Sometimes we have both kinds of weather in the same day where I live; it makes getting dressed in the morning a game of Russian Roulette, where the key to survival is *~layers~*
Showing posts with label my drawings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label my drawings. Show all posts
Sunday, February 7, 2016
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
College Doodle
This is how college feels after a little while....don't let your studies catch up to you, kids.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Ruqaiya and Elphaba
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| She looks really sweet here, though |
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| YES, WE CAN |
The second picture was published in an anthology!!!
Summery Doodles
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| *~SUNSHINE~* |
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| (random girl who is totally NOT worrying about her final grades, which still haven't been posted yet *hint hint administration*)
Fun fact: I have like 30 unposted, but written blog passages about everything from my soccer days to my Congressional sojourn, but they're still in the "what will people think of this?" phase - and contrary to what the second picture says, I still care way too much.
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Sunday, March 23, 2014
Laser Tag
Yesterday I got the opportunity to go laser-tagging with a bunch of Muslim high-schoolers from our county's coalition of Muslim Student Associations, and it was such a blast.
In case you have never been laser-tagging, it's basically when a bunch of people put on futuristic suits with phasers attached, and then run around in a dark smoky room trying to tag each other with lasers. The whole experience is incredibly fun, and also dangerous
When you tag someone, you get points and they lose points, and the team with the most points wins.
I had been laser-tagging before, but never with people in my own height range. Usually, I end up tagging along with my little brother and his army of elementary school boys. This does not make for a pleasant experience, partly because little boys are too quick to hit, and partly because they are too short to be seen.
Anyhow, there were about forty of us there, which was the exact size a group has to be if they want a discount. What I didn't know, was that their "discount" still left me swiping a card for fifty dollars.
Those of you who want to play laser-tag: prepare to be robbed.
We signed our waivers and were hustled into a little room lit by UV lights. Before I could start asking whether or not they would cause skin cancer, a bored staff member started droning the rules at us.
Both feet on the ground, don't cuss, no physical contact, yadda yadda.....
As he was putting us all to sleep, I noticed a GROWN MAN sitting in the midst of all these kids. BY HIMSELF.
Earlier, I had seen him walk up to the register and pay for a game - but I didn't think that he would be paying for himself. And even if he was, WHY WAS HE ALONE?
There were a bunch of other pre-teen boys hanging around in the back, but he was sitting apart from them. I became highly suspicious, but just as I began to tell my friends, the door opened and we were unleashed into the arena.
Instantly, I slung on my pack and sped into the arena to find a good hiding spot, 'cause if there's one thing I'm good at, it's cowering and avoiding battle.
Presently, I was hidden in a little nook where I could see others, but they couldn't really see me, and I began zapping away. I was so focused on hitting others that I didn't really check the information panel on my phaser,which told me who I hit, who hit me, and what my points/life/ammo/credits looked like.
Apparently, though, I kept zapping this particular kid, who I'm going to call Angry Gamer Boy. When you get into the game, you get to pick a codename. Mine was Queen 'Superbat', a cute title that my baby brother gave to me earlier that month <3. Angry Gamer Boy was called 'destoryer1' or something along these lines.
Every time I turned a corner, there he was - and because he was on the opposite team, I would instantly take aim, shoot, and disable him.
Apparently, he believed that I was targeting him in particular, and that made him angry. Angry Gamer Boy ended up facing off with my brother - codename 'Stick' - whose gaming skills are on a whole new level. My brother had somehow discovered the secret to invincibility, which pissed Angry Gamer Boy off until he was frothing with rage.
"That's a d*** move!" he kept hollering, according to my brother, before stalking off to find out how he could get his own hands on that invincibility juice.
When he did, he hunted me down.
At this point, I was just minding my own business, sitting in my little corner with my friends, when BAM! Out of nowhere, I see this kid stomping towards me.
His laser was flashing, which made me assume that I had hit him, so I just kept blasting him until he got the message that this was my turf and to back off or get toasted, but he just kept coming.
"INVINCIBILITY!" he roared, getting all up in my face. "You like that, huh? You like that?"
He was close enough that I could see the demented glee in his eyes. He plugged me with about thirty thousand more shots (I was already hit, so half of them were wasted) before he strolled away, cackling with pleasure at his well-executed revenge.
