mychai's Diaryland Diary

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Nothing witty about the term "Maillard Effect."

It's been a busy day here in JP-Land. Now that I look back on the day in reflection, I don't think I really did anything at all. But it was still a busy day.

Got up, watched Unsolved Mysteries, thought about calling (I think one of my neighbors is a mafia hit man (so kewl!)). I got showered and dressed and met a friend at Flatbranch Pub and Brewery. They have killer meals, plus it is Columbia's only commercial micro-brewery. I got a salad. Y'know... my diet and all.

Came home, looked after "my" kids. They are actually Spanish-Speaking Neighbor's (SSN) kids, but I look after them when she doesn't come home. I think she actually found a Spanish-Speaking friend. Well, a friend whose Spanish goes further than, "Where is the milk?"

I was going to make dinner for the kids, but SSN came home. So, I was left with a ton of food.

So, I took a big heapin' helpin' over to Co-Worker Terra's other place of business. She digs my cooking.

And now, I sit and write for you. I should be reading a novel for my lit class.

But I'm not.


Do you ever feel like your writing has hit a brick wall? If so, you know what I am feeling tonight.

I actually have a little stapled collection of diary topics that I keep around. Co-Worker Terra made it for me because she's kewl and all.

So, I will take a look and see what I can write about today.

...

...
...

Ah, yes. Remember how I wrote about my dreams a couple of days ago? Well, now it is time to write about my fears and insecurities. I will title it:

Fears & Insecurities
(they don't pay me for nifty titles)

I think that most of my fears and insecurities follow closely my dreams and ambitions. Mostly, my fear is to fail miserably at something at which I feel I do well.

Writing, for instance. I have never, in my life, met a writer who was secure in his art. I have also never met a writer who has a clean desk. But I worry more than anything that my writing... sucks donkey excrement. Each of my diary entries ends with me saying to myself "Damn, JP. You did it again! You wrote another diary entry that was again worse than the previous one." I don't write just diary entries. I write tons every day. When you have a total of four working journals, you tend to write a lot. But I don't see any of my writing as anything spectacular. But I wish it to be.

I see myself as a jack-of-all-trades. Except when it comes to any kind of maintenance or technical knowlege. I know how to do a lot, but I feel I am not a master at anything. Except for hottt ghetto lovin'. But that's to be expected. I have an exceptionally high IQ. I was tested as a young chap. That's about all you'll hear me say about that because I don't really feel it is important. So, I know I have the brains to do something great. I just don't know what I should do.

I feel I am fat. I feel I am ugly. But who doesn't? I also feel like nobody really likes me. I *know* people do, but still... I feel like they want something more than just me.

Gawd. This is turning into a sap-mobile.

Lastly, I worry that my idea of religion is wrong. I only get one chance, and whatever I believe is a gamble. So, roll the dice baby. Either it's gonna get toasty or it's gonna get heavenly. Can you have hottt ghetto lovin' down in the pits of hell?

If so, it may not be that bad.


Oh yeah... I found the PERFECT companion to my Naked Chef obsession. She's not on FoodNetwork, but on Style Network and E!.

Her show is Nigella Bites, her name is Nigella, and I have two words that describes her:

Oh. Mygod.

This woman epitomizes the physical attractiveness, sensuality, kitchen prowness, style, and accent (she's British) I would include in the list of a perfect woman.

I must say that my tastes have definitely turned to older women. She's 40, and she does everything to me that I could wish for. This has to be, without a doubt, the sexiest cook-show host ever.

When she is whisking something, that glance she leisurely gives to the camera causes my, umm, "custard to set." The way she licks the chocolate from her fingertips sends shivers down my spine. And don't get me started on how excited I get when she kneads dough.

I say it again, folks: Oh. My. GAWD!

(so what if she looks like my ex?)


And so I leave you with a quote I heard from a random guy while walking out of the Ellis Library, the university's main library. He was talking about the effect the movie "Dude, Where's My Car" had on him and his roommate's banter:

"Dude, where's my pants?"

11:40 p.m. - Thurs., Jan. 24, 2002

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