Okay.
So we went to Target tonight for some last minute back to school shopping. The kidlet needed all sorts of stuff, several of which seemed to be sold out, but whatever, we got the basics.
Walking back to the car, from a distance, I notice a puddle who's origin appears to be beneath our truck. Oh shit, not again I think, remembering when our coolant system failed and dumped a puddle of green on the asphalt not so long ago.
So we get closer, we examine, trying to stay calm.
The liquid is:
Watery
Yellowish
Coming from somewhere underneath the car
Not just a droplet or two
Totally and utterly confused, because its neither the color nor consistancy of coolant, we decide to try to start the car. It runs fine, no warning lights, no nothing.
Ooooooooo kay.
So we drive to Taco Hell to grab a quick dinner (which I opted out of), thinking it would be a good test to see if theres actually anything wrong with the car.
After parking, I get out, and start to investigate again. There are no leaks. There is no puddle forming. Not even a drop of oil.
Ooooooooo kay.
So I start to stand up, and in the process come eye level with the back wall of our front wheel well.
Which happens to be wet.
And just like that, it clicked. I knew exactly what was wrong with the car, and I started laughing.
When the BF came back from getting take out, I decided to inform him.
"Well," I said, "we have just experienced one of the most disgusting car problems ever."
"What?" he said.
--- Dramatic Pause ---
"Someone peed in our wheel well."
Yup yup. That watery clear yellowish liquid dripping from the car was none other than the urination of the person who pulled out of the spot next to us just as I was looking under the car the first time.
I hate where I live. I really, really do.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Friday, August 24, 2007
Quirk #12
I am a total foodie.
I mean this in the good sense of the word, not that I'm a food snob -- although, I think maybe I AM a food snob... Um. Okay, yes, I'm a food snob. But I have full right to be. I went to culinary school. I know how to cook like a 5 star chef. I invent my own recipes, and they're actually restaurant worthy. I'm familiar with an incalculable number of types of cuisines -- not just what they should taste like, but how to cook them as well.
To me, good food can be better than the most amazing sex you could ever dream of, and I'm happy with that. Of course, this all means that I weigh a bit more than I should... Meh. Who gives a crap. Its not like I weigh 3 metric tonnes or anything.
So last night, after searching for a new apartment, we're driving through this village in the berkeley hills (yes, it really is a village), and we pass by this little bistro that looks charming. I'd been there for lunch before, but not for dinner, so I figure we should try out their dinner menu.
To my surprise, what during lunch time is a charming cafe with reasonable prices and a simple menu, becomes at night a 5 star french californian cuisine restaurant with a prix fixe menu that you have to know a fair amount about food and the french language to decipher.
Personally, I was in heaven the moment I saw that.
I was above heaven the moment I saw that they make their own pate (I can't figure out how to make the little accent thingies, so that looks wrong... ).
So we ordered a 3 course meal. And yes, it was actual courses. Like really. Complete with the table being reset between the entree' and dessert.
The pate was amazing. They used sage in it, and I've never tasted a better pate in my life.
I had the pacific halibut, which was served over a rice pilaf and topped with wilted escarole and shallots, garnished with a baked fig. The whole thing was surrounded by just the perfect amount of a butter and lemon sauce, which I HAVE to figure out how to make.
The BF got a roast chicken leg roulade, again over rice pilaf, topped with wilted spinach and shallots.
I ate too much. I ate way too much. But because it was all cooked to perfection, and from the freshest local ingredients (many of them organic apparently), I did not feel weighed down at all. Which was a good thing, mind you, because we hadn't had dessert yet.
Dessert was classically french. An artisan cheese platter made up of locally made goat and cow's milk cheeses that I cannot for the life of me remember the names of (probably because I couldn't have pronounced them without tying my tongue in a knot). They were small, and amazing, and one was crusted with ash, another was crusted with grape leaves, and the third was just a normal white crust, and it came with a little bunch of champagne grapes... AH.
