminate, such a thing.



i figure, my home brewed coffee has to be atrocious for a reason. i love coffee. i love coffee more than a lot of people, pets, and...uh...possibly some siblings. my coffee isn't bad for lack of trying. there has to be another factor here.

anyway, so, after some helpful googling, i had my mission. there were some snags, to be sure - who keeps that much white vinegar on hand, really? - but i got the job done:

* vinegar brew #1
* vinegar brew #2
* clean water rinse #1-4

then i scrubbed the hell outta that @#$%er. with a scouring pad. we went hardcore. then, finally, many an hour later, i was ready to brew a fresh pot.

...

and it was @#$%ing atrocious. still. weak, disgusting and just...so...wrong. forced to put my cogitation skills to the test, yet again, i think i've discovered the culprit(s):



this stuff is gross. i think maybe every week i'm going to purchase one less beer, one better bag of coffee. 'cause for the amount of coffee i drink, if i'm going to get an ulcer, i might as well enjoy it.

so, i'll see you next thursday?

it's been awhile since i've blogged here. maybe grad school is curtailing my sense of humour as well as my time. BUT! i've recently come into some free time. this has lately translated into going to a great many bars. this in turn has reminded me why i live inside the bubble of academia, lest i should doubt my life choices. townies are gross.

anyway, my friend laurie and i decided last thursday to go to ceilidh house. i'd already been to the campus bar at two different 'pub night' events, but an evening just isn't complete without some laurie-time. i got to the bar first, and, it being nearly midnight, the place was full of exuberant, inebriated folk singing along to some rough pseudo-irish tunes. but hey, i can get down to 'mary mac' with the best of 'em, so i laid in to wait for my 'date'. laurie got there shortly after, we had some chatting, all was well...

until...DA DA DUUUUUUUH! (that was supposed to be suspenseful music, by the way)

random icky bar guy #1 begins his appoach. cue the displeased grumbling on our part. this guy (who looks uber-rough and about 40) stumbles over to our table, then proceeds to introduce himself and stay awhile. we just stare at blankly. he says he's looking for advice about 'boy-girl problems'. we say we can't help him out...we're lesbians. that's great, he says, he's got a girlfriend, and we look like helpful ladies. so, he spends the next hour spinning yarns about his kid (complete with visuals), his girlfriend (who he's clearly looking to cheat on, excuse the dangling preposition), and his incident with some ice and pins in his hand (he showed us the scars, woohoo!). the thing is though, his stories start to repeat, and this time they're different. allow me an example:

icky bar guy #1: so, you gals remind me of m' sister.
us: oh yeah, that's nice. was she a lesbian too?

(a little later)

icky bar guy #1: so yeah, it's just me and my brother.
us: we thought we reminded you of your sister.
icky bar guy #1: haha, nope, i don't have a sister.
us: why did you say we reminded you of her then?
icky bar guy #1: see, a guy can't show his hand too early. you gotta keep a few back!

did that make any sense to you? 'cause it certainly didn't to us. then he starts going on about how he's giving us the wrong idea about straight men - he wants us to know that guys are okay. in fact, he's a 'very liberal heterosexual man' and then he says he's only sort of hetero. so laurie says, does that mean you're kind of gay? oh no, he says, we're not understanding him. he's just very liberal. o...kay.

now, i'd also like to point out, this whole time we've been maintaining that we're lesbians, on a date, and we live together. this did not stop our icky bar guy #1 from repeatedly fondling my leg, arm, hand...and coat. ewwww. apparently he was very understanding of our lesbianism, being that he's such a liberal heterosexual man. yeah.

the guy falls off his chair a couple times, then spies a pretty waitress. he decides she's making eyes at him, the little tease, and goes outside after her (exunt icky bar guy #1). before the door had even settled in the jamb, another nasty dude sidles up to our table (enter icky bar guy #2). this guy (who is so drunk he can't look at either one of us in the face) tells us he and his friend are having the worst day ever. he lost his girlfriend, his friend lost his job. what a sad tale. they'd like some help - what do we suggest they do?

me: get drunk. drinking kills the pain.
icky bar guy #2: no, we're already drunk.
me: strippers. strippers make guys happy.
icky bar guy #2: no, we're more out-doorsy type guys.
me: well, you're gonna have to walk to get to the strippers.

see, then he leaves, and we're thinking, hooray! but no. he just goes to fetch his idiot friend (enter icky bar guy #3). icky bar guy #3 puts on a fake irish accent and tells us how he just got off the boat, or plane, or whatever today.

laurie: so, i thought you lost your job today?
icky bar guy #3: oh, yeah...my job in ireland.
laurie: just today?
icky bar guy #3: yeah, today. then i flew here.

please make it stop. actually, don't, i haven't laughed this hard in a year. we finally manage to get away from these fellows, make a dash for the door, but wait! icky bar guy #2 follows us out. he wants to give us his number. problem is, he's too drunk to write it down. then he can't decide to whom he should actually give it. he gets freaked out and dashes back inside.

we walk down the block, and lo, we are called again! that's right, icky bar guy #1 is back. he sings us a spanish ditty, then begs us to return next week, since we're such cool gals. uh-huh. we continue down the street. we're just about to get away again, when icky bar guy #2 comes running down the street. he asks if we have cell phones, 'cause he can put his number in our cell phones! we say no, and he gets very forlorn. lips in a pout, head to the ground, toeing the pavement he says:

"well, at least i tried."

that you did, sir. it just might have worked a little better had your fly not been open, your bits and pieces on display for the world to see. i don't think we'll be back on thursday again.

Footie: UPDATE!

call off the search! footie is safe and sound. my kitties were naughty today and left me a surprise under the bed, but in the process of dealing with that, i found my missing footie. i guess it snuck off behind the bed when i dumped the basket two weeks ago.

this day will go down in history. screw jesus...today footie came back from the dead.

CAPTION CONTEST #2

since the last one was so popular (and hilarious pour moi), i give you the next caption contest.

very few people actually look UP while walking around town - and not that i blame you. diverting one's gaze leaves one at the mercy of any number of terrible dangers: pigeons, hobos, born-again christians. but, were you to scan the skies, you'd see this:



really, shoes? why shoes? and they're not just at my apartment. oh no, they're all over town, all tossed over telephone wire or power cables. is this part of some niche sub-culture? hazing ritual? an excuse to get a new pair of converse?

my offering: hamilton's holiday decorating budget hits an all-time low.

CAPTION CONTEST #1: WINNERS!

in keeping with the theme of xmas season, there are two categories of caption contest winners: naughty and nice!

Naughty
#1: Jessica: X-mas party game #324: Who's in my mouth?
#2: Kelly: And here we have Santa demonstrating what he wants for Christmas.
#3: Deevulge: Santa had to pull some tricks out of his sack to avoid going over budget this year...

runner-up: Bailey: "Hey, where my "ho's" at?"

Nice
#1: Maja: "Santa and the elves have decided to change their policy on those who have been naughty, instead of merely crossing you off the list, Santa now has the option to devour your soul."
#2: addicted: LOST....one red mitten,indentical to this one only thumb reversed. REWARD!!!
#3: Steve: Santa Claus says: "Yep, that's definately a party lizard"

runner-up: Sean: Santa meets the Telekenetic Prankster Elf: "Where'd my ice cream cone go?"

to all the winners: expect a grande sumatra in the new year, and thanks for playing!