Okay, so everyone who wanders in my LJ knows my week was bad, right? Okay, we got that down. Reiterating the slow and rather black comedy nightmare of it, right up to rain this morning that so totally screwed up my Saturday plans? Not in the scorecard. Chocolate would have made it better. So, to reward myself for being such a good little editor, I got my brownie mix out, mixed up, and dropped it in my Brand New Brownie Pan, purchased specifically for brownies.
Two points. One, I noticed the brownie stuff was unusually thick, but then again, I can be too, so really, no problem. The whisk kept getting stuck and the mass wouldn't flow, even plop, but had to be forcibly ejected from the bowl. On the other hand, man, dough tasted good.
I put it in the oven, set the timer, a miracle occurred and I was actually there to get them out, and I glanced at the counter where I would put them.
There sat half a cup of vegetable oil.
Here is the sequence of events, as I have reconstructed, since unlike Ashton, may he one day be naked for me to look at, my God he is hot, I can't claim a lifetime of blackouts.
1.) I took out the oil.
2.) I measured the oil.
3.) I put up the oil.
4.) I was abducted by aliens, which totally made me forget that I hadn't put oil in my batter.
5.) I then finished mixing the brownies, leading to the timing and the taking out and the oil realization.
If you have a theory that's better than that, I would so like to hear it.
However, the brownies are possibly the thickest thing I've ever eaten. I mean, it's still chocolate--and well, honestly, I don't believe there is bad chocolate, only a thousand variations of good to spectacular to better than orgasm. So you know, happy chocolate and all.
Just. You know. Forgot the oil. It's still there, because I can't quite make myself waste it. It'll probably sit there for a few days while I try to reconstruct the lost time I spent with aliens. While I can't guarantee there was any proper probing--because really, no good alien abduction story should be without something being probed in some way that defies adequate description and seems to serve no useful purpose--seriously, how much can any species get out of checking our digestive or reproductive tracks multiple times? Ooh, ovaries, prostate, uterus, been there, done that, seriously, they should get some mileage from our hair or teeth or something by now, don't you think?--and by the way that reminds me of my story idea of Clark, being an alien and all, unbearably overcome with that alien need to probe and see, that's a freakishly long sentence.
But why, I ask you, has no one gone that route? He's an alien. Probing alien, even.
Right, I'm delusional.
Also, there was thsi conversation with svmadelyn that I'm flashing back on with deep amounts of bitterness. Deep.
It went like this.
Her: You should read this! It's a WiP, but--
Jenn: I don't read WiPs.
(because I am that much of a hypocrite. I really am. I got freaked out by one unending epic and now regard the entire genre through jenn-colored glasses of Ultimate Hypocricy)
Her: It's so good! It's X by author X and omg it's so good. She's posting it friends-only right now, but--
Jenn: Then I can't read it, as she doesn't have me friended.
Her: Just ask her. It's so good, Jenn--
Jenn: I hear Brian orgasming. Be back.
Her: You are so going to regret this.
The problem is, for me to notice things that aren't, say, branded into my skin, I need repetition. To be fair, similar variations of this conversation went on for a while, but sporadically. But still. Not a *word* in at least a month, which really points to a failing of pimping on her part, since everyone and their pet and probably my Tibetian monks have read it, and okay, waht does it say about my friendslist, really, when no one else told me to read this right now?
*looks at all of you*
I'm just saying, you should have told me.
Omiai by Rose Emily.
God, that was good. That was un-real-y good. I mean, alien-abduction-seems-inconsequential good. Like, reading obsessively for four hours good. I want to curl up with my coffee and my very dense brownies and purr for days good.
Dear God, did I need that. I love her so much right now.
I have turned on my happy soundtrack. The one with Afghan Whigs and Drops of Jupiter and me singing along all ecstatic with the world.
Better than brownies. And worth all the italics abuse I've committed in this entry alone.
*purring* Cookie icon!