• Some Like It Hot*

    {Courtesy of: http://tinyurl.com/2agquz9}

    I love spicy food.

    I’ve always enjoyed a dish that can clear out your sinuses, as does the Hubster. His tolerance for it is even higher than mine–he often asks for things to be a little spicier than even I like it. When we go out for Japanese food I’m pretty sure that there is so much wasabi in his soya sauce that it’s basically solid. haha

    Since we learned about his new food sensitivities in the summer, I’ve been experimenting with recipes from around the world. I find that so much of Canadian / American food is drenched in dairy or wheat, so I’ve been learning how to cook Thai, Japanese, and lately–Indian. I found a recipe for this amazing spiced basmati rice with veggies,  and I’ve been trying out different chicken recipes to go with it. I usually use a tikka masala sauce, but this time we decided to try something different.

    While we were up in Btown with my parents, we slipped out to the grocery store to pick up a few things. I happened to notice a premade sauce for Caribbean Jerk chicken and we decided to try it out.

    Now then, let me be clear: this was not my first experience with Jerk chicken. When I worked at the awful store, I had a wonderful friend / coworker who often cooked for us. She lived in Guyana before moving here, so she always brought in these fabulous dishes, and one of them was Jerk chicken. I fell in love with it immediately–it was spicy, flavorful and magical. I always asked her to make it.

    So, when I saw it in the store, naturally I was excited and bought it immediately.

    We made it tonight.

    I cooked the rice as I always do, and piled some on my plate with the chicken. I took a bite of the rice (that was near the chicken) and thought, “Gee, that rice has a kick to it tonight!”

    Then I took a big bite of the chicken.

    My mouth was on fire. It was so hot that it brought tears to my eyes and I had to spit it out. I’m pretty sure that there were actual flames on my tongue as is burned for roughly five minutes after I ate it.

    I, being a loving and thoughtful wife,  warned my Hubster that the chicken was insanely spicy. He didn’t fully believe me at first, so he took a big bite.

    That bite was followed by a yell: “HOLY, Shop girl! That chicken is HOT.” (hahahaha)

    Sadly, I wasn’t brave enough to eat any more of the inferno chicken and filled up on rice. The Hubs was better–not wanting to waste the food, he ate everything on his plate.

    I usually pack his lunch from the leftovers as I clean up the kitchen. He doesn’t normally hesitate to take what I’ve made… but after a small pause, he opted not to take the face-melting chicken to work. I suppose he didn’t want to breathe fire all over his co-workers.

    I checked the label on the sauce to see if it mentioned anything about spiciness, but there was no warning about how hot it was. Had it read: “STUPIDLY HOT: Will cause face melting and fire breathing”, I would have at least known… though I probably would have bought it anyway. (I’m smrt like that.)

    So, note to self: Jerk chicken is a little spicy.

  • PEBUAC* (I am smrt.)

    Oh, hi Tuesday.

    **Have you voted in my poll yet??? (–>)

    Today felt like it went by reeeeeeeally fast. Yesterday was a slow hazy headachy day (I only slept for 3 hours on Sunday night… oy evay) and today was a blur! It started off a little rocky, but turned out nicely. Let’s recap:

    After finally sleeping MUCH better last night I woke up feeling like a new woman. I sent the Hubster off to work, curled up in my huge computer chair that I recently stole from the Hubs side of le office and caught up on some lovely blogs until I decided it was time to run.

    Now then, I should probably tell you that I am fabulous at distracting myself from the task at hand. I put on my running clothes at 8:30. I went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and decided that I needed to clean the bathroom right away. So I did. Then I saw workmen coming to repair my front stairs and decided I needed to spy on them. So I did. Then I decided I should probably check my email / procrastinate some more. So I did.

    Then it was 9:30 and I decided it was time to go. So I did.

    In the past two days I’ve really tried to up the intensity of my running. I haven’t built up my endurance enough yet to increase the distance by much (I add a little more each week) but I’m now trying to run my route instead of jogging it. It’s exhausting, but I feel great when I’m done! Sadly, I’m still maintaining my weight (no pound lost this week) but I’m starting to see results. The Hubs has already commented that my calves are looking thinner and more toned, and I’m starting to see some definition in my big thunders (aka thighs). Really, I started this thing to get in shape, so I am not at all disappointed. I know the scale will move when it wants to (they are fickle that way).

