Biscuits @ MindSay

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'd had a really weird dream.

I was sat in a cafeteria with really cheap white tables - I was sat against the wall, as I was isolating myself from everyone else there.
My brother Ian showed up, with three other lads - one had a lot of spots, one had a yellow shirt and one had green hair. Ian sat opposite me and the other three lads sat around me.

Then Ashleigh arrived - but couldn't get around to my side of the table, so she sat beside Ian.
We were talking for a while - before another person came in through the door.

She was the absolute double of Ashleigh - only her hair was darker, her clothes were a different colour, her voice was higher and her wheelchair frame was blue.
She said her name was Rhona Robinson.

I woke up and felt very confused.
My dreams sometimes serve a purpose - but all that one did was confuse me.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I spent most of today playing The Misadventures Of Tron Bonne.
I have 3 missions left to complete - along with the shitty ruins exploration level.

My Servbots' stats are all pretty high - there's a few more who need their attack levels raising.
I can't stand doing training course 1 though.
Training course 2 only takes about a minute - often less.
Course 1 always takes 3+ minutes and it's so damn tedious.

The more valuble stat raiser would be the more annoying one, wouldn't it?!

I'm also pissed off with the bastard farm level.
I spent 20 minutes fucking about working out how to ride and capture the horses - only to have my truck destroyed during the boss fight.
BASTARDS.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After I turned it off in frustration: Ashleigh had came online. She informed me that she was coming tomorrow - and had a mini-rant about her newly accquired Guitar Hero: Metallica (which she's bringing tomorrow) - we then discussed our plans.

We've decided on playing through some of the band career of GHM, watching the DVD that Paul burned me (Lesbian Vampire Killers) and continuing our game of Monopoly from Monday.

Once her connection died, I pulled out my drum kit and played a few quick gigs on World Tour.
I then swapped to bass and thrashed through a few more songs on Hard - 5 100% scores in a row.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dad had been to ASDA and bought a shitload of cookies - so I ate half a packet of Maryland triple chocolate chip while I watched the first half of Britain's Got Talent.

I began to wonder - am I evil?
When Hollie Steel had her emotional breakdown, bless her - I thought it was pretty sweet, and I felt sorry for her - but I couldn't help pissing myself laughing.
Every time I hear children cry - I laugh uncontrollably. Babies especially. My word, they make me bloody manic. :)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Then mam arrived home to ruin my pretty neutral day.

I asked her if Ashleigh and Shelly could come tomorrow - which she doesn't normally decline to - but then she said no.
Her reason was pathetic though: "It's her day off and she doesn't want the house full."

For a start - there's two of them - not twenty-two.
For a second - we're only ever in my room. We only come down to eat at the table because Ash isn't wonderfully skilled at balancing trays on her lap.
I eat alone upstairs for the other 6 days of the week - do I honestly bother her with my presence in the room for TWENTY FUCKING MINUTES?

Then she had a whinge on saying why can't I go to Ash's or to Shelly's.
For one - I can very rarely get to Ash's. Dad starts work too early a lot of the time to take me - which I'm not bitter about, it can't be helped. (Besides, dad isn't a cunt to me, so I don't blame him for anything.)
And if I tried bussing it - fuck knows what the fare would be. I'm guessing £4+.
Mam bitches enough as it is giving me £4 a day to get to college and eat.

It's not that fucking easy to eat on £2.20 a day you know.
Most drinks are £1 and most sandwiches are £2. Yep - how does that work out?

And I don't want to go to Shelly's because her mam slags me off.
I know my mam isn't overly fond of Shelly, but she doesn't say half the abusive shite that her mam comes out with.

Following this rant - she then said we're always in the kitchen when she wants to be in there.
WELL SORRY FOR WANTING TO EAT AT TEA-TIME. YOU KNOW, THE NORM?

What, she wants me to drag Ashleigh down the stairs so she can decide on what she wants, then send her straight back up?
Hmmmmm?

She did say she'd let them come, but only if we stay out of her way.
 I don't fucking go near her at the best of times. Swear to God.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And there's two moths flitting about in my room. They're doing my tits in.
I'm only wearing a shirt and underwear - they keep landing on my bare leg and tickling me.
I'm slightly afraid of moths - but nowhere near as scared as I am of spiders.

I was really tired earlier when I had my fortnightly migraine - but now it's gone, I'm wide awake.
With fuck all to do.
Gaaaaaaaaaaah.

I've been staring at this big box of biscuits (or cookies for the Americans) that my office mate has had sitting on her desk for a few weeks now. They are called Egg Milk Fragrant Crispy Biscuits. In smaller lettering the box reads, "The Joy is in the Daintiness."

I've sort of become obsessed by the Egg Milk Biscuits. I'm dying to know more about the joy of the daintiness. Are they really fragrant and crispy? (I've been fooled by that label once before.) In the picture they do look rich and quite tasty - perfect for breakfast with some tea.

