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Sometime last week, I was reading this post on Freshly Pressed. I was super busy and only managed to glance through it – that was enough. The post included delicious pictures of coconut macaroons and a recipe as well. It looked easy enough but not when you don’t own an oven or have any concept of baking.

If you’ve been reading, you may already know that I’m quite co-dependent and end up enlisting my friends and family to help with my crazy (and often dull) schemes. As I was reading, a friend whose parents are both chefs rang me. Perfect timing!

 

Him: HEY!

Me: I need to make coconut macaroons.

Him: Why?

Me: What do you mean why? I just do.

Him: Umm okay.

 

 

The hesitation was mostly because he knew that he would be doing all the baking and all I’d be doing was looming over him telling him how he was doing it wrong.

Friday arrived – It had been my first day off in three months. Well, almost. I had to pop-in to work for about an hour and travel two to do it. Anyway, I was back soon enough and ready for what I thought would be a couple of hours of baking.

I start by reading the recipe out to my friend. 

I need to digress for a minute. To me, the people who write recipes are the most evil. Every time I read a recipe, it always looks simple and undemanding.

 Of course, this is not true. It is hard to make even the simplest things because words like chop, sauté, julienne – words that fly of the tongue ever so easily, that occupy only the smallest place on a page – take much more time and effort to do than reading them. This is presumably known and even effortless to a person that cooks or bakes regularly. To a person that does not, on the other hand, it may come as a shock to find out that chopping an onion is a near impossible task. I was recently forced to cook and attempted to make a vegetable dish whose recipe included onions.  It took me nearly an hour to do chop one single onion (not well, might I add). Drudgery!

Back to the macaroons! So not only am I an idiot, I suppose I am also not a nice person. My friend was like, “Can you please look up how much a cup is”. I spent several minutes mocking how he thought a cup was a real measure and guess what! It is – 200 grams in fact. Not just the size of whatever cup you have lying around. I have no excuse.

Okay so we get down to it. I have no concept of how many macaroons we’re going to get out of the whole thing but that doesn’t stop me from insisting we double the recipe. I wish people would stop me when I act like this but they don’t.

The instructions provided were lovely and uncomplicated.  After following them, I can tell you that this is what they should have been.

Step 1: Spend an hour grinding almonds with a stone and pestle because the recipe suggests an amount that is too little to go into your grinder. 

Step 2: Attempt to separate the eight egg whites. Allow your friend to do seven. Try one. Drop the yolk into the bowl.

Step 3: Finally see what ONE KILOGRAM of powdered coconut looks like. Realize you have no concept of what a kilo is either and you’ve made a huge mistake.

Step 4: Mix everything together and stir. Cover the entire kitchen with coconut!

Step 5: Transfer the ingredients to the stove. Add another layer of coconut to the kitchen in the process.

Step 6: Be thrown out of the kitchen because the kind of stirring required is not for amateurs. Silently, be relieved.

Step 7: Then spend forever rolling the dough into balls.

Such a good hairday wasted in the kitchen

 

Step 8: Put them into the oven and spend an hour cleaning up the terrible mess you’ve made.

In all, this whole exercise took seven hours and reminded me how much I hate all kitchen related activities. The only thing fun about it was calling them Coco Maca’s all day.  In the hours we were there, my friend’s mother baked FIVE different cakes. No, that is not a typo- she actually baked five different cakes.

I was so tired and unfulfilled by the time they were done, I truly couldn’t have cared less how they turned out – or so I thought. I tasted one and only then  remembered that I absolutely loathe coconut desserts.

I knew that. I’ve known that my whole life. Why then did I choose to spend my first weekday vacation day in three months making a snack I wasn’t going to eat?

Because that's what they looked like on the website

 

Those are ours

As it turns out, no one I know is a fan either. So if any one out there is interested in one kilo of coconut macaroons, you know where to find me.

Sandwich Texts

 Sandwiches – they’re versatile, delicious and easy to make. You can take anything, slap two pieces of bread around it and pass it off as a meal. I love sandwiches!

Yesterday, while I was at coffee with a friend we encountered a rather strange sandwich. I wondered what other kind of strange sandwiches there were. How better to find out than to send a mass text to everyone I know asking what the weirdest sandwich they had ever eaten was ?

Here are some of the responses I received. Most defeated my purpose of finding a stranger sandwich than the one I was looking at. Rather, it only proved the Good Greatsby’s point that my friends are weird and creepy. Also that, not everyone appears to take me too seriously.