I had no idea what he was targeting me for - until I got my ranking later on, and discovered that I had taken him out on several occasions.
That wasn't the only startling thing, though. At some point later on in the second round, I was chilling on a sniper podium with my green-team homies when somebody came barreling in, rolling like a tumbleweed.
Who is this guy? I wondered, turning to see if it was one of my teammates - and who should it be but the GROWN MAN I had seen earlier?!?!
I just about died with shock. He babbled something out of Call of Duty like "my position has been compromised, fare thee well, teammates!" before rolling off again, leaving me and some of the other snipers in shock. In my surprise, I got zapped from behind, confirming my suspicion that this guy was bad news.
We played two games, and both times my rank was in the top 20 (there were forty spots). In the second round, I might have made it to the top ten, but I unknowingly stood under a Gem for about thirty minutes without realizing it.
For those of you who don't know, a Gem is a machine that looks like a clock and is mounted on a wall. If you stand under it, it activates - and you have to shoot it before it shoots you. If you manage to hit it before the countdown ends, you get a reward. If you fail to hit it, like I did (because I had no idea it was there), the Gem shoots you and takes your points.
After the first game ended, we gathered outside to pray Maghrib salat in the street, on the concrete. Luckily, someone had brought a cloth we could use to cover the ground. That was one of the highlights of the evening - the night air was so cool and peaceful, and the moon was gleaming in the sky.
When both games were over, we walked to a nearby restaurant and deliberated over whether there were enough seats. There weren't, so some people went to get fast food, and some people went to get pizza, like me and my siblings.
We ate dinner and stayed there until 10, when my father came to pick us up. By that time, I had made some new friends from different schools, and the group planning on the next outing with the same people.
Overall, it was an exciting evening, and I'd like to do it again sometime - who knows? Maybe this time I can make it to the top spot.
In case you have never been laser-tagging, it's basically when a bunch of people put on futuristic suits with phasers attached, and then run around in a dark smoky room trying to tag each other with lasers. The whole experience is incredibly fun, and also dangerous
When you tag someone, you get points and they lose points, and the team with the most points wins.
I had been laser-tagging before, but never with people in my own height range. Usually, I end up tagging along with my little brother and his army of elementary school boys. This does not make for a pleasant experience, partly because little boys are too quick to hit, and partly because they are too short to be seen.
Anyhow, there were about forty of us there, which was the exact size a group has to be if they want a discount. What I didn't know, was that their "discount" still left me swiping a card for fifty dollars.
Those of you who want to play laser-tag: prepare to be robbed.
We signed our waivers and were hustled into a little room lit by UV lights. Before I could start asking whether or not they would cause skin cancer, a bored staff member started droning the rules at us.
Both feet on the ground, don't cuss, no physical contact, yadda yadda.....
As he was putting us all to sleep, I noticed a GROWN MAN sitting in the midst of all these kids. BY HIMSELF.
Earlier, I had seen him walk up to the register and pay for a game - but I didn't think that he would be paying for himself. And even if he was, WHY WAS HE ALONE?
There were a bunch of other pre-teen boys hanging around in the back, but he was sitting apart from them. I became highly suspicious, but just as I began to tell my friends, the door opened and we were unleashed into the arena.
Instantly, I slung on my pack and sped into the arena to find a good hiding spot, 'cause if there's one thing I'm good at, it's cowering and avoiding battle.
Presently, I was hidden in a little nook where I could see others, but they couldn't really see me, and I began zapping away. I was so focused on hitting others that I didn't really check the information panel on my phaser,which told me who I hit, who hit me, and what my points/life/ammo/credits looked like.
Apparently, though, I kept zapping this particular kid, who I'm going to call Angry Gamer Boy. When you get into the game, you get to pick a codename. Mine was Queen 'Superbat', a cute title that my baby brother gave to me earlier that month <3. Angry Gamer Boy was called 'destoryer1' or something along these lines.
Every time I turned a corner, there he was - and because he was on the opposite team, I would instantly take aim, shoot, and disable him.
