Well, you knew I’d post something today, right? I HAVE to post on Talk Like a Pirate Day.
In honor of the occasion, I decided to make some food to take to work. I was particularly proud of the Pirates of the Carob Bean Oatmeal Bars. Not the bars themselves, the name I gave them. I just decided I needed to make something with that name and found a recipe that called for carob.
A few things about boiling carob powder, milk, and butter: it splatters, and it stinks.
I mean, a lot. Both those things a lot. It got everywhere, and then everywhere stank.
Anyway, that one wasn’t so much a success. Then I tried to make darrrk chocolate cookies, but I managed to burn them. And, oh yeah, I got my thumb caught in the mixer. At least it was a hand-held and not the Kitchen Aid, and I had a split second warning as it caught the spatula and started to roll up the handle towards me, so I managed to turn it off before it got too bad.
In other news, work is . . . meh, it’s work. I started to get caught up, but of course that didn’t last. And my close friends mostly all have left for other employment. Le sigh. Today I managed to get out of going with my boss to get barbecue at a liquor store in a questionable part of town. At a liquor store. I ask you. I’m so glad I already had plans. Besides, even if it weren’t at a liquor store, yes, I’ll say it—Texas barbecue is just not all that.
Let’s see, a lot has happened since my last post. For example: THE OLYMPICS. I love the summer olympics. USA! USA! USA!
And anyway. You know what hasn’t changed? My allergies. Still sniffling, still sneezing, still feel like someone is crushing my face in with a vice.
And now a word about the Hurricane Ike situation: all of y’all who stayed behind, you ought to be charged the cost of your rescue. I don’t want to hear anyone complaining about how you don’t have water, or you don’t have ice (as my mom said: I guess you’ll have to drink your beer warm), or you don’t have a working sewer system, or whatever. You didn’t leave. They said to leave, and you didn’t. When a storm with a size estimate of between 600 and 800 miles is bearing down on your little island, and the storm surge is expected to be about 20 feet, you GET OUT. And if you don’t, you’ve got no one else to blame but yourself. Even all the way up here in this part of the state, we were making plans for major winds and rain (and the inevitable flooding). The only ones I feel sorry for are the ones who didn’t have the money to get off the island, but even then only the ones who literally did not have enough money on hand for gas, not the ones who were thinking that hotel bills would be too pricey. ‘Cause when they say, basically, “leave or die,” isn’t sleeping in your car in a parking lot that isn’t under water an acceptable option?
TV: Yea, tv starts again next week! I know, technically it started already, but none of the shows that I watch have started up. Except CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT DYLAN IS THE FATHER OF KELLY’S BABY? Geez Louise. I didn’t even watch 90210 after the first season, I couldn’t believe how much people actually liked it now matter how stupid it was, and I still would have rather it was Brandon.
That is all.
Oh, except, go forth and celebrate the day in an appropriate fashion, me hearties.