POSH SPICE SEASONED RISOTTO

The weekend when it would have been a year since I started this blog, I cleaned the fridge at my work. In my head I thought it would be great to write about. I say write, as opposed to blog, because eventhough I know this is in fact a blog, I am somewhat sentimental about the olden days before the internet ran the world.

You know, when children ran laughing through cornfields and monkeys chewed tobacco...





























Therefore a noun I did not comprehend a couple of years ago has no right to act like it deserves to be a verb when it was hard enough to understand in the first place.


















The point is, I cleaned the fridge and I don't mean that I got to take home lots of free cakes and pies and buckets of cream. If that were the case, I would have said CLEANED IT OUT. But you already knew that, didn't you...



















THE POINT IS, by the time I get around to hitting this hot black keyboard...the moment is sometimes lost.













So I will try not to tell you about the holes at the bottom of the fridge, below the drawers that people don't know are removable or something (not just people at Ben & Jerry's; people of the world at large.)

Well, there there are holes made from rotting milk and somewhere between the holes and the floor, there is a sweet little nook where the old milk hangs out and when trying to clean below the drawers (after removing them; hot tip), I discovered that if I try hard enough to clean what can never truly be clean, this forgotten but not gone milk spurts out like Kill Bill fight funny blood sprays everywhere when Uma takes it to the house.
























Or like when the Beverly Hillbillies struck oil.






















Wait, Grant Wood knew Jack Layton back when he was a hillbilly?? How is that even POSSIBLE...






















Not to name names, but don't you think Jack Layton has this totally sexy Burt Reynolds crossed with Paul Newman vibe??


































If Samantha Jones taught me anything, it was that admitting to basing your political leanings on the looks of candidates has no place in lunchtime conversation among intellectuals.

But we're not having lunch, now are we...

BACK TO THA FRIDGE!

This was the staff fridge though, so don't worry; it's not like there is anything wrong or dangerous with ice cream and dairy products actually sold to paying customers...except the fact that if you order a large [which is three scoops] and decide that you want a fourth scoop, you have to pay THREE DOLLARS AND SEVENTY-NINE CENTS for that extra scoop. WHICH IS TRULY ABSURD.


















In other news, apparently you have to be Totally Hair Ken 2.0 to work at Booster Juice on Sherbrooke by McGill. I saw them outside and they are an army of slick black-haired boys with semi-fauxhawk hairdos (I'll resist the urge to say hairdon't; no I won't) and that means that they are not fauxhawks and they are not mohawks. They are semi-real, I guess. Semi-real in the way that saline implants are more real than silicone ones...















Or semi-real in the way that J-LO was real when she was conning Ben Affleck

























































Back before blog had entered the modern lexicon and pre-teen sensations could just be pre-teen sensations that write each other notes in class...on paper.





















Instead of something from another planet.














So is it just me, or does Victoria Beckham remarkably resemble these painful excuses for pre-teen sensations??



















Ladies and germs, I think we've found ourselves a role model.

If you'll excuse me, I have to go name my unborn children after hip places in London, England.

And she will be called "Portabello"...and come in handy for omelettes and risotto dishes.