Apparently, he believed that I was targeting him in particular, and that made him angry. Angry Gamer Boy ended up facing off with my brother - codename 'Stick' - whose gaming skills are on a whole new level. My brother had somehow discovered the secret to invincibility, which pissed Angry Gamer Boy off until he was frothing with rage.
"That's a d*** move!" he kept hollering, according to my brother, before stalking off to find out how he could get his own hands on that invincibility juice.
When he did, he hunted me down.
At this point, I was just minding my own business, sitting in my little corner with my friends, when BAM! Out of nowhere, I see this kid stomping towards me.
His laser was flashing, which made me assume that I had hit him, so I just kept blasting him until he got the message that this was my turf and to back off or get toasted, but he just kept coming.
"INVINCIBILITY!" he roared, getting all up in my face. "You like that, huh? You like that?"
He was close enough that I could see the demented glee in his eyes. He plugged me with about thirty thousand more shots (I was already hit, so half of them were wasted) before he strolled away, cackling with pleasure at his well-executed revenge.
I had no idea what he was targeting me for - until I got my ranking later on, and discovered that I had taken him out on several occasions.
That wasn't the only startling thing, though. At some point later on in the second round, I was chilling on a sniper podium with my green-team homies when somebody came barreling in, rolling like a tumbleweed.
Who is this guy? I wondered, turning to see if it was one of my teammates - and who should it be but the GROWN MAN I had seen earlier?!?!
I just about died with shock. He babbled something out of Call of Duty like "my position has been compromised, fare thee well, teammates!" before rolling off again, leaving me and some of the other snipers in shock. In my surprise, I got zapped from behind, confirming my suspicion that this guy was bad news.
We played two games, and both times my rank was in the top 20 (there were forty spots). In the second round, I might have made it to the top ten, but I unknowingly stood under a Gem for about thirty minutes without realizing it.
For those of you who don't know, a Gem is a machine that looks like a clock and is mounted on a wall. If you stand under it, it activates - and you have to shoot it before it shoots you. If you manage to hit it before the countdown ends, you get a reward. If you fail to hit it, like I did (because I had no idea it was there), the Gem shoots you and takes your points.
After the first game ended, we gathered outside to pray Maghrib salat in the street, on the concrete. Luckily, someone had brought a cloth we could use to cover the ground. That was one of the highlights of the evening - the night air was so cool and peaceful, and the moon was gleaming in the sky.
When both games were over, we walked to a nearby restaurant and deliberated over whether there were enough seats. There weren't, so some people went to get fast food, and some people went to get pizza, like me and my siblings.
We ate dinner and stayed there until 10, when my father came to pick us up. By that time, I had made some new friends from different schools, and the group planning on the next outing with the same people.
Overall, it was an exciting evening, and I'd like to do it again sometime - who knows? Maybe this time I can make it to the top spot.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Bathroom Business
I'm going to start by saying that this is an article (in case you missed the title) about bathroom business. If my mother read this, she would consficate my computer and disown me, because she believes that bathroom business and potty talk are strictly personal, only to be revealed to your doctor. My opinion is that this is public business, because every living person has at some point gone to the bathroom, from Barack Obama to the Pope to Marilyn Monroe, and so if this is a natural human function, we should be able to discuss it in polite society.
I wanted to write about the anxiety girls feel when they have to use a public bathroom when there are people around. At first I thought it was just me, but after candid discussions and a little reading, I found out it even has a name: parauresis. I realize that men can have this problem, but I'm going to limit this article to women on the grounds that I don't know what it's like to have to face your fear in the men's room, where the urinals are public and you don't even have the privacy of stalls.
I'm sure it hasn't always been this way - at least, not for me. When I was a baby, I did my business where I wanted, when I wanted. Mom was really busy with the groceries? Too bad, I had just dropped a stinker. Dad had just gotten ready to go out? Perfect time to let him know I needed him.
I had no shame. For two years, I harassed my parents left and right, and I think this is why my younger brother, born directly a year after me, was such a good baby. God probably figured I was three times the trouble of a normal child and made him the sleepiest, chubbiest baby ever born. No problem at all.
When I was a little older, my parents endeavored to teach me some manners, but all I got out of this was that you shouldn't poop in front of people, so I would go behind a door (usually their bedroom door) and complete my business there. Depending on what I ate, they wouldn't smell it for a good long time, and I was pretty pleased with myself for being so polite.