We didn't order any wine... We should have though. That would have just made the evening beyond perfect. As it was though, it was better than sex, and I have never been happier with a restaurant in my life. I took their card so we could make reservations for the next time we want to go there. Turns out that we were insanely lucky to get a table without a reservation as they were, other than our one table, booked solid. I mean, turning people away at the door booked solid.
Not that I'm surprised. It was $100 well spent (yup. Dinner for 2, $100 USD. You read it right), and I don't regret one single penny. In fact, I kind of wish we'd spent more, as it would have meant more amazing food.
Am I using the word "amazing" often enough? LOL.
I mean this in the good sense of the word, not that I'm a food snob -- although, I think maybe I AM a food snob... Um. Okay, yes, I'm a food snob. But I have full right to be. I went to culinary school. I know how to cook like a 5 star chef. I invent my own recipes, and they're actually restaurant worthy. I'm familiar with an incalculable number of types of cuisines -- not just what they should taste like, but how to cook them as well.
To me, good food can be better than the most amazing sex you could ever dream of, and I'm happy with that. Of course, this all means that I weigh a bit more than I should... Meh. Who gives a crap. Its not like I weigh 3 metric tonnes or anything.
So last night, after searching for a new apartment, we're driving through this village in the berkeley hills (yes, it really is a village), and we pass by this little bistro that looks charming. I'd been there for lunch before, but not for dinner, so I figure we should try out their dinner menu.
To my surprise, what during lunch time is a charming cafe with reasonable prices and a simple menu, becomes at night a 5 star french californian cuisine restaurant with a prix fixe menu that you have to know a fair amount about food and the french language to decipher.
Personally, I was in heaven the moment I saw that.
I was above heaven the moment I saw that they make their own pate (I can't figure out how to make the little accent thingies, so that looks wrong... ).
So we ordered a 3 course meal. And yes, it was actual courses. Like really. Complete with the table being reset between the entree' and dessert.
The pate was amazing. They used sage in it, and I've never tasted a better pate in my life.
I had the pacific halibut, which was served over a rice pilaf and topped with wilted escarole and shallots, garnished with a baked fig. The whole thing was surrounded by just the perfect amount of a butter and lemon sauce, which I HAVE to figure out how to make.
The BF got a roast chicken leg roulade, again over rice pilaf, topped with wilted spinach and shallots.
I ate too much. I ate way too much. But because it was all cooked to perfection, and from the freshest local ingredients (many of them organic apparently), I did not feel weighed down at all. Which was a good thing, mind you, because we hadn't had dessert yet.
Dessert was classically french. An artisan cheese platter made up of locally made goat and cow's milk cheeses that I cannot for the life of me remember the names of (probably because I couldn't have pronounced them without tying my tongue in a knot). They were small, and amazing, and one was crusted with ash, another was crusted with grape leaves, and the third was just a normal white crust, and it came with a little bunch of champagne grapes... AH.
We didn't order any wine... We should have though. That would have just made the evening beyond perfect. As it was though, it was better than sex, and I have never been happier with a restaurant in my life. I took their card so we could make reservations for the next time we want to go there. Turns out that we were insanely lucky to get a table without a reservation as they were, other than our one table, booked solid. I mean, turning people away at the door booked solid.
Not that I'm surprised. It was $100 well spent (yup. Dinner for 2, $100 USD. You read it right), and I don't regret one single penny. In fact, I kind of wish we'd spent more, as it would have meant more amazing food.
Am I using the word "amazing" often enough? LOL.
You Know You Play Too Much WoW...
When you not only understand, but find things like this hilarious.
You also know you play too much WoW, when you enjoy things like these.
And for the record... Last night the BF and I went out for an absolutely amazing dinner (which I will probably critique for you all later), and we found our selves asking "why on earth doesn't Stormspire have a fine dining restaurant?"
You also know you play too much WoW, when you enjoy things like these.
And for the record... Last night the BF and I went out for an absolutely amazing dinner (which I will probably critique for you all later), and we found our selves asking "why on earth doesn't Stormspire have a fine dining restaurant?"
