>Too lazy to measure ingredients

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Last night I sat at home, alone, eating a bowl of Fruity Pebbles/Kix with marshmallows and wondered for a good 5 minutes, how old am I, really?  If Thom were home, I’d have been way too embarrassed to eat a concoction that only appeals to 5 year olds (and me, apparently), not to mention, I’d have probably eaten a bowl of Grape Nuts with mushy bananas (like I did two nights ago).  Do you believe me yet that I am simultaneously a 10 year old and an 80 year old trapped in a 22 year old’s body?  You should really start listening to me.

I baked for the fist time last night (since moving).  My cookies turned out like shit.  So shitty, in fact, I boycotted baking for the remainder of the night.  Yep, all 67 minutes that were left.  I tried blaming it on my new kitchen then sadly realized that I am the only culprit.  Apparently you have to measure the ingredients if you want your recipes to turn out properly.  I know, right?  What kind of self proclaimed baker refuses to measure ingredients because they don’t feel like washing a few measuring cups and spoons?  Seriously?  Seriously.  The laziness has taken it’s toll.

Another first also happened last evening: (drum roll please) I baked with that disgusting, little, blue tub of fat.  I stopped baking with partially hydrogenated margerine because I can’t stand the thought of knowingly pumping that crap into people’s bellies, but here I am baking with partially hydrogenated shortening and well, I am ashamed of myself.  No one should ingest partially hydrogenated anything but, I bake by popular demand, and unfortunately raw brownies aren’t appealing to most people.  I guess not everyone can be so lucky to have a GI condition that restricts their diet to things of the all natural sort.  But honestly, even if I didn’t have a GI condition, I still wouldn’t ever eat hydrogenated oils, high fructose corn syrup or artificial anything.  You can judge me all you want, but I’m not the one walking around with a tire around my waist, so HA (sticks out tongue and wrinkles nose).

I am finding it nearly impossible to warm up to my kitchen.  I mean, look at it, it’s not like it’s inviting me in with a 10 foot island or a double convection gas oven.  The poor thing has been practically begging me to come bake in it, and every night I pass it up for french doors, a claw foot tub and this guy named Thom.  I mean, last night I had to Force myself, with a capital F, to bake some freaking cookies, and I hated every single minute of it.  It’s not like my last kitchen was fancy or anything – but it did have a beautiful Whirlpool gas oven, to which I was very loyal.

And my poor appliances, all squished together on one side of the counter, looking pitiful as ever.  I usually stow the toaster away in a cabinet, but since I’ve been utilizing it’s abilities (and yes, my toaster has more than one ability) quite frequently, I’ve found it pointless to put it away after each use.  Some people would call this laziness.  I call it.. saving a few seconds of my time?

But, the real reason all of my favorite appliances are squished together is because there isn’t a single outlet on the other side of the kitchen.  Thankfully an electrician is coming to remedy that tomorrow.  Toastie had better learn that complaining about Myxer (my favorite appliance of all) cramping his space will only result in being banished to the other side of the kitchen.  And now my appliances have genders.

Expect great things from my kitchen in the near future.  Like, dark chocolate cookies with dried cherries and chiles.  And in case you were wondering, my bake book is coming along poorly.  Blame it on the mo mo-mo-mo mo moving.