    After my super run I had to rush to get ready as today I decided it was time to visit an employment agency. (Hire me? Please?) Actually, the Hubs suggested it to me as I’ve been trying to find work since the beginning of the summer and so I made myself all pretty, put on a pretty summer skirt and sat at my computer to print my resume. It was 11:15am, and the agency closes at 1pm. It’s a 20 minute walk and the appointment takes an hour, so I thought I was fiiiiiiiine. So I clicked print. And I waited. And waited.

    …and realized we were completely out of computer paper.

    (*insert mini panic attack here*)

    After frantically searching the house and emailing the Hubs 100 times I decided to put my resume on a USB and he’d print it for me at work as his office isn’t far from the agency. So I ran down there, USB in hand and, like an Olympic baton relay race, passed it off to the Hubs upon my arrival and he sprinted off to the finish line (aka: his computer). Unfortunately, my computer genius Hubster ended up with a computer illiterate wifester who somehow managed not to save her resume to the USB, even though she checked it. Twice.

    So, I put on my grumpy pants and grumbled a bit about the long walk and whatnot, then my darling Hubster brightened my day by suggesting an impromptu lunch date. Spending time with my main man always brightens my spirits so by the time I left for home I was in much better spirits. I really do have the best Hubster ever.

    The rest of the day was kinda lazy… I napped, applied for a couple of teaching positions, wrote in my blog, added things to my ginormous to-do list, made a lazy summer dinner of BLT sandwiches and listened to sappy love songs.

    Life is good.

    P.s. PEBUAC – Problem Exists Between User And Computer

    I am so smrt.

  • Tales of a Runaway Wedding Ring*


    Many moons ago, in the days before I became the Wifester, the Hubster asked me to marry him and gave me a big beautiful diamond ring. It was so sparkly and beautiful and pretty that I swore that I would never lose it. Now, in those days, I was a scatterbrained 19-year-old student (with near professional procrastinating skills… ha) who lost everything. I could never find my phone unless it was ringing, and had a notorious record for losing my inexpensive jewelry. The Hubster often not-so jokingly told me he was going to secretly replace my pretty sparkly diamond with a hunk of cubic zirconia so that when I lost it he’d still have the real one for me.

    I am also notorious for not wearing my jewelry in my house. I am a total weirdo–I hate the feeling of anything on my hands or wrists when I am in my house. The second I walk through the door my watch, bracelet and rings all come off and stay off for the entire duration I am home. Then again, I cannot leave my house without them on. I feel completely naked if I don’t have them on when I leave… to the point that I will actually go back and put them on, even if I’m just running across the street. I know, I know. I’m nuts. haha!

    So, when we first got married I would just take my jewelry off and leave it all over the house when we’d come home. I think I freaked the Hubs out a bit that a) I must not actually like my pretty sparkly ring as I refused to wear it at home; or b) I was going to put it in one of those REALLY good storage places and then completely forget where I left them (you know the ones I mean… they always seem like such a good idea at the time… *sigh*). I finally convinced the Hubs that I do, in fact, love my engagement ring and take it off so that I don’t destroy it while I’m at home. I am not always …delicate… as ladies should be and have nightmares of my diamond falling out and disappearing into a floor crack or waving goodbye to me as it spirals down the sink drain.

    As to his second fear, in the four years (okay, okay… 3 years, 11 months) that we have been married I have never lost my engagement OR wedding ring (which I also love).


    Sidebar: It may be a little difficult to see in the photo as I am the worst photographer ever, but I chose to have my wedding band engraved on the exterior, instead of the traditional interior messages. This way I can see it all the time and it’s a little different! It was terrible trying to find a jeweler who would do it (apparently it’s difficult to do on gold?) but we finally did and I love love love how it turned out. It has our names written on the top, and “Eternity” written on the bottom (what you see in the photo) as the circle is symbol for eternity.

