Red Bull gives you wings. And gas, I think.

Has anyone tried one of these and liked them? I consider myself an open-minded tester, taster and most-of-the-time fan of strange sodas. But Red Bull, leaded and unleaded, sugar and sugar-free, is definitively nasty. Even though it says on the can that it will increase your something (apparently not "memory") and will stimulate metabolism, I can't endorse it. Rats. Because anything that claims to stimulate metabolism means I'll drink it. "Dirty boiled rainwater with mushrooms in it? Yuck!!... oh wait, says here it burns calories... gimme a straw."

As a timesaver for you, I say that Red Bull tastes like some type of overly tart vitamins melted in a glass of Alka Seltzer. It's just not right. Really, it's just not. And I've tasted many, many fizzy oddities, but this drink, I'm fascinated by how unpalatable it really is compared to how successful it appears. But that's advertising for you. Unless Red Bull can be used successfully in some type of cocktail or bar concoction... enough really.

Now here's a product that I really thought I would hate:



Any product that hides behind the thin ad-veil of consumer convenience really just ends up making a whole lot of people a whole lot more money (and hint, those people are not you or me) and simply gyps a person out of a seated lunch hour. Which is always enough to make me paint a protest sign and march up and down Wall Street. As if anyone cared right this moment, or ever, however you get the point.

But this soup is damn good. And damn cheap. And damn easy to make, with a couple of minutes in the 'wave and ta da. Honestly, I think I just found my new favorite food. And it fits perfectly into my new Shania Twain Everything Ingested Must Be Juiced First Dietplan. And it's filling, too. True, that could be the leftover Red Bull bloat talking, but I don't think so. Give me this moment alone with my soup.

If you try this soup, just don't support the capitalist bull of working through lunch while you do it. Eat this sitting down, not on-the-go. If you do this, you actually win in taste, price and cause.

Forgive me, I'm still a little tired from the nuptial trip. And from last night's sporadic catfight in the foyer which didn't seem to stir any of us. Not my sparkling-new husband, not my freight-train dog, nor Googie, Honorable Cat Number One. It was a surreal moment in existence, something small that signified that sometimes change really is for the better. This catfight wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to live with just one cat until one of us died. Then all of a sudden, here's two more added in. And these two are vocal. I can now tell the difference between the bloody squeal of Beepers and the loathing howl of Kitty Kat. As I've said before, catfights are as horrible as they are funny to witness. This sound that came out of the hall, two months ago, would've panicked me so bad that blood would've shot to my hands and throbbed. But now, without even looking up to the sound of what my mind heard as a gobbling turkey being strangled to death, it didn't even stir me.

So I looked over to Ron, who never broke soft snore. Fingers twitching in a dream. Then I looked over to Googie at the window. He was looking over his shoulder at the two midnight brawlers with his ears back in distaste. I thought about sitting up to see if either of the fisticats were dead. Then I thought "Eh, it's tile. It'll wash." And then to validate the moment, I heard a deep Otis dog sigh from the floor over on Ron's side of the bed. And at that, it was official. We all made it.