Chip Review Time, hosted by your friend JAW Fan

Well, our good ol’ friend Mr. President’s Choice has released two new flavours of chips: Ranch Chipotle and Jamaican Jerk Chicken. And, naturally, this Potato Mad Daddy had to sample both (at an event where B52s were featured…not the New Wave band, but that delicious blend of Bailey’s and Tia Maria in a shooter format) Fortunately, the sampling of these snacks took place prior to inebriation, so I can honestly tell you that this review is not tainted with any of that mumbo-jumbo Mother Alcohol may have to offer.

Ranch Chipotle…Did they make me feel like a Mexican Cowboy with a lasso in hand, prepared to rope the first stallion stud that walked my way? No, of course not..but then who needs a chip for that? Best way to sum them up would be “Cool BBQ”…pleasant to the palette and not overpowering. I’ve never really been a big fan of Ranch chips (sorry, Nanuk) but, thanks to the added kick here, these managed to make the horse in my hacienda hop with happiness.

As for the Jamaican Jerk Chicken…well, I can honestly say that I have never tasted a potato chip like this one. Is that a good thing? I don’t know. What I do know is that I couldn’t stop eating them…even though the odd mixture of hot spice and simulated chicken flavour left me wondering just what the hell kind of freaky chemical mixture did they put into their seasoning. Still, I would eat them again in a second. Were they truly delicious? No. Just curiously different. What can they be compared to? Beats the f**k outta me!

As for the wang-o-meter…it was up, it was down, it was spinning all around, it was flashing, it was blinking, not quite sure what it was thinking. My best advice to y’all is to sample these on your own. If you want to play it safe? Go with the Ranch Chipotle. If you want to try a new experience? Go for the Jamaican Jerk Chicken. If you want to get your hands on my wang-o-meter? Found out the hard way that all it takes is three beers and four B52s.

La Petite Vie

On the weekend, FF was trying to decide whether he should pursue a more serious relationship with the Hippie Witch. This was one of those long, rambling talks that 20-somethings love to indulge in. At one point, he says: "I dunno. I don't think I'm ready to live with someone else right now."

So I gave him a look. Apparently he doesn't realize where he is living or that there is another person living here, i.e. moi.

"What?" he says, then laughs. "Oh, I don't live here". So he doesn't live here. Who knew? Sure seemed like it to me. He says he doesn't "live" here because he could pack up his stuff and be gone in one night, so that's not living here. I get it. Then he says: "this is a....what's the word...a pied-a-terre".

I was ready to put my pied in his backside.

In other news, on Saturday morning, he insisted on teaching me some basic self-defense. He's been bugging me about this for a while now. I relented, and we adopted face-to-face positions and he taught me to throw a punch. (He started learning martial arts at the age of 3.) Apparently, one day in the future when some goon attempts to steal my purse, I will be happy that FF has taught me to punch the guy in the throat. Being a total wimp and a spazz, I did not want to even try this. But I did it anyway. He was happy that I tried.

Now I can punch him in the throat. :)

Domestic shocker

So I'm on my computer, and I see a file for FF's CV. I open it (because I'm nosey and, hey, it's on MY computer). It's a well-designed CV, but there's only one problem: It's got MY home address on it. Yikes!

He's never leaving? Is he?

In other non-news: Fuck this fucking rain! .....fuck.

Domestic news

This morning, FF dragged himself out of bed and announced that he believes the reason he is depressed lately is because he needs his own place. I am amazed he came to this realization on his own. He says he's been feeling uncomfortable living in someone else's home. Really?

I'm glad he's come to this decision on his own and that I don't have to be gently suggesting that he leave soon. Now that he has opened the door to this subject, I'll be in a position to suggest he be out by July, without looking like I'm tossing him.

His old apartment was $600/month; I am charging him only $200/month. So, we both agree, he should have an extra $400 for each of the two months he's been with me. But he doesn't. He's broke. He spent the money on expensive food, expensive wine, stuff for the Hippy Witch, giving some money to a friend, etc., etc. Funny how money just disappears when you aren't good with it.