    Anyway, I digress. I love my rings and in our 4 years of marriage I have never lost them. Not once. Now here comes the best part–remember how I told you that the Hubs was convinced that I’d lose MY rings? Haaaaaa….. guess who has misplaced his wedding band at LEAST two times? (you’d almost think he was trying to send me a subliminal message or something… HA I kid, I kid. He loves me. :))

    The first time wasn’t SO bad… a couple of years ago we had dinner at a friend’s home on a VERY cold day. His ring has always been a bit loose on him, so while drying his freezing hands in their washroom it slipped off his finger into their trash basket directly below the towel. Somehow he made it through the entire evening and back to our apartment before he realized his ring was missing. We tore apart the apartment before we thought to call our friends who quickly located his ring.

    The second time was slightly more challenging. As university students it was often impossible to avoid taking evening classes, so it was not uncommon for the Hubs or I to be on our way home from school after 9pm. During the summer the Hubs would often take his super speedy bike to school. One night the Hubster was off at school while I was hanging out at home waiting for him to get back. At around 9:15pm the phone rang. It was the Hubster… this was our conversation:

    Me: Hello?

    Hubs: Hi… what are you up to?

    Me: Hi love! Mmm not much, just waiting for you to get home! Why?

    Hubs: Do you think you could come meet me at {insert intersection a 10-minute walk away} and bring a flashlight?

    Me: …umm, are you serious? Why?

    Hubs: (very hesitantly) I, uh, seemed to have dropped my wedding ring on the ground… and can’t seem to find it.

    (What the Hubs DIDN’T tell me that the ring actually slipped off while he was bicycling down a steep hill–again, cold night, loose ring… we need to get that baby sized–and he couldn’t find it in the dark)

    Me: …oh, love. It’s reeeeeeeally dark out. I’m not sure I’m comfortable walking that far by myself. (insert fear of wild rapists)

    Hubs: Oh, okay. (sounds of heavy breathing and movement in the background) WAIT, I think I see it! Yup, I’ve got it. Never mind babe, I’ll see you soon!

    My very logically thinking Hubster actually heard the ring slip off his finger and hit the pavement while he was biking. While I would have started panicking / screaming at this point, he listened as the ring rolled down the hill to try and calculate how far it would go. (He’s telling me that speed x time = distance, but that sounds like math to me so… I’m lost. haha) ANYWAY, he was able to estimate the speed the ring would go based on the speed on his little bike computer and after a few minutes of searching (and a phone call to me) he spotted the ring lying in the middle of the intersection, unharmed except for a few “love dents”.

    So lovelies, the moral of the story is: size your wedding ring, or wear gloves. All the time. haha

    P.s. If you haven’t already, take a peek at the post below and leave me your “Ask Me Anything!” question for my upcoming posts. :)

  • Pick-Up Line Offenders*


    I sometimes think there is an old woman trapped inside my body.

    Despite this theory, I went out last night.

    (no seriously, I actually left my apartment and went… to a pub. *GASP* I know, CRAZY, right??)

    I actually had a really good time too… but here’s is how I know there is an old woman living inside me:

    1) Karog and I didn’t leave until 10pm. I actually had to coach myself into thinking that 10pm was not that late… because in my head that was 2 hours past jammie time. (jammies = pjs)

    2) I wanted to go to see some friends and wish BD* a happy birthday, but before I left I kept thinking that jammies + book + Hubster + sleep = happy Shop Girl. Who needs to go out… ever? haha

    3) The pub was loud. I used to like loud bars… now I like bed.

    4) Despite glorious conversation, after 10 minutes I was ready to crawl under the coats on the couch next to me and sleep. Thank goodness we had some entertainment, right Karog? HAH

    5) I kept looking at people and thinking they all looked underage… (since when are 12 year olds allowed in bars?)

    Okay, so they weren’t really twelve, but they looked it. Scary.

    6) I forgot about “bar clothes”. I went out in my most comfortable shoes and jeans in my biggest, warmest most comfortable beige sweater. I was definitely the the, um, warmest(?) person there.

