And now I wish that I had a wonderful Geocities-esque blog page that would let me make things blink and where I could do 100 different types of fonts in all different sizes just to annoy the heck out of anyone who stumbles across this page. Of course, it would have a black background, just to make it that much more annoying, and I'd probably have to have something obscure and vaguely annoying yet addictive playing in the background, like Man-Man. So while you're reading this, occasionally close your eyes and imagine blinking font and manic gypsy music with a lead singer who sounds like Tom Waits, but if he went to a soccer game in Liverpool, got hammered, and started singing with his mates on the way home.
I've discovered recently that I'm incredibly talented at taking $10 and somehow producing enough food to feed me for a week at both lunch and dinner. Last week, it was beef stew - some of which, I confess, I tossed out today because I was afraid it would develop some sort of microwave-resistant bacteria and I'd die in my apartment alone. The remaining stew is frozen, waiting for the day when I pull it out of the freezer to eat it over the course of three days for both lunch and dinner.
This week - Monday, specifically - I made a ton of spaghetti sauce. I miscalculated how much ground beef I had to toss into the sauce, so I browned entirely too much, then realized that I could either waste the meat by pulling some of it out and making a poor imitation of sloppy joes or tacos, or I could just make a truckload of spaghetti sauce. I now have about 6 me-sized portions of spaghetti sauce in my freezer, not counting the spaghetti I'm eating for work tomorrow (which should be interesting and far from graceful).
For the life of me, I cannot figure out how my kitchen always manages to look like the site of a bloodbath whenever I cook something that has tomatoes in it. It took me a good ten minutes to clean up all the splotches I'd managed to fling, though none of them landed on me, in a departure from the norm. I had tomato sauce on the ceiling. It's like when I was little and I'd end up with spaghetti sauce on my forehead. It's funny, but at the same time, you're left wondering how the hell did that get up there?
(Thanks to Flickr User jshj for the photo, which can be found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/jshj/824608884/)