When i was over at Andy's house on New Year's Day, I made a souffle. I used a lot of

a good amount of bittersweet

though with enough

that the bittersweet part didn't matter much.

It turned out well:

The only difficulty I had with cooking at Andy's (aside from the fact I wasn't cooking in my own kitchen, where I know where everything is and can find all the ingredients easily) was the only spatula Andy had in his cooking tools drawer was a 2" x 1" tiny, tiny spatula.

Do you know how hard it is to fold in 8 beaten egg whites into a heated chocolate mixture using a 2" x 1" spatula?

Let's just say I'm good, okay?

So, the next time I was over at his place cooking, I brought along a couple new spatulas. not the large assortment of my spatulas, but two medium sized spatulas that would make my life easier when i was over at his place cooking. Oh, and a set of measuring spoons that I later found out he didn't need, as he had a full set. I just couldn't find them.

After the disaster of a gag gift, I didn't think he noticed the extra spatulas.

I was wrong. He noticed. Of course he noticed. Who wouldn't notice?

Besides Kris, I mean.

A week or so ago, he made some reference to the gift escalation that was happening. No, no, no, I explained, those spatulas were a Homer gift, a selfish gift. I needed them when I was cooking at his place, they were for me, though he could certainly use them, too. My thoughts were something like, 'Crap. We can't afford a gift war...'

"Oh, well, then I can give a selfish gift, too."

Yesterday, we walked in and, as I went to hang up my coat, yelped. Andy's selfish gift was hanging on the door.

Complete with treble clefs.

"I never know where to put my coat when I come over," Andy let me know. He has a coat rack next to his door, so we always know where to hang our coats at his house.

And now we know where to hang our coats at our house, too.

"You didn't tell me you were downloading World of Warcraft."

"I told you I was downloading the demo of a game I wanted to play."

"Yes, but you left out the part about how you were downloading the most addictive game produced in the last three years."

"I might have left that part out."

"And the part about how you play in guilds, coordinating raids, and you have to commit to 20 to 30 hours a week for your guild? Like, that's a part-time job?"

"Yeah, I'm sure I left that part out."

If cookie dough is always this fabulous, I needs me some cookie dough. Stat!

Mike and Kate invited us up to their house to watch today's NFL game, in particular, to watch the New England Patriots' game. Mike had left his car at my house when he picked up the truck earlier this week, so I agreed to drive his car up this morning at his request. Kris followed me up in his car, enabling me to drive up quickly, as I'm wont to do on the fun drive to Mike's house.

On the way to Saratoga, I managed to avoid being behind any vehicle for any length of time in my quest to drive my desired speed, without pressure of cars behind me to go faster and without frustration of a slower car in front of me. Just as I was about to leave downtown Saratoga, I found myself behind a family van, the two of us on the way out of town.

I followed the van for less than a half mile when it pulled over to let me pass. I was excited about this, driving quickly, allowing each turn to start a rumble in the back seat as the stuff in Mike's car launched from side to side in the car through the curves.

My joy was short-lived, however, as I quickly caught up to the next car. The car in front of me was following yet another car, that car driving slowly through the turns. I quickly scanned for a turnout, hoping the cars would move over, when the front car moved over to turn left off the road. The car in front of me sped up, driving a reasonable speed, until the next turnout when it pulled over, allowing me to pass.

Yippee!

I zoomed along for all of a half mile or so in front of the car I just passed, before I realized there was a bright red Ferrari behind me. No way was I going to be rude to the car behind me. If you want and can drive faster than I, then I am going to move over for you. Way over.

I pulled off the road before the turnoff, in order to allow the Ferrari to pass. I tried to find a good spot to move over, but chose relatively poorly. The car was able to pass me, but oncoming traffic was annoyed at me, as the Ferrari passed me when the oncoming car passed me going the other way. Eh, there was room on the road.

I continued up the hill, quickly losing sight of the Ferrari as it zoomed away in front of me. I drove along happily for a mile or so, zipping along in Mike's car, zoom zoom zoom, inch by inch catching back up to the Ferrari who had escaped me just a mile before.

And got stuck behind another car.

Another two cars.

The lead car was driving about 25 miles per hour along the road where I was driving previously driving 45-50, and the Ferrari doing 50-60. The car braked too quickly, accelerated too slowly, and generally ignored all road courtesy rules by both driving too slowly, not pulling over despite numerous spots available, and ignoring the growing number of cars lined up behind it.

A minute after I had to slow down, four motorcycles slowed down behind me. Once again, I pulled over to the right to allow the motorcycles to pass me, this time still driving along, the motorcycles lane-splitting next to me. The Ferrari did the same, allowing the motorcycles to lane-split pass him. The two cars in front of me didn't have to do anything, as we all approached a turnout and the motorcycles and Ferrari had room to pass both cars and drive away.

Not so lucky me. The turnout was far too short, and I ended up continuing my excrutiatingly slow drive up the mountain. The van I had passed at the bottom of the mountain caught up to me.

I managed to continue up the mountain behind these two cars for another mile or so before I became completely frustrated at the number of turnouts the front car could have taken, BUT CHOSE NOT TO TAKE. How freakin' slow can you drive and NOT SEE the line of cars behind you?

Mike's car may have started blaring its horn uncontrollably at some point along this last mile to the top of the hill.

When the four cars arrived at the top of the hill, the really slow car, the car in front of me, me in Mike's car, and the van behind me, the car in front of me turned right and took off. The car in front of me, the slow car that caused the last three or four miles of frustration, turned on its left turn signal at the stop sign, and sat there.

My only thought was something like "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

I looked right. No cars at the stop sign. I looked across Skyline. No cars across the way. I looked left. A truck approaching the stop sign would have to stop.

I pulled out left and around the car. The one STILL sitting there with its left turn signal on, not moving. I made the left turn, accelerating away, relief and adrenaline flooding my system.

I was just to the top of the next rise before the car even started turning left.

I'm sure I would have had clumps of hair missing, had I not make that preemptive left turn.

The game has to be less stressful that that drive.

So, as a kid, you know when your parents told you to do something that you didn't want to do? You really, really, really didn't want to do it?

At some point during your attempts to negotiate not doing that which you really really really didn't want to do, you somehow realized that, if you did it, and did it poorly, your parents (most likely your mother) would probably never ask you to do it again.

The trick was to do it so poorly that there would be no hope ever of your learning how to do that which you really, really, really didn't want to do.

Unless you had parents who took such a poor performance as a educational challenge, you were set, once you did it poorly the first time.

That's what I was thinking about when I fed the dogs today.

I was hoping that, by feeding the dogs the "wrong" way, Kris would decide that he, and only he, would be allowed to feed the dogs.

I didn't succeed, but I did have two very happy doggies: