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01 - Introduction
02 – Your first love
03 – Your parents (this is long as HELL
04 – What you ate today )

05 – Your definition of love
06 – Your day
07 – Your best friend
08 – A moment
09 – Your beliefs
10 – What you wore today
11 – Your siblings
12 – What’s in your bag
13 – This week
14 – What you wore today
15 – Your dreams
16 – Your first kiss
17 – Your favorite memory
18 – Your favorite birthday
19 – Something you regret
20 – This month
21 – Another moment
22 – Something that upsets you
23 – Something that makes you feel better
24 – Something that makes you cry
25 – A first
26 – Your fears
27 – Your favorite place
28 – Something that you miss
29 – Your aspirations
30 – One last moment
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In an effort to quell the demons currently living betwixt my ears, here is a list of awesome things I have witnessed or been involved in lately:

1. There is a black pick-up truck parked around the corner from my apartment with a bumper sticker that says, "I <3 INTERSPECIES EROTICA". I want to take a photo of this so badly, it makes my teeth ache.

2. Joanna compared my cuntishness to M-Theory on Sunday night, after we'd come back to my place after going to a bar. We also made tenative plans to go shooting in April.

3. The "you are beautiful" graffiti I posted in my photo entry.

4. I made my own paneer last night. The Indian dish I made to go with it wasn't so hot, both taste-wise and, you know, taste-wise, but the cheese was banging. I would like to make buckets of it and put it in my mouth.

5. Saxaphone sousaphone.

6. I finally figured out a semi-decent way to wear my peacock feather hairsticks in my hair without looking like Little Hiawatha. Straight up and down results in a feather sticking straight out from the top of your head and is more than a little dorky. A fan of those bitches in a sideways figure 8 knot, however, works just fine. It only took me three years to puzzle this one out.

7. The weather has been perfect for opening my sunroof.

8. I forget what eight was for.

9. One of my pet 20-somethings, Tracy, is making beef jerky for me.
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It's amazing sometimes, how I manage to sabatoge myself. I fell asleep on the couch tonight out of sheer exhaustion, refused to get up when the Engineer was going to bed, and now I'm wide awake.

At least it's given me some time to play with this new application I got on my Eris, which I wouldn't be able to do much of tomorrow because the Engineer will be recording the newest episode of his podcast, which means I'm banned from the computer room.

The application is called OurGroceries and it allows one to input the basics of a recipe, then create a shopping list from said input. You can also share it via multiple phones and, I believe, update the list from any of those phones.

I've been trying to kick my ass into gear with cooking more lately for the Engineer and I because we have been relying far too much on delivery items. Because I'm such a picky, snobby control freak when it comes to the kitchen, I'm always the one who cooks our meals and as of late, I've not been full of energy to stand in the kitchen when I get home from work. Which is not good because we more often than not wind up eating like crap and it just plain costs too much money.

Earlier today, I had stumbled across a foodie website called Serious Eats and they've got an awesome section on there, Dinner Tonight. Lots of Indian food knock-offs, which would be interesting to try since the Engineer loves Indian (although I don't have much experience in making it, so this should prove to be interesting). And it all looks relatively healthy, without incredibly expensive ingredients.

I also need to get back on to the bread wagon, because I haven't baked in over a month. I think I just got discouraged from not being able to quite get my bread recipe the way I wanted it to be. Every loaf appeared slightly anemic and the texture of the crumb was never sufficient for my tastes. Far too dense and chewy, the only thing it was good for was as a delivery device for butter and the organic four berry conserve I lust for. I don't really know what I was doing wrong with it. At first, I thought I was under-kneading. Then, over-kneading. Then using too much flour. I've sprayed the oven with water, sprayed the bread dough itself, put it through multiple rises, one rise only. And still the result remains wan, densely solid, and almost rubbery. Don't get it.

Maybe bread and I just aren't meant to be? The notion makes me sad.

Earlier this week, I had an incident with a lemon butter sauce that was so spectacular in its suckiness, it was a naked singularity. And by suckiness, I mean both quality and in how goddamn sour it was. The bite of the sauce was completely and utterly my mistake. I had juiced four tiny and eldery lemons that I'd forgotten about and started going about the rest of the cooking, without checking for the ingredients I'd need for the rest of the sauce. At the crucial moment, I found I had no chicken stock to deglaze the pan with and no white wine (only reds). So, I steadfastly plowed through and deglazed the pan with the lemon juice and stubborn resolve. About half a cup of the former, not the latter. Grand mistake. With nothing but butter to cut it with, I was kind of stuck at that point but determined to see it through. I added a bit of water, some cream, more butter. Some black pepper and thyme. Anything to try and bring down how loud the lemon taste was. Alas, it just wasn't happening for me. It looked presentable enough, but the second I tasted it, my head caved in from the back. And it bordered on being too thin for my purposes.

Cooking it down would serve no purpose other than to intensify the lemon flavor, so it was relegated to being an almost decorative drizzle across the meat it was meant to accompany. What a waste.

Tomorrow, I'll most likely spend the afternoon making chicken stock since this incident illustrated I am out of it and I believe the scrap bag in the freezer is full. Chicken stock, I can handle. Anemic bread and puckery sauce aside, I kick all ass in the chicken stock department. I'd love a chinois to get a really clear and fine stock, but dropping ninety some dollars on a fancy strainer is not currently in the cards for me, so I'm left wrestling with endless fiddly cheesecloth and a colander.
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A while back, back when Middle Brother was still living with me and the Engineer lived in an apartment upstairs, one of the burners on the stove went tits up.

It started out slow. Sometimes it would just be unreliable and you would have to mess with it a bit to get it to work properly. I had a great pair of metal tongs I used to use to lift the coil up and kind of wiggle it into a different position, upon which- electric heat with which you may cook all manner of delicious cuisines!

It's sucky enough that one of our stove burners died, but what made matters worse is that it was my favorite burner. Any one who is really into cooking will always have certain favored implements, for a variety of reasons. I have a go-to, all-purpose chef's knife. Slightly smaller than normal chef's knives, so it fits in my hand better, but wicked sharp as the devil. I have the wooden spoon of perfect length. My copper bottom saucepot that is older than most of you reading this and doesn't have a real handle anymore, but it's the absolute best for making a roux.

On our stove, there are two big burners and two little ones. One big and little in the front of the stove, one little and one big in the back. Due to my height and the weird idiosyncratic habit I have of only being able to cook barefoot, my favorite burner was the front right one, a big one. I very rarely use small cooking ware, so it always had a big burner. And being already pretty short, then adding having no shoes on, I need something I can reach and tend to constantly without straining and possibly getting burned.

Of course, this is the burner most used and the first one to die on our stove. I never called it in to maintenance because we had a lot going on and I didn't have the time or energy to devote to a hardcore campaign of Come fix my shit, asshole. Then the holidays were coming and I didn't want to chance my stove being wonky (or being absent) during any part of them. And besides, I told myself frequently, I've got three more burners and they all seem to work fine!

The past couple of weeks, I've been noticing the back left burner (other big one and the one I shifted my affections to when my favorite shit itself) was getting a little tempermental about things. Sometimes it wouldn't heat evenly, sometimes it would just stop being hot. Really annoying stuff. Then, last weekend, I was boiling a pot of potatoes to make mashed potatoes and when I went to check on it, I saw that it was dead cold.

I jiggled the burner (I no longer have the metal tongs, my brother took those, so now I have to use two wooden spoons), I thumped the stovetop. Nothing. So, I turned the room blue with profanity and moved the pot to another burner so I could at least finish making dinner. Called maintenance that night and got told that because it wasn't an emergence, the maintenance man wouldn't get the message until Monday morning. Fantastic, yeah yeah. I know the drill, lady.

