moonrubbercup
me: Is your fly undone?
pedxing:I saved it for last. Doing up your fly is the dessert of getting dressed!
I want it. Buy me?
I (well, we, actually... Jay got home in the midst and lent a hand) made stuffing last night, as I didn't have any on thanksgiving, and really used to love the lumpy stuff. For my first time, vegan or no. I was going for the kind I'm used to from turkey days past, which is the basic bread, celery, onions and sage type. I went with this one because it seemed similar in intent, if a bit more veggie intensive. Added some chopped walnuts, used 1/2 lb of portabello mushrooms as that was all we had on hand, a dash of sea salt, and a heaping teaspoon of sage in place of the poultry seasoning. I also added probably half a cup of extra virgin olive oil when I realized that this recipe didn't call for any fat, unlike most others, because it just seems like something that should be fattening. I don't know about boxed stuffing cubes, so I used a loaf of slightly dry textured, whole wheat and flax bread - selected for the wholesome looking ingredient listing to avoid giving Jay another case of bread rage - which is a whole other story. It turned out fairly decently, and not unlike the stuffing I remember. Good for breakfast, with mushroom gravy over top. I had fun making it to, there's something cathartic about ripping a whole loaf of break to bits, not to mention that I chopped the (super-crazy-strong smelling) onions wearing my ski googles while listening to techno.
Tomorrow, pumpkin pie. Any tips, funkypeaches? You are the vegan pumpkin pie goddess, after all...
I find I enjoy running after buses I need to catch. I have garnered lots of experience in this activity over the years. As of yet, I have not even bothered to learn the schedule of my regular stop; the frequent service lends to it not being a big deal. So, on occasion, I find myself on the wrong side of the street, watching the approach of the lumbering beast. Dashing across through traffic, and then chasing it down give the system a nice little kick of urban adrenaline, something I rather like the feel of. (Perhaps this is a good reason for my lack of current involvement in risky physical activity, I have a modestly addictive personality, not as regards drugs/alcohol/etc, but in the more subtle chemical interactions that various activities and thought patterns produce in my mind and body. And sugar, of course. But I have a sense I might like dangerous situations a little too much, if I let myself.) Those fleeting moments of pure, pushed activity always seem to lighten my mood. Although as a kid I was in long distance in the school's track and field program, I can't imagine myself taking up running or jogging as a sport. For me, the movement has to have spontaneity, and a need. Like when you have to get somewhere and therefore can't miss the bus or can't afford to walk the whole way, or in a good game of capture the flag. Or just running around like a manic in big field, which is something I sorely miss at the moment. There has to be a sense of breaking out, eluding capture, or attempting capture yourself. It's primal, somehow. Running down the prey or fleeing the wolves. The last time I had to bound after the bus, it was a drizzly day and I was carrying an umbrella. Just as it passed me on its way to the stop, I had had the urge to throw my umbrella at it spear like. TTC bus as woolly mammoth? The thought made me smile, the warm blood in my face felt good, and the bus driver laughed at me when I jumped on.
According to a box of Italian rice product I saw at the grocery store, in Italy, pinup style women hand gather grain into baskets while wearing hot pants and thigh high stockings.
I was dreaming this morning that Rage Against The Machine were giving a surprise concert in my house back in Thunder Bay, except I had misplaced them. It seemed I was just about to locate them in some downstairs room, when Jay woke me up by banging his head against the duct sticking out of the bedroom ceiling. (Again. Tall people should really be careful when putting on their pants.) Later I slid down the better portion of our staircase, thanks to the tricky, slightly sloped third stair and my apparently slippery socks. Luckily, nothing more than a bloody toe and some bruises-to-be resulted.
Could I be your girl?
pedxing:I saved it for last. Doing up your fly is the dessert of getting dressed!
I want it. Buy me?
I (well, we, actually... Jay got home in the midst and lent a hand) made stuffing last night, as I didn't have any on thanksgiving, and really used to love the lumpy stuff. For my first time, vegan or no. I was going for the kind I'm used to from turkey days past, which is the basic bread, celery, onions and sage type. I went with this one because it seemed similar in intent, if a bit more veggie intensive. Added some chopped walnuts, used 1/2 lb of portabello mushrooms as that was all we had on hand, a dash of sea salt, and a heaping teaspoon of sage in place of the poultry seasoning. I also added probably half a cup of extra virgin olive oil when I realized that this recipe didn't call for any fat, unlike most others, because it just seems like something that should be fattening. I don't know about boxed stuffing cubes, so I used a loaf of slightly dry textured, whole wheat and flax bread - selected for the wholesome looking ingredient listing to avoid giving Jay another case of bread rage - which is a whole other story. It turned out fairly decently, and not unlike the stuffing I remember. Good for breakfast, with mushroom gravy over top. I had fun making it to, there's something cathartic about ripping a whole loaf of break to bits, not to mention that I chopped the (super-crazy-strong smelling) onions wearing my ski googles while listening to techno.
Tomorrow, pumpkin pie. Any tips, funkypeaches? You are the vegan pumpkin pie goddess, after all...
I find I enjoy running after buses I need to catch. I have garnered lots of experience in this activity over the years. As of yet, I have not even bothered to learn the schedule of my regular stop; the frequent service lends to it not being a big deal. So, on occasion, I find myself on the wrong side of the street, watching the approach of the lumbering beast. Dashing across through traffic, and then chasing it down give the system a nice little kick of urban adrenaline, something I rather like the feel of. (Perhaps this is a good reason for my lack of current involvement in risky physical activity, I have a modestly addictive personality, not as regards drugs/alcohol/etc, but in the more subtle chemical interactions that various activities and thought patterns produce in my mind and body. And sugar, of course. But I have a sense I might like dangerous situations a little too much, if I let myself.) Those fleeting moments of pure, pushed activity always seem to lighten my mood. Although as a kid I was in long distance in the school's track and field program, I can't imagine myself taking up running or jogging as a sport. For me, the movement has to have spontaneity, and a need. Like when you have to get somewhere and therefore can't miss the bus or can't afford to walk the whole way, or in a good game of capture the flag. Or just running around like a manic in big field, which is something I sorely miss at the moment. There has to be a sense of breaking out, eluding capture, or attempting capture yourself. It's primal, somehow. Running down the prey or fleeing the wolves. The last time I had to bound after the bus, it was a drizzly day and I was carrying an umbrella. Just as it passed me on its way to the stop, I had had the urge to throw my umbrella at it spear like. TTC bus as woolly mammoth? The thought made me smile, the warm blood in my face felt good, and the bus driver laughed at me when I jumped on.
According to a box of Italian rice product I saw at the grocery store, in Italy, pinup style women hand gather grain into baskets while wearing hot pants and thigh high stockings.
I was dreaming this morning that Rage Against The Machine were giving a surprise concert in my house back in Thunder Bay, except I had misplaced them. It seemed I was just about to locate them in some downstairs room, when Jay woke me up by banging his head against the duct sticking out of the bedroom ceiling. (Again. Tall people should really be careful when putting on their pants.) Later I slid down the better portion of our staircase, thanks to the tricky, slightly sloped third stair and my apparently slippery socks. Luckily, nothing more than a bloody toe and some bruises-to-be resulted.
Could I be your girl?