    I am so old and married. But you know what–I kinda really love it. I really did end up having a great time last night, but I’m definitely not someone who needs to go out every weekend anymore. I did the whole social butterfly thing in first year (I was out and about every day–my average bedtime was 4am and there was no such thing as 9am classes…) but now I’m really quite content being a little old wife woman who reads books in her jammies before going to bed at 7pm.

    I don’t really go to bed at 7pm… but wouldn’t that be lovely?!

    But, I must absolutely share with you the highlight of my evening last night… I mean, it was unbelievable.

    I love bad pickup lines. I don’t enjoy when they are tried on me, but I love love love when they happen to other people and they live to retell the experience. The best (and worst) line that was ever used on me happened when I was 18, and nothing has ever topped it. I was asked to dance by a reasonably good-looking and very well-dressed older guy (he was maybe 23 or 24). He had good shoes on, so I said yes.

    After about 13 seconds I knew I wasn’t interested…but apparently we were dancing to the world’s longest song. While we danced he progressively invaded my personal space. My little bubble grew smaller and smaller until it was almost non-existent and I was leaning back so far I was practically limboing on the dance floor. In a smooth move he pulled me really close so that his face was next to my ear and said:

    Guy: “Hey… did you say your prayers this morning?”

    Me: (inching back as far as possible) “…um…”

    Guy: (looking deeply into my eyes / soul) “I did… and I think they’ve been answered.”

    Me: “…that’s … nice…”

    I then proceeded to look around wildly for an escape… and, finding one as the song ended, ran to my nearest male friend and suction-cupped myself to his side while this nice-shoe-wearing-bad-pick-up-line-personal-space-invader circled hungrily until he found new prey. (I guess I wasn’t the only answer to his prayers that morning… *sigh*)

    I know what you’re thinking–how on earth did I resist that? It’s wondrous that I didn’t propose to him right then and there, after all, I was the answer to his prayers.

    It just really makes me wonder… what the heck are some guys thinking when they say crap like that? Does anyone really believe that those lines actually work? I almost wanted to send him to a Bad Pick-Up Lines Anonymous meeting to get him some help… (do they have a reality TV show about this yet?)

    Anyway… last night, amidst all my lovely teacher friends a Pick-Up Line Offender (PULO) was among us. As he sat talking to a friend of mine I listened in and was able to pick up some real gems. First things first, girls should be called “chicks”. I was a little taken aback that he needed to relay this to my friend–I mean, really, I thought all guys knew that girls loooove to be called chicks. I’m pretty sure it’s our favourite. Mine anyway. I wish everyone would just not use my name and call me “Chick” instead… wouldn’t you?

    Well, apparently there were a few girls nearby who didn’t share my deep affinity for this nickname. For some strange and unknown reason, they didn’t appreciate being referred to as “chicks” and told the PULO so. He (like me) was flabbergasted by this revelation and tried to explain. This was the explanation:

    PULO: (to my friend as I eavesdropped/listened in) “Hey man… so I was talking to those chicks over there and they got all upset that I called them chicks. They, like, didn’t get it, man. They should take it as a compliment… being called a chick means I think you’re hot and I want to slam you.”

    I’m sorry ladies–I’m not sure if he’s single… butttt I have an inkling he just might be! haha!

    If you think you’ve got a pick-up line offender story that beats my prayer one, bring it on. I’d love to hear it! haha

    Shop Chick*

  • The BOMB Story*

    The Hubster and I were taking the bus together somewhere last week when we heard a ticking sound… sort of like the sound you hear when you turn on your signals in a car. As we listened to the tick-tick-tick-tick of the mysterious bus sound, we were reminded of the time we heard a bomb in our apartment.

    One night, many moons ago, the Hubster and I were enjoying a quiet evening at home. I was busy doing homework (Facebook) while the Hubster worked hard on a project (Team Fortress 2). I had some music on as I often do, but as I listened I realized that the beat was not right in the song I was listening to–it sounded like there was extra percussion. So, I paused the song only to realize the noise was not coming from the song at all. I heard a soft but distinctive tick-tick-tick-tick-ing coming from somewhere in my apartment… and then it stopped.

