Booniverse

The Last of the August Hua xing snacks over at the JSFR

More Pretz Noir this weekend.

Today is DQ’s manysomethingth birthday. You will have to ask her how old she is ‘cuz I’m not the one to leak that sort of information to teh intertubes. Nope. But I will leak that she may or may not have been born in the same calendar year I was but not born in the same Chinese year. You internets stalkers go have fun with that while the rest of us move on.
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Check them out: My snazzy new not-Birks. On a related note, there is no limit to the hate my feet have for me today. Hmmm, perhaps six years of continuous Birk wearing has a downside.
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As promised, the Chicken Tikka Masala recipe:
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Soup and Proto-soup!
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coffee Coffee COFFEE!

Omochi, my mochi…

I’m kinda getting in to this random Friday thing.
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Argh! I went and called up a karma backlash the other day when I glibly said “Ever since we let the cats downstairs we haven’t had a cricket problem. Wow, that was about three years ago, aren’t our cats awesome! Tra-la-la!” But of course this weekend we noticed a rather loud chirruping and lo! We have a cricket somewhere in the basement. I think we noticed the phantom bugger Friday night and it’s still down there somewhere happily singing its stupid tune.
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I’ve got nuttin’ for you on the cooking front because the Cold up and took me out this weekend. On the plus side, the Aubergines were roasted up and are awaiting baba ganoushing. When I’m not illin I’ll baba ganoush those puppies. RARH!
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In an all Pocky Noir weekend, today’s take on Pocky can be found here.

By popular suggestion, the JSFR brings you Dessert Pocky.

Christmas in August!
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Wow (the expression). This is going to be the easiest weekend recaps ever:
Friday: *cough* I’m feeling punk, Ima going to go to bed.
Saturday: *coughwheeze* Ima feeling crappy, gonna hafta cancel going to mumses.
Sunday: *coughwheezelung-hoark* Ima feeling extra-super illin, gonna hafta cancel berry picking and gaming on account of TRYING TO EVICT MY LUNGS!
Monday: * coughwheeze* Ima running on 4 hours of interrupted sleep on account of excessive lung butter, sorry boss, won’t be coming in.
Today: *cough* Urgle…I’m feeling…ummm…better? Maybe? Dizzy? OOoooo, a little. Congested? Check. Would I send me home if I heard me coughing and hacking? Oh yeah. Sorry boss, going to be staying home one more day.
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