I can't help him out in any other way. He needs to go.

Happy 70th Birthday to Bob

Bob Dylan is 70 today and doesn't look a day over 75.

Bob continues to work hard every day. I guess he believes the key to a long life is to never stop working. Never slow down. I do not subscribe to this theory, however. I'm barely putt-putting along at 50. So Bob puts me to shame.

I should've taken the day off to celebrate and honour him.

The long weekend rolls on

The sun rose and set today, just like it's supposed to. That is comforting, no?

In other news, FF just called at 10:00 p.m. He won't be home tonight, he's sleeping at a friend's place.
Pause.
Me: "It's not the witch, is it?"
Pause.
Me: "Just say yes or no."
FF: "Maybe. Don't judge me!!!"
Perhaps she has put a boomerang spell on him. *sigh*

In Kumar news, he hasn't changed a bit. When I told him that I do not allow Fancy Feast to bring women home, he said that that was a violation of FF's basic human rights. I said, oh yeah, let him take me to the Human Rights Commission.

I'm glad these two characters did not meet. Imagine the two of them ganging up on me. sheesh.

Hmm, the world is still here

Rapture begins at 6:00 p.m. only. This would explain why the world seems the same today as yesterday. To my untrained eye, at least.

In other news, wow, I MUST be psychic. The Big Romance is Off again. Did I not predict this within the past 24 hours? How did I have such insight? *eye roll* And this time, I am told, it is really over. Riiiight.

In other news, it appears I may get a visit tomorrow from The One, The Only...Kumar. Haven't seen him in a year, but he's in town for the long end-of-the-world weekend. So I'll see him tomorrow, assuming neither of us gets swept up in the Rapture at 6:00 tonight. And neither of us will. Guaranteed.

Today in weight gain news

You know you are ordering from Chalet too often when the delivery man forms a bond of friendship with your black cat.

The guy was practically rolling around on the porch with Blackie last night.

I give up

I can't keep up with the on-again-off-again-on-again relationship between FF and Crazy Witchie Poo.

Apparently, it's on again. He went to her place yesterday and she apologized for her erratic behaviour of the past few days, and so everything is well. Riiiight, think I. Whatever.

On the positive front, this means I have the house to myself tonight. A great start to the long end-of-the-world weekend.

Last night, FF listed a number of things about Witchie Poo that he would like to change. This can't be a great start, right? I said, you can't change people. She will resent it. Don't even go there. But being an arrogant young man his argument is that the things he wants to change about her are "for her own good". Oh good luck with that, sonny.

I suspect that by the end of the long end-of-the-world weekend, this relationship will be off again.

2 days until the end of the world

Is everyone ready for the end of the world? Only two more days to go. The world is officially ending on May 21. So, I've decided I'm not doing the dishes tonight or tomorrow night. Take that, world!

FF is very happy about the world ending on Saturday because he is scheduled to go back to work on Sunday. So he gets to see the end of the world without going back to the office. "Sweet", he said.

I'm going to forget about my weight and eat a LOT of chips until the end of the world. What's the harm? Hopefully I will still be light enough to get Raptured up into Heaven. I don't know if I will see Jesus when I get there, but I am really hoping that Albert, the angel from the cream cheese commercials, is there to welcome me into his heavenly manly embrace.

A little touch of Arnie in the Night

Ex-governor, Schwarzenegger,
Found a woman, and he did make her
Have a baby…then keep it secret
For many years, no one did leak it
Then the dolt done told his wife
And made a scandal of his life
Lovely Maria then dumped his ass
And told him that he had no class
So, to avoid ending up in a similar mess
The lesson to be learned here I guess,
Unless children you want to be sirin’
Instead of gals, just pump iron.

--JAW Fan (of course)

Spoke too soon

Looks like I'm not getting rid of FF any time in the near future. Turns out that Hippie Chick is not an eccentric weirdo in a good way, but a genuine "CRAZY WEIRDO". I'd suspected for a while that there was something not right in the head about this girl, but I kept somewhat quiet about it because I've never met her and FF insisted she was just "out there". Like he is.

