Here's what's on my mind:

1) During trial, one's house becomes a wreck. After trial, one does not want to clean one's house. Therefore, one's house is, once again, a mess.

2) I am a cook. Or, at least, I used to be. I now realize that: 1 -- I absolutely hate the kitchen in this condominium. If I were not planning on getting the hell out of here soon, I'd rip out the kitchen and put in a better one... maybe even one with ::ooh!:: a working ventillation system. As it is, my kitchen is an ergonomic nightmare, with zero good food preparation space, and I end up tripping over myself to orchestrate a meal that shouldn't be as hard to prepare -- all while cursing Kevin for remembering to take his Henckles knives with him when he left, leaving me with sub-par Farberware crap knives I bought in college... being without a chef's knife is like being without legs... Maybe that'll be the next thing I buy myself... it's either a bike rack to go on the back of the Benz, or a Wusthoff knife block... (Incidentally, what should I name my car? Rolf Golf is gone...maybe Kristoffer Kompressor?) (Incidentally, what's my new obsession with German things? Another German car, German knives...?) Oh, yes. Back to my rant. So, tonight, with my Patron Saint Alton Brown hovering around me, I looked through my bare-bones pantry and thought to myself, "Self, what are you going to make for dinner?" And spying some frozen ground chicken breast, some puff pastry, I came up with an idea -- South-Of-The-Border Chicken, Corn and Black Bean Mexican Fajita Turnovers!

They're fucking good. Although I was sort of freaking out because the heat generated from my cooking the chicken breast and evaporating off the chicken stock that moistened the Fajita seasoning, began to make the thawing puff pastry a little... gummy.

I rescued everything. Filled, baked, puffed, and enjoyed. I'm hoping that twinge in my stomach is just a result of all the butter I consumed, and not the result of some cross-contamination somewhere along the line, but that would just be another reason to hate my kitchen... no good place to put the raw-chickened utensils!

I wonder what the folks at work are going to say tomorrow when I pull out my golden, flaky turnovers as they're mawing away on their day-old beef hash and ham sandwiches. I'll bet they'll be jealous.

Of course, I may have given myself food poisoning...so maybe they won't be jealous at all...maybe I'll be hurling into a trash can, and wishing for sweet, sweet death, and they'll chuckle at how my kitchen is so small and badly arranged that I somehow got bacteria poisoning. I should drink something. That'll kill anything in my stomach... But I won't. I don't like drinking during the week.

3) I still hate those Yoplait Girls.

4) I'm seriously considering impregnating everyone who's so hell-bent on reversing Roe v. Wade. 1) It's not gonna do a damn thing - people will just have to travel to California, New York, Oregon, Washington, Vermont and Massachussetts to get abortions - it's not gonna make them illegal, just inconvenient. 2) What do you care, anyway? God. Mind your own damn business. 3) Even though you're saddled with five screaming kids you hate, neglect, and beat, because you were too stupid/religious/both to get an abortion in the first place, doesn't mean that everyone else should have to suffer the same mistakes you made. It's not like it's an easy decision that anyone makes lightly, and if you don't want to get one, that's your choice. But those who want them/need them should get them. And get a second job for chrissake. The fact that you can take time off of work to have an antiabortion rally in front of the Supreme Court means that you have too much time on your hands, and should probably get a second job, or something. Or maybe you could like...volunteer at an Orphanage or be a Foster Parent or something... I mean...what else do you think is gonna happen to all those poor, unaborted babies?

That was a long rant, let's cut to something less political, shall we?

5) I had a hangover all day at work today. Still. From a party I went to on Saturday. It's Monday. I'm realizing (hell, I've already realized) that an Open Bar + Me does not equal a good combination. I lack what we call "Self control." Oh, sure, you would have thought in my years of drinking as an undergrad I would have learned my limit. And so I did. Yet, I stick by that limit even today, as my alcohol consumption has waned by about 75%. The result is that usually, I wake up at home, with no recollection of having gotten there. It's not a very good thing. I don't consider myself an alcoholic, because I drink a maximum of once a week... I'm just a little miffed by my complete and utter inability to sloooow my rolllllll.

What's a sot to do?

6) I have GOT to stop eating Wendy's every day for lunch. I'm blowing up like a Macy's Day Balloon. Lucky thing I'm making healthier choices, and eating chicken filled TURNOVERS for dinner. After I've eaten my way through my cabinets, I'm back on the South Beach diet. No excuses. No more weddings to go to, Boyfriend in San Francisco...expensive car payments. I can go liquor free for two weeks to drop 15 pounds (and I need to.)

7) Mother. Fucker. I guess I have to clean my house again. Why, oh why doesn't the dishwasher empty itself? Ugh. And why doesn't the laundry fold itself? And why is it that, when the little old lady who lives below me dries her little old clothes, it re-wets all of the clothing in my dryer? Stupid cheap building. Fucking University Inn. Bastards.

Hey - BUY MY CONDO! :) Small kitchen, shared laundry ventillation, paper-thin sound-and-heat-conducting windows - what more could you ask?!

That's about all for now. I have to drag my dish-pan hands back to the kitchen and scrape all the flour off the counter from where I rolled out the puff pastry...