    I thought to myself, “I must be absolutely crazy.” So I turned on my music again and returned to my studying (reading celebrity gossip). Shortly after I turned it back on I heard it again. Tick-tick-tick-tick… only it was longer this time. I rose from my chair to try and find the source of the sound, but as soon as my feet hit the floor it stopped again.

    Now it’s important to note here that I have the biggest imagination ever. Rather than assuming that there would be a perfectly logical explanation for the tick-tick-tick-ing, I immediately jumped to the more reasonable explanation: there was a bomb in my house. (Apparently I watch too much CSI. Yup.)

    Having now heard the tick-tick-tick-tick-ing twice I sat on the edge of my chair with bated breath waiting for it to begin again. As I sat waiting oh-so-impatiently for the noise to begin again, thoughts were racing through my head:

    “Should I get the Hubster?”
    “What if I tell the Hubster and the sound doesn’t come back?”
    “Am I crazy?”
    “…IS THERE A BOMB IN MY HOUSE?”

    After what seemed like an eternity of silence, it seemed as though the tick-tick-tick-tick-ing was not going to come back. I swiveled my chair back towards my desk and reached for my mouse when I heard it: tick-tick-tick-tick. My heart nearly stopped and I leaped from my chair and began the hunt for what must be a bomb. It’s a good thing that I have seen every single episode of CSI (Grissom and I are tight) so I knew all the most important CSI skills. However, shortly after I had I begun my investigation the tick-tick-tick-tick-ing stopped again.

    …it was time to bring in reinforcements.

    I ran into the bedroom (where the Hubster has his desk of gizmos and gadgets and all things electronically cool) and recounted the tale of the bomb tick-tick-tick-tick-ing to the Hubster. He was not as convinced as I was that we were about to be blown up, but he willingly offered to come and see what I was talking about.

    We sat quietly in the living room waiting for it to begin again. I could tell his skepticism was increasing by the minute as I anxiously waited for it to begin again… and then…

    tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick

    With eyebrows raised he immediately began hunting for the bomb with me. Actually, I’m pretty sure I was the only one hunting for a “bomb”… he was just looking for the noise. haha! The tick-tick-tick-tick-ing was longer this time and we were able to narrow down the location of the noise to one area in my living room before it faded again. We sat on the floor and waited for the next round of tick-tick-tick-tick-ing to begin.

    And then–there it was!!

    tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick

    It was like a deadly game of “Hot or Cold”. As we eliminated places the bomb could be the tick-tick-tick-tick-ing grew louder and louder… we tested clocks, kitchen timers, gadgets and gizmos. We tried the TV, VCR & DVD Player, even my trusty Super Nintendo was examined (thank goodness the bomb was not there!). Computers were shut off. Music was turned off. The hum of technology was silenced… all was still except the tick-tick-tick-tick-ing. Where could it be??

    After an exhausting search we finally both stood in front of the Hubster’s grey shelves, waiting for the sound to begin again. I gripped the Hubster’s hand, ready to find the bomb and diffuse it (I’ve seen CSI–I’m qualified, right?). And then, there it was:

    Tick-tick-tick-tick.

    The sound was coming from the lower shelf.

    TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK.

    …IN MY SCATTERGORIES GAME? This terrorist meant business–trying to blow up our favourite board game!!

    As the Hubster gingerly pulled the box from the shelf the sound suddenly stopped. Had he triggered the bomb?

    My heart was beating a million miles a minute as he slowly lifted the lid and the
    TICK-TICK-TICK-TICK-ING
    began again. And then–the lid was off!! The bomb was exposed!!

    …and the Hubster started laughing as he lifted the small round timer from the box as it finished tick-tick-tick-tick-ing. Apparently I had not put the game away properly the last time we played. You see, the in the newer versions of Scattergories the timer is activated by simply pushing down on the top. If it is not placed in the box properly, nearly anything could set it off–something falling down and pressuring the lid of the box, thus pressing the timer, which in turn produces a lovely tick-tick-tick-tick-ing sound (which, in my defense, I still think sounds bomb-ish). In a hurry we had thrown the box into the Hubster’s grey shelves with books on top, which activated “the bomb” several days later.


    Note to self: pack board games away properly and you will not blow up.

    Shop Girl*

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