Inspired by this Rebekah’s post, which was inspired by this my post (it’s complicated), here’s a follow-up on the (not so) thrilling subject of groceries and loyalty cards. I have quite a collection of them, against my better judgement. Most of them do very little, and what some of them do I don’t even know.
I’ve been to get my groceries today. Or, as the Scots say, messages. Sure, my life is uneventful to that extreme when going out to get groceries is an event. Also, I’m running out of subjects to blog about (see my recent toilet paper post), so I figure I’ll blog my grocery bill today. Yes,
I blogged about my comparatively successful ongoing effort to lose weight before, always with the cautionary warning that you don’t try it at home. To further my message that slimming is not worth it, here’s a decisively anti-foodie post. Please be warned that the following contains graphic images: extremely bad snaps of rather bad food. I’m a
I’m scared of people who take a perfectly normal thing, like eating or exercising, and turn it into a whole lifestyle, so making it somewhat abnormal. The trouble is that people with a conscious lifestyle (orthodox yogis, vegetarians, non-gluten eaters, you name it) tend to spread their enlightenment like crusaders. I found myself very uplifted when
I never eat out—except when I do, of course. I did so when I had two hours to pass away before my return bus’s departure when I finished teaching/examining. I could have taken the more expensive, less comfortable and Wi-Fi-less train, but I’m loyal to my preferred bus service (less expensive, more comfortable and Wi-Fi-equipped).
As I was sitting on a bench, having consumed a snack of puffed rice bread and finished off with a smoke, I was approached by a young man of unclear intentions. Have you been sitting here long? he inquired. I considered it a curious way of greeting but responded that not really and inquired what he wanted. He wouldn’t
It was Friday night and I got depressed—as do all people who don’t know what to do with themselves when they don’t have anything urgent to do at the moment. My solution to depression was classically self-destructive: I ordered pizza, poured Scotch and watched Game of Thrones. I found all of these but the Scotch
I can die happy now. I’ve had sushi. Of course, I didn’t cook it. I may be suicidal but food poisoning isn’t high on my list of preferred ways to go. I also had sushi before, except it wasn’t sushi because it was a frozen ready meal. Whatever is deep frozen and mass produced tastes
Today is the grand day when I, for the first time in my memory, cooked a dish which was marginally edible. I hate cooking, but I love eating and since I grew tired of cold buffet meals, I was reduced to attempt the wooden spoon. Typically, I produce versions of tasteless pasta, hard rice, overcooked vegetables and burnt