I must tell the story of my Saturday. I don't know what it was, maybe something in the air, but I just felt domestic.
My first act, after breakfast at Anne's and seeing the quadding party off, was to buy laundry detergent and get a little exercise in by walking home from the store. Since I didn't have a car and I'd been dropped off by the aforementioned quadding party, it was really my only choice. But I didn't mind. In fact, I'd asked for it.
Back at Dad's house I did my darks, which is quite a huge load of laundry. I don't know how it happened, but somewhere along the way most of my wardrobe became black and navy. I can remember a time when I didn't own a single black shirt, and now I think I would have to dig to find a white one. Once the washer was done, I went outside and hung it all up to dry. I hate dryers. Sure, warm laundry fresh out of the dryer is awesome, but they're rough on the clothes. I always hang dry now. Plus, it gives my clothes that fresh air smell.
Around lunchtime I was looking through my dad's bleak, desolate pantry and I spied a box of Kraft mac and cheese. I don't know what came over me, but I got the sudden urge to cook. It was quite the ordeal, actually. I searched for ten minutes for a pan that would be the right size, and then I ended up over-cooking the noodles so they were way too soft. A little Tabasco, though, and all was well.
Dinner...not so much. The next thing I found in the pantry was a box of pancake mix. I found a cast iron skillet and went to work. Since I couldn't find a 1 cup measuring cup (it turns out my dad doesn't have one) I ended up using the little tablespoon fridge magnet and counting out sixteen of the little buggers full of pancake powder. Everything was going along just dandy, but when I went to cook them...I learned quick after the first one. As soon as I was done pouring a pancake, it was ready to be flipped, so I had to work quick. Apparently I'm not very good at flipping pancakes. The first one had to be thrown out, as it tasted too much like charcoal. I salvaged what I could of the rest. None of them were really pancake-shaped. They'd fallen apart in the flipping and transferring to plate processes. Apparently my dad doesn 't have syrup, either, so I drowned the things in strawberry jam. They weren't the best, but they weren't awful. I found out what the problem was when Dad got home (other than the questionable age of the mix). The directions said to heat the skilled on medium to high, so I set the burner right in between. Dad says I should've had it on three or four. Halfway between medium and high is seven. That explains some things.
That was Saturday. Today was Monday. Monday means FHE.
Tonight was a stake singles barbeque...thing. Which meant it was way too crowded for my tastes, but there were swings so I was happy. I didn't spend much time on them, though. I did dance around with my awesome YouTube video cohost some, but I'm not much of a dancer, so mostly the night dragged on. I still had fun. Best of all was the ride there and back. We were rocking out! The guy driving was hilarious. I didn't know it was possible to rock out that hard to Michael Buble. And I've never seen someone use their phone like a microphone. Especially not nonstop.
Tonight was a good night. I think I really strengthened some friendships, and I got to laugh myself silly. What more can a girl ask for?
The last song we listened to really made me miss Missouri, though. Oh, lightning bugs. I can't get back to you too soon.
Listening to: "Fireflies" by Owl City
Reading: Ceremony by Leslie Marmon Silko