Coffee Quest: Saving Time and Money?

If you read my facebook updates (And, like, really, why WOULDN’T you?), you may remember my joy/fear when I found out they were putting in a drive-thru Starbucks just down the road. Joy because it’s STARBUCKS and it’s a DRIVE-THRU, and it’s it’s right on the way to work. Fear because  it’s STARBUCKS and it’s a DRIVE-THRU, and it’s it’s right on the way to work! Actually, as luck would have it, it wasn’t RIGHT on the way to work. It was LEFT on the way to work. (In case you don’t know, I have a Thing about turning left onto busy roads when there are no traffic lights. I can get from any point A to point B in the city WITHOUT making any lefts, if need be). So, getting into Starbucks is no problem, but getting OUT would be an issue. Which is actually good news, because I don’t need the temptation of Starbucks every day on my way to work. Hence the fear. I just can’t afford it. Which is actually the point of the story. (Yes, there *is* one.)

Back before the Starbucks came to my ‘hood, I had a bit of a Timmies problem, as did my boyfriend (Let’s call him “Jack”).When it seemed to be getting out of control, we made our first purchase together as a couple: a coffee maker! The logic was that we would make coffee every day and save the stop at Timmies. We even got one with a timer, so we could set it the night before and therefore save not only MONEY, but scads of TIME each morning! (Oh, and when I say “we” could make it the night before, I mean Jack. But I’m sure you all knew that.)

Problem solved, right? Not quite. First of all, I don’t actually LIKE the taste of coffee. And I’m not TECHNICALLY supposed to have caffeine. It took me ages to find my perfect Timmies drink: Medium french vanilla, with half-decaf. It had just the right balance of caffeine, flavour, and dairy (I’m also lactose–intolerant, did I mention that?)

So it wasn’t just a simple matter of throwing some coffee into the machine every night (poor Jack). It needed to be half de-caf, and half flavoured coffee. Or half regular coffee, but then we needed to have flavoured non-dairy creamer in the house. Then we had to make sure I had lactose free-milk. Heated, of course. And frothy. And maybe a sprinkle of cinnamon?

It was working well enough... heat the milk, pour it in the blender with the flavoured creamer and a scoop of whey powder (we’re ALL about healthy eating around here), but THEN the blender stopped working. Thank goodness for the Magic Bullet! Perhaps I should have paid more attention in Science class when they told us about what happens to hot liquids when they are in an airtight container and then agitated. So, after I cleaned up the hot milk that exploded out of the Magic Bullet, I decided that it would make more sense to froth the milk FIRST, and THEN heat it up. I know, I know, I’m a genius.

Have you ever heated up a mug of frothed milk in the microwave? Try it. Just half a mug. After about one minute, Jack’s teenage daughter casually says to me, “Um, Char... I think it’s overflowing.” Um, yes, I THINK so, since all we can see through the window of the microwave is a giant cloud of frothy milk doing a Mount Vesuvius out of the mug. Is there a plan C?

At work the next day, I was drooling over the cappuccino machines in the newspaper, and relayed my tale of woe to some co-workers. Yes, woe. I couldn’t really justify the expense of a cappuccino machine JUST to make hot frothy milk. (Well, I *could* justify it, I’m good at that sort of thing, but I am being responsible). Then I heard the most beautiful words I had heard all day....”Why don’t you get one of those little milk frothing tools?” Wha????? Yes, I’ve HEARD that such a thing exists, Merci Madame! That would be PERFECT! But where would I find such a thing? And could I afford it? Could I justify the cost? How much shopping (a dirty word to me) would this involve? Should I do some comparison shopping? Make a rubric?

These thoughts continued to swirl in the back of my mind for next two days. In the BACK, because when I bring them to the front, then I have to actually do something about them. And I wasn’t ready for that, because I ____ shopping (we are not using the h word in our house anymore) and I am NEVER the person to find the good deals. It was going to be a nightmare. I wasn’t ready to deal with it.