It's Friday. That was Sunday. Neither hide nor hair of ye olde maintenance man. We've had a lot of delivery stuff this week (one of which is the sushi place that actually delivers and is actually really, really good!) and I've been grouchy about the entire situation. I need to call them again tomorrow, just to start my tired harassment campaign of fix my goddamn shit, asshole. It's tiring and tiresome.

I've been in this apartment since 2001, through multiple owners and various other tenants. The first owner was really great, the second one a bit lackluster, but the third is one is just terrible. The building is kind of falling apart, our rent keeps going up in the name of renovation- but no real effort seems to have been put into anything. They've started letting questionable tenants in now (including the woman who lives catty-corner from us, who is extremely loud and completely cray cray).

It's a shame because it's a fantastic neighborhood and dead center for traveling to all the places I need to travel to in my daily, umm, travels. The lease is up in May and I kept saying that I wanted us to look for another place, but with the way our money currently is (my hours got cut at work and it's put a bad ding in my finances), it's not really possible. I keep telling myself I can hold out another year. I've been here almost ten, after all, what's another year? I can do this.

But, if they don't fix my fucking stove or give me a new one, BUT QUICK, I am going to seriously cut a motherfucking bitch. You don't take away a fatgirl foodie's stove, not when she looks at cooking as a way of not killing people relaxing. That shit is not right.

I would gloat over the fact that the oven is still perfectly functioning and therefore, I am able to make all the damn bread I please, but I am not going to spit in the eye of the Fates. I have also contemplated sabatoging the stove and claiming it is COMPLETELY BROKEN COME FIX MY SHIT IT IS AN EMERGENCY I HAVE NO STOVE, but the Engineer says that is a bad idea.

Is it that bad of an idea?

[Poll #1509159]
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One of my co-workers gave me a bag of tomatoes she had grown in her garden. I'd been using them in bits and pieces of things, kind of half-hearted even though they were Jerseys and I wait all year for these bastards. Cut one up for a salad for the Engineer and I, another one for a cream cheese and tomato omelette. Nothing exciting.

Tonight, after a post on [livejournal.com profile] food_porn about tomato sandwiches, I was reminded of the ones my father used to make for me when I was a wee Tara. So, after being heavily inebriated for the entire night, I decided to make one.

My instructions are very specific:

- Maier's Italian bread, toasted
- mayonnaise, for one piece of bread
- light covering of butter, for the other
- entire fist sized tomato sliced thin, but sturdy enough to hold its shape
- kosher salt
- cracked black pepper
- cayenne pepper

GODLIKE I TELL YOU
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I have learned that if one loads guacamole up with enough things, it stops tasting of avocado and therefore- begins to taste not that bad. Interesting.

I have also learned that if the Decemberists show is even remotely anything like their performance on the Colbert Report this evening, I am going to be peeing myself within five seconds of the first few chords. Glee!

The Engineer has threatened to not go with me to the show if I don't stop playing all of their albumns in the car. In retailiation, I put on Belle and Sebastian instead. He didn't notice the difference.
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My ears won't stop popping and it is driving me batty.

Also, when I finish with this Math for Liberal Arts course? I am going to take the textbook out in the street and set it on fire.

ON. FIRE.

P.S.
I require massive amounts of cheese. STAT.

I have a nice-sized chunk of Primadonna in my refrigerator and the fact I can't eat any of it (or it'll make my sinuses worse) is maddening.

my world

Jan. 12th, 2009 03:27 pm
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Photobucket
I found this photo of Aristotle in my phone. It's a few months old and doesn't show his color very well. Imagine that the lighter spots of brown are actually a brilliant yellow.

Photobucket
I stole that spoon from my friend, Amanda, at her wedding. Actually, I stole it from the catering company. The Engineer has been simply scandalized by this ever since.

Photobucket
Tinker (the black one) and Baby (the orange one), enjoying an extremely rare moment of peace. Normally, Tinker does his damned best to constantly eat Baby's head. Occasionally, he forgets he's an utter prick and will sit nicely.
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Joanna visited me at work today to say hi and drop off the holiday gift she had gotten for me.

