I'm a baking machine!

When some people get depressed, they drink, break shit or sleep with their best friends boyfriend/girlfriend, cry - whatever. What happens when I get depressed?

I bake and/or cook!

I know what you're thinking; sweet! I wanna make you mad then we can have make-up/break-up smex and you can make me awesometastic food!

Yeah, screw you. Not happening.

Essentially since I've moved to this tiny town there isn't a whole hell of a lot to do however I do play music on Tuesdays at the pub up the road and wander aimlessly. Tuesday jam nights are fuckin' awesome. If you ever find yourself stranded in Brandon, Manitoba with an instrument on a Tuesday at 10pm I suggest you take a wander to jam night. You can get obliterated on cheap pints and eat greasy wings and listen to AWESOME MUSIC. Holy, fuck.

I've been spending a ton of time in the grocery store because I've been spending a ton of time watching the food network and I've been stealing their ideas and implementing poor university student twists to them.

The meal I made yesterday was fuckin' awesome. It consisted of homemade baked crispy spicy-as-fawk chicken breasts, brown rice and corn and spices. It literally costs about 7$ to make a MASSIVE plate of this stuff which would run you 25$ in a restaurant. It takes about 20-25 minutes depending on what you have your oven set at and how ghetto your appliances are. I had mine at 350 and the oven isn't a total piece of shit.

I had leftovers of rice so I just wrapped it up in the fridge for tonight.

Lookie! Dish 1:

Tonight, I realized I cooked all the good food and all I was stuck with was the gross frozen pizza in my back of my freezer, the beef sausage left in the freezer, leftover rice + corn and steak that I wasn't gonna use tonight.

First I was gonna make this one sausage and some leftover rice then I got to thinking. The sausage took super long to cook and I kept having to cut it to make sure it was cooked throughly and in turn the thing wouldn't stay in the bread so what I did was slice the hell out of the sausage, make sure it was all cooked though, then put the already cooked rice in the pan with the pieces and made sausage fried rice and corn with tons of pepper because I lack in the soy sauce department.

Thereafter it looked pretty plain and dry so I found my ketchup and in turn the cheapest condiment in the world made this usual dry and gross dish fricken' tasty and appealing to the eye.

Dish # 2

Grocery stores.

I figured since it's September 1st I might as well start a new post 'cuz it's a new month and once school starts the only thing you're going to be reading is about how much I detest being unemployed, swamped with school work and poor.

Today, I awoke to no power which is never a good sign seeing as how I just bought like twenty-something dollars on meat two days ago that's been sitting in my freezer. I walk outside because I had to walk to school to check my email and to see if I can convince anyone to sell me any cheap books. Getting books was a fail. About an hour or two later I went to Gulliver's to get some food and got a call from a job I want. the work uniform is a kilt and a tshirt. YES. They have jam night every Tuesday. YES. They want a dishwasher and it doesn't work with my school schedule.

FUCK.

Anywo, I was pretty sour but then I left to go pick up groceries because I felt like an Ethiopian on a hunger strike. The closest grocery store nearby is Superstore. I wanted to pick up a bunch of juice and milk and stuff to make brownies so I knew I'd need a cart. I get here and all the carts are all locked up and I'm sitting there like I'm having a staring contest with the sun because it's like, 4pm and Superstore isn't closed. Looking closer I saw that I needed a FUCKING LOONEY TO GET A CART.

I only ever tend to carry crackchange (looneys, twoonies pennys, nickels and dimes, and quarters) when I go out at night for cabs and greasy, drunken fool's food or for transit. Obviously I was not trashed, getting in a taxi or hopping on a bus today so I was stuck with the basket to carry 6 leters of juice/milk, brownie mix, potatoes, carrots and a pound of strawberries. Needless to say my shoulder feels like I just shook hands with a politician on speed. There's no way in hell I was hitting up an ATM for a 20$ bill to merely exchange it for a few bills for my OCD ass to fold into tiny squares to lose in my laundry and at-least one looney.

