I've been watching a lot of episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer of late.
Please don't judge me. It was Ze Husband's fault. He MADE me do it.
I'd never seen an episode of Buffy until about six weeks ago, given the only reason I stopped having nightmares about the Big Bad Wolf was because said BBW got chased off by imaginary vampires whose desire to eat me was even stronger. And those vampires could FLY, dammit- my usual techniques for escaping from the wolves didn't work any more.
I digress.
Anyway, with the assistance of a cushion to hide behind and knitting so as to avoid concentrating too much, I've got through three whole seasons. There are many things in Buffy requiring suspension of disbelief- all the vampires, for instance. But the one thing that really gets me is: Just how many coats does that girl have? Normal people have one coat, maybe two, or three at a push. I counted, and Buffy had SIX different coats in one episode. Seriously. And it's not even cold in California.
Back to the cupboard to hide from flying things with fangs...
Friday 29 October 2010
Tuesday 12 October 2010
Yogurt Love
Helloes! I'm BACK!
And yes, I spell yogurt without an h. I prefer my dairy products uninjured (de-dum CHING).
I made a couple of exciting discoveries during my Masters year in Caen two years ago. None of them had anything to do with medieval history. The best of these discoveries was Casino's yaourts-desserts. They make tarte au citron flavoured yogurts, people! Om nom nom nom nom.
I didn't have a very good year in Caen, as some of you know, mainly due to the ineptitude of the history department and the fact I was living on my own (Catherines, like aubergines, are not naturally solitary beings). The yogurts helped, though. For some reason, food often seems to help. And no, please don't try and psychoanalyse that.
I tried again and again to find these yogurts since leaving Caen, without success. I even ASKED the people in the supermarkets if they'd heard of them, just to show you how serious the yogurt-hunting was.
Yesterday, I was having a bad day. After giving up on my afternoon and having a three-hour nap instead, I decided a trip to the supermarket was in order. Upon arrival, I carried out my usual brief inspection of the yogurt aisle. Nothing. Despairing of ever finding yaourts-desserts again, I offered up a silent prayer to the God of Yogurts*. Surely, I thought, he would be merciful? I spent a month taking care of the SimplyMarket yogurts in December, after all- don't I deserve a little yogurty kindness?
It was then that the miracle happened. Ze Boy (hmmm...or Ze Husband, now?) tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the bottom row of yogurts in the chiller cabinet.
There they were. Casino yaourts-desserts. My quest for the yogurty grail was over.
Back to the cupboard now WITH MY YOGURTS. Om nom nom nom nom nom nom etc.
*Note: the existence of a God of Yogurts does not cause any theological problems for a Christian. The God of Yogurts is simply a title for that part of the Trinity responsible for dealings with dairy products. I feel rather silly talking to God as a whole about yogurt issues.
End Note.
And yes, I spell yogurt without an h. I prefer my dairy products uninjured (de-dum CHING).
I made a couple of exciting discoveries during my Masters year in Caen two years ago. None of them had anything to do with medieval history. The best of these discoveries was Casino's yaourts-desserts. They make tarte au citron flavoured yogurts, people! Om nom nom nom nom.
I didn't have a very good year in Caen, as some of you know, mainly due to the ineptitude of the history department and the fact I was living on my own (Catherines, like aubergines, are not naturally solitary beings). The yogurts helped, though. For some reason, food often seems to help. And no, please don't try and psychoanalyse that.
I tried again and again to find these yogurts since leaving Caen, without success. I even ASKED the people in the supermarkets if they'd heard of them, just to show you how serious the yogurt-hunting was.
Yesterday, I was having a bad day. After giving up on my afternoon and having a three-hour nap instead, I decided a trip to the supermarket was in order. Upon arrival, I carried out my usual brief inspection of the yogurt aisle. Nothing. Despairing of ever finding yaourts-desserts again, I offered up a silent prayer to the God of Yogurts*. Surely, I thought, he would be merciful? I spent a month taking care of the SimplyMarket yogurts in December, after all- don't I deserve a little yogurty kindness?
It was then that the miracle happened. Ze Boy (hmmm...or Ze Husband, now?) tapped me on the shoulder and pointed to the bottom row of yogurts in the chiller cabinet.
There they were. Casino yaourts-desserts. My quest for the yogurty grail was over.
Back to the cupboard now WITH MY YOGURTS. Om nom nom nom nom nom nom etc.
*Note: the existence of a God of Yogurts does not cause any theological problems for a Christian. The God of Yogurts is simply a title for that part of the Trinity responsible for dealings with dairy products. I feel rather silly talking to God as a whole about yogurt issues.
End Note.
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