Sudha's Carrot Cake recipe

Having spent a panicked few minutes looking for the pieces of paper I scribbled this recipe down on, I thought I would take the wise precaution of putting it on the web so I can find it whenever I want. Little pieces of paper go walkabouts with me and I can't call my parents up every time I want to bake...

So here it is. We (my family) got this recipe from a friend and it's divine. You'd better like sultanas and the nuts are, as always, optional but this is a moist (this is the only time it's appropriate to use that word), dense (but not heavy) cake. Enjoy!

2C shredded carrot
1C sultanas
1 1/2C sugar
1 1/2C water
1/3C (125g) butter
1C plain flour
1 1/2t baking soda
1/2t of each salt, cloves, spices*
1C whole wheat flour
1t vanilla essence
1C chopped walnuts

• combine in a pan carrot, sugar, sultanas, water and butter.
• bring to boil and simmer for 5 mins.
• leave to cool**
• sift plain flour, baking soda, salt and spices in to wet mixture
• add whole wheat flour
• add vanilla and walnuts and mix well

Cook for at 180˚C for 35 mins or until cooked***

Ice as you please but I have found the best one is:
finely grate a lemon rind, add a tub of cream cheese, make sure it's soft then add in as much icing sugar as you need to get the right consistency. Vague instructions I know but I'm a handful of this, pinch of that kind of cooker. ;-)

*I just put in 1/2 of each cinnamon, ginger and nutmeg
**this will take at least 20 min depending on your pot. I never leave it to cool totally because I'm too lazy
*** I usually find this is about right although more towards the 40min mark depending on your oven. It can pay to check it at 30mins to be safe

scariest piece of spam mail yet

Good afternoon, friend!

Do you see this game? Funny flash game with nude Angelina Jolie. She sucks and... fucks! Enjoy! The game in your attachment.

Thanks.

[editor's note: I did not open the attachment]

gem of the day

bootscootinbaby.com

How exactly I got to this site is a long story. Let's just sum it up with:
"OMGthere'sawebsitecalledbootscootinbaby.com (I was talking very fast at that point) where mums can go to linedance with their kids"
[I click on the link]
"Argh! It's in comic sans!!" (Whilst also thinking to myself, "ARGH! It's also pink and has an animated gif of a baby in cowboy boots dancing.""

Make sure you check out the snapshots link. The mothers do line dancing with their babies strapped to their fronts. My boss is of the firm opinion that line dancing (and country music) are cancerous growths that should be cut out of society. I strongly disagree. Maybe living for 4 years in good ol' redneck southern states rubbed off but I say country music has its place and if I could spend an evening boot scootin' my way around a dance floor I would be in some form of heaven.

simple pleasures

To cut a long story short, 2 banners needed to be designed at work for a promo weekend we're doing at a dive site in a couple of weekends. We need the banners to go beside our stand and lucky me, I go to design them. That's not sarcasm folks, I'm fo' real lucky. This is the first large scale design work I've done and I must be a mega-design geek because the thought of standing beside two 2m high (80cm wide) banners designed by myself fills me with a warm fuzzy glow and makes me begin to drool with joy then start doing little excited jumps of joy. There's just something deliciously mouth-watering about getting to design BIG things.

Of course with this excitement comes big angst. I'm designing something on screen that is going to be 2 METERS HIGH. That is bigger than me. (Not hard to do, true, but still, bigger than me...) It's hard to know when you look at something on the screen what it'll be like at real size. But they're looking good and they're transferring to the printer now and I've checked and double checked and got other people to double check and finally, I had to just close my eyes, take a deep breath and hit 'send'.

There will be photos of me with my 2m high babies- I just hope to God there aren't any mistakes otherwise I'll be spending all weekend at the dive site looking at the muckups and obsessing over them. But I'm sure it'll be fine. The main thing to focus on is I will have made something that is 2 METERS HIGH. I go weak at the knees thinking of the chance to design a billboard...

delivering the goods

Shelly von Strucknel was in fine form the other week:

Others are complaining about errors triggered by Mercury's retrograde cycle, which continues until early next week. Those pose little problem for you, as you swiftly figure out a solution for most. The personal doubts you are tangling with are another matter, and have you wishing you could find quick solutions for them

She actually used the word retrograde- I couldn't have been happier.

sweet choice legend

We have recently acquired another Kiwi at work so we now number a grand total of 2. I derive a pure and simple pleasure from talking to my fellow countryman because although the accent is familiar, it isn't the nastier, more embarrassing variation and just the way he puts sentences together reminds me of home. It struck me this morning that although he is speaking exactly the same language as me, his sentences have a structure, and words are used in a way that would only happen back home. I love that. I miss that. I've pretty much lost that.

