Cooking class was kind of a dud. We made chocolate chip cookies and brownies. Whoopee.
I’ve made cookies and brownies many times before, so it was pretty much a waste of time.
I didn’t bother taking any pictures because they were cookies and brownies. No real surprises in how they turned out.
Kathleen was ill, so I had to go by myself.
Everyone else there split up into two groups of three, leaving me on my own, which was the way I wanted it anyway.
What I found a little irritating, though, was the way the instructor, Juli, continually made reference to me being “quiet.” It wasn’t intended to be an insult or anything, and I suppose it was true enough, but the whole “quiet” things just gets on my nerves sometimes, particularly in this case. I mean, I was in one of the kitchens by myself. The kitchen right next to mine wasn’t being used because the cabinets in it were locked (Juli doesn’t have the key), so I was completely isolated from the rest of the group.
Who was I supposed to be talking to? Should I have been singing a song? Shouting obscenities?
Maybe I am unusually quiet under most circumstances, but in this case the fact that I was quiet didn’t seem especially worthy of comment, so it annoyed me a little that she kept mentioning it.
The fact that Juli isn’t cute annoyed me more, though. If she were, I would have had an ideal opening tonight. I didn’t take it, though, because, as mentioned, she isn’t cute.
And the fact that she has made repeated references to going to church makes her even less attractive, as undoubtedly my views on religion would clash with hers.
But that particular personality clash would never be an issue, since, as mentioned, she just is not cute.
Seriously.
I only mention it so much because I was actually trying to force myself to find something cute about her tonight.
I just couldn’t do it, particularly since even “beer goggles” aren’t an option anymore. Not that it would matter, as my beer goggle prescription was pretty strong, so by the time I got drunk enough to think someone was cute I was on the verge of passing out anyway.
But no, despite my efforts to change my view, she didn’t get any cuter.
The opening, by the way, came when I was attempting to spread the brownie batter into the pan. Scraping the last bit of batter out with one hand, while holding the mixing bowl with the other was proving a bit of a challenge, so she came over and offered to hold the bowl for me.
She then said something like “Sometimes you just need to have that third hand.”
I’ve actually had that thought many times; all other considerations aside, it would be nice to have a significant other for no other reason than simply to have an extra set of hands around the house.
In response I said, “Yeah, but the problem is that at home I never have the third hand.”
She said, “I know the feeling,” and I thought, “Damn you, why can’t you be cute?”
Even I could have managed to parlay that situation into a conversation (at the very least), but given the fact that I feel zero attraction (and, in fact, a fair amount of repulsion), I just let it drop.
Still, it occurred to me then that, apart from someone who works a weird schedule like mine, my ideal match would probably be a teacher.
After all, the teacher mindset would probably work well with my personal temperament, and a teacher’s schedule would jive reasonably well with mine. At the very least we’d get to spend a lot of time together during the summer, plus she’d have the occasional holiday breaks.
So as far as a mate who works more or less traditional hours, a teacher would be a very good choice for me.
Just not Juli.
Lately the default CD in my car has been Liz Phair’s “Exile In Guyville,” but apparently after having spent so much time listening to women artists such as Liz, and after having just gotten through baking cookies and brownies, my inner metalhead decided to assert itself and I threw in Danzig II: Lucifuge to listen to on the way home.
I ended up hurting my ears and my throat.
Juli definitely wouldn’t have called me quiet if she’d been in the car for that.
Of course, being a prim and proper (but not cute) church-going girl, she probably would have been horrified and would have bailed out of the car at the first stoplight.
Today I actually managed to force myself to get some exercise. I went over to the weight room and spent a half an hour on the treadmill. In theory I’ll be working out tomorrow morning, but I have my doubts about whether theory will become practice.
I have to become more active during the week, though, as the Friday and Saturday morning workouts just aren’t cutting it on their own.
Even those are requiring an extreme amount of will power, though. I thought I had used up all of the will power I had just forcing myself to get out of bed Friday morning and drive there, but then I managed to scrape up enough to actually work out while I was there.
While I was impressed by the amount of will power I demonstrated, it really shouldn’t take that much.
I thought I was supposed to enjoy working out, or at least enjoy the sense of accomplishment afterwards.
So far that isn’t happening.
Honestly, I find myself wondering why I gave up something that I did enjoy (smoking), and more or less replaced it with something that I absolutely hate.
Hey Phillip Morris and RJR Nabisco, here’s my challenge to you: make a cigarette that not only isn’t hazardous to your health but actually reproduces the effects of a healthy diet and regular exercise.
How hard could it be to come up with something like that? If they could create something like that, rather than working on increasing my reps I could get in shape by going back to smoking two packs a day.
Even though I know I’m better off not doing it, I really do miss smoking sometimes.
I suppose that’s hardly surprising. I mean, it’s only been nine months since I quit, compared to the nearly eighteen years that I smoked. I actually spent more years smoking than not.
And it’s not as if I actually have an overwhelming urge to smoke, it’s just that sometimes it feels like something is missing (because something is, honestly).
Ah well.
Last night on “Blind Date,” two daters actually got married.
It started off as a joke, but by the end of the date, thanks to the girl’s roommate, who was empowered to marry people (through the “Church of Universal Light,” or whatever that church is that will make you a minister for like $25), they were gathered in the VIP room at “Cheetah’s” with some witnesses and getting legally hitched.
Not surprisingly, they were more than a little drunk.
What was more shocking than the fact that they got married, though, was the guy’s Bob Ross (“The Joy of Painting”) style white guy afro…
Did I mention that the semi-cute girl who told me that I smelled REALLY good no longer works in the rental office?
It’s been a very long time since I saw her in there, and yesterday when I got the little newsletter they print up I noted that her name was no longer listed.
Ah well.
For anyone who’s paying attention it’s probably apparent that of late the only sources of new (to me) music seem to be either Liz Phair or Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds.
That trend is continuing, and my current new favorite song is “Red Right Hand.” It’s a great song, and is featured, however briefly, in the movie “Hellboy.”
Throughout the years I’ve noticed Nick Cave songs popping up in all kinds of movies and TV shows (the oddest place being the soundtrack to “Shrek 2”).
I’ve been listening to Nick for a while, but it’s only recently that I’ve been making more of an effort to fill in my collection.
Beyond the cooking class, my Tuesday was pretty uneventful (even for me), so I guess that’s all for now.
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