The only neutral thing about me

Is my accent.

What American accent do you have? (Best version so far)

Neutral

You’re not Northern, Southern, or Western, you’re just plain -American-. Your national identity is more important than your local identity, because you don’t really have a local identity. You might be from the region in that map, which is defined by this kind of accent, but you could easily not be. Or maybe you just moved around a lot growing up.

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RQ Cooks

I thought it was time to share some recipes. You should be warned- I don’t measure, I make things up as I go along, and I change recipes all the time.

Leftover Chicken Salad

I tend to like to use herbs instead of lettuce when I can. I don’t stuff tacos with watery iceberg, I use cilantro instead. So I did the same for this chicken salad and used flat leaf parsley for the greens. Be sure to chop it really fine or you will end up with stringy salad.

Mix chopped up leftover chicken, chopped celery, chopped green onions (chop as high up the stalks as you can before they get yucky) chopped parsley. drizzle with some lemon juice, sprinkle with pepper and garlic salt. My chicken got marinated in tarragon before I cooked it, so I didn’t add any other herbs, but you could add some chopped fresh tarragon or dill if you like. Add enough mayo to make it creamy.

If you want to skip all the chopping and you want a really fine salad that will work better on bread- throw everything in the food processor instead.

If you don’t like mayo, use some sour cream or add some extra greens and drizzle with a good vinagarette.

Chocolate hazelnut pie

I got this recipe out of a very fancy cookbook, and it was called ice cream pie. The instructions didn’t work well- so I fixed it. It is super easy for us non-bakers (cooking is art- baking is science, I’m an artist)

1 and 1/3 cups whipping cream plus another few tablespoons for softening the nutella
1 jar of nutella
a little more than half a stick of butter (5 tablespoons I think) melted
1 pack of chocolate graham crackers, made into crumbs in the food processor
vanilla

Make the crust first. It’s a basic cookie crust. Preheat oven to 350. mix crumbs, melty butter and about a teaspoon of vanilla together. Press into a pie pan and bake for about 6 to 8 minutes till crisp. Let cool completely before adding filling

Mix the whipping cream and another teaspoon of vanilla till it forms soft peaks. put nutella into another bowl and add some whipping cream to soften. Mix well with a hand mixer (if it is too thick, add a bit more cream- but be careful no to overdo it or you’ll have runny pie).

Fold nutella mix into the whipped cream in small batches. Once it is all in, use hand mixer to fluffy it up a bit more. pour in pie shell and let set up in the fridge for at least 4 hours.

Red Queen Recommends

Have you ever had soda made with actual cane sugar and not corn syrup? Unless you’re a soda snob or have traveled a bunch, probably not.

One of my ex’s, someone with a pretty solid science background, told me that there was no way you could taste the difference between a cane sugar molecule and a corn sugar molecule. He’s an ex for a reason. You can totally taste the difference. Cane sugar makes the rest of the flavors pop (coke is actually a blend of lemon, lime, orange and cola flavors but you wouldn’t know that from the heavy handed abuse leveled by corn syrup).

I can tell it’s winter because all I want to do is eat fruit. We went to the grocery store and I spent way too much money for a bag of cherries and some oranges. And I was thirsty. I wanted something that wasn’t tea or coke. I wanted something that would make my taste buds sing happy happy joy joy.

And then I found Boylan’s Black Cherry soda. Oh My Fricken Gawd, you peeps. It is the best tasting thing I have ever put in my mouth. I would totally shill for the company if they would keep in soda for life. (Hint- Hint! Make me your shill!) It’s made with cane sugar, natch and real cherries and pure goodness as far as I can tell.

I Have Officially Seen It All.

I was looking at the SkyMall catalog online today and came across this little gem:

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it’s POOP FREEZE.
I’ll just let the catalog description speak for itself here:


Pet waste removal made easy!

Poop Freeze is an easy, earth-friendly way to do your “dooty” and clean up after your dog. It chills animal waste to -62°F, creating an outer “crust” that enables you to quickly place in a bag and dispose. Makes picking up loose stool and diarrhea easier. Effective for all kinds of pets, including dogs, cats, birds, etc. Indoor or outdoor use. Safe for humans and pets when used as directed.

