I'm one of those chicks who gets angry each time a dude jokes about a woman's place being in the kitchen.
It makes me... kind of psycho-angry. There's a history behind that, as with every damn fucking trauma of mine, but I'm in no mood to write it up.
Anyway.. guess where I spent 2/3 of my waking hours today?
The motherfucking kitchen.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner like always... but I also decided to make dad some more empanadas.
Usually, it's not much of a fucking hassle... since the "jam" is made in a heartbeat.
However, today I was in such a giving mood, I decided to prepare a fig/pecan jam.
Fuck the moment I came up with that idea.
I don't eat figs, because they gross me out (for some reason, they remind me of a uterus. I'm not eager to know what a uterus tastes like) and the flavor has never appealed to me.
In my life, I have not peeled a single fig.
Well, we have an enormous fig tree in the backyard, and Mom, Dad, and D don't eat the fruits fast enough. Dad loves them, but there's only so much damage he can make to the fig supply.
So I decided I'd surprise him with a jam made out of those ugly, uterus-resembling fruits.
The peeling process was so tedious, I started pondering existential shit...
Light at the end of the tunnel? I'm sure if that ever happened to me... and they asked me if I wanted to walk towards the light or go back, I'd scream "go back"... death sucks... but... everyone has to die... imagine, Bob Ross is already dead, yet here I am, still awed by his work as I watch the re-runs on PBS... but one day I WILL be dead... and... would I want to live forever? Oh god... fuck you, figs!
That bastard jam ruined my day!
... but the empanadas are orgasmic.
I'm a beeeeast in the kitchen... I'm just not going to freely admit that shit to anyone, especially not a man.
(dude, last night I had a dream where I invented ice cream flavors. Not just ANY flavors, but they were all boozy flavors. I remember the Chardonnay best. In real life, I don't even know what that shit tastes like, yet there I was, selling gallons upon gallons of the thing. I woke up feeling satiated and proud of myself. I swear... I'm spending TOO much time in the kitchen. My break can't come soon enough)
It makes me... kind of psycho-angry. There's a history behind that, as with every damn fucking trauma of mine, but I'm in no mood to write it up.
Anyway.. guess where I spent 2/3 of my waking hours today?
The motherfucking kitchen.
Breakfast, lunch, and dinner like always... but I also decided to make dad some more empanadas.
Usually, it's not much of a fucking hassle... since the "jam" is made in a heartbeat.
However, today I was in such a giving mood, I decided to prepare a fig/pecan jam.
Fuck the moment I came up with that idea.
I don't eat figs, because they gross me out (for some reason, they remind me of a uterus. I'm not eager to know what a uterus tastes like) and the flavor has never appealed to me.
In my life, I have not peeled a single fig.
Well, we have an enormous fig tree in the backyard, and Mom, Dad, and D don't eat the fruits fast enough. Dad loves them, but there's only so much damage he can make to the fig supply.
So I decided I'd surprise him with a jam made out of those ugly, uterus-resembling fruits.
The peeling process was so tedious, I started pondering existential shit...
Light at the end of the tunnel? I'm sure if that ever happened to me... and they asked me if I wanted to walk towards the light or go back, I'd scream "go back"... death sucks... but... everyone has to die... imagine, Bob Ross is already dead, yet here I am, still awed by his work as I watch the re-runs on PBS... but one day I WILL be dead... and... would I want to live forever? Oh god... fuck you, figs!
That bastard jam ruined my day!
... but the empanadas are orgasmic.
I'm a beeeeast in the kitchen... I'm just not going to freely admit that shit to anyone, especially not a man.
(dude, last night I had a dream where I invented ice cream flavors. Not just ANY flavors, but they were all boozy flavors. I remember the Chardonnay best. In real life, I don't even know what that shit tastes like, yet there I was, selling gallons upon gallons of the thing. I woke up feeling satiated and proud of myself. I swear... I'm spending TOO much time in the kitchen. My break can't come soon enough)
2 comments:
No interest in eating placenta? uuuuuuuuugggghhhhh.. I can't believe people do that
I'm curious about tasting a lot of things... but placenta is one I won't feel too bad about letting go. haha
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