Hey all.
It's officially September and that means school is starting up again for me shortly. As you've probably noticed my lack of posting this summer, I feel unable to use the "too busy" excuse to explain my slacking. I'm just lazy. My bad.
It seems difficult to believe that this time last summer, I was eagerly describing every off-the-wall morsel of food my family members put into their mouths. But when you start work at 8 am every week day and your awkward sister doesn't wake up until at least noon, you simply don't have the privilege of observing Maddie hunt for "breakfast" in her natural environment.
I still have yogurt and granola nearly every day.
Aside from breakfast related stuff, there are some things that I've learned this summer. These are things that may be of interest to you. Perhaps not, but I'm going to throw them out there anyway. Read on if you're not bored yet.
1. Dead animals don't get "cleaned up" by nature as fast as you'd like. Sometimes they just hang out in the open for you to find. I was the unhappy discoverer of many a post-life furry thing during my summer escapades as a lawn maintenance worker. It ain't cute.
2. It is definitely possible to decapitate a gopher with a large riding mower. Yeeeup. However, some people enjoy this "sport" more than others. Those are usually the people that don't have to scrape underneath the *literally* bloody thing at the end of the day.
3. Always bring bear spray. I did not actually see a bear this summer.. But when you've got my mother's genes and the first thing you see posted at your campsite is a sign that states "BEAR IN AREA", better safe than bear lunch, right? Besides, sometimes those darn squirrels have it coming.
4. It is not possible to wear flip flops around certain people. "Let's climb this! OH LOOK, something to climb! Wait, wait, wait, let's go hike over here! CONQUER ALL THE MOUNTAINS!" - Sound familiar anyone....? ;)
5. Always wear your safety glasses. Line trimming over gravel is dangerous. Grass clumps from scraping large mowers are dangerous. Sticking your head in bushes is dangerous...
6. Sometimes you have to get creative when there's a wasp in the vehicle. You really can't freak out when you're driving down the Henday in a truck and trailer. I tried to remain calm. My coworker beat the crap out of that wasp with the binder in our work truck. Some swearing was necessary to show the little bugger who was boss. We emerged victorious.
7. Always bring a towel...and several changes of clothes. This is mostly applicable to anyone who social dances in the summer. It's hot. It's humid. You're drenched in sweat (that usually isn't all your own). Do yourself a favour. Don't feel the burn (of sweat stinging your eyeballs); don't let that swing-out get out of control with a failed hand grip. KEEP IT DRY, PEOPLE.
8. SPF 100 sunscreen exists. It's glorious. It's basically a solid. Highly recommended by me (a pasty person) to all the rest of you albinos out there.
9. Own more than one pair of sunglasses. Sometimes you sit on a pair, shove it in your purse, whatever. If you buy your shades from Walmart, be sure to have a back up. Or you're gonna have a bad time.
10. Check the weather forecast before planning a firepit party. Whoops.
Profound, eh? I never said it was a particularly enlightened summer for me. But there ya go, hopefully those few pieces of wisdom and experience will help you out next sunny season. Anyway, I'm off to go tan (aka. burn) my pasty legs. Toodles!
Monday, 2 September 2013
Sunday, 16 June 2013
If You Think I'm Awesome, You Should Meet My Dad
Happy Father's Day to all you dads out there! And a special shout-out to my very own special daddy. Thanks for making it possible for this blog to exist!
...And for feeding me, raising me, teaching me things, reading me nightly bedtime stories, doing my hair for dance when mom was working, chauffeuring me around everywhere before you helped me buy my first car, pulling me out of sticky situations, loving me, and not killing me when I carved "I hate zuckini" into the kitchen table. I really appreciate that.
I heard people sharing funny stories about their fathers on the radio the other day which I thought might be fun to do on my blog. Let's see what I think the internet can handle...