It's extremely inconvenient to expect people to fork over pocket change everytime they go to get groceries with how over 70% if people own a debit card to make purchases.

Jerks.

Shaq, why are you on my television?

So, when you think Shaq, you think belligerent jock guy; right?

Since I've moved to this tiny city I have had more than enough time on my hands when I'm not working. Yeah, I got a job out here. I'm prep cooking at a restaurant. It stinks but it's money. Wow, that makes me sound like someone who would be cool with being a prostitute. However, that's beside the point.

I'm sitting here bored to stupid as I managed to fuck up the dinner I tried to cook. Yeah, I screwed up diced potatos. Brilliance, I know. I don't have work tomorrow so my plans for tonight consist of TV and scrabble.

There's a new show that just came on called Shaq VS. It's essentially where Shaq finds celebrities that sort-of have talent and challenges them thinking that he can magically become better than them at it in like, 2 days. This episode he tries to take on the second fastest guy in the world in running and tries to out-cook Rachel Ray. Yeah, that broad who tries to sell 7$ bags of bread and looks do-eyed on the food network.

I've never really liked Shaq, I thought for sure he died from steroids like, 5 years ago - but, alas, nope. He's just 7 feet tall and still dim. I don't see a point in making a television show that paints me "HEY I'M ARROGANT!" He finds these celebrities and basically tells him that he's challenging them at what-ever talent they have and the one being challenged just looks at him like he has a booger hanging out of his nose. The rest of the show consists of him blurting out random, airheaded holier than thou statements and asking people who work in the opposing teams area to get a foot ahead, so in a sense - it's basically another stupid reality show where Shaq tries to cheat his way into being better then someone, however in real-reality you can't become a better chef then Rachel Ray in 2 days when your only job in the past 20 years has been to play sports and you can't out run Tyson Gay who's the second fastest dude in the world with a little bit of training in two days.

I demand my hour of life back, now!

8 cents. ARE YOU SERIOUS, CANADA POST?!

I've recently decided to pick up blogging, mainly because multiple people ask me to read theirs and the nerdy sons-of-bitches of friends I have are fricken' awesome with words and in turn, make me laugh. Lots. In libraries. Don't ask about their math skills though. Don't ask about my math skills either.

So, today I got home from my buddy's house for the first time in 3 days. Mainly because he had work and I ran out of clean clothes. I haven't slept in basically two days but I'm cool with that because I knew I would get to crash into a mild coma for like, 14 hours today.

Sweet.

...Not.

I got home at 9am to my mother shouting about how I have less than 48 hours to pack up my life into three bags because I'm moving across Canada for over a year, or something along those lines.

I got around to packing most of it up, which mainly consisted of my printer, printer ink which cost double what my printer cost new, and a bunch of sweaters and jeans.

Finally, I had time to get a few hours of shuteye after I checked my five e-mails. I'm not a business woman, why the fuck do I have five e-mails?! After sleeping for a good five hours I had some mail thrown at me as if I stunk up the bathroom before you get in your shower. It was the letter I sent to student loan to ensure I'm not homeless in western-middle-of-Manitoba-not-Winnipeg. Apparently I didn't put enough stamps on it. I put two on the envelope. I thought it was pretty generous seeing as how the place the letter was going to was only a five hour drive away.

But, NO!

I get the sticker-of-death on the envelope saying that it didn't send my forms, which take six weeks to get processed in the first place and I have to start paying rent on my apartment in a week and pay for tuition/books/clipboards/food/whiskey in about 4 weeks. Not to mention it took them more then two weeks to send it back. This sticker said the reason it didn't send my important documents to the government. This whore sticker said it was because of EIGHT CENTS.

WHAT!

I not only was woken up from the coziest coma before I needed to wake up, can't get back to sleep because it's fucking six P.M. I have to go without sleep all day tomorrow and the next day because my flight is at four-AM and I must visit the people who I haven't spoken to all summer because it's sort of obligatory for whatever reason.

Awesome.