THEN a miracle happened! Jack and I took the kids to the mall for a brief shopping trip, and while were there I decided to pop into the kitcheny store, just to see if they happened to have a hand-held milk frother. Maybe I could get an idea of what was out there, and how much they would cost. I could get started on my rubric when we got home! I asked the guy working there and of course he said no, they didn’t have any. As I started to turn away from him, shoulders sagging with dejection, I heard the most beautiful words I had heard all THAT day....”Oh wait, I think we might have just gotten some more.” He led me over to the coffee area, and there it was.... A sleek, stainless steel hand-held milk frother, complete with its own counter-top stand! It was gorgeous... I almost cried! It would fit in perfectly with the other stainless steel items on my counter. I looked at the price. $24.99. Was that a good price? Should I shop around? I was reaching for my iPhone to surreptitiously take a pic of the item and the price for future comparison (yes, I know you’re not supposed to do that, but I do) when I saw it. A sale tag! Are you ready? FIVE DOLLARS!!!!! “Five Dollars?!?!?!”, I asked the guy. “Um, yeah, I guess’” he mumbled. (Why was he not more excited?? Surly teenagers.)

So, to wrap it up (according to the FAQs, people are more likely to read your Blog if you keep it short. Oops.), I bought the frother and it works like a charm! Heat the milk, froth the milk, rinse the frother, and Bob’s Your Uncle! No more Starbucks on the way to work... just think of the money I’ll save!

Maybe I’ll save enough to buy a cappuccino machine!

CSI: Tales (Tails?) of a Miniature Killer (Not THE Miniature Killer!)

WARNING: Contains graphic, real-life descriptions of a "murder" scene. Do not continue reading if you are squeamish. Or an animal lover. Or a Justin Bieber fan.

I came home to a very disturbing scene yesterday. It involved blood, a dead body, and a 911 call. This is a true story.

Let’s start with what happened last week......

One night, just after 10 pm, I was cuddled up on the couch with my guy (he has asked to be called “Randall” in my Blog) to watch our show (Castle). We were finally able to unwind and get comfortable after a long day, when we were interrupted by loud shrieks from the basement. I could tell from the voice that it was Elizabeth Bennett. She carried on crying and wailing for about five minutes, but we were comfy and did not go down to investigate. It was not unusual for Elizabeth Bennett (“Lizzie”) to make such sounds, though she usually did it in front of us, when she was whining or complaining about something... lack of food , lack of water, lack of attention,.... (Did I mention that Lizzie is a CAT? This will make more sense if you know that.) 

Anyhow, we ignored her for a while, then she came upstairs and started playing under the dining room table. As usual, she was throwing her toys in the air and chasing them through the table and chair legs, making all kinds of noise. My patience last about half an hour before I leaned over the back of the couch to nicely ask her to tone it down. She was lying on her side approximately 3.72 metres away from us, with her head on the floor, hugging her little toy mousie. Oh no, wait a sec, that’s too big to be her toy mousie.... she must have gotten into Tori’s collection of stuffed Beanies and brought one down to play with. Tori will NOT be impressed! It looks so real..... Wouldn’t it be funny if I told Randall that it was a REAL mouse??? I chuckle inwardly and then it CLICKS.... It really IS a REAL mouse! 

I don’t remember my EXACT reaction, but it involved lots of screaming from underneath the blanket that immediately went over my head and stayed there for the next several minutes. I don’t remember my EXACT words, but I believe the gist was: GET IT OUT OF THE HOUSE!! GET IT OUT OF THE HOUSE!!! GET IT OUT!!!! Well, good ole Randall took care of it, but sadly reported that it had perished prior to his arrival. There were no obvious wounds, but Randall assures me it would have been quick and painless (????). The mousie was buried in a private plot in our backyard and.... okay, he was thrown out the patio doors into the snow. A nice treat for the night prowlers outside, I thought. Apparently the night prowlers prefer live prey though, as I discovered 2 days later after the snow melted and there he was, lying paws-up on the patio. Luckily, Randall was able to take care of it properly before my dinner guests arrived. I didn’t mention the mouse to them.... the mother of the family is a bit obsessed with cleanliness and probably wouldn’t want her kids playing on the floor where a rodent had died. (Love you, Sis!)

