just a little baby phat
This is a little performance piece I like to call: brimful doesn't know whether or when to use the flash. If any of you are actually keeping count, the lemon cheesecake never was captured on film. I misplaced my camera this weekend, briefly lost in the frenzy to get rid of various fossilized clothing. What is it about destruction that feels so cathartic? Something about shoving piles of clothes into trash bags feels like freedom. For my next trick, goodbye old shoes!
The cheesecake went to JP- I visited him on Sunday in an attempt to escape from the inane drama that clouded a portion of my weekend. You would think a GBF would be a bigger drama queen than your girlfriends- but you'd be wrong. I lurve visiting JP. He only lives a handful of blocks away from me, yet I always feel like I'm entering vacation zone when I visit him. I plan to go hang out for twenty minutes, but inevitably waste hours shooting the breeze with him. This, of course, is not a complaint- I wish everywhere felt so much like home.
JP was gifted with some scones as well, because I was feeling particularly productive. I used this recipe with some modifications, including cinnamon chips and the icing. The details are only interesting to me, I'm afraid. My brother chides me for the variability of my baking. He decides he likes something I've made, but I can rarely reproduce it for him, because I am always tinkering. When he really rants about this, however, I tell him to shove it. That's the special bond of siblings.
My friend W accused me of Amelie-esque strategem-devising tendencies of late. I think he was a little annoyed that I took this as a compliment. Of course, one of those strategems has landed me on a plane to IAH on Saturday, so maybe I should learn a measure of modesty. Yee-haw. Not.
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