Recently, my dad and I have been spending way too much time "Cageing" each other. For anyone who has had the good fortune of never being "Cage'd", this involves hiding a creepy photo of Nicolas Cage in places where we know the other will discover it with the hopes of scaring the bejeezus out of the other person. This whole strange situation started when I came across this photo on my desk in my stats class. Evidently, some bored student in the political science class taking place in that classroom before stats decided their time was better spent printing off pictures of Mr. Cage than learning about whatever the government is up to right now. I doubt they'll ever know how they've affected the relationship between my dad and I. So far, I've found him in my granola box and my bed. Dad has come across Nick in his lunch bag and the cookie box. When that got too tame, father dearest attempted to make me prematurely pissed myself when I found this in my toilet. Yes, INSIDE the toilet. Love you too, dad.
But, we've had some good times, my dad and I. I'll always remember the time he offered to let me walk our 85 pound, ADHD Golden Retriever and then proceeded to chuck a snowball ahead of her knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist chasing it. It was a grand ol' time for young Kate getting dragged on my stomach through the icy back alley in my snowsuit. It was even more of a hilarious time for daddy dearest who couldn't stop laughing long enough to rescue me.
Speaking of which, that alley is actually where dad taught me how to ride a bike. Seeing as this was before it had been repaved, you have to give him props for guiding me up and down that stretch of road that resembled foothills more than something you'd like to drive on. I'm pretty sure I owe him any future back surgery he may need after that one.
He's always been in favour of pushing me into a situation and letting me figure out how to sail through it. Literally. When he took me to the hospital for a sprained ankle, he believed it would be a great idea to give my wheelchair a loving shove down the hallway and just let me ride. "Look! No hands!" was not exactly the most ideal phrase I could have heard at that time...
Now, I'm not trying to paint a reckless portrait of the man who has spent these last 19 years loving me unconditionally. These crazy things we've experienced together are some of my very favourite memories. We laugh together because he passed on his wittily warped sense of humour to me. I'll never watch the Norwegian curling team and their funky pants without thinking of the slightly disastrous plaid bell-bottoms dad and I discovered together on a thrift shop outing. And I won't ever be able to watch an Eskies football game without remembering the guy who taught me how to throw a spiral.
My dad is the greatest and I'm more than grateful that he's mine.
I hope all of you are celebrating the man who brought you into this mad, mad world with something special today! Cook him something crazy for breakfast perhaps? (Mom made crêpes for my father today.)
After all, nothing says "I love you" more than a really really ridiculously good grilled cheese breakfast sandwich!
...And for feeding me, raising me, teaching me things, reading me nightly bedtime stories, doing my hair for dance when mom was working, chauffeuring me around everywhere before you helped me buy my first car, pulling me out of sticky situations, loving me, and not killing me when I carved "I hate zuckini" into the kitchen table. I really appreciate that.
I heard people sharing funny stories about their fathers on the radio the other day which I thought might be fun to do on my blog. Let's see what I think the internet can handle...
Recently, my dad and I have been spending way too much time "Cageing" each other. For anyone who has had the good fortune of never being "Cage'd", this involves hiding a creepy photo of Nicolas Cage in places where we know the other will discover it with the hopes of scaring the bejeezus out of the other person. This whole strange situation started when I came across this photo on my desk in my stats class. Evidently, some bored student in the political science class taking place in that classroom before stats decided their time was better spent printing off pictures of Mr. Cage than learning about whatever the government is up to right now. I doubt they'll ever know how they've affected the relationship between my dad and I. So far, I've found him in my granola box and my bed. Dad has come across Nick in his lunch bag and the cookie box. When that got too tame, father dearest attempted to make me prematurely pissed myself when I found this in my toilet. Yes, INSIDE the toilet. Love you too, dad.
But, we've had some good times, my dad and I. I'll always remember the time he offered to let me walk our 85 pound, ADHD Golden Retriever and then proceeded to chuck a snowball ahead of her knowing that she wouldn't be able to resist chasing it. It was a grand ol' time for young Kate getting dragged on my stomach through the icy back alley in my snowsuit. It was even more of a hilarious time for daddy dearest who couldn't stop laughing long enough to rescue me.
Speaking of which, that alley is actually where dad taught me how to ride a bike. Seeing as this was before it had been repaved, you have to give him props for guiding me up and down that stretch of road that resembled foothills more than something you'd like to drive on. I'm pretty sure I owe him any future back surgery he may need after that one.