My sister says this is for people who think their shit doesn’t stink.

I, Splotchy – The Next Installment

Edit: Just ‘Cause I’m Compulsive, here’s the intro from Splotchy’s blog

This has probably been done before, but that is not stopping me, oh no.


Here’s what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don’t know how realistic it is, but that’s what I’m aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

If you are one of the carriers of this story virus (i.e. you have been tagged and choose to contribute to it), you will have one responsibility, in addition to contributing your own piece of the story: you will have to tag at least one person that continues your story thread. So, say you tag five people. If four people decide to not participate, it’s okay, as long as the fifth one does. And if all five participate, well that’s five interesting threads the story spins off into.

Not a requirement, but something your readers would appreciate: to help people trace your own particular thread of the narrative, it will be helpful if you include links to the chapters preceding yours.

Oh, and if you pass it along & comment on splotchy’s page he’ll draw you a little something.


I, Splotchy: This Story Is A Virus :

Here’s what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don’t know how realistic it is, but that’s what I’m aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

MathMan has tagged me to add to the story, which reads….

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

“That’s strange,” I said out loud to no one in particular. My fingers slowly reached towards the jar again. My body experienced a wave of apprehension as weighted blanket covering me as I did so. The jar was completely frozen.

I picked it up and stared at it, my fingers stung with little knives of chill. “What the…” again I spoke aloud. Then I realized what had happened with a shock. Suddenly the jar flew from my hand. It shattered creating a collage-like mixture of frozen applesauce and glass shards on my kitchen floor, the lid lazily rolling to a stop across the room. (FranIam)

I stood for a moment considering what all this meant. Oh, I knew what it meant, I didn’t need to waste time thinking about it. He was back. And he was mad.

I ran down the hallway and flung open the door at the end. I was immediately hit with a blast of cold. I took a step back as I tried to catch my breath. I bent over, hands on my knees panting. He always had this remarkable effect on me. After so much time, it no longer scared me, but it was a shock nonetheless……

“You know,” I panted, “There’s no need to break things to get my attention.” (DCup)

I woke up in the same position as in my dream, on my knees. I was sweating even though room was freezing. (mathman6293)

I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one AM when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn’t been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. (Freida Bee)

The nightmares began during the following spring. The apple trees came to life in my dreams. At first the trees spoke and I thought they were amusing. That changed when the messages arrived. Lately, their anger was directed at me. (mathman6293)

The sound of the front porch floorboards creaking snapped me out of my reverie. I stood up, grabbed my shotgun and made sure a round was chambered, then quietly made my way into the front room and over to the window. As I peeked out past the closed curtains, my heart began to beat rapidly.

It can’t be, the incredulous thought came, I saw him die last year!

(Phydeaux)

There was no doubt it was him. I knew the minute he tried to meow and managed only a croak. I could feel him purring before he even reached my leg. As he started to rub against me I bent to pick him up but that’s as far as I got. I smelled her perfume. I didn’t see her and the scent was very faint, but a man doesn’t forget the smell of a woman like her. As my arms pulled Sylvester to my chest my eyes were closed. The smell of her was strong on him, and my mind carried me back to the last time I’d buried myself in that heady fragrance. “Sorry I took your cat”, she said.

(Brave Sir Robin)

For a minute, all I could do was stare at her gape-mouthed in the manner of a man seeing a ghost. Finally, I found my tongue.

“I’d invite you in for coffee, but everything is frozen”.

‘That’s all right” she said “I like it iced now”.

Over what can only be described as black coffee slushies, she told me the story of how she stole my cat and ran away to make her fortune as a curandera in the jungles of Bolivia. After nearly a year of sweltering heat and bugs, the only magic she had left was the cat’s ability to freeze things. She could no longer produce the raised eyebrow of doom or break ear drums with her sarcastic cackle. When I asked her why she returned, the story got even more convoluted.