Did I mention she says she's a witch?

Anyway, it seems she has some kind of schizo bi-polar condition that she is not being treated for. To quote FF "That explains A LOT". I opined that it seems rather harsh to just dump her as a friend because she's mentally ill. He gave me a look and said: "Do I need that?" And considering all the anxieties and depressions etc etc that he has dealt with in his own life, I had to agree that no, he didn't need that at all.

So what did he do after this eventful day? Put on his headphones, clicked on YouTube and watched three episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation in a row. I asked: "This is how you're dealing with it?" He said: "I'm a guy. It's what we do."

Tonight's menu: Beef stew.

*Sigh*

It's mid-May so why do I have to write the following?

I'M TIRED OF BEING COLD!

Where is Spring?

Back to Kraft Dinner?

It appears Fancy Feast's stay with me is coming to an end. Hippie Chick can't afford to pay her rent, so I strongly suspect FF will grasp this opportunity to be a hero by moving in, sharing expenses thus saving her from being evicted. Not that he has said this, but I'm betting that is where he is headed before her June rent becomes due.

This is too bad because the marinaded steak he made last night was really tasty. I suppose I can learn to cook these kinds of things for myself...I suppose. But it's just so much easier if someone else does it.

Another Sunday

No garlic lemon chicken last night. FF had to head out. He is currently in pursuit of a hippie chick from St. Henri. She is a genuine hippie as in she does not own a phone, or have a computer, so if he wants to see her he has to go over to her place and see if she’s home. So he took off mid-afternoon, and I decided to make chicken curry all on my own.

He came home at 6:00, hippie chick was AWOL. According to her low-life friends, she left her place, is staying with a friend somewhere, but isn’t talking to anyone. I asked him why he is wasting time on this strange person, and he said “I’m a weirdo, and she’s a weirdo, but in a good way.” Whatever.

Back to the food: so he ate MY curried chicken and gave it a thumbs up. He liked my cooking? It’s like Freaky Friday. Then we drank some beer, then he asked if he could smoke a joint. I don’t want him smoking in the house and he had completely given it up when he moved in last month. But he said because he had been on vacation in the country where there is nothing to do but fish, hike and get high, he and his pal had bought a bag of pot and he had a little bit left and he wasn’t going to waste it by throwing it out. So I said, go ahead. Then he said, why don’t you smoke it with me? And I said, yeah, okay, because I’m 50 now and I don’t care about anything anymore. So I had a few puffs but I still don’t understand how to inhale.

Then he entirely re-arranged the living room furniture to his liking. I let him. Why not? I think I like the change. Then I washed the dishes and he fell asleep on the newly positioned living room couch. It’s like we’ve been married for 10 years.

The Return of FF

Fancy Feast is back from the Capital. A week early.

You know what this means?

Garlic lemon chicken for supper. Yay!

(I remain at my Highest Weight Ever...)

Dive Bars and Bagels

Talking to the Tall Teacher the other night about (in)famous dive bars of Montreal. He's too young to remember O'Leary's when it was O'Leary's Irish Heaven but when I referred to it as Spurs, he said Oh Yeah! The least Irish Irish heaven bar on earth.

Then I mentioned the worst of the worst: Bar Diana. There was a pause. I clarified: on St. Catherine near Fort. Long Pause. "The Eskimo Bar?" he asked.
I said I believed the politically correct term was "the bar full of drunken Natives". His response: OMG!

He then told me about his most recent visit to Maz (or as he put it, "you call it Ma Heller's, it's a generational thing"). He was at a table with friends when the woman sitting alone at the next table slid off her chair and onto the floor. He said he looked around and said to the staff "can someone help her?" I asked "you didn't try to help her yourself?" HELL NO, he said.

So he left Maz and crossed over to D.A.D.s Bagels (where MsMushroom purchased 6 and 1/2 dozen bagels a few months ago, thus depleting their stock) and the toothless woman who faceplanted at Maz followed him in and tried to pick him up.