Friday, August 17, 2007
Quirk #11
I hate door to door salesman types.
I know they don't do that much anymore, but Comcast Cable has this really horrible practice of knocking on every door of an apartment complex that they have even one customer in, trying to recruit the rest of us.
My normal response to this activity while I'm at home is to politely tell them to fuck off, as I have satellite which is about 100 times better, and 100 times cheaper as well. In fact, the last guy who banged on my door (and I do mean BANGED) didn't even get me to open the door.
BANG BANG BANG
Me: Who is it?
Him: Comcast Cable.
Me: Go to hell. I have satellite. If you knock on my door again, I'm calling the cops.
Seriously. I said that. I'm assuming he ran away, as there was no further conversation... Of course, I doubt I would have noticed, as I walked away from the door after that. =D
So, I thought I had escaped the hordes of Comcast salesmen and women with not so idle threats. I was, regrettably, dead wrong.
This afternoon, I took the elevator down to the street level to have a bit of a break (read: to smoke, and read whilst smoking). So I find myself a spot to sit and relax, but notice theres a group of people standing around with clip boards, khaki pants, and polo shirts with a logo on them. Well fine, its a college campus, they're probably just recruiting for something, and they won't bother me since I'm smoking, and everyone hates people who smoke, right? *sigh* Wrong. Apparently Comcast salesmen are not deterred by the prospect of second hand smoke.
Chick (obviously looking to make a sale on something): Hi there! Nice day huh?
Me (obviously looking totally uninterested): Yeah, sure.
Chick (pulling out a flyer): Want some ice cream?
Me (looking totally and utterly confused, with "strangers with candy" alarm bots going off in my head): No thank you.
Chick (damned cheery): You sure? I just had a fudgecicle. It was great!
Me (trying not to laugh, but choking on it anyway): Really, no. I don't eat the stuff.
Chick (either getting back into a sales pitch, or hitting on me): So um, you go to school here?
Me (looking at her like shes a complete and total nut case): No. I work here.
Chick (looking crestfallen): Oh.
So she leaves me alone, and I go back to reading. No sooner had the 120th second of her silence ticked by, then a guy in the same stupid uniform walks up to me and says:
Want some ice cream?
I didn't even look up from my book, and said (a bit nastily): No.
The chick then pipes up and says: Oh, I just tried that.
Guy: Oh.
Chick: I think I'll sit here with her (meaning ME)
Guy: Okay. Oh look, students!
My entire break was spent being occasionally spoken to by this chick who obviously wanted to sell me something, but couldn't pluck up the courage to actually go into her spiel about it. Constantly things like "good book?" and "man I'm tired" and any other stupid random chatter she could think of.
I finally got sick of it and fled inside, cursing Comcast and their dreadful marketing tactics for ruining my break =(
For the record, Comcast is evil. Do not succumb to their offers of ice cream. The fine print on those free ice cream flyers says that by accepting said ice cream, you are signing over the rights to the rest of your unborn children, and putting Comcast into your will as the sole heir to your estate and the sole beneficiary of any and all life insurance plans you have, or might have in the future.
I know they don't do that much anymore, but Comcast Cable has this really horrible practice of knocking on every door of an apartment complex that they have even one customer in, trying to recruit the rest of us.
My normal response to this activity while I'm at home is to politely tell them to fuck off, as I have satellite which is about 100 times better, and 100 times cheaper as well. In fact, the last guy who banged on my door (and I do mean BANGED) didn't even get me to open the door.
BANG BANG BANG
Me: Who is it?
Him: Comcast Cable.
Me: Go to hell. I have satellite. If you knock on my door again, I'm calling the cops.
Seriously. I said that. I'm assuming he ran away, as there was no further conversation... Of course, I doubt I would have noticed, as I walked away from the door after that. =D
So, I thought I had escaped the hordes of Comcast salesmen and women with not so idle threats. I was, regrettably, dead wrong.