from the hands of babes...

this is my flatmate Sean, as drawn by his 4 year old niece:


this is me:


psychoanalyse away, we had a field day with them.

festering mass of resentment

Sometimes when you're sick and feeling sorry for yourself, the best thing to do is not to pick yourself up and carry on but rather to wallow in it for a while, swim in it till your fingers get all pruney. That's my theory at least and it's what I really wanted to do this weekend but it just didn't happen. I'm at a disadvantage anyway because my naturally sunny disposition* makes wallowing in self-pity a bit hard. I tend to end up taking the piss out of myself and making both myself and those around laugh at my cynical oh-woe-is-me approach. I didn't know if I wanted to get a really sad movie so that I could cry so hard my eyes swelled shut and I couldn't breathe properly and I felt really sorry for myself or if I wanted to fall asleep in front of action movies. I envisaged a duvet, the sofa, the TV, a shite load of popcorn and not much else. I also needed to clean my room and go through paperwork that I've been putting aside to sort through "later" for ages. My room got a little tidier but otherwise none of my vision for the weekend was to come to pass. *sob* *sniff* Instead I was inundated in babies- which usually I would love- and in fact I did love it. I mean how can you not love babies? I think what I resented was that I ended up having a weekend full of having a nice time chatting with friends and having coffee and sitting outside at the pub in the sun talking to people and, of course, making babies laugh and it was a nice weekend. But I didn't want a nice weekend. I wanted to be holed up inside on my sofa watching all of the Star Wars (the vintage versions, not the new stuff) or all the Die Hards or something with Arnie, or something to make me snot all over everything. I wanted to wallow in sickness and self-pity so that I could start the week afresh with it all out of my system. Alas it was not to be. So now I'm still sick and feeling sorry for myself and am quite the hater right now. How lucky I can laugh at myself.

*don't laugh

I know I shouldn't laugh but...

The headline on my Metro* this morning could have come from a Hiaasen novel: The rise of DIY plastic surgery. Here are a selection of the better quotes:

Obsession with celebrity culture is driving people to perform DIY cosmetic surgery, an expert warned yesterday.
In the worst case, a man gave himself a nose job with a chisel and replaced cartilage he removed with a chicken bone, according to consultant psychiatrist Dr David Veale.
Others have cut their stomachs in DIY tummy tucks, and used glue to try to pin back their ears.

Now I know I should be horrified by the impact that the media is having on our everyday life and boo-hiss to size zero models etc etc and that it's tragic that someone cuts their own stomach because they think they're fat but I'm afraid I just can't get past a guy chiseling his nose off and putting in a chicken bone. It's so horribly tragic that I can't help but laugh. Say it with me folks: WTF.

*still avoiding reading the horoscope in the morning although now that I've sworn off reading it, it is of course all I want to do. But I know that if I read it, it'll be all doomsday again and then I'll regret it. But it feels like having a scab that you know you shouldn't pick so all you want to do it pick at it. Scabby little Metro horoscopes. A pox on them all.

new hair and a touch of British class

On Friday night Kez and I went to see Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer. I thought it was about as good as the first one, a work colleague of mine thought it was the most disappointing thing ever- and he has knowledge of the comic. So from an ignoramous standpoint- about the same as #1, from an aficionado point of view, superpuss. And in case you're wondering, these hot pictures of me and Kez in the hothot glasses are the 3D glasses that were provided for a Reb Bull ad that played before the movie. Probably the biggest point of note was that a couple was sitting about 4 rows in front of us and at the final fight sequence, the guy got up and left the cinema, I'm assuming to go to the loo. Then, just when everything has finished, the dude comes back in. The icing on the cake was that one of the main characters had been taken out of play for most of the grand fight finish and just as the dude goes to sit down, they come too and say, "Did I miss anything?" Oh the grand ironic comic timing. I sniggered to myself but Kerry, bless her soul, let out the loudest cackle ever- in a quiet cinema. It was gold. This picture is in here because the toilets at our local cinema are a constant source of horror stories for us. Usually there's no paper, the seats are half off the loo, there are tampons and/or pads scattered liberally and stuff clogging the loo. We use toilet paper to open the doors on the way out, we're that scared. So when we went to go to the loo before our movie on Fri night, I was suspecting the worst. We walked in and for once it was empty and (relatively) clean. But as I scoped out a suitably sterile loo, I came across this photographic gem which caused me to laugh so hard and so long that Kerry nearly left her toilet to see what all the fuss was about. I'm just glad that nobody was around so that I could take a photo of it. This snap, ladies and gents, typifies my Wimbledon Odeon experiences perfectly.