 

 

 
 
 
 

 

Finally, here’s the sandwich that I was talking about (the first one). The LGBT!

A lesbian-gay-bisexual-transgendered sandwich? That’s odd!

Okay honestly, it’s a Lettuce – Gouda – Basil – Tomato sandwich which , I don’t know, is vegetarian so it still sounds a little yucky to me.

Usually, it’s my love of air-conditioning and theatre snacks that lead me to the theatre each week. Much more so than my love of films but today was an exception. My original intention was to watch Scream 4. I love the Scream movies. Don’t get me wrong, they are kind of terrible but I loooove to watch them.

I had to watch it but it wasn’t playing anywhere near where I live. I was desperate so a couple of friends agreed to make the trip to a theatre an hour away with me. This was forty-five minutes before the movie was to start.

So we get to theatre just in time for what we thought was when the show was going to start. I walk up to the counter and overjoyed, asked for three tickets to Scream. The guy behind the counter looks up at me (I guess to check if I was disabled) smirks and says “It’s not playing anymore.”

@#$& lying internet! Needless to say in non-symbols, I was pissed.

A show of The Roommate was about to start. Having come all the way, it would have been painful to go back without watching a movie.

A few things you should know right away:

  • I had glanced, only for a second, at the poster before the movie started. I’m still not sure why but I thought it was some kind of collegey romantic comedy.  At second glance, it was very apparent that it wasn’t. Regrettably, I only got the chance to do this after the movie, when it was far too late.

  •  Before Leighton Master appeared, I thought the other girl ( Minka Kelly ) was her. As you can imagine, the actual appearance of the Gossip Girl had me thoroughly confused. It made my brain short circuit a little and that caused me to spend the next fifteen minutes trying to figure out which was which.

 

  • I then spent the next forever minutes reading a synopsis of the movie on my phone. One that even Wikipedia admitted was too long. Why? I get 2GB of internet free on my phone. Despite WordPressing, Facebooking, G-mailing, G-talking, G-walking (oops, got carried away for a second) I can’t even make a dent in it. Thanks to how thorough it was, I had the enjoyable opportunity of telling my friends what was going to happen a second before it happened.

 Luckily, there’s something about the theatre that makes it impossible for me to not enjoy a movie. I usually take a nap. That may be why. For that reason, I wouldn’t be being honest if I said I didn’t like it. Nonetheless, I do have a few questions for the makers.

  • The girl from Vampire Diaries must have been really broke to have accepted a four-second role in this movie. Could they not have given her a bigger part just to help get her back on her feet?

 

  • Was it really necessary for Slacker co-worker to make it to the credits?

 

  • What actually happens when you put a cat in a dryer? I know it died but I would’ve liked to get a clearer picture of how exactly.

 

  • This is a remake of Single White Female right down to the dye job. Wouldn’t it have been better to make it a credited remake rather than trying to pass this off as an original idea?

Still, all in all, it was fun. Any movie that puts you in a place where you’re terrified and laughing at the same time is A-okay in my books!

While last Sunday was fairly uneventful, I did have some pretty entertaining conversations – some had me ROFLMAO-ing (whatever that is) and some just got me plain worried about the kind of people I hang out with.

 

PART 1

 

My friend was telling us about his time on the school magazine. He was in charge of content collection. The school captain had asked that he find something good and put his name to it. I wondered how he got away with it but apparently the Principal did the same thing – go figure.

To this day, no one is sure how it happened or who was responsible but this was the story that was published with his name on it ( from memory, so it might be slightly off but you’ll get the gist ). Note that the school Captain was about 16 years old at the time.

A Day at the Zoo

Today my friends and I went to the zoo. There were cheetahs and leopards and tigers there. We also saw monkeys in cages and tried to feed them bananas which they threw back at us. We visited the hippopotamus pond. The hippo’s mouths were very big. Finally, we arrived at the cage of the King of the Jungle himself – the Lion. As we approached the cage, we noticed that it was unlocked. The lion sprang from the cage. We ran and ran until we got away – far far away from the zoo.

 

The poor chap! He was so upset he tried to resign from his post. As I heard this story, I could just imagine his worst enemy sitting across from his friends somewhere telling the same story. 

PART 2

I’m not sure how this came up (something about cannibalism and a monkey – you don’t want to know) but I was telling my friends about a picture I saw in the newspaper of a 3 month-old foetus that had been thrown from a car into the street.

Me: And they had broken its arms and legs – which were barely even formed.

Weird Friend: Oh it was an aborted foetus?