He's always been in favour of pushing me into a situation and letting me figure out how to sail through it. Literally. When he took me to the hospital for a sprained ankle, he believed it would be a great idea to give my wheelchair a loving shove down the hallway and just let me ride. "Look! No hands!" was not exactly the most ideal phrase I could have heard at that time...
Now, I'm not trying to paint a reckless portrait of the man who has spent these last 19 years loving me unconditionally. These crazy things we've experienced together are some of my very favourite memories. We laugh together because he passed on his wittily warped sense of humour to me. I'll never watch the Norwegian curling team and their funky pants without thinking of the slightly disastrous plaid bell-bottoms dad and I discovered together on a thrift shop outing. And I won't ever be able to watch an Eskies football game without remembering the guy who taught me how to throw a spiral.
My dad is the greatest and I'm more than grateful that he's mine.
I hope all of you are celebrating the man who brought you into this mad, mad world with something special today! Cook him something crazy for breakfast perhaps? (Mom made crêpes for my father today.)
After all, nothing says "I love you" more than a really really ridiculously good grilled cheese breakfast sandwich!
Sunday, 26 May 2013
Why We Should Be Worried About The General Population
Sometimes, I feel like the world could use a good smack upside the head to knock some sense into the idiots inhabiting it. Nothing abusive... Just something hard enough to beat the stupid out of the worst offenders. At the very least, I should be allowed to lightly face-kick anyone giving me excessive grief at my retail job.
Ah yes, now you see where I'm coming from. Well, anyone who has ever worked in retail or a related customer service position knows what I'm talking about. I've been working in this industry for over 2 years and I've come to the conclusion that all the smart people are hiding. (Actually, they may be dancing. But more on that later.)
Some of the stupidity I've been forced to cheerily deal with just makes me want to cry like Baby WaWa even though I would run the risk of being auto-tuned as a result.
I've had people go through an entire transaction, decide they need something different as I'm handing them their receipt, and proceed to freak out because I have to return whatever the hell they just bought to redo everything. Once, a lady lost her last few marbles on me and called me racist for opening a jewelery case she was looking at to pull out a pair of earrings to show to another customer. While she may have sensed some hostility from me, I can assure everyone that it was only coming as a result of her treatment of me during the preceding 5 minutes of that interaction which she spent rudely barking orders at me before she wandered off to look at our "cheap gold" on her own. Afterwards, she decided to prove to me just how rich she is and how prejudiced I am by buying $400 worth of said gold. She sure showed me..
When people aren't being mean, they're simply stupid and/or assume the person working behind the counter is a brainless loser who does not deserve the simple courtesy of being listened to when buying crap from them.
Example.
Me: "How did you find everything today?"
Customer: "Yes."
Me: ....
Me: "So, I'll just get you to swipe your card on the side of the machine there."
Customer: *Spends 2 minutes trying to jam their card into the chip insert*
Me: "Oh, just swipe. Our chip reader isn't working."
Customer: "But it's a chip card."
Me: "Yes, but our chip reader isn't working."
Customer: *looks confused*
EVERY FREAKING TIME. We even resorted to putting a blank card into all of the machine with "NO CHIP READER" printed on them and people are still trying to jam their cards in tandem style or attempting to pull out the cards to insert their own. I know the average IQ of our population is around 100 but GOSH. I'm pretty sure y'all can read!
Another thing that drives me bonkers is retail discounts. As confusing as they can be for workers, they prove to be simply impossible for the ordinary citizen to comprehend. I know this and I understand more explanation of the ambiguous sign advertisement at the front may be required. However, once I've clearly explained to you what up to 40% off actually means, I would greatly appreciate it if you would not continue to ask why every single item you wish to purchase is 30% off instead of 40%. Also, if you could stop yelling at me for unfair advertising/tiny fine print/misleading deals, I would be so happy. Because obviously, the part-time cashier is responsible for THE ENTIRE COMPANY'S SALE PROMOTIONS.
Also, I am apparently to blame for the layout of West Ed mall judging by the pissy response I received from the lady who freaked out on me for informing her the store she was looking for was on the first level instead of the one she was currently on.
"Well, I just walked all the way up here!"
..."Wait one second while I rearrange the stores for you?"