And here, at long last, are silly posey pics of my new haircut. It's the shortest yet folks.

I'm getting some fantastic morning hair with this cut. It's never quite vertical but very close to it.

I thought it bared comparison to how my hair used to look.

riddle me this Batman...

This was in a catalogue I got at work. What I can't understand is why, if your phone is on silent (when surely, of all times, you want it not to attract attention) you want a flashy rotating toy on the end of it. WTF I ask you. W T F.

kitty!

I think it must say something about how cat deprived I am that I look at this and say, in my patronising who's-a-little-coochy-coo-then voice, "Aaaw, look at the widdle kitty swimming for his dindin. Isn't he cute?" No Aynia, he is not cute. Actually, he's looking pretty f*cking ferocious and scary as hell. Here is a link to the online article.

shortest yet

It would seem the secret to me being happy with my haircut is to get a hairdresser who is psychic. Which I have. I went in wanting one thing, thought we'd reached a compromise but I came out with.... 95% what I wanted. Which in the Aynia scale of haircuts might as well be 100%. The missing 5% can be put down to the fact that I got what I wanted but I've decided that I prefer something closer to what I had before. (I'll never be totally happy with my hair. It will always, always be a grass-is-greener-on-the-other-side-of-the-scissors kind of deal. I'll get someone to take some photos but this is the shortest ever. And I don't think I'd go any shorter, I think I suit it that little bit longer. But still, all hail Sandy, my psychic stylist who has done what no hairdresser has been able to do before.

Pink its like red but not quite

Today through the glory of sharing iTunes libraries, I was finally reunited with Pink by Aerosmith. I remember this song from when NZ had MTV for an oh-so-brief period of time. The music video was simple but amusing. But the lyrics- oh the lyrics. Oh the hilarity.

Pink it´s my new obsession
Pink it´s not even a question
Pink on the lips of your lover, ´cause
Pink is the love you discover
Pink as the bing on your cherry
Pink ´cause you are so very
Pink it´s the color of passion
`Cause today it just goes with the fashion
Pink it was love at first sight, yea
Pink when I turn out the light, and
Pink gets me high as a kite
And I think everything is going to be all right
No matter what we do tonight
You could be my flamingo
´Coz pink is the new kinda lingo
Pink like a deco umbrella
It´s kink - but you don´t ever tell her
Pink it was love at first sight
Pink when I turn out the light
Pink gets me high as a kite
And I think everything is going to be all right
No matter what we do tonight
I want to be your lover
I wanna wrap you in rubber
As pink as the sheets that we lay on
Pink is my favorite crayon, yeah
Pink it was love at first sight
Pink when I turn out the light
Pink it´s like red but not quite
And I think everything is going to be all right
No matter what we do tonight

rhyming genius:
As pink as the sheets that we lay on, Pink is my favorite crayon

lyrical genius:
Pink it´s like red but not quite

If you haven't, watch the video so you can hear the tune. I can't quite pinpoint exactly what it is about this song but it makes me smile inanely and on a stressy sucky day, it was a highlight.

...

You know how sometimes you have so much to do and are so stressed that your brain shuts down? Mine is there right now. I have things I really need to do. RIGHT NOW. But instead I am blogging about my stress. Just like last night I was almost dead-on-my-feet-tired but did I go to bed? No. Of course not. Under the pretense that I was waiting for my washing to spin out, I started making brownies- what can I say? I'm a stress baker. Luckily I have my work colleagues who will inhale pretty much any baking I place before them so I get the therapy of the baking without the guilt of the eating. I can't believe it's only Tuesday and my brain already feels fried. Oh woe is me, poor little Aynia-kins etc etc. I only have to make it to the weekend. Four days. No worries.

Right, and now after that little freakout I must get back to that which I've been putting off but first- my friend Sam is in the UK at the moment with her little boy Josh who I got to see for the first time on Saturday. He's about 6 months old and at that adorable all-cheeks-and-no-chin stage. I love it! I have no shame around children and it seemed that Sam took a picture with every stupid face that I pulled.

they don't make 'em like they used to

When I was growing up (I like how this phrase implies that I'm somehow done with growing up now. Which is so not the case...), these loveheart candies had messages like 'be mine' and 'sweetheart' on them. Now they say 'text me' or 'email me' or, and this one I really don't get 'just say no'. Pardon? I thought that was a anti-drugs campaign slogan?