Of course, my mother, being only human, eventually snapped. She began the most rigorous potty training routine known to man, so rigorous that I was fully potty trained by two and even knew how to pee into a bottle, standing up. (Not that I was allowed to talk about this, obviously, until now.) (Not that I even remembered.)
For years I was a moral, upstanding member of society, one that politely requested to use the bathroom (or washroom, depending on where I was) rather than just bluntly saying what she needed to do there. Everything went fine, until I hit puberty.
Then I became very self-conscious of whether other people could hear me in the bathroom. I would literally choke my bladder if I heard someone in the next stall, and I'd wait till they flushed to let loose. If we both walked out of the stalls at the same time, I'd feel the need to avoid eye contact, so as not to shame us both.
I don't even understand it now. Why? Why did it matter so much if the girl next door heard me drop a particularly large log?
Why does it matter to us what our poop smells like, or if it's too stinky? You didn't go in there to make perfume, did you? (Did you???)
This question ate at me for a long, long time, but I'm not a paid researcher, so I had no way to carry out my numerous hypotheses. Was it a gender thing? Is it genetic? Am I just a freak who spends way too much time answering strange questions like this one?
I suppose it all boils down to society. If we're not allowed to even talk about certain things, then how are we supposed to do them in the same area as others? Maybe bathroom talk should be legal. We should organize a revolution (carefully, though, lest it go too far and we end up making "what was your poop like" the next "how's the weather"). It should be something like that one Nickelodeon campaign that taught kids farting was natural. It's okay! Poop smells! Peeing is loud! We get it, and nobody's judging you!
........
I looked for a clever way to end this article but I can't think of one, so goodbye!
I wanted to write about the anxiety girls feel when they have to use a public bathroom when there are people around. At first I thought it was just me, but after candid discussions and a little reading, I found out it even has a name: parauresis. I realize that men can have this problem, but I'm going to limit this article to women on the grounds that I don't know what it's like to have to face your fear in the men's room, where the urinals are public and you don't even have the privacy of stalls.
I'm sure it hasn't always been this way - at least, not for me. When I was a baby, I did my business where I wanted, when I wanted. Mom was really busy with the groceries? Too bad, I had just dropped a stinker. Dad had just gotten ready to go out? Perfect time to let him know I needed him.
I had no shame. For two years, I harassed my parents left and right, and I think this is why my younger brother, born directly a year after me, was such a good baby. God probably figured I was three times the trouble of a normal child and made him the sleepiest, chubbiest baby ever born. No problem at all.
When I was a little older, my parents endeavored to teach me some manners, but all I got out of this was that you shouldn't poop in front of people, so I would go behind a door (usually their bedroom door) and complete my business there. Depending on what I ate, they wouldn't smell it for a good long time, and I was pretty pleased with myself for being so polite.
Of course, my mother, being only human, eventually snapped. She began the most rigorous potty training routine known to man, so rigorous that I was fully potty trained by two and even knew how to pee into a bottle, standing up. (Not that I was allowed to talk about this, obviously, until now.) (Not that I even remembered.)
For years I was a moral, upstanding member of society, one that politely requested to use the bathroom (or washroom, depending on where I was) rather than just bluntly saying what she needed to do there. Everything went fine, until I hit puberty.
Then I became very self-conscious of whether other people could hear me in the bathroom. I would literally choke my bladder if I heard someone in the next stall, and I'd wait till they flushed to let loose. If we both walked out of the stalls at the same time, I'd feel the need to avoid eye contact, so as not to shame us both.
I don't even understand it now. Why? Why did it matter so much if the girl next door heard me drop a particularly large log?
Why does it matter to us what our poop smells like, or if it's too stinky? You didn't go in there to make perfume, did you? (Did you???)
This question ate at me for a long, long time, but I'm not a paid researcher, so I had no way to carry out my numerous hypotheses. Was it a gender thing? Is it genetic? Am I just a freak who spends way too much time answering strange questions like this one?
