sitting here bitching to myself about the lack of good tv shows at the moment, sipping Lipton black tea like any citizen of a post-Brit-colonized era should and contemplating the different ways i will die now that i’ve found out that my Waitrose fabric softener contains amongst other chemicals,
embalming fluid formaldehyde.
i would rather walk around in crispy, stiff, rough panties that chafe my luscious buttocks than swaddle myself with 5% formaldehyde. that’s 0% away from what the privileged dead are generously embalmed in. useless trivia of the day – formaldehyde makes up 5 – 29% of embalming fluid.
some days ago, i had the honour of having dinner with Ravi’s business associates when i was with him in Abu Dhabi.
i’m not sure if i was more disturbed by
- the alarming number of horny men at the restaurant, some of whom were pretending they were not interested in the belly dancer who dances no better than William Hung, or
- the two Lebanese women who were beautiful but were either cursed with bad fashion sense or a serious case of delusion with regards to size as those were not miniskirts, rather, they were nanominis, or
- that i had swallowed raw sheep whole (for those frequently confused over lamb and mutton, lamb is meat from sheep below a year old and mutton is meat procured from the sheep equivalent of old hags).
i’m adventurous with food unless it’s tomato ice-cream (i’ll leave that to you, E love) and didn’t see any harm in trying raw lamb, spiced raw lamb and raw lamb liver. Ravi was, without doubt, absolutely horrified that soon after that, his lips would have to meet with those which licked a bleating sheep. i’d had beef tartar (raw ground beef, spices and raw egg) before, the Brits discovered fire soon after. the taste was distinctly bland and i felt that the extra calories and microorganisms i was pounding into myself were absolutely redundant.
the raw lamb was also bland with a disgusting texture on the tongue – soft, malleable, a tad gooey. like having melted Playdoh in your mouth. that wasn’t too bad.
spiced raw lamb was very much like raw lamb, hah, except i just couldn’t taste the spices because i was too distracted by the rolling mounds of plasticine in my mouth.
the raw lamb liver mocked me with all of its deep red smooth surface from my starter plate. our Lebanese friend sitting opposite me watched as i lifted the cold liver cube up into my mouth. the regret was instantaneous and i relived the nightmare of eating Oreo cereal with fresh goatmilk all over again. the hair at the nape of my neck stood on end and my hand froze as i chewed on the rubbery square sheep in my mouth and decided against spitting it out (it’s impolite and unglamorous). the cube was too large to be swallowed immediately and i could not risk the humiliation of a very public Heimlich manouvre while men were busy covering their groins and drooling over the stiff belly dancer with ample, jiggling boobs.
so i chewed quickly and the essence of the liver cube oozed out and swirled all around my mouth. i reached out and grabbed a bread, dipped it in a large portion of hummus and stuffed it down my throat.
raw lamb liver = concentrated sheep essence. it tasted like liquid baaaa going into your mouth, i won’t be repeating this anytime soon.
this picture reminds me of the good old times i used to see an entire Saturday disappear when i bathed all 7 cats. they all looked as miserable as this kitty here.
for you narcissists and psychos comfortable with talking to a videocam on a stick, the QuikPod is for you. i’m just happy my Powershot has a flippable display screen. i’m not gonna carry a stick around when i can ask nice locals to take shots for me, though most of them them do leave a lot to be desired with regards to the composition of the shot.