It's cookie cutter shaped like a fetus, which fills my embittered heart with so much joy and song.

I plan on making cookies for the next Mason bake sale with this. Tell everyone they're supposed to be bears or something. hah!

Also, I am currently eating a honeycrisp apple. It tastes strangely of perfume, which is probably due to the fact it's been in my messenger bag all damn day.
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A trip to Whole Foods happened today and many good things were bought. In the end, I decided to splurge a bit and pick up some things I've been needing. Not a full-on grocery trip, but one that involved judicious use of my debit card all the same.

For the gift card purchase, I wound up buying an absolutely glorious goat gouda which I normally would have passed right over because I'm not a terribly huge fan of gouda, but the Engineer tasted a sample from a laid out tray and made me try it, too. It's creamy like a mild brie, but with a goat cheese tang. Nice. And I got some the Black Diamond cheddar I'm a fan of.

I also picked up a good looking pair of pomengranates, which is a nice change from the usual pomengranates I've seen loitering about the stores lately. And at the butcher's counter, I asked for two boneless NY strip steaks, which wound up taking a giant bite out of the gift card.

I couldn't decide between any of the fancy salts, not even with the Engineer's helpful comment of Just pick the butt-flavored one, so I didn't get any of that. And the high-end chocolate selection left me a bit dry; none of it seemed rather interesting. I did, however, finally find a pint of Haagen Daaz's salted caramel ice cream. This is rather exciting, even though I've heard bad reviews of it, purely because I've been trying to get some of that stuff for so damn long.

There was also a buddha hand in the produce section, all twisted and tentacled like a Tim Burton creation. One of them was spread out and sprawly like an undersea creature and it smelled strongly of lemons when I picked it up for examination. I was tempted by it, especially after the Engineer's reaction of what the fuck is that thing?! but I'm lost when it comes to actually doing something with it, other then making friends. So, it stayed on the rack and I went on to the check-out.

Beyond all of that, I've hooked up my ancient computer monitor to take the place of my sadly departed flat-screen. It's a bit disconcerting to look at such a small and strangely bulbous screen; it's giving me a bit of a headache after only thirty minutes, but I'll perservere until I'm able to order a new one.
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Wemble's husband, Bad Andy, gave me a gift card to Whole Foods last night as a holiday present and it's been burning a hole in my pocket ever since. Ever since? It's not even been twenty-four hours! you say? Well. I am not the most patient of creatures and Whole Foods is a wonderful place.

I'm unsure of what to buy. At first, I thought of just adding the gift card amount to a regular grocery bill, but that seems so utilitarian and unworthy of a proper gift. It sets my teeth on edge to think of it, like all the times in my twenties I used birthday money to pay the electric bill and how sad it made me to do so. Then I had the idea of buying something ridiculously decandant, because this is a gift, but I can't decide on what exactly.

The last time I went to Whole Foods, I saw they had an ostrich egg for sale and it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever laid eyes on. It was large, so large I needed two hands to hold it. The shell was a mottled blue-green and slightly bumpy to touch, a knobbily rough texture to greet your fingers as you ran them across its surface. I instinctively held it close to my body, like a baby. Like something terribly fragile. The Engineer called me crazy (this is nothing new) and asked me if I planning on taking it home for hatching. I was so close to buying the egg, so enamoured at the outright oddity of it, that the twenty dollar price tag (for a single egg) didn't phase me. In the end, I decided I had no idea what I was going to do with it other than sit on the couch with it swaddled in my lap like the goddamned baby Jesus and it would be better for all involved if I didn't buy it.

So, maybe not an ostrich egg, but something equally outlandish? I could get some incredibly fancy salt. Sea salt, harvested by blind virgin nuns on the shores of some village no one has ever heard of before. Perhaps an extraordinarily expensive chocolate that I will refuse to share with anyone else, preferring to squirrel it away with the rest of my hoarde. The Engineer and my brother would both have some things to say on that matter, as that's how I already roll with the cheap chocolate.

