Katie Doyle, Girl About Town

Friday, Feb. 21, 2003 - 12:38 a.m.

So, after catching up on my CuppaJoe and Sundry reading this evening, I feel really bitchy for calling Peter about leaving his pile of trash in the post office. I still think that was pretty damn rude of the guy, but what if he was having a crappy day, and then I called, and even though I wasn't all mean of tone and all that, it was still fairly bitchy to do, and I would hate to think maybe Peter wishes he'd been 5 minutes later too, cause that would just not be good for anyone. Even a slovely loser who leaves his crap behind for other people to dispose of. Still, and I realize this sounds kind of petty and all to those of you who get to go thru your days all cushed and relaxed and stuff, but I am a really conscientious person, and frankly, it bugs the living fucking daylights out of me when people are irresponsible twits and just figure someone else can clean it up or fix it. I find that attitude extremely disrespectful and selfish. And every once in a great while - like every 10 years or so - I feel compelled to call someone on his shit. Peter just happened to luck out and be the guy this decade.

Nosy Katie Doyle googlers: 4

Michael Jackson maintains his slim lead over Catwoman in the search for plastic surgery, plus, someone has an interest in Mike dressed as a girl. Hm. In addition to that, somone is looking for plastic surgeons in Nice, France. I guess if you insist on having plastic sugery, France is as good a place as any to recover...

Laci Peterson webcam? What kind of bizarro are you?

Who the hell is Tushy Girl, and why is someone in Japan fascinated by her?

Pervs: 3

Favorite Search of the Day: cussing+in+Spanish

Oddest Search of the Day: "medical records"+"decoder ring"

And for the person googling "Besides, have you tried running in one of these things? It's a real bitch," the quote is from The Pirate Movie, a really cheesy film from 1982 that starred Kristy McNichol and Christopher Atkins and used to be my favorite movie of all time, for it's sheer ridiculousness. I've seen it way too many times to tell you how many. Let's just say it's fairly embarrassing. :)

If this keeps up, I'm going to employ sanctions
Have I mentioned lately the annoying little gnats flying rampantly unfettered and way too aggressively for their own good thru this stupid house? It's getting to be pretty unbelievably irritating, because I have made non-aggression pacts with every spider in the place, which consequently led to the freeloading little slackers going out to all their spider friends and telling them what a cush gig they've got here, which in turn led to an influx of the damn things, and while I have honored my end of the pact, those 8-legged bastards haven't done a single solitary thing about the fricking gnats. *I* have killed more of the fucking things than the damn spiders have, and there is a spider in damn near every corner of the house. Except for the small black ones that are really fast and jump, because I'm sorry, but non-aggression pact or not, those damn things freak me out and can not be trusted. Seriously, they're like the Osama bin Ladins of the spider world. Have you ever been attacked by one of 'em? It is seriously scary, man. I do not recommend it. And I was in the shower when it happened. NOT COOL. ::shudder:: But I digress. Here I am, minding my own business, letting every spider in the house enjoy a free ride, and today, I got all wound up in a web one of them had spun out of invisible thread, from floor to ceiling. Yech. It was unbelievably sticky; how in hell is it I still have like a billion freaking gnats in here? How, I ask you, HOW? If those spiders don't start pullin' their weight real quick, all deals are off. Non-aggression pact or not, I have a very big broom, and it has all yer little arachnid names written all over it. Warsaw this, you jerks.

Speaking of unprovoked arachnid attacks, I found out last week The Boyfriend is afraid of spiders.

Here, all this time, I have been making him come into the house to dispose of the damn things, and he's been afraid of them the entire time. Which just makes me love him more, because once when he was at the office late at night, one of those speed-jumpers was in the bedroom, and it was really big, and I had to nab it myself, and TB always catches them in cups, so that's what I did, and I could feel the damn thing all pissed off and jumping against the sides of the cup, and that, coupled with the scratchy sound its vicious black hairy legs made on the plastic of the cup, really Freaked. Me. Out.

And he does it on a fairly regular basis, yet I never knew until last week that he's totally freaked out by the things.

Isn't that cool? He must love me, huh? :)

Quinoat?
So, for dinner, I made this stuff called quinoa, which is pronounced keen-wah (or kee-no-uh) and is a seed which is really high in protein and which, supposedly, you can use just like rice. So I went on the web and looked up a recipe that sounded totally yummy, then I went to the store and bought onion and tomato and celery and asparagus, and I came back home, and I spent an hour making this quinoa recipe.

What was I thinking?

First, the recipe said, you have to roast the quinoa until it pops.

That's it. No "over medium heat," or "till it begins to make a popping noise," or "until all the seeds have popped," or "until it pops and turns a lovely red-gold color," oh NOOO. Why? Because that would have been clear and *easy*. No, this is quinoa, the mystery seed that only those who know the Secret of the Quinoa shall be able to make. So I, who have never made quinoa in my life, though I have eaten it and found it to be quite yummy, I am stuck with a pan full of rinsed, wet, clumpy quinoa, trying to figure out exactly what "until it pops" means.

Apparently, it doesn't mean what I thought it meant.

Because the house still smells like a singed coffee pot, and the dish totally tasted like very wet, mushy, charred wood. And pretty much only that, despite the copious amounts of hot pepper oil and curry used in its preparation.

::sigh:: Apparently, while I am a helluva cook with some things, and an absolute whiz-bang with all things pasta, I can not venture outside my tiny little sphere of cooking knowledge in the slightest. Because every time I do, we end up with a dismal culinary failure of epic proportions. And I feel really guilty, because The Boyfriend will inevitably say it's not that bad and not only finish his, but actually have *seconds*, and that's just too much to watch, when you happen to know the dish in question is really totally inedible. Bless his heart, he really is a good guy.

And I have learned to stay away from all things Ethiopian, some things Indian, and perhaps all things quinoa. I have one more thing to try before I chuck in the towel and toss the rest of the stuff away. Pray. Pray very hard.

Peace out,
Katie

0 comments so far

Oh, I love you. I'll always love you. Come what may.

Come what may? We'll all be murdered in our beds, come what may.

*HUGS* TOTAL! give katiedoyle more *HUGS*
Get hugs of your own

Yesterday's News - Next Stop

In which Katie shares sad news - Wednesday, Apr. 01, 2015
In which Katie returns after a very long absence - Monday, Jun. 25, 2012
In which Katie pokes her head in and brushes some of the cobwebs away - Thursday, May. 06, 2010
In which Katie asks you to write your congressman again. - Monday, Jun. 02, 2008
In which Katie asks you to please click the link and send the message to protect the rights of artists - Wednesday, May. 21, 2008