I can hear you screaming at your computer monitors, "NO, NO, NO! Are you INSANE?! Have you already forgotten the shameful trauma that occurred when you tried to assemble a simple gingerbread house? For the love of God, stop trying to pass for a normal human!" And of course, you're right. This can't go well.
Bear in mind, I'm volunteering for this humiliation. No one asked me to bake cookies. It's just that every time I turn around, I trip over a nice, normal person cheerfully doing traditional, adorable homemaking tasks with efficiency and ease--baking cookies, cooking dinner, gardening, making crafty things, etc.--all without accidentally dismembering a passerby or igniting half the city in a roaring blaze. How do they do it? That's the question that keeps me up at night. It's not so much that I need a batch of cookies, or that I can't purchase much tastier, safer, less bacteria-laden ones in a store, but goddamnit, I'm determined to successfully complete a June Cleaver activity at least once in my life before I die of liver failure. If you jackasses can do it, why can't I?
The crazy thing is, I'm an adult now. I have a family, responsibilities. I can't really afford to risk life and limb participating in daredevil, death-defying activities like hang-gliding, bungee jumping, knife throwing, mountain lion hunting, or baking. I should think of my husband and son and say, "No, it's not worth the risk; these people need me alive and healthy for years to come."
But then I glance over at the two of them. Jake is demanding that I read Go, Dog. Go! to him for the 2,677,465th time, and Brian is having a chick-TV marathon as he watches Laguna Beach, which he will probably follow up with The Real World. And I think, "What the hell? Let's risk it."
So, in spite of the unmitigated sadness that will surely come as a result, I am about to bravely, stupidly march into that kitchen and find out once and for all who's boss. I'm pretty sure I know the answer. But I'm not so foolish as to go in unprepared for the disaster that is soon to come. I've thought of a few things I might need at the ready to attempt to hopefully prevent my early demise. So far I've stockpiled:
Funny, I always thought this thing, while crudely named, would actually be an elaborate medical device, shiny and sophisticated, requiring some sort of degree just to figure out how to operate. Instead, it's basically a $7 bicycle pump with a long hose. The question is whether I'll be able to use it on myself rather than needing the assistance of a second party, since Brian may be busy watching Dr. 90210 and Jake will be--well, still not yet 2 years old. I'll let you know afterwards how I fared.
This actually looks way more sophisticated than the stomach pump, which is reassuring. On the other hand, it might require more skill to operate. Again, the question surfaces: Can I use one of these on myself? If I'm engulfed in flames, will I be able to spray myself with this to put out the fire before I toast like a marshmallow? Either way, it'll make for a good blog post afterward, assuming I still have working nerve endings in my fingers, and am able to type.
This one was tricky. In much the same way you can't call the police and say, "I think someone is thinking about robbing me," you also can't call 911 and say, "I think there may be a medical emergency--not sure which kind--at my house later today. I need you to come over and be ready for anything." So I couldn't procure actual trained paramedics, but I was able to find a street mime who can mime performing CPR, which is almost the same thing.
I don't think I need to explain this one. This is just one of those all-around useful first aid items we all keep on hand every day, right? Like band-aids or Neosporin or a prosthetic foot. You never know when you'll need it, but you know you're going to be thanking God that you had it on hand at that crucial moment.
So now that you know I'm setting off on my own domestic Survivor adventure, I hope you will take a moment to reflect on how much you suddenly realize I mean to you, and how crushed you'd be to lose me. I hope you're sorry for all those horrible things you've said about me, in the comments section or under your breath. And I hope for your sake nothing really bad happens to me in that kitchen today, because I'd hate to think of you spending a lifetime mired in regret, sorry that you didn't cherish me more when you had the chance.
1. Martha Stewart called. She said put down the spatula. You'd have better luck with insider trading.
2. If you still insist on going forward with the Cookies of Death, I suggest you pour the Tequila in the batter. Your loved ones will still end up in the ER, but at least they won't mind it as much.
3. I think your husband is a homersexual. Not for watching chick TV, but for having a dorkass name like "Brian."
I happen to know Dyckerson's real name, and if I revealed it here, it would make ALL of you thankful for the name YOU have.
If you can't do crafts and you can't cook, just what did you do during all those years in women's prison?
Goodluck,Godspeed and whatever you do don't walk towards the light.
I am trained in CPR but seeing as I reside on the complete opposite side of the continent ayour S.O.L. But the thought was there for ya
I never agreed with the concept of having a box of fire-heated 500-degree air in the middle of a wood-constructed tinderbox house... then using that superheated box of air to dry and char food to the point that it, too, is flammable.
But that's just me. Good luck with all that.
And Merry Christmas ya goof.
Kebler elves are pretty good i hear.
Maybe you could give them a call and go for a massage. lol
Have a Merry Christmas
Wow, this has been a very "domestic" month for you. I like to enjoy some wine while I cook/bake, but the pic of tequila made me ponder how much fun it would be to make some sort of drinking game while baking, very interesting.
Have a Merry Christmas!
Yeah, but what KIND of cookies?
my advice to you...
baking soda and baking powder are NOT the same thing and should NEVER be substituted.
and, make sure the gingerbread men are bootylicious!!
Sorry Karla. Nothing personal, but I'd rather choose from the following "safer" alternatives:
1) Go back in time and have Richard Pryor cook me up something;
2) Purchase chili from Wendy's;
3) Join a cult and participate in every activity that involves Kool-Aid;
4) Cook for myself from a recipe verbally recited by a Tourette's sufferer;
5) Eat a pizza from Little Caesar's;
5) Purchase and consume all U.S. beef that was recently rejected by South Korea for poor quality.
And don't think you can fool me into eating any, since I've already set my browser to: "Don't accept cookies from Karla".
In case you didn't die...
Merry Christmas, my friend!
All I ask is that you post the pictures of your cookies, slowly and one by one, so that we may relish them individually. Merry Christmas! I hope Toys for Tots hooks you up after the fire.
Use the Christmas Pudding excuse should you set the house afire.
Christmas Pudding is some sort of British thing containing a lot of alcohol. Prior to serving more alcohol is poured on it and then a match is set to it. I don't know how they put it out.
I had a taste of one once -- one that had not been set on fire. It reminded me a lot of Fruit Cake (in that I don't care for either).
Merry Christmas you guys, live it up.
Jeez, I misspelled my name before. And I was totally egg nog free.
How'd the cookies turn out?
karla.. i try and bake also.. it's not pretty. we should just realize that it's not for us. we are destined for bigger things!
oh yeah.. go by scooter, go by skis bundle up so you don't freeze!!
You sure that's a stomach pump and not something that you found in your hubby's nightstand?
I'm a little worried. No follow up. No pictures of crispy, blackened, headless gingerbread men. No posts about Martha Stewart personally visiting your house to wrestle the cookie sheets and tequila from your incapable little hands.
Something very, very bad happened. I just know it.
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Waiting for a positive reply
So, um, did you survive?
Hi Karla. I was just kidding about you using Photoshop on your avatard. Dont hate me. I will do nice stalking either way, dude.
Word Verification sucks
Actually, wouldn't the alcohol bake out of the cookies, mighty dyckerson?
It works with beer bread and stuff like that...
I have faith in you, Karla.
(I also take lots of medication to keep me from doing irrational things, like baking cookies.)
Are you alive? Or better yet, is anyone who ate the cookies still alive?
Well, I am hoping this doesn't mean that the cookies did you in...we haven't heard from you in quite some time lady.
my blog is for kids but I would love to write about tequilla one day ;)
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