Maybe not chocolate then.

Cheese? Exotic fruits? Beef so tender it makes you want to slap your momma?

I am undecided.

It doesn't help that my lunch today at work was inadequate. I am currently in the throes of my weekly sushi withdrawal and chicken rice soup with a club salad, while tasty enough for what they are, do absolutely nothing to combat the monster within which requires every-Friday-sacrifices of Philadelphia maki and Winding Way roll to quell the beast.
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Ok.

I may have possibly worked out the entire menu for Thursday, but I am being sleepystupid and second-guessing amounts and fighting a general sense of holiday apathy I haven't been able to shake.

* Carmelized onion apple bites
* roasted red pepper, roasted garlic, and plain hummus
* caponata (you'll pry my recipe for that from my cold, dead hands)
* mini eggrolls
* celery stuffed with peanut butter or cream cheese (my brother requested this, sometimes I wonder if we're actually related)

* roasted turkey (duh)
* extra creamy mashed potatoes
* bacon-wrapped green beans
* orange-ginger cranberry sauce (I don't really have a recipe for this, I just throw it together)
* apple and onion stuffing muffins (I don't think I'm doing this as muffins this year; I am, however, adding mushrooms to it like I always do.)
* corn (my brother also requested this and I'm thinking of disowning him over it. He said to me, "Well. See if they have any good looking ears at the store." and I stopped myself from smacking him in the head. It's November, there is no fresh corn. So. I had to buy a can of it. And I really have no idea what to do with it, other than glare at its disgustingness. Canned fucking corn. I swear.)
* cathead biscuits

* pumpkin pie (again, recipe? Cold, dead hands.)
* blackberry lemon clafouti
* maybe a chocolate dessert, I haven't decided.
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I had a candy bar a minute ago.

No, seriously. I had it. And now I don't. It was sitting on my desk. And now it's effing melted. What the blithering fuck?

It was a Lindt Lindor extra dark 60% cocoa extra dark chocolate shell with a smooth filling, goddamnit. And I bought it yesterday while out with the Engineer looking at candy displays in Target. And I was so happy at the idea of actually eating the chocolate bar, instead of hoarding it away in a cabinet for six months (which is what I normally do with chocolate).

I have a space heater on in my office, but it's not chortling along at full blast or anything. And the chocolate wasn't sitting in front of it. What gives?

All of that being said, I really need to get on the ball and come up with an attack plan for what I'm cooking on Thanksgiving. I have to go shopping tonight for supplies because it is the only night this week I can do it and I have barely the vaguest idea of what I want to make.

I was thinking of making carmelized onion-apple bites as an appetizer. And I just now found a recipe for bacon-wrapped green beans which kind of looks promising. And these mashed potatoes. Maybe. I don't know.
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I have not one, but TWO boxes of Count Chocula.

It is my absolute favorite and I have hearts for it.

I may or may not be currently coasting out a sugar high from the aforementioned cereal. That decision has not yet been reached. Combine the cereal with the milkshake the Amazing Larry brought over for me earlier this evening when we were getting ready to watch True Blood and I'm a bit twitchy. I'm not used to this much sugar.

During the hanging out part of the evening, TAL and I got into a big conversation/debate regarding politics and racism and all manner of things. It was spirited and I got loud quite a few times. Once he left for the night, and the Engineer had also gone to bed, I remembered one of my old roommates and how she would always react whenever a group of us would start to have any sort of semi-intellectual/world observation conversation while sitting around in a diner or Denny's or high in the living room or whathaveyou.

She never liked it and would always throw the brakes every time it started. Because it made her feel like an episode of MTV's The Real World or some such nonsense.

That should have been a sign.

If this entry is a bit disjointed, blame the sugar high. I think I need to try to sleep.

P.s.
IfI ever get another cat, I think I'm going to name him "John".

hrrm.

