Cooking Show Addicts Anonymous (CCAA)

Hello. My name is _____ ______, and I am addicted to cooking shows. 

I say this to you with complete sincerity, and not an ounce of over-exaggeration. This is not a hyperbole. No, it is not a metaphor, and it most certainly is not a joke. I really and truly am an addict. So much so that I have many-a-time stayed up until the wee hours of the morning watching the likes of Master Chef USA and Dinner Party Wars. Food Network, you complete me.

I've tried to quit- waking up in the morning for school after crawling to bed at 4am when I simply can't keep my eyes open wide enough to see those crisp vegetables sautéing on that beautiful gas range flat top stove. I think this addiction stemmed from habit; you see, growing up, it was a Saturday ritual to watch cooking shows every afternoon while eating lunch with my dad and brother. And let me tell you, by far the best of all the cooking shows out there is Jacques and Julia. 

What a duo. I mean Jacques Pépin is pure genius, and his sophisticated method of food preparation and presentation perfectly contrasts the endearing Julia Child who accidentally flips her French Omelet on the floor, picks it back up, and plates it with not a care in the world. As she would say, "Always remember: If you're alone in the kitchen and you drop the lamb, you can always just pick it up. Who's going to know?" None of it really matters, as long as you're drinking wine along the way, which I really think is a valuable life lesson (maybe I should venture on down to some AA meetings too, hum...). 

Besides, cooking brings people together. Food is a topic of interest to many, and those who won't talk it will at least eat it whilst spawning appreciative nom-ing noises. Think of kitchen parties... gathering with good friends and good food in a kitchen is a sublime way to pass the time. Can you think of anything much better? I certainly can't. After seeing Julie & Julia the movie, my love of Julia has only grown. She's quirky and lovable, and she wrote a kick-ass cookbook (which I possess and love like it were my own born child). 

Jacques, I own your cookbook also, fear not- I love it too. Your crab cakes are delectable. Back to it though, I'd like to cook through Julia's book, as in the movie, but somehow those few end chapters on liver and other weird animal parts would probably not be something I could stomach. Props to you, Julie, then. So all in all, after reading my rationale, can you really call me crazy for such an obsession? Cooking is therapeutic, entertaining, artistic, and can be a bonding experience. Cooking shows build upon this. Some have remarked to me comments I find just disturbing, such as "no one watches cooking shows" (REALLY? No one? Hey, I exist...) and "what are you, 80 years old?" If you ask me, they are all sick in the head, mentally deranged, and missing out on a majorly exciting form of television programming. I am sane. Cooking shows are superior to all else. Fin.

BeefCakes

I bring you a container meant to store a meal for consumption, usually at work or school...
Also known as a lunch pail or lunch bag...

THE LUNCHBOX. 

This is an epic invention, and one of the most significant parts of returning to school each year. Say why? Well because you get to pick out a cool new one and make all your friends jealous... duhhhh. Just kidding? Okay... so maybe now the lunchbox is just a little passé, but it used to be the highlight of my fall season (seriously). This was around the same time that I would have simply died for a pair of velcro light-up barbie sneakers and a Baskin Robbins' Ice Cream Maker (yo parentals, still waiting on those for Christmas gifts?! stop depriving me). But they come in so many shapes and sizes, with so many designs. Need a lunchbag with a box in the bottom to keep your sandwich from squishing? CHECK. Need one with a cooler-bag so your juice box doesn't get all gnarly and room temperature and disappoint the hell out of you when you're counting on that "cold refreshing post-recess game of wall ball" drank? Uh.. CHECK. (Side note: Yes, I said "drank". Blame T-Pain... he is corrupting my vocabulary. Damn you auto-tuner for popularizing such a wank). They're just the perfect combo of utility and coolness. I used to strut to school with my lunchbox proudly in hand. But then that miserable day came, probably around grade 7, when carrying a lunch box was undeniably UNFORGIVABLE. For the record, I seem to have missed this "cut-off" when lunchboxes essentially converted to the nerdiest thing you could possibly carry, as I distinctly remember being made fun of (bite me, bullies). And now-a-days when I go to work I just slap all my food in an eye-sore of a plastic bag. Yeah, the kind you get from Super Store (ew). I'm not really sure why cool lunchboxes were ever dubbed uncool anyways. I think people became overly self-conscious somewhere in that child development process that they were too awkward and uncomfortable feeling to to carry the amazing Elmo tin case that ever so faithfully held all their daily nutritional needs. Alas, I shall continue to shamefully stuff my plastic bag into my purse each day, but let it be known, if I didn't care at all what people thought, I'd be sporting this bad boy proudly:

Okay, sue me; I adore these dorks from Saved by the Bell.