Seriously.
I've actually got a helpful tidbit for all of you out there since this seems to be something way too many people are still confused about. If you're getting two different discounts on your purchase (ie. 40% off plus 15% off for being a student), this does NOT mean you're getting 55% off. This means that you're getting 40% off of whatever the price is and then we take an extra 15% off of the result.
So if you spent $100, 100 minus 40% is $60 and then 15% off of $60 is $51. You are not taking 55% off of $100 which is $45. That would be too awesome. Got it? Great. Now you're in the minority.
I had to fight with one of my own fellow cashiers about this very issue as I attempted to buy something from work. After spending a whole shift dealing with people just like that..I was at the end of my rope and lost it having to deal with someone from the other side who should have known what he was doing!
Sigh, unfortunately, the stereotypes exist for a reason.
As I briefly mentioned earlier, all the smart people must be dancing, leaving their derpy counterparts in shopping malls to destroy those of us trained to serve with an overly bubbly smile.The overwhelming number of engineers I've met swing or blues dancing cannot be statistically explained by chance. There are several theories as to why dancing has such a draw on these engineers but I'm not sure even they know why they love swinging out so much. Maybe it's the rules, the specific techniques to successfully do each step, the organized social interaction, or the physics behind all the high-momentum movements that's so appealing to these guys. Whatever it is, they sure aren't the ones giving me grief on the sales floor.
Long story short, don't yell at cashiers and hug an engineer.
Also, dance. It might make you smarter.
Ah yes, now you see where I'm coming from. Well, anyone who has ever worked in retail or a related customer service position knows what I'm talking about. I've been working in this industry for over 2 years and I've come to the conclusion that all the smart people are hiding. (Actually, they may be dancing. But more on that later.)
Some of the stupidity I've been forced to cheerily deal with just makes me want to cry like Baby WaWa even though I would run the risk of being auto-tuned as a result.
I've had people go through an entire transaction, decide they need something different as I'm handing them their receipt, and proceed to freak out because I have to return whatever the hell they just bought to redo everything. Once, a lady lost her last few marbles on me and called me racist for opening a jewelery case she was looking at to pull out a pair of earrings to show to another customer. While she may have sensed some hostility from me, I can assure everyone that it was only coming as a result of her treatment of me during the preceding 5 minutes of that interaction which she spent rudely barking orders at me before she wandered off to look at our "cheap gold" on her own. Afterwards, she decided to prove to me just how rich she is and how prejudiced I am by buying $400 worth of said gold. She sure showed me..
When people aren't being mean, they're simply stupid and/or assume the person working behind the counter is a brainless loser who does not deserve the simple courtesy of being listened to when buying crap from them.
Example.
Me: "How did you find everything today?"
Customer: "Yes."
Me: ....
Me: "So, I'll just get you to swipe your card on the side of the machine there."
Customer: *Spends 2 minutes trying to jam their card into the chip insert*
Me: "Oh, just swipe. Our chip reader isn't working."
Customer: "But it's a chip card."
Me: "Yes, but our chip reader isn't working."
Customer: *looks confused*
EVERY FREAKING TIME. We even resorted to putting a blank card into all of the machine with "NO CHIP READER" printed on them and people are still trying to jam their cards in tandem style or attempting to pull out the cards to insert their own. I know the average IQ of our population is around 100 but GOSH. I'm pretty sure y'all can read!
Another thing that drives me bonkers is retail discounts. As confusing as they can be for workers, they prove to be simply impossible for the ordinary citizen to comprehend. I know this and I understand more explanation of the ambiguous sign advertisement at the front may be required. However, once I've clearly explained to you what up to 40% off actually means, I would greatly appreciate it if you would not continue to ask why every single item you wish to purchase is 30% off instead of 40%. Also, if you could stop yelling at me for unfair advertising/tiny fine print/misleading deals, I would be so happy. Because obviously, the part-time cashier is responsible for THE ENTIRE COMPANY'S SALE PROMOTIONS.
Also, I am apparently to blame for the layout of West Ed mall judging by the pissy response I received from the lady who freaked out on me for informing her the store she was looking for was on the first level instead of the one she was currently on.
"Well, I just walked all the way up here!"
