...hey, what the hell, I'm being locked out of the Title section, was it something I said????...

OK, so on the profile page, when I wrote that I "sometimes" like cooking, I think I need to clarify that a bit. I do "sometimes" like cooking, but only when the following very strict conditions are met:

1. I can't ever have cooked what I'm making before. Ever. If I have, it's boring

2. The kitchen has to be clean and everything in its place before I get started. Hahaha, well, you can certainly see where this is going, can't you?

3. New Rule: The recipe can't call for carrots.

4. Thoroughly saturating my body cells in a good red wine before I get started certainly helps make the whole wretched ordeal a little more tolerable, I must say.

5. Okay, okay, okay. I hate cooking.

What really limits my personal happiness when I cook is just the whole dumb set-up of our stupid kitchen. It's another (another!) thing I'm bitter about. When a young(ish) couple buy their first house and the female is swollen and heavy with child, someone should really sit down with her and tell her a few things. She needs to have an arm gently put around her and be led somewhere for a serious heart-to-heart. "Honey," they should say, "I know you've spent many years now living the good life, free from domestic responsibilities. I know your idea of ambitious cooking to date has been to sit on an unopened Boil in a Bag to warm it up while watching the news. But everything is about to change. You're gonna have kids! You will have to feed them, and Guilt will keep you from resorting to just opening cans all the time. Well," (here they might pause to look at her suspiciously), "at least some of the time...."

But no-one had The Chat with me, and so we foolishly chose this house because it had hardwood floors and a cute ornamental fireplace, ignoring the fact that the kitchen was small and crappy, with old, falling apart cupboards and not enough of them at that. Perhaps if I didn't live with a pack rat it wouldn't matter, but I do, and so those damn cupboards are so filled with crap that whenever I cautiously open one, invariably something falls on my head. Tonight, it was a package of vegetarian soup base, and, oh jeez did it hurt. I screamed, and then ran in here to sulk about it all to you. Stupid kitchen. Stupid cooking duties. Stupid lack of cupboard space. Stupid pack rat lifestyle. There. Got THAT off my chest.

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Well, I can't leave without making yet another note about la wonderful world of fromage. In a desperate, last-minute attempt to keep myself from devouring the six packages of discounted cheese I have in my freezer, I googled the words "unhealthy" and "Brie" into our poor disfigured laptop and found this lovely site. And NOW I REALLY feel ill. When he says that cheese is "fermenting", he doesn't mean like a warm, Bordeaux grape in a sunny French vineyard. He means fermenting into a toxic, fetid stew in the depths of my bowels. Yucky! Yucky!

(Of course, this damn page basically condemns my entire diet. Jeez, I thought fish was supposed to be GOOD for you. Arghghghhhhhh, you can't do anything right.)