May. 20th, 2008 03:10 pm
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I made a creme caramel this weekend, for eating after dinner on Sunday.

And the Engineer, otherwise known as He Who Loves All Things Sweet, did not like it. He put a big spoon of it into his mouth and then froze in horror, making the most hilarious awful face.

He said it tasted of bacon.

Bacon?!

That, and the texture reminded him of fat.

hurgle.

While I love me some bacon and fat, those two things do not belong in the same sentence as a cream and vanilla-based dessert.

His description of it made me a bit green around the gills, so I couldn't even eat it at that point (I'm very impressionable), so I wound up throwing it out.

Goodbye, creme caramel. I hardly knew you.

*tear*
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I made bread again today.

I'm more than a little impatient and far too involved in the Veruca Salt mentality of "I WANT IT NOW!"; how very American of me, yeah? So, this recipe linked above is a good one. No kneading, 45 minute rise. Extremely dense and heavy bread, but that's ok. I like it like that.

Who am I kidding? I'd like bread if it were covered in spiders. Clown spiders.

Or spider clowns. Dude, it's bread. It's like bacon. Or how guys tend to think of blowjobs. Even when it's bad, it's fucking awesome.

Except turkey bacon, that shit is disgusting.

And I had a bizarre moment of omgimadethis when I was sitting on the couch eating it and watching a zombie movie. I totally took four ingredients and made them into a substance.

It's not like normal cooking, I think. Normal cooking is something else entirely; you're taking foodstuffs that already exist and combining them. Making bread is more...primal. I know that's an incredibly nerdy statement, but it's true. At its most basic, it is flour and sugar and salt and yeast. That's it.

The only thing I could compare it to is when a sculptor takes a mound of clay and turns it into a running horse or a bust of a man or a giant president.

Now I'm nerdy AND pretentious. Fantastic!

Next time, I reckon I'll put kalamata olives in it.
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If gays were allowed to marry, the population would drop.

If gays were allowed to marry, the population would drop.

If gays were allowed to marry, the population would drop.

IF GAYS WERE ALLOWED TO MARRY, THE POPULATION WOULD DROP.

...

...

It is amazing my how head has not shot clear off my neck in that class yet. By the time I finished with the rondo idiot who made the above statement, he had minor scarring and a pronouced stutter. That boy is lucky he didn't leave the room with a goddamn limp.

Ridiculous on so many levels.

In other news: I has a samosa. My Director of Operations brought it in for me because she knows of my deep, un-changing love for samosas.

Also, I got to spend last night watching men in tuxedos swan about with their henpeck gossip and political machinations. It was all so incredibly Roman senate-like and it was almost too much to hide my giggling. I tried to convince one of my favorites my friends that now was the time for him to Hulk out. Instead of Hulk-ing out, he told me a story about how when he was a stockbroker, he got stabbed in the chest with a pencil by a competitor.

Awesome!

Afterwards, I went home and read Shakespeare's sonnets to the cats.

The end.
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The bake sale went well, I think. I wound up not making the bread because...err, I forgot about the dough. It wound up staying out all night Friday and all day Saturday. When I finally got home and checked out the bowls, they smelled horribly of beer. So, I threw them out and started again (only one bowl this time and it's currently in dough form and finishing its two hour sit).

Both halves of the Irish cream chocolate cake sold, all of the peppermint chocolate chip cookies sold. And the majority of the cupcakes went, as well. I brought home the rest of them and ate one last night. Verdict: HOLY MARY MOTHER OF MICE. That is a serious effing cupcake that kind of made me a little dizzy to eat. Sweet Jesus.

On the way home, I suddenly had the urge to hit the comic book store. I very rarely have the chance to go because they always close before I get out of work and thus, the Engineer usually goes without me. I've been working on building up my Hellblazer graphic novel collection and the Alan Moore line of Swamp Thing, so some holes were filled in their lines. I also picked up a Books of Magic I didn't previously have (and which I actually didn't really enjoy, it was kind of boring). And another graphic novel called God Save the Queen, which I'd never heard of before and which turned out to be quite good.

