Cooking #2 - Fried non-tentacle-d potatoes
Slept less than four hours, but at least I finally got that damned group project out of the way. As usual, spent too much time gathering info and not enough on writing the actual thing, and then, being petulant that all my goshdarned-awesome-tidbits can't be squeezed into the word limit, I end up flitting from tidbit to tidbit with limited introspection or gravitas; so that, at the end, all I end up with is a laundry-list essay of average standard.
Still, for one, I only had to write my part. Pity the foo' who has to squeeze my part together with everyone else's.
And, for two, IT IS DONE. And I still haven't slept a wink from this morning. I don't feel I have to. I'd probably collapse into a catatonic state the minute I hit the bed, which I am staying faaaaar away from. But sitting at the laptop? My eyes aren't drooping the least.
Is this human willpower? If so, it is truly amazing.
Is this my body cashing in on all that caffeine built up from the past weeks? If so, it is truly amazing. :o With a hefty dose of desperation.
*
Today's been... weird. It's like all the universe opened its diary, realised a certain Lynn was due for a mind-crack, and destroyed any electronic equipment I was associated with.
Last night, laptop emitted a "beep-beep-beep" when I turned on Winamp, lasted a while, then stopped. Then my internet connection BZZZZT!!!1 angrily when I tried to connect. I think she just scolded me. ;_; (of course my lappie's a she. have you SEEN her yaoi collection?)
Gmail would not let me log into my account using the fanciful version. I have to race with the loading screen just to click "see this in HTML version", which works fine for me. Old skool ftw.
Halfway to class, I check my watch, and itstopped at 11.30. :o
Phone top-up credit expired today (I always lose track of the days), but it took several tries to call the top-up number. One should not get a weird "doodooDOOT!" noise from the customer service care one second, and connect perfectly fine the next, and get the same "doodooDOOT!" the third time around.
I finally get through the top-up number. It connects me to an automated message. I follow instructions from auto. message to call actual customer service. Auto-answer from cust. serv. directs me to auto. message. Auto. message sends me to cust. service number, still on auto-answer... This must be what Limbo is to Christians.
Farking this shiz, I walk to the City and straight to the Optus outlet. They handle my phone top-up for me. Then I was informed that my account changes will be delayed because-- get this-- THEIR system was experiencing problems.
Electronics hate me. I'm now waiting for my alarm clock/radio to spew Satanic verses at 3 A.M. And this post has to have the most onomatopoeia I've used in one post.
*
Been a while since I last documented my kitchen disasters, eh? Between the not-macn'cheese and now, I've learned a thing or two: cooked garlic makes everything smell good; the oven toaster is your friend and potatoes are scary. They tease you with their cute little roundness, and you, sufficiently enticed, happily buy them for your little pre-assigned basket in the kitchen. You use one.
The next time you look into your basket, those cute little tubers have sprouted angry tentacles of sproutage, smashing their ways through that hard rough skin and curling around themselves like bad hentai pr0n.
I only left them there for a few weeks! I swear!
Someone once told me that potatoes that have sprouted are poisonous, but I was cheap and lacking other food, so I tried frying them in flipping hot oil. Peppered the hell out of them. And, following The Master's instructions, buttered the hell outta it too.
I felt something distinctly like carbo-guilt, eating nothing but a bowl of fried potatoes. (And HEAPS of onions and garlic.) But, dare I say it... it wasn't bad. Baby steps, people. Babyyyy steps.
Still not making mac n' cheese outside of a microwave, though.
Still, for one, I only had to write my part. Pity the foo' who has to squeeze my part together with everyone else's.
And, for two, IT IS DONE. And I still haven't slept a wink from this morning. I don't feel I have to. I'd probably collapse into a catatonic state the minute I hit the bed, which I am staying faaaaar away from. But sitting at the laptop? My eyes aren't drooping the least.
Is this human willpower? If so, it is truly amazing.
Is this my body cashing in on all that caffeine built up from the past weeks? If so, it is truly amazing. :o With a hefty dose of desperation.
*
Today's been... weird. It's like all the universe opened its diary, realised a certain Lynn was due for a mind-crack, and destroyed any electronic equipment I was associated with.
Last night, laptop emitted a "beep-beep-beep" when I turned on Winamp, lasted a while, then stopped. Then my internet connection BZZZZT!!!1 angrily when I tried to connect. I think she just scolded me. ;_; (of course my lappie's a she. have you SEEN her yaoi collection?)
Gmail would not let me log into my account using the fanciful version. I have to race with the loading screen just to click "see this in HTML version", which works fine for me. Old skool ftw.
Halfway to class, I check my watch, and itstopped at 11.30. :o
Phone top-up credit expired today (I always lose track of the days), but it took several tries to call the top-up number. One should not get a weird "doodooDOOT!" noise from the customer service care one second, and connect perfectly fine the next, and get the same "doodooDOOT!" the third time around.
I finally get through the top-up number. It connects me to an automated message. I follow instructions from auto. message to call actual customer service. Auto-answer from cust. serv. directs me to auto. message. Auto. message sends me to cust. service number, still on auto-answer... This must be what Limbo is to Christians.
Farking this shiz, I walk to the City and straight to the Optus outlet. They handle my phone top-up for me. Then I was informed that my account changes will be delayed because-- get this-- THEIR system was experiencing problems.
Electronics hate me. I'm now waiting for my alarm clock/radio to spew Satanic verses at 3 A.M. And this post has to have the most onomatopoeia I've used in one post.
*
Been a while since I last documented my kitchen disasters, eh? Between the not-macn'cheese and now, I've learned a thing or two: cooked garlic makes everything smell good; the oven toaster is your friend and potatoes are scary. They tease you with their cute little roundness, and you, sufficiently enticed, happily buy them for your little pre-assigned basket in the kitchen. You use one.
The next time you look into your basket, those cute little tubers have sprouted angry tentacles of sproutage, smashing their ways through that hard rough skin and curling around themselves like bad hentai pr0n.
I only left them there for a few weeks! I swear!
Someone once told me that potatoes that have sprouted are poisonous, but I was cheap and lacking other food, so I tried frying them in flipping hot oil. Peppered the hell out of them. And, following The Master's instructions, buttered the hell outta it too.
I felt something distinctly like carbo-guilt, eating nothing but a bowl of fried potatoes. (And HEAPS of onions and garlic.) But, dare I say it... it wasn't bad. Baby steps, people. Babyyyy steps.
Still not making mac n' cheese outside of a microwave, though.