Other Friend: No the mother was still around it.

Me: What do you mean? What other kind of foetus do you know?

Weird Friend: Uh umm uhh

Me: Seriously. What were you talking about?

Weird Friend: Umm I..it could’ve been from a miscarriage.

Because that would’ve totally made a difference, yes!

PART 3

There was a time in my life when I was pretty sure that barring humans I would probably eat anything that moved. The other day at work some colleagues and I were swapping stories about the strange things we’d eaten. Words like tiger (yes!), beetles, leopard and rabbit were uttered. Today while having a similar conversation with a friend, I told him that having heard the kinds of things that people actually eat, I would now decide what to eat based on how cute the animal was and how many of them there were. Tiger, peacock and rabbits – not on the list! To this he very said, very seriously might I add, “If I find an animal tasty I am always more endeared to them in the wild.”

WTF?

I need to know, does anyone else think this is creepy or is it just me?

 All through the rest of the conversation I kept thinking of him skipping through the forest walking up to deer, saying things like, “Are you Jamaican? Because Ja-maican me crazy!“

I’m not sure any of this is funny anymore- maybe you had to be there.

My First Page

(Okay so it’s my second page but the About page doesn’t count!)

Posting everyday is too hard for me but I promise to have a new beaker up everyday – irrespective of whether there’s a post or not and irrespective of whether it’s funny or not.

Note : The arrow doesn’t exactly point to it so if you’re confused I’m talking about Motivational Beakers

When your life has become terribly dull.

When even the funny stuff isn’t funny enough to post about.

When you spend nine hours – at work – trying to think up a good idea and come up with nothing.

Where do you draw inspiration from ?

Why, Microsoft Paint of course!

And you guys thought I had a post. LOL!

There was a time, a few months ago, when I had not yet succumbed to Facebook; the good old days when I was only privy to the unimportant news of two or three people I had to endure on an all-to-regular basis. Although, the number of “friends” I have racked up is only a two-digit number, in my mind,  I am faced with much more worthless information than any human should receive.

Recently this “news” has begun to include daily updates from people participating in the 30 day song challenge.

I’m not exactly sure what’s challenging about it or if there’s even a prize. The purpose of it is beyond me. Someone tried to explain. I don’t think I was listening.

Like my friends, if you too are unfamiliar with the word CHALLENGE, let me break it down for you.

Not a Challenge: Fitting your dog into a purse.

Actually a Challenge: Fitting your dog into a purse without looking like you have serious mental health issues.

 

Not a Challenge: Watching Notebook and crying.

Actually a Challenge: Watching Notebook.

 

Not a Challenge: Drinking two cups of coffee and three cups of tea in one morning (Me- This morning!).

Actually a Challenge: Being able to see straight after.

 

Not a Challenge: Listening to Lady Gaga’s music.

Actually a Challenge: Listening to Lady Gaga talk.

 

Not a Challenge: Planning to do 200 sit-ups a day.

Actually a Challenge: Doing more than one.

 

Not a Challenge: Calling in Sick to work.

Actually a Challenge: Calling in Fat / Catholic / Uninspired

 

Not a Challenge: Thinking of a song that makes you happy

Actually a Challenge: Remaining happy while reading a song that makes someone else happy without slipping into a murderous rage.

At the very least, I wish they’d change the name:

 

30 Days of Facebook torture for your friends ?

30 Day song thing ?

I don’t know. I’m just throwing stuff out there – along with my facebook account.

Maybe.

Someday.

Soon.

Maybe.

 

 

NOTE:  PLEASE EXCUSE THE TITLE – MY ENGLISH OF YORE IS TERRIBLE BUT I TRY MY BEST.

Although I had an extremely tiring day yesterday, I felt compelled to put something up – so as not to disappoint my giant following of about four readers. I sat down at about 1 a.m and spent an hour writing a post called “Stories from Sunday”, a collection of silly conversations I had yesterday. Just as I was about to publish it, I discovered my internet had just up and died when I wasn’t looking. DRAT!

Since I had spent so much time on it, in a sleep induced stupor to boot, I tried desperately to revive my failed internet. This attempt involved the following steps.

• First, I unplugged the internet wire and plugged it back in. I don’t know what it connects to but I know that it’s for the internet. After doing this five times, I gave up.

• I then attempted to connect through all the browsers available – Opera, Mozilla, Internet Explorer and other things I didn’t know I had. I did this by opening up all the browsers and typing words into the Google toolbar.

Potato

Cat

Ring

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder

This did not work either.