” After being run out of Bolivia, I found work at a brothel in Buenos Aires. By the way, your cat learned a few new tricks there. I suggest never saying the words frozen chicken in Spanish to him, you may not like the results. At the brothel I met this tango dancing hamster named Ruby. She told me that the only way I could get my powers back was to…( Red Queen)

…return the cat’s heart. I am sure I don’t have to tell you how long it took me to figure that out. That effing feline always liked you best…but my powers dwindled in him absense…I needed him. So I left the frozen rabbit on the lawn in hopes you would think he had self-destructed finally.

But it was a dangerous addiction, and as my cackle grew stronger, so did his hold on me. Slowly our roles reversed, and he began freezing more often and…just more…while my own powers dwindled slowly over the months. That is how I wasn’t able to keep my cover in Bolivia. He has siphoned all my abilities…and if I hadn’t lucked upon that oddity of a hamster, I would have been dead in two day’s time.”

And now here she sat.

And here I was.

(歐陽丹)

Sitting on a folding metal chair that was covered in a thin sheet of frost in the shack we’d called home. I shivered but not with from the cold – it was something inside much deeper than that. She is here. With another shiver I felt it – my heart was starting to thaw. She was breaking down the walls I’d meticulously built to forget her. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before looking her and curtly asking, “Why are you here?”

“I think you know why”

(canukistanian)*

“No way am I going to Peru, I retorted. “ That damn hamster is more trouble…”

When I first met Ruby, she had just scurried through the crumbling bricks of an apartment house under renovations in the Pacific Northwest. She scampered over my feet, stopping to gnaw through my left shoelace. As she hurried on her way, she suddenly stopped & turned around. She looked at me quizzically & asked,

“Well, are you coming with me or not?”

As I stood there, shocked, and searching for the words to reply, she unfastened from around her neck what appeared to be a thick elastic band with clasps on the end. She quickly strung it through where my shoelace had been and fastened the ends. The she clapped her paws, as if to say “all done”, and turned to leave with a flick of her whiskers. I felt somehow strangely compelled to follow.

Months later, as I sat, dazed on the steps of St. Basil’s Cathedral, blinking at the midday sun, i wondered how a case of mistaken identity could have gone so far.

The cat had joined us somewhere along the way, New Orleans, or Austin, I can’t remember which. We discovered his freezing power when he saved us from a kitchen fire somewhere in Georgia. We had all taken jobs in this little diner off I-75 and since we had no place to stay, the manager was letting us sleep in the storeroom. One night nobody remembered to turn off the grill, and we woke to the smell of fireworks and frying bacon.

Almost instantaneously, the temperature dropped below zero, and the hot oil spewing from the fry vats solidified in mid-air, flying across the counter to land on the tables and booths like greasy hailstones.

But that was a long time ago.

And that morning in Moscow, Ruby said, as she packed fresh cedar chips into her pillowcase, “I’m so sorry for any inconvenience. The cat doesn’t want to go with me, so I hope you’ll look out for him. He can be awfully naive.”

(Wonder)

***I Tag ‘Chelle & Jovial

just for fun

You Are Surrealism

Dreamy and idealistic, you’ve created a world that is all your own.
It’s very likely that you’ve either dabbled in drugs or are naturally trippy.
You are always trying to push beyond the boundaries of your culture and society.
You believe that art, love, and freedom can change the world.

Favorite Christmas Songs

I don’t like traditional Christmas songs for the most part. Sure, I can sing O Christmas Tree in the original German and know most of the words to Adeste Fidelus, but I prefer my Christmas with a side of music with some rock and roll 80’s pop in it.

So I have a cheesy weakness for the Beach Boys “Little Saint Nick”. I know all the lyrics and will sing it loudly and off key whenever it comes on the radio.

Some other faves

The Waitresses- Christmas Wrapping (the same peeps that do I Know What Boys Like)

Erasure- Another Lonely Chrsitmas

The Pretenders- 2000 Miles

And my all time favorite Christmas song- The Ramones- Merry Christmas (I don’t want to fight tonight with you)

I, Splotchy

I’ve been tagged by Brave Sir Robin, so here goes.

