I Hope I Never Have to Hear Jamie Foxx Sing Like Ray Charles Again

I made a great chicken stir-fry with Udon noodles for dinner then left the family to fend for themselves while I hunkered down to watch the Superbowl for women and gay men.

And yet, like Chinese take-out, I was left still hungry somehow. It was kinda boring, really. Though I applaud their attempt at brushing off the dust of previous telecasts by putting the nominees on stage and delivering some awards in the aisles, I was still struck at how there was that level of superiority and superficiality to it all. And the Oscar goes to Hilary Swank...Annette Bening, get your loser ass off the stage now and find your seat next to your old git husband.

And, eww, did you see Melanie Griffith? Her face was pulled tighter than Saran Wrap over my leftover meatloaf. Does she think that looks normal ? I guess if she's in a room with Cher and Joan Rivers, then, yeah, she's looking just fine.

Didn't Johnny Depp look like a French Buddy Holly? The middle boy wants to have hair like Adam Duritz, the Sideshow Bob singer for Counting Crows. And I don't know why everyone is raving about Cate Blanchett's dress. I mean, it suited her body type and was very elegant in cut but yellow and brown? That's pee-pee and poo-poo colours. Mike Myers had some weird-ass tan.

I thought Kate Winslet looked very lovely, as did Salma Hayek, Halle Berry and that actress who starred in Maria Full of Grace. I liked the waiter look on Usher but not on Spike Lee.

But as my mother says, "Why should I take fashion advice from someone whose favourite article of clothing is a bowling shirt from Goodwill?"

Fake isn't only reserved for their boobs

Reminds Me of My Honeymoon

The husband and I rented Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle last night. Every once in a while, I just need mindless humour and this really fit the bill. It was well worth my valuable time. And if my sister's husband is reading this, you'll love it!

The movie was my choice. When I told the husband that was what I wanted, he replied a little too shocked, "Did you know that's a drug movie?" Puritan.

Visit the Mustard Museum

Are they supposed to look charred?

I had my last cooking class last night and I'm going to miss it. I made a chocolate torte made with eggplant as opposed to pastry. It would have turned out lovely had my helper not burned the eggplant. All my nut crushing with a mortar and pestle for nothing. I could only taste brimstone.

I did enjoy describing the wine, as I always had through the month. Ugh, but we had one that was really gross. The initial smell I thought was chemical; the initial taste was like iodine. After I ate something, I swear it was like drinking blood. Maybe I'm not that big of a lush because I refused to finish it. "Find me another description," the teacher asked me. "Okay," I replied. "It is the Ishtar of wines."

No Amazing Race. No Survivor.

So we've instituted a movie night, but not for kids.

The husband picked up "I (heart) Huckabees" last night. It was okay; a little heavy at times but call me shallow or slow but the resounding thought I have about the movie after another crappy night's sleep? Jason Schwartzman's mole and Jude Law in all his unearthly beauty.

Man, it isn't fair that a guy can be so pretty. The middle child has totally gorgeous eyelashes that no mascara can duplicate. What's with that? And, well, I get a little uneasy when a man has a smaller ass than myself and most of my friends.

But if I wouldn't if he wore a Cheevers-style goalie mask

Strange things happen to me on Tuesdays. I don't know why. I met the husband on a Tuesday and that should say a lot.

Yesterday, I was driving the kids to my daughter's violin lesson but forgot the older kids' karate outfits. I ran into the house, hopped back in the car and was just pulling out of the driveway when this 50ish guy practically throws himself on my car, knocking on my driver's side window.

Dumbass that I am, I rolled down the window.

"Where are you going?" the guy says with a voice that's just like Billy Bob Thornton in Slingblade. He wasn't threatening; instead he asked the question in the same way one would ask, "How's things?"

"Why?" I replied (see? The last vestiges of my former life in a big city).

Nonchalantly, the guy reaches in to the car and puts his wallet on the dashboard. Before I knew it, he's neatly piling all the crap I have on the passenger seat on to the middle spot in the front and sat down.