This afternoon, I took the elevator down to the street level to have a bit of a break (read: to smoke, and read whilst smoking). So I find myself a spot to sit and relax, but notice theres a group of people standing around with clip boards, khaki pants, and polo shirts with a logo on them. Well fine, its a college campus, they're probably just recruiting for something, and they won't bother me since I'm smoking, and everyone hates people who smoke, right? *sigh* Wrong. Apparently Comcast salesmen are not deterred by the prospect of second hand smoke.
Chick (obviously looking to make a sale on something): Hi there! Nice day huh?
Me (obviously looking totally uninterested): Yeah, sure.
Chick (pulling out a flyer): Want some ice cream?
Me (looking totally and utterly confused, with "strangers with candy" alarm bots going off in my head): No thank you.
Chick (damned cheery): You sure? I just had a fudgecicle. It was great!
Me (trying not to laugh, but choking on it anyway): Really, no. I don't eat the stuff.
Chick (either getting back into a sales pitch, or hitting on me): So um, you go to school here?
Me (looking at her like shes a complete and total nut case): No. I work here.
Chick (looking crestfallen): Oh.
So she leaves me alone, and I go back to reading. No sooner had the 120th second of her silence ticked by, then a guy in the same stupid uniform walks up to me and says:
Want some ice cream?
I didn't even look up from my book, and said (a bit nastily): No.
The chick then pipes up and says: Oh, I just tried that.
Guy: Oh.
Chick: I think I'll sit here with her (meaning ME)
Guy: Okay. Oh look, students!
My entire break was spent being occasionally spoken to by this chick who obviously wanted to sell me something, but couldn't pluck up the courage to actually go into her spiel about it. Constantly things like "good book?" and "man I'm tired" and any other stupid random chatter she could think of.
I finally got sick of it and fled inside, cursing Comcast and their dreadful marketing tactics for ruining my break =(
For the record, Comcast is evil. Do not succumb to their offers of ice cream. The fine print on those free ice cream flyers says that by accepting said ice cream, you are signing over the rights to the rest of your unborn children, and putting Comcast into your will as the sole heir to your estate and the sole beneficiary of any and all life insurance plans you have, or might have in the future.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Horses Can't Throw Up
So today I learned an interesting little factoid... Apparently, horses are completely without the ability to upchuck. This is not something I envy, though I know plenty of people who would envy it.
I am ill. I have a fever, I have a headache, I feel dizzy, and if I dare to eat anything I feel queasy for a good few hours afterwards. Supposedly I'm having a toxic reaction to one of the medications that I take. One that I've been on for 2 years without a problem. Although, they have been tweaking my dosage lately, and that might be to blame.
The thing is, I hate feeling queasy. If I'm going to sick up, I'd rather just sick up and get it over with. Nine times out of ten, I feel better afterwards anyway.
But no... Like horses, I seem to be incapable of actually getting THAT sick, so I am doomed to perpetual nausea (either that or starvation). And for the record, I've been this way since Sunday before last, and I'm showing no signs of getting better, despite having been off the offending medications for several days. In fact, I think going off said medications has actually made things worse, because now, on top of the original ailments, I haven't really slept for several days, and I'm now tired and really REALLY grumpy.
And I'm at work.
Bleh.
I am ill. I have a fever, I have a headache, I feel dizzy, and if I dare to eat anything I feel queasy for a good few hours afterwards. Supposedly I'm having a toxic reaction to one of the medications that I take. One that I've been on for 2 years without a problem. Although, they have been tweaking my dosage lately, and that might be to blame.
The thing is, I hate feeling queasy. If I'm going to sick up, I'd rather just sick up and get it over with. Nine times out of ten, I feel better afterwards anyway.
But no... Like horses, I seem to be incapable of actually getting THAT sick, so I am doomed to perpetual nausea (either that or starvation). And for the record, I've been this way since Sunday before last, and I'm showing no signs of getting better, despite having been off the offending medications for several days. In fact, I think going off said medications has actually made things worse, because now, on top of the original ailments, I haven't really slept for several days, and I'm now tired and really REALLY grumpy.
And I'm at work.
Bleh.
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