..."Wait one second while I rearrange the stores for you?"
Seriously.
I've actually got a helpful tidbit for all of you out there since this seems to be something way too many people are still confused about. If you're getting two different discounts on your purchase (ie. 40% off plus 15% off for being a student), this does NOT mean you're getting 55% off. This means that you're getting 40% off of whatever the price is and then we take an extra 15% off of the result.
So if you spent $100, 100 minus 40% is $60 and then 15% off of $60 is $51. You are not taking 55% off of $100 which is $45. That would be too awesome. Got it? Great. Now you're in the minority.
I had to fight with one of my own fellow cashiers about this very issue as I attempted to buy something from work. After spending a whole shift dealing with people just like that..I was at the end of my rope and lost it having to deal with someone from the other side who should have known what he was doing!
Sigh, unfortunately, the stereotypes exist for a reason.
As I briefly mentioned earlier, all the smart people must be dancing, leaving their derpy counterparts in shopping malls to destroy those of us trained to serve with an overly bubbly smile.The overwhelming number of engineers I've met swing or blues dancing cannot be statistically explained by chance. There are several theories as to why dancing has such a draw on these engineers but I'm not sure even they know why they love swinging out so much. Maybe it's the rules, the specific techniques to successfully do each step, the organized social interaction, or the physics behind all the high-momentum movements that's so appealing to these guys. Whatever it is, they sure aren't the ones giving me grief on the sales floor.
Long story short, don't yell at cashiers and hug an engineer.
Also, dance. It might make you smarter.
Sunday, 5 May 2013
Apparently, I've been slacking on the blog front only according to EVERYONE. So, ta daaa! Voila! Abra Cadabra!...here ya go; I'm writing a new entry.
If only I had some sort of idea as to what to write about...
As I may have already discussed with some of you, there is a limited amount of breakfast material to write about...even when you're living with the crazy people here. Thus, this blog entry becoming something that more closely resembles Creed Thoughts.
Yesterday was my birthday and I spent it swing dancing blindfolded for a Jedi Jack and Jill contest. Because, Star Wars Day. And because I know you're all wondering, there were no casualties. The force was strong with me last night. I mean, I WAS only born on a day that allows people to make the same terrible pun every time they wish me a happy birthday.
The pun is "May the fourth be with you!" for those of you who didn't catch that...
I don't know if I have even mentioned my recent addiction to Lindy Hop and Blues dancing on this blog yet. Just goes to show you how much I've really been neglecting my writing over this past semester...whoops. But it's officially summer for me now so I should have plenty of time to make you people question whether I really should have access to the internet. Luckily (?) for you beautiful people, this is what I plan to spend my time doing when I'm not dancing or stumbling across dead animals.
Oh yes. You know your summer job is glamorous when you're supposed to be pruning rose bushes but must first clean up the freaking rabbit carcass just hanging out in the grass in front of you. The fact that it was likely an unintended rat poison casualty and therefore, inedible to nature's regular clean-up crew only made things slightly less disgusting. It is much easier to pick up a whole dead rabbit as opposed to a mostly-decomposed animal. (For example, the unfortunate bird that spent all winter under a snow pile after it smushed its tiny bird brain on our living room window.) It does not, however, make the situation any less depressing!
Shortly afterwards, I found some bird wings in a parking lot.
Yes, just the wings. How they were still attached as one piece when the rest of the poor fellow had obviously been someone's dinner is a mystery to me. I just threw them into a bag with the pair of pants and matching underwear I had discovered earlier and hoped nobody would come by asking if I had seen their missing trousers...
Someone else found $20.
Every so often I feel like I need to step back and take a look at my life but then I see these types of things and then it makes me believe I must be living in some warped comedy film. If my life was a movie, I would want it to be Napoleon Dynamite with a touch of The Transporter. That way, I could face-kick the crap out of anyone who crushed my pocket tots.
End blog.
If only I had some sort of idea as to what to write about...
As I may have already discussed with some of you, there is a limited amount of breakfast material to write about...even when you're living with the crazy people here. Thus, this blog entry becoming something that more closely resembles Creed Thoughts.
