====Music to veg-out to... Majick -- Cirrus Remix: DJ Keoki====

ARRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!

Or something.

Mental and emotional problems are still there, but they've been bumped back to the tail end of the thought process. *chuckles* I have better things to do with my time.

I made three pies today, cheater-roasted some chicken, washced a bunch of laundry and successfully ignored the Unemployment Office. *rolls her eyes* did you non-cooking folks realize that it takes about two and a half hours to mix up and cook two Pumpkin pies? All that effort and time for something I don't like. *shakes her head* This is going to be an interesting Turkey day. I don't like berry pie. I don't like Pumpkin pie and I'm not real keen on Mincemeat pie. Especially because Gram is picking up the Mincemeat and it's one of those chintzy store pies.

BUT, the whole reason to go to Turkey Day up at Grams is Gram's mashed taters and gravy. *flutters her eyelids in delight* Mmmmmmmm. See... Gram makes gravey. My Aunt makes gravey. Mom's never been able to make a good gravey, so she doesn't do it very often. It wasn't til I'd married Duncan that I learned how to make Gravey.

I'd never had biscuits with every meal til I married Duncan. So much for the Southern Cookin, eh? *smirks* But Duncan liked all that ucky stuff. Like, he wanted to cook in lard. And he saved the bacon grease in order to cook shit in it. And he'd to deep-fat-frying all the time. *shudders*

Deep fat frying is cool once in a while, but four times a week? And hot damn, that man could not clean a kitchen no matter what who was comin over.

====Music to veg-out to... Various selections from Tranceport: Paul Oakenfold====

He could mess up a kitchen faster than Uncle Bob's wonderful son could mess up a diaper. Honest.

The food almost always tasted good... (cept that crapy fish stuff. Or should that be carpy? *rolls her eyes at her own lame joke*)

So, Duncan was the absolute worst slob when it came to cooking. I swear, that man could use four pans, a strainer (collander/seive) AND, four bowls in order to make ONE box ==== BOX, mind you, not from scratch. A box, of like Kraft brand====Mac and Cheese.. My entire kitchen would look like shit after he'd cooked a simple meal.

Trust me, if ever you want me to cook for you... stay out of my kitchen. I have my knives. I"m very, very, very picky when it comes to my knives. Don't play with my Chef's knife. Trust me. You don't want me to be gettin all Ginsue on yer ass. Or something.

Okay, so I know that was completely pointless. Useless diatribe. Completely well..... something.

So my brain is melting into this Paul Oakenfold stuff. He just so totally rocks. I gotta get everything I can from him. Absolutely everything.

I'm tired, my brain is slowly melting down through my body. it casts a really, really cool shadowpuppet type image against the wall... but still. We both know it's only a short-lived illusion.

Yes, I think I'm going to sleep now. My sleeping schedule has been all fuckered up since Saturday. I don't want to work, folks. That means I'll have more days like this. UGH.

Regardless, I'm going to finish listening to this song. Just remember, folks.... Don't make a mess in my kitchen. I don't like it. I"ll clean up after your ass once. But you become a habitual kitchen fucker-upper, and you're cookin your own damned meals.

Now, leave me to dream of Gram's mashed taters and gravey. *chuckles* Hey, I've missed it for the past four years. I don't wanna miss it this year. Sides, Gram's gonna be 81 this next February.

Love to you, folks and folkettes... or something.

*scampers*