Lucky Strike

Yesterday, for the first time in my life, a bird pooped on me. I choose to believe this is good luck rather than just smelly and I thusly choose to directly attribute to the bird poop that half an hour later I found a NEW KIND OF CHIPS by Kettle. Jalapeno with tequila and lime. I quite enjoy their slightly smoky flavour. Saint Aardvark ate one and made a face; further proof that the bird poop LOVES me. No need to enforce the “Don’t Touch My Chips” rule with this bag; huzzah!

There is something deeply satisfying about going into a health food store and buying a big bag of chips and 2 litres of “Death By Chocolate” ice cream (which contains: chocolate covered almonds, chocolate truffles and chocolate chips in a dark chocolate ice cream. True. I did not die when I ate it but I came perilously close to le petit mort, if you must know. Dastardly internet, forcing me to be truthful.)

4-day weekends are fabulous but I spent way too much time testing the squishiness of my ass and peeling my sunburn. It’s impossible to stop now that I have started peeling. Partly it’s the feeling of constantly striving for a better piece of skin to peel. Partly it’s that I want to wear short sleeved shirts and not look like I’m flik-flaking away.

But I made a nice flaky pastry and put butter tart goop in it and it turned out all right. I found the pastry recipe on the internet and only later realized that it’s a vegan pastry recipe. (Much nicer than those pastry recipes that call for cow blood and ground up chicken nails.) If you’re interested in doing your pastry backwards (both my mother and Saint Aardvark expressed downright dismay at this) go here and check it out. Add more salt than it calls for.

Here is a song I wrote a few months ago that never got posted. I had bought a burrito from Steamrollers. But sometimes they’re just too big to eat all at once and that’s what this song is about. Thank you.

I started eating at
One o’clock
But I couldn’t finish all of
My burrito!
I was gettin’ full of it
So full of it
So back into the fridge went
My burrito!
Now it’s midnight, and
I’m so hungry
Oh, you know I can’t get it soon enough
And now I’m heating up
My, my, my, my, my
Woo!

I spent some time yesterday reading insightful articles at Respectful of Otters. Nothing like other peoples’ well-thought-out commentary on current events to make you wanna type out the song about the burrito and talk about the flaky pie crust you made. Ooh, ooh, maybe I should write about my catt!

Sweet internet. I want to hug you so hard but you’re pushing me away. Was it the garlic? The wine-stained teeth? Are you trying to tell me in your typical inobtrusive way that I don’t belong here? Is it like Eminem and 50 Cent? Like the Bee Gees and their youngest brother, Andy?

This amused me somewhat. Until I checked out the other “articles” on the site and realized that it clearly wasn’t such a stretch for the guy who wrote it and it’s kind of a frat-land, low-budget “Maxim” or “For Him Magazine” online type-o-dealy. Then it wasn’t so funny.

(Today is brought to you by the hyphen – toilet-scrubber [as in, one who scrubs your toilets, not one of those sponges on a stick so you don’t get your antibacterialed hands dirty] of the English language!)

To balance the big balls, here are some big ovaries.