I, Splotchy: This Story Is A Virus :

Here’s what I would like to do. I want to create a story that branches out in a variety of different, unexpected ways. I don’t know how realistic it is, but that’s what I’m aiming for. Hopefully, at least one thread of the story can make a decent number of hops before it dies out.

MathMan has tagged me to add to the story, which reads….

I woke up hungry. I pulled my bedroom curtain to the side and looked out on a hazy morning. I dragged myself into the kitchen, in search of something to eat. I reached for a jar of applesauce sitting next to the sink, and found it very cold to the touch. I opened the jar and realized it was frozen. (Splotchy)

“That’s strange,” I said out loud to no one in particular. My fingers slowly reached towards the jar again. My body experienced a wave of apprehension as weighted blanket covering me as I did so. The jar was completely frozen.

I picked it up and stared at it, my fingers stung with little knives of chill. “What the…” again I spoke aloud. Then I realized what had happened with a shock. Suddenly the jar flew from my hand. It shattered creating a collage-like mixture of frozen applesauce and glass shards on my kitchen floor, the lid lazily rolling to a stop across the room. (FranIam)

I stood for a moment considering what all this meant. Oh, I knew what it meant, I didn’t need to waste time thinking about it. He was back. And he was mad.

I ran down the hallway and flung open the door at the end. I was immediately hit with a blast of cold. I took a step back as I tried to catch my breath. I bent over, hands on my knees panting. He always had this remarkable effect on me. After so much time, it no longer scared me, but it was a shock nonetheless……

“You know,” I panted, “There’s no need to break things to get my attention.” (DCup)

I woke up in the same position as in my dream, on my knees. I was sweating even though room was freezing. (mathman6293)

I was used to the house being quite cold in the mornings, as the night log usually burns out around one AM when I am dreaming cozily under my covers, not normally waking to put a new one on until morning. I was surprised because on the rare occasions that it actually had reached sub-freezing temperatures in the house, I had awakened in the night to restart the fire. I would have been worried about the pipes before P-Day, but there hadn’t been running water in two years and that was one of the few advantages to being dependent on rainwater, no pipes. (Freida Bee)

The nightmares began during the following spring. The apple trees came to life in my dreams. At first the trees spoke and I thought they were amusing. That changed when the messages arrived. Lately, their anger was directed at me. (mathman6293)

The sound of the front porch floorboards creaking snapped me out of my reverie. I stood up, grabbed my shotgun and made sure a round was chambered, then quietly made my way into the front room and over to the window. As I peeked out past the closed curtains, my heart began to beat rapidly.

It can’t be, the incredulous thought came, I saw him die last year!
(Phydeaux)
There was no doubt it was him. I knew the minute he tried to meow and managed only a croak. I could feel him purring before he even reached my leg. As he started to rub against me I bent to pick him up but that’s as far as I got. I smelled her perfume. I didn’t see her and the scent was very faint, but a man doesn’t forget the smell of a woman like her. As my arms pulled Sylvester to my chest my eyes were closed. The smell of her was strong on him, and my mind carried me back to the last time I’d buried myself in that heady fragrance. “Sorry I took your cat”, she said.
(Brave Sir Robin)

For a minute, all I could do was stare at her gape-mouthed in the manner of a man seeing a ghost. Finally, I found my tongue.

“I’d invite you in for coffee, but everything is frozen”.

‘That’s all right” she said “I like it iced now”.

Over what can only be described as black coffee slushies, she told me the story of how she stole my cat and ran away to make her fortune as a curandera in the jungles of Bolivia. After nearly a year of sweltering heat and bugs, the only magic she had left was the cat’s ability to freeze things. She could no longer produce the raised eyebrow of doom or break ear drums with her sarcastic cackle. When I asked her why she returned, the story got even more convoluted.

” After being run out of Bolivia, I found work at a brothel in Buenos Aires. By the way, your cat learned a few new tricks there. I suggest never saying the words frozen chicken in Spanish to him, you may not like the results. At the brothel I met this tango dancing hamster named Ruby. She told me that the only way I could get my powers back was to…( Red Queen)

I tag Varkentine, cause I think he has the right kind of pervy mind to continue this. Brandann cause Varkentine “doesn’t do committee written stories”