Runn Of The Mill Cooking Injury

The long serious post flew out the window when a snotty mucussy cold and a typek box of work walked in the door.
I considered putting my head to it again at about 9 this morning but since the Kitty-rats are fast becoming hyperactive-noisy-nocturnal-bed invading-little brats I have not had much sleep and listening to myself drone on about politics and crap would put me to sleep in half a heartbeat so I decided to spare you another round.

Last night I went into my first full on Eskom bitching parade.
The injury Eskom’s load shedding did to my ego is irreparable and I doubt that I will ever live it down.
The fact is that while seeing people run on a treadmill may be an everyday sight, seeing someone run into a treadmill is not…
Yes ladies and gents that’s me
There I am having my brisk (very brisk) afternoon run in a slightly packed gym when dear old Escom cuts the power in mid step.
The treadmill stops abruptly and my next (unavoidable footfall) sends me careering into the keypad thingie.
While the darkness hid most of my undignified cloths lining the all mighty thud was not drowned by the chorus of “oh fuck” that is a South-Africans immediate reaction to any power cut.
I am not going back tonight and I am changing my eye color and growing facial hair in hopes that when I return I will not be recognized… mind you the operation pad lodged in my chest may belie my identity just a smidge.

Will is cooking tonight (they grow up so fast).
My bitching and moaning that he is as useful as a carpet weevil has finally made an impression on him… and he is making an effort to learn to cook.
The other day he made cottage pie using instructions I provided over MSN.
After this dish I have realized that it is not so much the skill that is lacking as is the theory and terminology.
Thunder stick: The stick like vibrator looking thing that says thunder stick on the side.
Electric mixer: the other mixer thing that looks like a power drill.
Note to self: find MSN that allows one to draw pictures for people.
I am of coarse exaggerating. It wasn’t that bad aside from the mash that was lumpy because the wrong apparatus was used, all that pissed me off was the fact that a double batch of mince was made instead of putting the freekin stuff in a dish proportional to the amount of food made.

Tonight is Curry night and I will be there to supervise and provide a never ending supply of insults.
Stiffla once made stew and tried to thicken the stuff using curry powder but instead of trying something different when it didn’t thicken he just kept adding more until the packet was empty and the curry would no longer dissolve.
We were left with a sticky mush mash that tasted like hot dust.

Anyway if I don’t post or comment tomorrow you’ll know I succumbed to Wills cooking

Pigglet Me and Giffie

Yesterday when we walked into the cinema to see saw4 we were convinced that nausea would be the worst part of our day… Not for a moment did Piglet and I think that we would be needing and overdose of Rescue and a stiff brandy to calm our nerves while Stiffla and Will pushed my car out of a ditch…
I shit you not people….
We had a bit of fumble when an Ass-hat skipped a stop street and came careering at my cars side.
Having to swerve into the next lane in the sight of oncoming traffic would not have been so much of an issue if I was driving a Scooby or an Evo… but as fate would have it I was driving my little Giffie a front wheel drive corsa lite with a stock suspension and the only modifications being the 15” rims we had fitted the day I got her (and make no mistake those rims were the difference between ending up on our roof and ending up on the wheels).
Our swerve brought us ass about face across the road drifted like a pro and then did a side wheels only barrel into a deep muddy ditch on the side of the road while I try fight the urge to put foot flat on the brakes.
We came to a stop thanks to the mud, once I had pried my arm off of Piglets chest where I pinned her when the shit struck I got out and started swearing at said ass-hat in long alliterated stanzas… I swore at everything while little pigs sat breathing deeply, eyes wide as saucers she kept saying “its okay Lee, Its okay”
I said not it wasn’t and kept swearing…. Later I was told that people understand because that’s how I deal with things….
Pigglet only started crying when Stiffla and Will found us about 5 min later.
I didn’t stop swearing until the stiff brandy put me to sleep.

So people that was my and Pigglets very near brush with death… I am refraining from sharing with you what I wish upon ass-hat and his silver Polo who by the way did not as much as break to check if we were alright because I may get arrested…