And this is why NDG is a high-class neighbourhood.

Modern Love

BGTSmoothie in his endless quest to find a new girlfriend has been chatting (and rather explicitly I might add, being an old lady and thus by definition prudish by young folks’ standards, or so I am told) with a new girl. He has not met her yet, but he knows she weighs over 300 lbs. He weighs about 250 lbs. Here is our conversation:

S: It’s not the weight that bothers me, it’s her attitude.
Me: You’re just saying that to pretend that it’s not the weight when you know the problem really is the weight.
S: NO! It’s her attitude. I suggested we should go to the gym together and encourage each other to lose weight, but she isn’t interested.
Me: Seems like a good idea to me.
S: See? That’s what I mean about her attitude being the problem and not the weight. She says she can’t lose weight and so she doesn’t even want to try.
Me: But I have the same problem, and you don’t reject me.
S: What?
Me: I hate being fat, I complain about it constantly and yet I do nothing about it. And you don’t reject me because of it.
S: But you don’t weigh 320.
Me: A-HA! So I AM right, it is the weight and not the attitude. Just admit it’s the weight.
S: You don’t weigh 320. The weight wouldn’t be a problem if she had a better attitude.
Me: But it is the weight.
(Pause)
Me: (joke) You’ll have to be on top.
S: Yes, we’ve already discussed that.
Me: Oh come on. You haven’t even met her yet.
S: I actually suggested something. I don’t know if this is offensive or not, but I suggested it.
Me: What?
S: I said we shouldn’t have sex until we’ve each lost 20 lbs.
(Pause)
Me: (surprising myself) I think that’s a great idea. It certainly would be motivating. I’m all for that idea.
S: Really?
Me: Yeah. I would take a deal like that with someone new.
S: Wow. Thanks for agreeing!
(Conversation ends on a happy note.)

Another quote

from an Englishman this time:

"The notion that money can't buy you happiness is a myth put about by rich people who are afraid that the poor will murder them in their beds." -- Michael Caine

Why am I on some kind of class warfare theme today? I don't know...but perhaps it has to do with the fact that I now live in the Province of Jack. Workers of the world unite. Or, in my case, people who show up at the office but don't actually do much work, unite!

And speaking of Michael Caine, I love this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFIQIpC5_wY

Let's talk about America

Two quotes: one about America by a famous American, and one about an American by an anonymous poster on Wonkette.

1. "Socialism never took root in America because the poor see themselves not as an exploited proletariat but as temporarily embarrassed millionaires." -- John Steinbeck.

2. "Donald Trump is as American as egregious litigation and fucking over your friends for a profit. Also, apple pie." --Wonkette commenter.

Rite of Spring No. 2

Just finished mowing the back lawn for the first time in 2011. It's so green and smells lovely. And Blackie is the only cat I've known that is not afraid of the mower so he sat on the picnic table keeping me company.

CPN also worked on his lawn. But screw him, who cares? Incidentally, CPN's name has changed, at least for the duration of Fancy Feast's stay with me. He renamed him FAN. As in, your FAN is outside.

FAN stands for (obviously) Fucking Asshole Neighbour.

Crude but accurate.

The Rite of Spring

It's 14 degrees out and sunny, so you know what that means? Everybody is outside. (And, yes, Mushrooms, many people are smoking...)

But you know what? It's really windy. So 14 degrees and wind is really not that warm out. But try convincing Montrealers of that.

Collective lunacy here.

OBL Inc.

I watched a feature on the hunt for bin Laden last night. It raised one question. Since 1996 there have been teams of investigators, military, researchers, etc., whose only job was to find and kill Osama. Since 2001, the number of teams was even higher. For 10 years, hundreds of people were employed just to find this fellow.

What are all these people going to do now that he's dead? Will unemployment numbers spike? Were all these people immediately laid off last week because their jobs are obsolete? "For 10 years, I hunted Osama, now I'm bagging groceries."