And then he tells me he needs to go to this address, about five blocks away.

Obviously, the guy was mentally special or whatever is the PC thing to say. I think I've seen him help out around the church a few times. And he really did talk like Slingblade. We chit-chatted about rain and its benefits, all the while, the guy is giving me directions and I keep mentioning, "Only because it's on the way for me." And, within about 90 seconds, he told me, "You can stop the car here" which I did. He took his wallet and left. No parting words. No tip of his toque. And he walked in front of the car to cross the road, not even looking.

"What was THAT all about?" asked the daughter.

"Beats me. But it's nothing I want to see any of you doing." Yeah I'm a good example. Seriously, he was my first hitchhiker, and probably my last, unless I'm commandeered again.

And that will probably happen on a Tuesday.

"Ask him for a triple vodka, and he'll give you one!"

I heard that two of my husband's cousins are getting married this summer; one in June and the other in August.

The husband doubts that we'll be invited. This will sound weird to any of MY cousins reading this but you gotta remember that mangacake families aren't like ours. There are cousins he doesn't even know. No kidding.

And one of these cousins is the one getting married in August. The other I used to write to when she was a little girl who just wanted a pen pal. Now she's a single mother.

But if we are invited to either of these weddings, for fun, I plan to get my husband loaded and watch him do the white man's overbite. Mind you, I've never ever in our 18 years together seen him drunk. But when the guy's limit is one beer...

(Note: I initially had a link to a site that had a man dancing really badly, but found out that other movies on that site were, shall we say, unsuitable. Sorry, y'all).

Found in laundry today: $1.24, a Barbie shoe, and a pink plastic dragonfly.

What's Your Name Again?

I went on a very rare date with my husband yesterday. Usually we just go to a nice restaurant for our anniversary and that's about it for the year. It's not that we don't get along but more that we just don't have the time. Besides, we actually like the kids' company.

It was no big deal, really. We went down to my parents' place (so Mum could babysit) and then went to a megaplex to see The Aviator. We really wanted to see Sideways, since it probably won't come to our small theatre in town, but the screentime didn't gel.

Holy cow. No one told us how long it was. My internal clock felt when 90 minutes was up but anyone could tell there was no end in sight to the movie.

And it was alright. Di Caprio got Howard Hughes's facial features bang-on. Cate Blanchett got Katherine Hepburn's voice but, frankly, never could I disassociate the actor with the character. The husband liked it well enough.

We went to a bookstore after and I seriously thought of buying one of those Japanese manga books but a) I didn't feel like spending $16 on what essentially is a comic book and b) I've got a pile of books I've borrowed that I still have to go through.

Went to both grandmothers' houses (mine and my husband's) on Saturday. Most of my aunts, uncles and cousins were there so that was fun. And, of course, there was a whack load of food. My aunt brought most, in honour of her son's 15th birthday (it was a bit of a party for him, though I'm sure he thought it was kinda uncool hanging out with a bunch of old gits). My grandmother made this totally elaborate ham, stuff hanging from it and on it and out of it and around it. What that woman can do with a hunk of meat, toothpicks and crudité.

We had a nice visit with the other gramma too (read: the kids were good). Too bad she'll have forgotten all about it and summon us to visit again next weekend.

I miss nice theatre architecture

And we run The Sopranos uncut too

I haven't had a good night's sleep since, oh, 1997. It got worse after I got pregnant with the Baby Boy because I kept waking for no apparant reason at 5 am. After he was born, and even now two years later, he STILL wakes up at 5ish.

But today, lucky me, he woke me up at about 3 and I couldn't get back to sleep. So I went downstairs and caught one of my favourite films, Dogma, on CTV. Like all Kevin Smith films, there was lots of swearing and violence. And all kept in the way the director intended.