Okay, so that was last week. How many lines of print do I get in this Blog thing?

So, YESTERDAY.... I went back to work after a wonderful 17-day vacation (*sigh*). It was a pleasant morning, but nonetheless I was exhausted by 1pm and very much looking forward to coming home for a hot bowl of soup, some comfy pants, and maybe a short nap. 

I walked through the door of my house and was greeted by my little friend Lizzie from across the livingroom, near the entrance of the dining room. She was just sitting pretty, looking up at me with her head tilted. Very odd, she would usually run around the house MEOWING like crazy when I arrived home. As I was at the front closet taking off my coat, boots and scarf, I greeted Lizzie and asked her about her day (yes, I know). She didn’t reply, and I could only see the top half of her body over the back of the loveseat, but she just looked so cute and calm for a change, gazing up at me with her adoring eyes. Our “moment” was interrupted by the arrival of Meredith Grey (again, a cat), who came running down the stairs shouting and complaining. She stood at the bottom of the stairs, between me and Lizzie, and continued to complain. I knew she was tattling, and wondered what kinds of shenanigans had occurred while I was at work. I reminded her of the Tattling Rules in our house, then began to worry.... Was there another mousie? I slowly walked toward Lizzie, expecting the worse, but she was just sitting there nicely, with a toy in front of her feet. NOT a mouse, I could tell. It was NOT mouse-shaped. 

A few steps closer and my shape-analysing skills were confirmed. I was correct. It was NOT mouse-shaped..... it was HALF-a-mouse shaped. By this time I was almost in the dining room and as I tore my eyes away from the sight in front of me, I noticed the blood smears on the hardwood floors and baseboards. I took only a brief glance before full-blown panic set in, but I recall seeing several smears. It looked like a scene from CSI after a victim had been dragged across the floor leaving long pathways of blood with their hands. 

I immediately dialled 911 on my cell phone. Well, I texted it. To Randall, so he would know to answer his phone at work (a big no-no). As soon as he could make out what was wrong, he said those five little words that melted this girl’s heart: “Get Out Of The House.” He told me to go to my sister’s house for the rest of the day and he would call me when it was “Taken Care Of”. Thank you Randall. 

I got out of the house as quickly as possible, stopping only to cover the (half) body with an inverted bin and placing a heavy tool box on top so that Lizzie couldn’t get into it. Even in my agitated state, I knew that it would be even worse to come home later and NOT have the remains where they were left. As it is, I am being very careful about where I step or sit, just in case the missing pieces are being hidden.

When Randall had finished his “clean-up” (I am picturing a mob movie as I say that), he called me to report his findings. The evidence suggested that the vic died from a heart attack, likely when his neck was crushed, likely by a tiger. From the blood trails, it appeared that the vic was killed elsewhere, then brought to the crime scene for decapitation. We do have a suspect in custody, but she continues to deny any involvement.

According to my internet research, it is not uncommon for cats to EAT parts of mice, including the head. Even if it a sweet indoor cat. Even if there have been NO mice in the house for the 4 ½ years one has lived there. I won’t get into all of the details of what cats can do when they find a mousie to play with. A few points worth noting though:

1. APPARENTLY, indoor cats don’t always digest live animals very well, so I need to be watching for “regurgitation”.
2. APPARENTLY, cats don’t always eat the mice. Sometimes they bite off their heads and hide them away somewhere, so I need to be watching for THAT.
3. APPARENTLY, this is all perfectly natural, and cats should be PRAISED for catching the mice, so I need to.... Wait a sec.... PRAISE her????? I don’t think so. 

I did have a little chat with her before I left this morning. I told her that if there was another mousie hiding in our basement and she felt the need to catch it, then I would appreciate it being placed nicely in front of the patio doors, unwounded and in one piece. I hope she understood me.

There was no evidence of a mouse when I got home today. But I’m still not going into the basement.

I stopped on my way home to purchase a HUMANE mouse catcher. But that’s another topic.