Adventures of a Tofu Slut

Of course the problem with the bonus day off in the middle of the week is that it's very hard to get up the next morning. I have a vague memory of the alarm going off, but I managed to fall right back to sleep, staying zonked out through Andrea Ratuski, that damn annoying thingy that announces the top of the hour, World Report, weather, sports, and Tom Allen's opening remarks. Bleargh. And I've been craving a chai soy latte all morning. This is not unusual -- I often crave the chai soy latte, because the chai soy latte is, in fact, crack* -- but I don't ever do hot drinks in the morning, due to too many years of burning my tongue on the hot chocolate that my dad used to make for me before school. A nice idea, but not too easy to drink when you only have 10 mintues for breakfast. Dear Body: Do not confuse the listersgirl. She is plenty enough confused without your help.

Ok, y'all. My man Tommy Douglas is still in first place, and Don Cherry has fallen in the standings, so I don't have to kill myself. I'm getting a little worried for Tommy, though - apparently London (Ontario, not England - I'm pretty sure they don't care) is running a huge campaign to get everyone in the city to vote repeatedly for Frederick Banting. Now, Fred was a great guy, developing insulin and all, but I don't think he deserves to be Greatest Canadian, because what he did didn't affect Canada specifically in any way.

The episode on Lester B. (aka Mike) Pearson was fabulous. Of course, it had the advantage of a) a subject who was around during the TV years, so there was lots of footage to use, b) someone who, were it not for Tommy Douglas, I could easily see myself promoting, and c) Paul Gross as advocate (who, incidentally, is filming a movie in the parking lot under my bathroom window on Monday. I think I feel a cold coming on). Also, there were no gratuitous driving shots. Sort of. There were gratuitous bumper cars, trains and airplanes, but at least that was new.

( Lost ramblings, the non-squee version - it's safe to click, llamacran )

Spam: STOP THE PORN
Me: But...I like porn!
Spam: *PORN* *PORN* *PORN*
Me: Ahhhhh! Ok, not your porn.
Me: ::runs back to safety of porn with proper punctuation and good grammar::
No, I did not actually *open* the spam. What kind of fool do you think I am? The subject lines were scary enough.

ps. mistress_wanda! There's an icon here that you need. No, really.

*And I remember having a long discussion about this somewhere, but I can't find it. And the supposed 'search this journal' function does not, in fact, search this journal. Bah.

Today's excellent spam subject line: poetry, classics. !USERNAME!

I don't know, it's almost enough to make me want to open it.

So, according to the Advertising Slogan Generator, 'Men Want Listersgirl'. Which is perhaps the most inaccurate statement I have ever read. I got a much better answer the second time round (ad as it is) with '8 out of 10 Owners Who Expressed a Preference Said Their Cats Preferred Listersgirl'. That's me: preferred by cats. (link courtesy of Pop Culture Junk Mail)

I've been eating out so much this week, and there's still more to come. I think eating out is possibly my favourite thing to do, other than sleep. But, you know, as a vegetarian, you get used to going to an average restaurant and having a limited number of things from which to choose. At your basic meat-eater's paradise, it's usually a choice between the veggie burger and the veggie pasta (if you're lucky). So when I go to a vegetarian restaurant, it takes me hours (hours!) to make up my mind. There's the quick menu scan to find the meatless items, which is followed by the bouncing in my seat when I remember that I can eat Every. Single. Thing. on the menu. So then I have to start again. I usually have to read the entire menu at least 3 times before I can start narrowing it down to type of food* and then there's a good 20 minutes of waffling. Luckily our waitress last night found us highly amusing, because between the menu reading and the months of catching up we had to do, picking a meal was an arduous task.

And because I know you, Gentle Reader, are always concerned about me, you'll be happy to know that there is a chance of weekend temperatures that do not involve the word "minus". You heard me. Of course, this means there'll be snow, and probably lots of it, but still.


*Unless there's hot and sour soup. I'm a bit of a freak for hot and sour, and am currently on a quest to find the best veg hot and sour in the city. So far, Cafe 668 is the reigning champion, but if you think you know a place in Toronto that's got the goods, please, for the love of Pete, tell me.**

**Because if I find out after I move that there was something I missed, the way I found out after I left Montreal that there was a dance teacher there that I absolutely should have studied with, someone will have to pay. And you don't want it to be you.