Um...man, I feel so un-posty lately. SEE? IT'S STARTING ALREADY. Time to strike that out, just to be safe.
I made a fuckton of cookies using mobobocita's cake cookie recipe* and oh man are they delicious but OH MAN are there a lot. I made a batch of strawberry ones to test the recipe out, and handed them out to folks at Christmas. They are gone now. Last night, I made Funfetti, milk chocolate and butter yellow ones. The butter yellows are my favorite of this batch, but the strawberry ones were still the best, I think.
THE POINT OF THIS STORY IS I MADE ABOUT NINETY COOKIES LAST NIGHT. I don't bake**. I don't use my kitchen and it shows, the neglect is verging on disgusting. I'm lying. Verging nothing. It's fucking disgusting. I need to clean my kitchen.
BUT I'M NOT RESOLVING TO CLEAN MY KITCHEN. I might need to get some Resolve to clean it, though. Well, never mind, I just looked it up and Resolve is for fabrics. Okay, so I need an atom bomb to clean it. That might at least kill the ants. WHICH FOR SOME REASON ARE IN MY BATHROOM, NOT MY KITCHEN. What the fuck, ants, what the fuck.
Nikki bought me Harry, A History for Christmas and I'm such a freaking mook that it's already made me cry. The story about how when JKR wrote "THE END" on the first book, and nighttime had fallen, she got up and opened the window to see a tabby cat sitting outside and said, "Goodnight, Professor McGonagall." OH MAN I LOST IT AND SAT THERE WIBBLING LIKE A BABY. I'm pretty sure I'd heard that story before, but I'd completely forgotten about it, then reading it in the context of the fandom and the trek to get HP published and what I'm saying is I really want to go to fucking Azkatraz or LeakyCon. Or both. I keep eying Twicon, because it's in Dallas and I think it would be hilarious to go, but if I'm going to drop $255 on a con, I'd rather it be an HP con with folks I know and love.
Anyway. This post has rambled on aimlessly long enough! I'm going to eat a cookie!
*SUPAR EASY: One box 'o cake mix, one stick 'o butter, one egg, split into one inch balls, bake at 350 for twelve minutes. EVEN I CAN DO IT.
**ETA: An amusing side note to this story that just SHOWS how rarely I bake that I completely forgot to mention in the actual post: I nearly burned down my place because I had a brilliant idea to soften the butter by holding it in the preheating oven. Well, my thumb accidentally hit the top of the oven, causing me to release my grip on the butter and drop it. So this whole, wrapped stick of butter lands in the oven, resting delicately on the heating coil. I manage to grab a towel to shield my hand and knock the butter away just as the paper had begun to ignite. FANTASTIC. I then spent another minute or two wrestling the butter out of the crease between the oven and the door. The upside to this is that whenever I turn my oven on now, it smells like melted butter. Mmmmmmm.