Yeah, there are other bad guys out there, but Osama was a once-in-a-lifetime, large than life villain. I mean, look at his image: the height, the beard, the robes, the caves, the eyes, the multiple wives. He was summer blockbuster material. There isn't going to be another like him for a long time.

Maybe it's like Trudeau. With the father dead, we all have to wait patiently for years before one of the sons is ready to step into the spotlight.

Happy Muddah's Day

I woke up this morning when Mr. D. began stomping on the pillow and pawing my head. This is subtle feline code for "I want my breakfast".

It was quite sunny and I thought it must been quite late, so I got out of bed quickly, looked at the clock and saw that it was only 7:10. There's nothing like being up and about at 7:10 on a Sunday morning.

I look around the house and see a hundred things that need to be done. How long will I go before I think "screw this" and take a nap instead?

Guilty

Yes, I am guilty. Guilty of missing the Kentucky Derby.

I am not worthy to walk the hallowed poop-strewn pathways of Churchill Downs, Saratoga or any other great American track.

Apologies to Mrs. Anon for being away. And what was I doing? What is my excuse? I went to see Thor. Yes, I saw a summer blockbuster. Me. It was dumb, dumb, dumb. But the guy who played Thor is surprisingly likable (but not my type).

And I have a sinking feeling I'll probably see Fast Five next weekend. What has become of me?

Pension countdown

We got our annual statements today, the ones where they show you cannot possibly afford to retire in the foreseeable future. But I knew that.

There's a calculator function which indicates I can survive on the pension I would get at 60, so I don't have to go to the bitter end at 62. That chops off 2 years, but it's still 10 long years in the hell hole.

I can't leave at 55 without the help of Loto Quebec.

I think I will run the numbers for retiring at 59. If I can chop another year off, having come to work today will have been worthwhile.

Joke

I went to a reading by David Sedaris last night. He was very funny, and he told a lot of off-colour jokes. I could not stop laughing at this one:

Q. What are the words you least want to hear while blowing Willie Nelson?
A. I'm not Willie Nelson.

Rain, rain, go away

I'm serious.

Go away, rain. I'm sick of you.

Enuf already.

The election result we REALLY want to know

How did our sweet lovin' man David Andrew do? Was his love alive? Or was he all out of love? He was made for loving us, baby.

According to the latest results, 207 voters felt the love for David Andrew. He did better than the Marxist-Leninist candidate. She got only 131 votes. No love for her.

Down with Marxism, up with Davidism. Feel the love.

Post-Election

Quebec is orange. That is so weird. I guess we will be hearing a lot of Jack’s mangled street French for the next few years.

Jack can have his massages in Stornoway now. That’s classier than Chinatown.

The fundamentalists out West are now going to demand their due. I’m too old to be barefoot and pregnant.

The next time JAW Fan sees Duceppe at the SAQ in his wrinkled linen trousers, he should offer to buy him a bottle of wine, seeing as how he is now unemployed.

Elizabeth May won her seat. Our only Green. Congratulations to her.

What will happen to Rex Murphy when the CBC disappears? And Evan Solomon? Who will adopt Evan?

Conservative Majority Govt

Goodbye reproductive rights. It was nice having you.
Goodbye gay marriage.
Goodbye 21st Century.
Hello Dark Ages.

Two letters

1. Dear Amazon.ca Tracking Stalker,
Thank you for your email of this morning, advising me of the opportunity to purchase Martin Amis's most recent novel for 28% off the retail price. You may wish to note that since 9/11 Mr. Amis has become a ranting, paranoid, anti-muslim crank, and therefore my interest in his work has diminished significantly.
Yours truly,
NOTN

2. Dear Smarty,
Now that bin Laden is dead, are you going to regain your senses?
Yours most sincerely,
NOTN

Sunday morning in NDG

(Author's note: I'm kind of on strike today. After a morning staff meeting wherein my boss repeated that she is here for another year and 3 months, I feel completely deflated and unable to function. Thus, I blog.)

Scene: The living room. I am on the couch, FF is in the recliner. We are drinking coffee. (Domestic bliss. LOL!)