Yesterday was my birthday and I spent it swing dancing blindfolded for a Jedi Jack and Jill contest. Because, Star Wars Day. And because I know you're all wondering, there were no casualties. The force was strong with me last night. I mean, I WAS only born on a day that allows people to make the same terrible pun every time they wish me a happy birthday.
The pun is "May the fourth be with you!" for those of you who didn't catch that...
I don't know if I have even mentioned my recent addiction to Lindy Hop and Blues dancing on this blog yet. Just goes to show you how much I've really been neglecting my writing over this past semester...whoops. But it's officially summer for me now so I should have plenty of time to make you people question whether I really should have access to the internet. Luckily (?) for you beautiful people, this is what I plan to spend my time doing when I'm not dancing or stumbling across dead animals.
Oh yes. You know your summer job is glamorous when you're supposed to be pruning rose bushes but must first clean up the freaking rabbit carcass just hanging out in the grass in front of you. The fact that it was likely an unintended rat poison casualty and therefore, inedible to nature's regular clean-up crew only made things slightly less disgusting. It is much easier to pick up a whole dead rabbit as opposed to a mostly-decomposed animal. (For example, the unfortunate bird that spent all winter under a snow pile after it smushed its tiny bird brain on our living room window.) It does not, however, make the situation any less depressing!
Shortly afterwards, I found some bird wings in a parking lot.
Yes, just the wings. How they were still attached as one piece when the rest of the poor fellow had obviously been someone's dinner is a mystery to me. I just threw them into a bag with the pair of pants and matching underwear I had discovered earlier and hoped nobody would come by asking if I had seen their missing trousers...
Someone else found $20.
Every so often I feel like I need to step back and take a look at my life but then I see these types of things and then it makes me believe I must be living in some warped comedy film. If my life was a movie, I would want it to be Napoleon Dynamite with a touch of The Transporter. That way, I could face-kick the crap out of anyone who crushed my pocket tots.
End blog.
Tuesday, 12 February 2013
Happy birthday, Mama!
Happy birthday to a fantastic lady! And seeing as it is her special day, today's blog is dedicated to my lovely mother. It's the least I can do. After all, she did kinda give birth to me and then raise my weird little self. Technically, this blog wouldn't exist if it wasn't for mother dearest.
What a shame that would be...
I could not ask for a better mom. Mine has provided me with so much love, support and therapy that so many people just don't receive enough of. I'm truly grateful and appreciative even if I'm not always entirely sure how to express that. (Hence, this blog.) For all the times you didn't murder me when I deserved it and calmed me down from stress-induced hysteria, this one's for you, Mama! I love you more than Maddie loves grilled cheese for breakfast.
If anyone deserves a day off, it's mother. And here in the Dawson house, we take birthdays seriously. One does not "do things" on one's birthday unless it involves eating copious amounts of cake and shredding gift wrap. Unless of course, you feel like dancing or partying like a wild thaang. It's your birthday and you get to do whatever the heck you bloody well feel like doing.
She's already got the presents out of the way and the chocolate mint beet cake I baked is just patiently waiting to be iced for its special debut later tonight. However, we're crossing our fingers over here that it doesn't turn into a lava cake since SOMEONE got a little over enthusiastic with the blender and may have neglected to properly drain the beets before pulverizing them with the spinning metal blades of doom. Oops.
If it doesn't turn out, I'm sure Dwight will still eat it.
We've got reservations lined up for a fancy French restaurant tonight and I know I'm getting pretty stoked for some escargot and crêpes. Yum! Maddie will probably have grilled cheese. Sorry, un sandwich au fromage grillé. Whatever dad orders will inevitably end with "avec beaucoup de fromage".
I'm tempted to wear my beret.
Anyway, until tonight, I hope your day is filled with relaxation and joy, mom! Best wishes for this next year of living. I hope it consists of many fulfilling breakfasts and love!
What a shame that would be...
I could not ask for a better mom. Mine has provided me with so much love, support and therapy that so many people just don't receive enough of. I'm truly grateful and appreciative even if I'm not always entirely sure how to express that. (Hence, this blog.) For all the times you didn't murder me when I deserved it and calmed me down from stress-induced hysteria, this one's for you, Mama! I love you more than Maddie loves grilled cheese for breakfast.