If I'm not mistaken, at no time of the day would US mainstream networks air a movie such as this. My grandmother once said, "If I don't like what's on TV, I'll turn the channel." My point? It's nice to have that choice.

Oh Canada. First you get uncensored television and next you'll end up with legalized pot and same-sex marriage.

My friend picked up a neat pair of underwear for me. I first noticed the cute hot pink and lime green olive-like polka dots on the bum. Then saw "Cosmopolitan Queen" on the crotch with a cocktail transfer that was actually a bunch of little bubbles. I'm going to go back to the store and get the matching bra! I don't know what the husband will say but he's well aware of my predilection for girlie drinks. As far as the sexiness factor? Puh-leeze. We've been married too long for that nonsense.

I learned early on that lingerie means nothing. "That's nice. Take it off."

Now you know too much.

Anthony Bourdain, am I one of your pirates now?

I had the third of my four classes at "chef school" as my kids call it. Yet again, we made a bunch of really awesome southern Italian recipes that I will probably never make again. Most of the stuff is just waaaay too labour intensive but mmm-mmm good and I'm learning great new techniques. Mind you, it was the second week in a row where we were each served a half onion, this time with a paste made of olives, pistachios, figs and orange. Our chestnut gnocchi was a little doughy because it was made with fresh chestnuts and not chestnut flour. I still took home the leftover batter. I'll see what I can do.

I sliced my finger as I was deboning a shoulder of lamb. I bled like a sunovabitch. Then I stoopidly decided I should zest the orange and get its juice. Um, ouch.

Got home in time to watch the last 30 minutes of Survivor (from the Vancouver feed) and tape it for my friend and fellow cooking school student. I love satellite tv!! Over breakfast, my daughter was waxing poetic about her favourite Survivor contestant, Angie the tattooed and overpierced bartender. Take it from me, you can do whatever you want to your hair; it will grow back. But tattoos are forever.

Cooking science
bandaid collections
Who's your favourite new Survivor?

Time to Listen to Some Billy Bragg

Sound the death knell for the NHL season. Charming Husband had lost interest in hockey months ago but I miss my Saturday nights with Ron McLean tremendously. Or maybe it was just the salt and pepper chips.

If you're asking where I stand on the issue, daughter of a unionist sides with the players. Mostly, I put the blame on Gary Bettman, and all those who had franchised the NHL to kingdom come. Lemme tell you, I've been to the Carolinas and no one there gives a rat's ass about the Hurricanes or any other NHL team. I know my opinion is shared by many. Suck it up and just say "oops." Why penalize others for mismanagement?

Or maybe it's just that Gary Bettman irks me somehow. The guy needs a better PR team; he came across as so insincere at yesterday's press conference. And what was with that head shaking tick? He should get that checked.

Sure, the players are rich but the owners are richer. I made that point just yesterday morning. There's a sweet little girl in Middle Child's nursery school whose father is a defenceman for the Sens. Someone pointed out she was wearing Juicy Couture which retailed about $110 US. I bet the owners' daughters wear clothes just as nice, if not nicer.

Her dad's a really nice guy; her mom is as friendly as it comes. Why shouldn't this guy who goes out there risking serious injury for people's entertainment get his share? The average salary in the NBA is roughly $5 million. No one bats an eye when someone like Jim Carrey can actually command $20 million per film. Besides, this guy has got to be about 30-35, a veritable senior citizen in the NHLPA, where the average salary, I believe, is $1.8 million.

Or maybe the solution can be found by first looking at who is doing the negotiations. It seems to me that there's a lot of bullheaded lawyer testosterone flying around. I wonder if there's a cure.

Yesterday was my Girlie's 7th birthday. She finally got that Barbie cruise ship she's been asking for for the last 2 years. I found it at Winners for a rediculously cheap price.

Dumber Than a Bag of Hammers

So I've created a blog. And what will my charming husband say when he finds out?

"That idea is dumber than a bag of hammers."

Will post cool websites as I find them...if I have the time.

my inspiration