• Turning the monitor on and off several times was my next big idea. I wasn’t entirely sure what this would achieve but by the end of it, I noted it was quite relaxing.

• Then, with renewed enthusiasm, I set out to hit the Connect button 42 times – a task that was neither fun nor useful.

• By this time I had run out of ideas and decided some brisk but dazed walking around the house would help get the ol’ brain-juices flowing. It in fact, did not.

• All the same, I returned moments later to sing “Someone like you” by Adele to the computer. Despite my smashing rendition, the internet was not roused.

• My last and final attempt was to loom over my sleeping brother, crying “Why is the internet torturing me? Help me! Help me! “. Lucky for him, he can sleep through an earthquake, so weeping while trying to drag him out of bed and to the computer was utterly futile. The only thing I got out of the exercise was a few choice words and a view of the back of his head as he turned the other way and fell back asleep within seconds.

At long last, I decided that the post may have been terrible, this was my internet’s way of telling me that I should not inflict such poor writing on my readers. In hindsight, it did have a large portion dedicated to a day at the zoo and a foetus, so at least you know you didn’t miss much!

Moustache

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

A moustache is facial hair grown on the outer surface of the upper lip.

In Western cultures women generally avoid the growth of facial hair; though some are capable, the majority of these women use some form of depilation to remove it.


I am one of the majority of women. The form of depilation I choose is another woman tugging at the hair on my face with a piece of thread. Not having the prospect of, leave alone a “significant other” to please by such an activity, having a hairless upper lip isn’t so exciting for me. On the other hand, the opposition presents an appealing case.

Top 10 Reasons having a Moustache is better than subjecting oneself to new fangled forms of torture.


( Just for you Little Plastic Bags, in ascending order this time )

1. It would camouflage my nose hair should I ever begin to grow any.

2. It’d be a great conversation piece at bars and clubs and such. These are places I never go, but if I had a moustache and I did, it might bring me closer to finding that “someone special”

3. I could achieve my life long dream and run away with the circus – which of course beats the hell out of my current job.

4. I could wear whatever I wanted because seriously, who would look at what I was wearing if I had a moustache?

5. I’ve read that there was a study called something like “Saving and Spending Patterns of Moustached American Men.”

I could do one entitled “ Shaving and Tending Patterns of Moustached Non-American Non-men”. Did someone say Nobel Prize?

6. There are tons of Moustache clubs. Considering I have about four friends, this might be a great way to meet new people.

7. I have somewhat of an addiction to buying things I don’t really need – so masques, conditioners, moisturizer, sprays, jars – I have them all. It’s at the point now where I have several of each item. Imagine how many new things I’d get to buy – shaving razors, moustache wax, moustache nets, moustache brushes, moustache combs and moustache scissors. A whole new world! A whole new world!

8. Moustaches are extremely dignified and therefore, I would be more respected at the office. They’d probably make me the President – just because I looked the part.

9. I would be first pick should they decide to remake Frida – I don’t have the eyebrows yet but I could get there.

10. “Memoirs of a Moustachioed Ma’am” is a better book title than “The Boring Life of My Hairless Face.”

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Despite the fact that I am always late, I plan everything I do right down to the last second. Where another person would hear their alarm in the morning and think 5 more minutes, I think 2 minutes & 45 seconds and I mean it (usually).

However, I feel like everyone I know has an idea of time that is quite different from mine – or to those of the people who make clocks.

My Dear friend

  • Says he’ll call me at 11 on Saturday but always calls by 9. On a Saturday!

Tall (You may remember him from an earlier post)

  • Says he’ll be ready in 15 minutes and then proceeds to watch TV, fall asleep and do other things which do not comprise and are in fact, the polar opposite of getting ready.

My Manager

  • Tells me I have 5 days to do something and is surprised when it’s not done in 3.

My Colleague

  • Says back in a flash and returns an hour later from her afternoon tea-break.

My brother

  • Says he’ll call me back in a minute and never does.

My friend who lives near my office and often comes to my “hood” on the weekend

  • Always says she’ll take 20 minutes to reach my house. In the two years I have commuted to work and fro, I have never – not once – made it in under 30 minutes.

My Aunt

  • Likes to leave an hour before any appointment – even if it’s 10 minutes away at a slow crawl.

Another dear friend

  • Is pretty honest that way. With him it’s always “Let’s get coffee – in 5 hours.” Unfortunately, despite his best efforts, he never arrives in less than 6.

Friday

  • Makes me feel like the last 30 minutes of my work day is 46 hours.

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