One of the things I am proud of in my life is that I have always made my own money, and I have never been unemployed. I suppose technically, since I am a Pizza Slut, I’m not unemployed, but until Frenchy Christophe gives me more hours, I am stuck with much more time on my hands. This in a way is a good thing, because I have more time to write, which was always my excuse for NOT doing so before, but at the same time, I must point out that I have a very short attention span, so I tend to bound from one activity to the next, as evidenced by my recently watched list on Netflix Live. (I started watching 5 movies yesterday and didn’t finish one of them). Also, my need to feel useful and not like a slacker has found me this day in the kitchen, attempting to bake bread.
I have mentioned my lack of expertise in the kitchen on several occassions, however, it has seemed that my baking skills have been improving, albeit at quite an unhurried pace. I no longer find myself crouching in front of a heated oven wondering if I should stick my head in it when my caramel rolls resemble something leaking from a head gash in the latest John Carpenter movie, nor recently have I cracked up into an explosive spasm of tears when my Rockstar tells me my breadsticks would taste better sans the blackened crust. (It’s happened) That being said, my cooking still in no way brings to mind that bitch Betty Crocker, unless one refers to how very UN-LIKE her cooking my sustenence is.
I am stubborn, and I will not be shown up by a boodle of dough, even though I would be quite embarrassed if someone were to walk in right now and witness me screaming into a bowl, “Rise! You Son of a Bitch! Rise!” I will NOT be undone.