FF: How do you feel about getting a daybed?
Me: Why?
FF: To replace the futon.
Me: Why? I like the futon.
FF: The futon hurts my back.
Me: You seem to be sleeping fine on it.
FF: It's okay, but it's starting to hurt my back. Daybeds are nice and more comfortable.
[At this point, I wanted to call MsMushrooms for her opinion on the comfort level of the futon and any back pain she may have suffered while here.]
Me: I'm not buying a daybed.
FF: I'll pay for it.
Me: But you're only here for a couple of months.
[Raised eyebrows from FF. And those raised eyebrows said many, many more words than anything else could've. He thinks he's here for longer than a couple of months.]
FF: Yes. But I'm still ready to buy it.
Me: Fine. But you have to take it to Ottawa with you when you go.
FF: No. You can throw out the futon and keep the daybed.
Me: But I don't want to throw out the futon. I like the futon. We'll move it upstairs.
FF: Okay. But you can still keep the daybed. I'm not paying to move it to Ottawa. That'll cost more than the daybed.
Me: It's up to you. But I'm not buying a daybed.
FF: Hand me the laptop. I'm googling daybeds.
Me: Go ahead. You'll be over this in an hour.
FF: That's true. I do move onto other things pretty quick. What's daybed in French?
Me: I have no idea.
FF: Wow. IKEA's daybeds are really ugly.

Sunday afternoon in NDG

I am now free to regain control of my domicile as Fancy Feast is off to the National Capital Region for 3 weeks vacation. Yesterday, as a parting gift, he suggested reprising the rib eye steak from heaven with garlic mashed potatoes that he had made on Thursday. I happily agreed to this plan.

He was scheduled to take the 2:00 p.m. bus to Ottawa but seeing that he didn't start marinating the steaks until 1:30, I knew that plan had flown way out of the window into the next riding.

Seems it is impossible to make a beer-based marinade without actually consuming beer at the same time. My father would've agreed with this methodology. He bought 3 cans of Rickard's Red. 1/2 a can for the marinade, 1 1/2 cans for him and 1 can for me. I didn't want one so that's 2 1/2 cans for him. Then came the scotch.

He generously poured some Johnny Walker Red into the bowl of soy sauce, beer and steak spice.

Me: Whoa. That's more than a measure of scotch. You never actually measure anything.
FF: No. It's all measured by eye.
Me: !!
FF: How about doing shots?
Me: Are you crazy? It's 1:30 on Sunday afternoon. I'm not doing shots.
FF: Why not?
Me: I'm old and I can't drink. I'm not doing shots.
FF: Live a little.
(He starts to put the bottle away.) (I decide to live a little.)
Me: Umm...okay. Let's do one.
FF: YAAAAY! (Gets two shot glasses. Pours. "Cheers". We drink.)
Aside: Johnny Walker Red is the cheapest and there's a reason it is cheap. It's not very smooth. I can feel it searing my insides.
FF: Whoa. This stuff is rough.
Me: My lungs are burning.
(Pause)
Me: Let's have another.
FF: GREAT! (Pours another. "Cheers" We drink.)
Me: That's enough.
FF: You're such a cheap drunk.
He continues cooking while I sit and watch.
Me: My legs are numb.
FF: HaHaHaHaHa. Open the wine. (We had red wine to accompany the steaks.)

After lunch, we both needed a nap. I slept for 1/2 hour, FF slept for 2 hours.

What I learned:
When you live with a 20-something, you start living like a 20-something. This cannot be good in the long term.

The steak was very good again, but the high point was the mushrooms which were also cooked in the marinade. I could've eaten them forever. Now for three weeks, it's back to culinary reality.

Thanks a lot, USA

So, Obama, you just had to go ahead and kill bin Laden on the eve of our big election? Buzzkill.

This news is so big, I may go the whole election day without hearing one reference to Jack Layton in a massage parlour.

Election Fever

Here is my candidate of choice. Go David! This guy is a legitimate candidate running as an independent. Do you want your M.P. to love you? Then vote David.


Who says Canadian politics is boring? Weirdo.