If anyone deserves a day off, it's mother. And here in the Dawson house, we take birthdays seriously. One does not "do things" on one's birthday unless it involves eating copious amounts of cake and shredding gift wrap. Unless of course, you feel like dancing or partying like a wild thaang. It's your birthday and you get to do whatever the heck you bloody well feel like doing.
She's already got the presents out of the way and the chocolate mint beet cake I baked is just patiently waiting to be iced for its special debut later tonight. However, we're crossing our fingers over here that it doesn't turn into a lava cake since SOMEONE got a little over enthusiastic with the blender and may have neglected to properly drain the beets before pulverizing them with the spinning metal blades of doom. Oops.
If it doesn't turn out, I'm sure Dwight will still eat it.
We've got reservations lined up for a fancy French restaurant tonight and I know I'm getting pretty stoked for some escargot and crêpes. Yum! Maddie will probably have grilled cheese. Sorry, un sandwich au fromage grillé. Whatever dad orders will inevitably end with "avec beaucoup de fromage".
I'm tempted to wear my beret.
Anyway, until tonight, I hope your day is filled with relaxation and joy, mom! Best wishes for this next year of living. I hope it consists of many fulfilling breakfasts and love!
Sunday, 3 February 2013
The Best Sandwich Ever
I thought I'd take a break from smashing the paper tray around in the *^%%$%^%&* printer and do a quick blog update because, well, I'm tired of trying to pretend that I am capable of operating any sort of printing device. Bloody things just suck. Let's leave it at that.
Maddie ate the best sandwich of her life today. Her words, not mine. Apparently, it was awesome. I'm gonna step in and take some credit right since the left over roast beef and cheese idea was, in fact, mine. She had spent a good few minutes wandering around the kitchen becoming increasingly frustrated at the lack of sandwich meat in the house before I finally chimed in with that gem of a suggestion. (Yeah, yeah. Humility, shumility...)
Her shrug of approval quickly turned into some whole wheat slices (she probably used the last of the white bread for her last grilled cheese sandwich) getting popped into the toaster. The breakfast magician quickly created her masterpiece and then proceeded to happily scarf it down.
As she explained very quickly and very excitedly to me later, she had placed left over roast beef and some cheese in her sandwich which she then threw in the microwave for a few minutes until it was nicely melty and deliciously non-soggy because she had toasted the bread first like the genius she is.
It was a successful breakfast for Maddie.
The sandwich actually sounded so good, I almost felt as though my yogurt and granola was inadequate. That kid should sell this stuff. I swear, she'd make a killing.
Anyway, I'm off to do some more printer smashing. TOODLES.
Maddie ate the best sandwich of her life today. Her words, not mine. Apparently, it was awesome. I'm gonna step in and take some credit right since the left over roast beef and cheese idea was, in fact, mine. She had spent a good few minutes wandering around the kitchen becoming increasingly frustrated at the lack of sandwich meat in the house before I finally chimed in with that gem of a suggestion. (Yeah, yeah. Humility, shumility...)
Her shrug of approval quickly turned into some whole wheat slices (she probably used the last of the white bread for her last grilled cheese sandwich) getting popped into the toaster. The breakfast magician quickly created her masterpiece and then proceeded to happily scarf it down.
As she explained very quickly and very excitedly to me later, she had placed left over roast beef and some cheese in her sandwich which she then threw in the microwave for a few minutes until it was nicely melty and deliciously non-soggy because she had toasted the bread first like the genius she is.
It was a successful breakfast for Maddie.
The sandwich actually sounded so good, I almost felt as though my yogurt and granola was inadequate. That kid should sell this stuff. I swear, she'd make a killing.
Anyway, I'm off to do some more printer smashing. TOODLES.
Thursday, 24 January 2013
Happy birthday, Maddie!
Today is a special day. In fact, it is the birthday of the inspiration behind this very odd blog. Today, my little sister turns seventeen years old. (Yeeup, feeling pretty old right about now.) It's pretty tough to believe the munchkin only has one year left of enjoying the lack of responsibility that comes with being a minor. (Committing crimes just isn't as much fun when you know you'll get charged as an adult).
