Baking Nightmares

I love cooking. It's so satisfying to sit down to a meal that was birthed from a jumble of ingredients that, when combined, create deliciousness. It's especially gratifying when my own creations turn out to be a new favorite meal. And I think this is the problem: I want what I cook to be my own -- I hate following recipes. Maybe it's a pride thing -- the idea that anyone can follow a recipe, but actually being creative and inventive takes talent. But as I'm still pretty new to the whole cooking thing, I tend to start off with some sort of recipe. But I never follow it. It's just a base, especially when I want to know what ingredients will give a certain flavor. But that's it. Once I get the basic idea, I ignore the recipe. It takes up counter space. Plus, normally my cooking experiments turn out better than I expected. So I get spoiled. I think I know what I'm doing. Until I start to bake.

Baking terrifies me. Maybe too because I'd rather eat salty and spicy foods over sweet ones, or maybe it's that the oven scares me. I like being able to taste as I go. With baking it's a guessing game. I don't like just hoping it turns out. But since most of my experiments were turning out, then why wouldn't a baking experiment turn out well too? Right? Crap.

I hate knowing that the first time I taste something is also the first time everyone else is tasting it. The fear, the anxiety, the nervous tension. Watching everyone take the first bite, looking for facial expressions. I can't ever really enjoy something I bake. I'm too nervous about the outcome. Plus I'm incredibly hard on myself when it comes to taste -- if something doesn't taste amazing, I label it as a failure. And since sugar tends to make me feel sick, if I'm going to eat something sweet, I want it to be pretty darn good.

So at this point, all I can do it breath. Remind myself that a year ago I couldn't successfully create any sort of food item from scratch. I've come a long way. But I have that neeeeeed for everything to be perfect. But sometimes experiments don't turn out quite the desired way. But failure IS part of learning. So I'll try to save it. Whatever it is. And move on. There will be other Thanksgivings. And like my dear brother said, it could be the beginning stages of a favorite dish. The very beginning stages.

Tattoo You

Tattoos are horribly addicting. I never believed all those people that told me that. I thought I had self-control.I thought, "I don't want to be covered in them, so refraining from getting more will be easy". Right? Erm. Not so much. I too have been pulled in by the allure of them.

However, this is not to say that I'll run out and get more. I can't. But I really would like to. Not even that it's my own desire. It's this strange need. The same reason why I spend hours searching tattoos on google. It's unhealthy.

So for now, I'll have to be content with the two I have. But how long can this last?

Ah, sweet sweet failure

The educational system is frustrating. Especially college. In High School at least, there's room to argue, or the best of all, have your parent call the school and complain on your behalf. That was a lot simpler. I miss having my parents save me from the horrors of unfair teachers. But alas, college doesn't really work like that. Nor, for the most part, do they care if you do have a complaint.

Science is not my thing. It never has been, and I did my best to avoid it throughout my entire school career. In middle school, I managed to slip past the system, only taking two science classes. In high school, I was stealthier. I graduated high school taking only anatomy. How I did this? Well, it's really not that difficult. Going to a school that doesn't actually count credits seemed really worked to my advantage in this. I spent my high school years taking the subjects I love: english, history, and french. Maybe I didn't love french class, but having picnics in the park while speaking french was rather romantic. And I learned a little bit. The day I spent in France, I was actually able to understand a little. But I'm getting off track. And OK, I did take math in high school. I hate math. But next to science, I'm in. Let me explain. I have zero interest in learning what organ does what, the names of bones, how DNA works, ect. To me, it's going to happen whether I know what it is or not. My cells are going to do their stuff, blah blah. I don't need to know what's going on. I'm glad not everyone thinks this -- otherwise we'd all die. Science stuff is very important. But do I really need to know it? Yes? Ok. Fine. I'll take the stupid biology class.

But this is what happens when I take said biology class: the teacher hates me. I do my homework. I study for tests. I come to class. I put sharp objects in fire. I look at bacteria in microscopes. Isn't that going to make me sick? Probably, but I have to pass. But this does not matter. She still hates me. Am I overreacting? I don't think so. It's that horrible realization that your professor doesn't want you to pass. Lovely.

The fact seems to be, some teacher are just unfair. Is it really learning when even if you know the answer, you get it wrong because you didn't write it in some form that you didn't even know you have to write it in? I don't think so. But that's the way it is. That's the way it usually is. And sadly, that's probably the way it always will be. Fortunately, this will be my last real science course. I've even gotten around science fairly easily in college. Anthropology counting as a science credit is a beautiful beautiful thing.

After this quarter, I get to move on and spend my time doing nice things, like taking classes on folklore. That will be nice. I do like school. But it's a whole lot more pleasant when school likes you back.