So D. quit drinking. He hasn't had a drop in almost 16 days. The first week, he lost 14 pounds. This week, the dark circles under his eyes were gone, even though he's still staying up just as late as he used to. Anyway, looking back to his first week, I think I've found a diet. He said he likes sobriety so far.
Ugh. Just paid bills and rejoiced at money left over, then D.'s transmission craps out to the tune of $880. And the low tire pressure light in my car is on.
Burned my baked salmon last night. Actually, it wasn't so much burnt as it was dry. Something sucked every last drop of moisture out of that salmon, despite it marinating in olive oil. My roasted potatoes also burned. But the broccoli was cold. How is it that I'm able to kick ass and take names at work, but I can't pull off something that is actually "my thing"? I enjoy it, I've been told I'm good at it, but something about it is inconsistent. I mess up the most random things -- last night I served salmon-flavored crust, "pebble-style" roasted potatoes, and lukewarm broccoli marinara (which at least smelled good). The Monday after I hosted a fancy, gourmet Thanksgiving dinner, I fucked up Zatarain's jambalaya. Yes, the one where you literally throw rice and meat into water for 25 minutes. Turns out I put too much water in the pot, so by the time it boiled down, I had mush for rice. It was inedible.
Then there was the time when C. and M. wouldn't freaking leave, even though I had my and D.'s dinner ready on the stove. The peas became mush, like C.'s brain. Aha! People say "pea-brain," right? So "mushed pea-brain" is worse, because at least peas are edible (according to most people).