Office Pervert

I did not mention in my introduction that I am currently on a co-op term (a work term, which I complete as part of my university degree program). Sure, work terms lend me valuable work experience and expose me to a whole new world of corporate culture that will better arm me for the future (blah, blah, blah)... but more importantly, they provide the perfect environment in which to people watch. You would be simply astounded by the kooky, harebrained people that work in positions of power in large corporations.

Today was my second day in my brand-spankin'-new job. Yesterday, among other valuable tid-bits of information including how to waste time at work (as if I, of all people, could not figure that one out on my own? Please...), and who to avoid, I was warned of the office pervert. Yes folks, he is present in different forms in many a work-place. This OP in particular comes in the form of an old (50ish?) male with grey hair who refuses to tuck in his terribly patterned shirts, despite the disheveled, unprofessional vibe it gives him, and who heads the PPC-like committee. The wha? Oh you're not an office fan? WATCH IT. The PPC is otherwise known as the Party Planning Committee from the show, The Office. It is a committee in which members of the company join together to plan useless parties with the intention of wasting time and possibly making work a little less unbearable. It can be taken semi-seriously, at most, as a real committee, of course. I can only wonder if such a man heads this sort of committee to meet young girls around the office so he can prey on them... Right. Back to the point. Any who, he is known for being strangely too friendly and making inappropriate remarks to girls around the office, especially co-op students, who are fresh blood. This is disturbing in itself, but what's more is one girl actually digs the attention. Why in God's name do you desire to be creepily eyed by an old man? Get on with your life, girl!

Today took a strange turn of events, though. See... I had to drop a file off to the mail room upstairs. Simple enough? Not. I have a terrible sense of direction. I feel disoriented in my own house on days. So this would be a task. I looked at the floor plan of the company. How useless. It was far too confusing for my pea-brain, so I decided to wing it. I trudge upstairs with the file, navigate may way through hallways, past cubicles, and, ALAS!, I have found the golden mail room. Okay... it's not really golden, but I could have sworn it was sparkling a bit as I approached it. So blah, blah, I hand in the file- life is great. I frolic (probably an overstatement) through the hallways, back to the staircase, all chuffed with myself for finding my way there without walking off a 12th floor balcony or something (hey, it could happen). As I am approaching the staircase, nameless Tech man exits through a door, and smiles and says hello to me. I say hi, and proceed to open the door he just came out of, just after I hear him mumbling something to me, which did not register in my mind until it was a moment too late. Then I deciphered it, "Checkin' out the little boy's room?" Good grief... there I was standing in the doorway of the men's bathroom. Fantastic, I really do know how to make a first impression. He chuckles at me and continues on his way. Why, why is the door to the staircase only an inch to the right of the men's bathroom? And why am I so oblivious to signs. Is it possible that I have also been branded an office pervert? Let's hope he realized I was new and disoriented and doesn't really think I was trying to catch some guy urinating at work. Ah well... what's done is done, I suppose.

And on an additional note, upon returning to my desk, I proceeded to spill day-old coffee all over some important looking sheets full of signatures of the former co-op student. Clever me... let's hope she doesn't remember to get those on Friday when she comes in- good thing I hid them.

Thus, I have had a brilliant start to my new job, obviously. (?!?!)
Adios!

Who?

Oh hi. I see you have made your way into my blog. Who am I? Well, I'm just your typical caffeine addict of a University student who stays up a little too late, drinks a little too much, and cares a little too... little? I'm a 20-ish female (going to keep it vague here) who constantly has music playing, overdoses on cooking shows, and seeks a form of sanity online. I really enjoy people watching, and I have a lot of opinions. There are a lot of strange people and things out there you know, and they deserve recognition. Whether I'm sitting in class, at a desk in a workplace, or on the bus, I am constantly observing and... well I hate to say it: Judging. We all do it... don't judge me! Additionally, my mind is an absurd place with random and useless thoughts constantly swirling around at light-speed. This blog will be nothing more than a boredom cure and outlet for my insipid rambling. I am a tad neurotic, I must warn you, but that just makes it all the more interesting, yes? That's what I thought. Alas, there is no point to this blog, but if you happen to stumble across it, I dare say you should stay a while and maybe even drop a friendly (or rude, if thats how you feel!) comment for me to read and reply to. For the purpose of my psychotic babbling, no real names will be used. I also will remain anonymous; I don't want to get fired, slapped, or yelled at, of course. Read if you dare, and if you care, though I'm not quite sure what loon would.