by audrey -

The Diet

It’s not what you think. As if I’d go on a diet with only a month to go here? Hah. Bring on the fried chicken/pork/shrimp/veggies. Yum.

No no, this diet is one I learned about at dinner with some coworkers yesterday. This is the “misery loves company” diet. Best described as…hm…”make everyone around me fatter so I look skinnier.” With this diet in mind, the kara-age (fried chicken) and deliciously stewed pork were ordered as diet foods.

I mentioned this not-so-self-depriving diet to some friends at another dinner.
One of them mentioned “Oh that’s totally Christine’s style of dieting.”

Indeed, I logged on to Google Reader today, and what do I see?

not-so-diet

(There were more, but this was the most I could get to fit on the screen at one time. )

I feel strangely compelled to go eat something unhealthy.  Something like … bacon caramel linguine ice cream. Hm…what to do for dinner…

by audrey -

Culture crossing

Mameshiba meets the Statue of Liberty.

Yes, that is a soybean, dressed like Lady Liberty, solemnly holding an ice cream come.

It’s not as international as you think though, there’s a mini-statue of liberty in Odaiba too!

Those French, handing ’em out like candy.

Mameshiba meets Lady Liberty
Mameshiba x Lady Liberty
by audrey -

red finger

While cooking* breakfast today, things took an unhappy turn when the knife (plenty sharp, thanks) took an interest in my index finger.

It was a healthy gash, say 4mm deep, and as I applied kleenex pressure and spent 10 minutes looking for my box of bandaids…I had some time to think.

And this is what I realized.
The term “caught red handed” is really quite morbid.
You very rarely hear it in reference to actual murders, but really…that’s the only crime it makes sense for.  Unless someone really abuses the food dye, wiktionary’s cookie jar example is far far removed from the original situation.

We’re talking a pretty messy, violent murder at that. No swimming-with-fishes, no poisoning, probably not even a gunshot. This is like, hands-on gory mess. Or…unfortunate crime involving an acid bath.  I think I’ll stop now.

Anyhow. Found the bandaids on the kitchen counter. I can only assume that I put them there shortly after cutting my finger, and then forgot that I had done so, leaving the counter as the absolute last place to look.

Breakfast time!

*slicing up an asian pear