Today I ventured over to ask if I could try one - and discovered that the box is empty! I can't stand the taunting anymore, especially since we have not been able to find the tiny, yet coarse biscuits we ate with such abandon back in Shijiazhuang. I've got to get to the supermarket to find some. Or maybe I just need to get back to work?

 

 

 

I went to "Popeyes Chicken" last night for dinner, or at least I thought I would be having dinner. I ordered the chicken with buttermilk biscuits, fries, and cole slaw. The dummy behind the counter said, "That'll be $6.49 sir. I reached into my pocket and whipped out my ATM card. The dummy informed me that the "establishment" doesn't take ATM cards, so I whipped out a Visa card. Dummy said, "No credit cards either mister, cash only"

 

 

I was pissed. I looked in my wallet and all I had in the way of cash was a $5.00 bill. I hadn't gone to the bank yesterday, and I was low on cash. I asked the dummy why a restaurant wouldn't take an ATM  card or a credit card. The guy said, "I don't make the rules, I just enforce them....

 

 

The little fucker couldn't have been more than 17/18? years old. I told him to get the manager. He said the manager had already gone home for the night. By this time I was really annoyed. I was hungry, and I wanted my fucking chicken dinner. I told the guy if he didn't take the ATM card and hand me my food, I'd come behind the counter and serve myself.

 

 

The boy looked scared. The lady behind me was anxious to get her own food and offered to pay the difference for me, which came out to $1.49. I thanked her a thousand times over. I took my basket of food from asswipe behind the counter.

 

 

I sat at a table and devoured my chicken, fries, buttermilk biscuits, and cole slaw..... God damn was it good. Popeyes knows how to make some great tasting chicken. They are even better than KFC. As I sat eating my meal I noticed three heavyset black women eating their own chicken dinners. I was amazed to see them eating every fucking thing, including the veins and the bones. I could not believe they actually ate the bones too.

 

They noticed me watching them and one of them said, "Whatchoo you lookin at white boy".... I was embarrassed to say the least, but I had to ask them why they were eating the bones.....The loud mouth of the trio said, " Nigga, I don't let nuthin go to waste.....I replied, "Yeah, I can see that by the size of your fat ass".

 

The lady got up and approached me and said, "What'd you say mutha fuckah, I know you don't be talkin to me likes dat"

 

 

I tossed what was left on my plate at her (veins & bones) and high tailed it out of there fast....I could hear the three lardass's laughing like banshee's inside. I even saw two of them go back up to the counter to order seconds.........

Tonight has been a funky sort of night. Not in a bad way, necessarily -- more like half-cocked. Was mildly stressed about something after getting home from work -- the actual source of said stress is irrelevant, and in hindsight, minor -- and compensated with obsessive cleaning, my favoured reaction to most flavours of emotional discomfort. Now that I know myself, my triggers and my vices much better than I used to, I can distance myself from my behaviour in such a way that it becomes almost funny. I know exactly what I'm doing, why I'm doing it and what I'll do next. It becomes a colour commentary of sorts: "Three, two, one...and she's off, gearing up for another hot date with the lint brush." This bemused detachment is definitely a good thing -- I am in fact textbook obsessive-compulsive, and such OCD flareups as the one I experienced tonight are generally compounded by frustration with myself for "letting" them happen. Tonight, though, I realized that it's all right to have moments of weakness -- that being human means reaching for fixes, for things that make us feel in control, in moments of stress. We cope in every moment the best way we know how, which sometimes means stepping back from the fight and letting cravings get the best of us. So that's exactly what I did -- gave myself permission to go all Howard Hughes for an hour or so, without judgement or fear, in the knowledge that this too would pass. And that was pretty much that.

Ok, well, it wasn't quite that. I made myself stop cleaning after my designated hour had gone by, but between too much afternoon coffee and residual brainhype, I still felt slightly manic. That's when I got it into my head that I needed to make biscuits. I wanted biscuits, damnit, and nothing was going to stop me. Off I went to the kitchen and proceeded with my manic biscuit-making, dreaming of my pending late-night snack. A baking powder shortage didn't stop me -- baking soda's close enough, ain't it? I threw in some vinegar, a splash of milk and a big wad of butter for good measure, then crossed my fingers and sent a quick prayer to the biscuit gods.

By the time I took the biscuits out of the oven I was starving. Splitting two of them in half, I goggled longingly at their tender middles and meticulously topped them -- two halves with just butter, and two with one skimming each of butter and strawberry jam. They were perfect.

When I took the first bite I discovered the horrible truth -- that accidentally putting three tablespoons of baking soda in biscuits makes them taste like Tylenol, and that even the most lavish of jam-bombings is helpless to save them.