Friday night, Aristotle had another incident with the wood chips. This time, the damn prey was on a paper towel and there was no dead mousie dance to be seen. And he missed. Wood chips in the snout, panicking me trying to get them out by myself with hands that are shakey on a good day. It wasn't as bad as the first time, but I was still freaking out. Especially because it's a little difficult to wrangle a squirmy snake, pin his head, force his mouth open, and fish out wood chips. It should take five hands to do this. I had two at my disposal.

I tried to container feed him last night to avoid all of this happening a third time, but he was really not down with that. grr. Next week, I will try to lay down towels in his tank and then do the dead mousie dance for him. Rather irritating. He was such a good eater before. Then he had to get all stupid with his strikes. Not fun.
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What is wrong with me that I keep volunteering to make large quantities of food for people?

Tired Tara is tired.

Currently in my kitchen, I have roughly four dozen peppermint chocolate chip cookies, a dozen dark chocolate cupcakes with chocolate ganache glaze, two halves of a dark chocolate bundt cake with powdered sugar on top, and three bowls of bread dough a-rising to be baked tomorrow night.

One of those goddamned cupcakes is calling my name with a sweet siren song of "You want to eat me! You'll never get to sleep anytime soon if you do, but you should eat me because my glaze is imperfect and there is an even number of me and my brethren! And you know your OCD just will not allow that to stand! You hate even numbers!" It doesn't help that I didn't eat any dinner because as soon as I came home it was time for CUPCAKE MAKING A-HOY! Oh, and getting the Engineer caught up on season 3 Battlestar Galactica, so he can start watching season 4 with me and I can stop kicking him out of my apartment on Friday nights to watch it by myself.

At the tail end of May? I volunteered to make spaghetti sauce for fifty. Oy.

This bake sale thing is on Saturday and I will be working the table from open to close, which is to say: from STUPID O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING until early afternoon.

Check me out, being a good Mason girlfriend. :D
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I like to push my boundaries once in a while, just to see if my tastes have changed. Particularly regarding food. For instance, I used to labor under the delusion that Brie cheese was gross. Now? You'd have trouble prying it out of my cold, dead fingers.

So, I was invited to a coffee tasting last weekend (the one we just came out of) by the wife of Grand Poobah from the Engineer's lodge. Ok, says I. I'll go to this thing, despite it is at fucking stupid o'clock an early hour. How early? Shit, I don't even get up that early for work.

I tried six different coffees. And the verdict?

I still don't like the damn stuff. It is VILE.

Everyone kept laughing at the faces I was making after every sip. It looked a lot like the D: style of face, which I am quite good at making in person. How do people drink this shit? I mean, seriously. It's NASTY. And I prefer to drink diet soda!

Blergh.

Same day, only later on, I also tried lox for the first time. Sweet suffering mice, it tasted like oily, slippery, compressed chum. Ew. And the texture in my mouth was enough to make me gag. The Engineer said if one eats it with cream cheese, the flavors play against each other and it helps with the texture. So, I tried it that way.

SWEET CHRIST, WHY DID I DO THAT?!

That was, to say the least, even worse. I took one of my favorite food substances, cream cheese, and wrapped it in flexible chum. Ick.

Later on in the day, I got extremely inebriated and told an entire room full of Masons the story of how [livejournal.com profile] wemble lost her virginity (and how I was forbidden, upon pain of death, of telling that same story at her wedding reception). I swear it was topical. hee.

Good times.

Much later after that, my body started screaming at me that it was no longer running on anything resembling a full tank and that rest needed to come soon, or I was going to throw a rod. I went to bed at around 11 o'clock (unheard of in my part of the world, I normally go to bed at 1 a.m.) and STILL got up late for work. And now the slight sickness I was feeling on Friday is rebounding.

Therefore, I'm cutting class tonight to go home and vegetate on the couch. hrmph.

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thejunipertree

January 2011

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