I'm sure you're all peeing yourselves with anticipation to know just how she began her last year of underage breakfast-eating. Try to control your bladders, people. She didn't even make herself a breakfast today.
Nope, she didn't create a morning food masterpiece because I took care of going to that trouble for her. I actually made her a grilled cheese sandwich. Although I will probably never be able to create something as special as her "really good grilled cheese", she did give it the Maddie Dawson thumbs-up of approval. The fact that she didn't have to make the sandwich herself probably made it taste that much better.
Any semi-regular follower of this blog will know that I typically would not have participated in this sort of breakfast shenanigan, but one has gotta make an exception for a crazy little sister on her special day, right? Besides, I still ate my regular yogurt and granola while she munched away on her cheesilicious sammy. There's only so much routine I can disregard at a time.
Anyway, happy birthday to Maddie! Let's hope this next year of her life consists of deliciously strange morning meals full of melted cheese and happiness.
Om nom nom...
I'm sure you're all peeing yourselves with anticipation to know just how she began her last year of underage breakfast-eating. Try to control your bladders, people. She didn't even make herself a breakfast today.
Nope, she didn't create a morning food masterpiece because I took care of going to that trouble for her. I actually made her a grilled cheese sandwich. Although I will probably never be able to create something as special as her "really good grilled cheese", she did give it the Maddie Dawson thumbs-up of approval. The fact that she didn't have to make the sandwich herself probably made it taste that much better.
Any semi-regular follower of this blog will know that I typically would not have participated in this sort of breakfast shenanigan, but one has gotta make an exception for a crazy little sister on her special day, right? Besides, I still ate my regular yogurt and granola while she munched away on her cheesilicious sammy. There's only so much routine I can disregard at a time.
Anyway, happy birthday to Maddie! Let's hope this next year of her life consists of deliciously strange morning meals full of melted cheese and happiness.
Om nom nom...
Friday, 4 January 2013
Cats.
It has been a while since my last post and with me house sitting away from the fam jam, there has been no breakfast material to write about.
There is however, lots I can write about cats.
The cats I'm taking care of currently are actually pretty normal kitties, if the definition of "normal" is "FLIPPIN' INSANE". I had to deal with cat hurl on the first night after one of them decided to eat the ribbon off of a Christmas present for my Secret Santa recipient at work. There was a foot-long turd waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs when I returned from spending Christmas/Boxing day at home. They think it's funny to flip their water bowls when they're bored and to rub against my legs after I put on lotion. In fact, one of them is trying to eat my hair as I write this blog.
Usually, he only does this ALL THE TIME.
These furballs are lucky I love cats so much. I'm considering this trying time as my training for my future as a crazy cat lady.
I'm definitely halfway to "crazy" already.
And as nutso as these animals are, I can see their value. This house gets cold and having two 20 pound chunks of body heat curled up on your chest can really warm you up. The extra effort I've got to put forth just to breathe is quite the work out.
Unfortunately, that's all I can write at the moment. I have to go intervene with the cat that is currently trying to make use of his body weight to break into his food tub. Sigh.
There is however, lots I can write about cats.
The cats I'm taking care of currently are actually pretty normal kitties, if the definition of "normal" is "FLIPPIN' INSANE". I had to deal with cat hurl on the first night after one of them decided to eat the ribbon off of a Christmas present for my Secret Santa recipient at work. There was a foot-long turd waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs when I returned from spending Christmas/Boxing day at home. They think it's funny to flip their water bowls when they're bored and to rub against my legs after I put on lotion. In fact, one of them is trying to eat my hair as I write this blog.
Usually, he only does this ALL THE TIME.
These furballs are lucky I love cats so much. I'm considering this trying time as my training for my future as a crazy cat lady.
I'm definitely halfway to "crazy" already.
And as nutso as these animals are, I can see their value. This house gets cold and having two 20 pound chunks of body heat curled up on your chest can really warm you up. The extra effort I've got to put forth just to breathe is quite the work out.
Unfortunately, that's all I can write at the moment. I have to go intervene with the cat that is currently trying to make use of his body weight to break into his food tub. Sigh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)