I suppose it all boils down to society. If we're not allowed to even talk about certain things, then how are we supposed to do them in the same area as others? Maybe bathroom talk should be legal. We should organize a revolution (carefully, though, lest it go too far and we end up making "what was your poop like" the next "how's the weather"). It should be something like that one Nickelodeon campaign that taught kids farting was natural. It's okay! Poop smells! Peeing is loud! We get it, and nobody's judging you!
........
I looked for a clever way to end this article but I can't think of one, so goodbye!
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Cosplay for Muslim Girls
I've always wanted to cosplay, mostly because I love dressing up. But then I realised...
I couldn't do it ;_; I couldn't cosplay most of my favorite characters, because of the way they were dressed. I can't get away with wearing a miniskirt! It takes too much effort, and the outfit won't look the same!
But then I realised that I could cosplay some of my other favorite characters, and here they are:
1.) Kaonashi from Spirited Away
One of the easiest to do, I've already done it myself.
Just pop on an abaya, a hijab, and a mask. Voila! An A+ costume.
EDIT!
This is a fabulous cosplayer who pulled the Miku look off!!! msA! (This is Deanty M. Muchtiarsyah, and I found it here.)
I couldn't do it ;_; I couldn't cosplay most of my favorite characters, because of the way they were dressed. I can't get away with wearing a miniskirt! It takes too much effort, and the outfit won't look the same!
But then I realised that I could cosplay some of my other favorite characters, and here they are:
1.) Kaonashi from Spirited Away
One of the easiest to do, I've already done it myself.
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2.) Amon and the Equalists from Legend of Korra
This sounds like a band name, Amon and the Equalists....
Pretty much any character from Korra is modest enough to cosplay - even Naga the giant polar bear dog.
3.) Akatsuki member from Naruto
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| More masks: Tobi, fifth from left |
Just add a hood to the costume and you're ready to go!
4.) Dust from Marvel Comics
Yes indeed, this is a Muslim woman in an abaya and niqab. She also has powers...
.....and is part of the Young X-Men. Although you might have to explain to people who you are.
That's it! You can get creative with any character: these are just are a handful of characters whose appearance is inherently modest.
Have fun cosplaying!
That's it! You can get creative with any character: these are just are a handful of characters whose appearance is inherently modest.
Have fun cosplaying!
EDIT!
This is a fabulous cosplayer who pulled the Miku look off!!! msA! (This is Deanty M. Muchtiarsyah, and I found it here.)
Monday, May 14, 2012
My Eyebrow (anecdote)
Lately I've been wasting my time reading things other people wrote when today I realised, hey, I have a blog too. So I'll post something and waste my time here.
So lemme tell you folks about the time I once I shaved off my eyebrow.
It was an accident. I was this little kid who didn't know anything and was hanging out exploring the house, when I saw this razor on the bathroom counter. I didn't know what it was; I just thought, hey, what does this thing do?
For some reason the idea popped into my head that it was for hair removal, so I decided to try it on this inconspicuous little corner of my eyebrow because nobody really notices these things. I looked in the mirror to see if anything was missing.
"Nope," I said. "Nothing missing. This thing is broken."
So I tossed the razor on the counter and left. It wasn't even an electric razor. It was one of those cheap plastic things you get at convenience stores.
Anyway, my mom was walking by later, and when she saw my face she went:
And after I told her what I had done she sat down and informed me solemnly that eyebrows never grow back and that I would be a social outcast forever and I might as well take her eyebrow pencil and draw in a new one, 'cause I would never see my eyebrow again.
Haha, just joking.
She didn't say anything, except that it was a stupid thing to do (I already knew that by then).
I spent weeks blubbering and praying it would grow back before school - and you know what? It grew back. True story!
And I never looked at my eyebrow again.
That is, until now. Just to check if it was still there.
(It is.)
So lemme tell you folks about the time I once I shaved off my eyebrow.
It was an accident. I was this little kid who didn't know anything and was hanging out exploring the house, when I saw this razor on the bathroom counter. I didn't know what it was; I just thought, hey, what does this thing do?
For some reason the idea popped into my head that it was for hair removal, so I decided to try it on this inconspicuous little corner of my eyebrow because nobody really notices these things. I looked in the mirror to see if anything was missing.
"Nope," I said. "Nothing missing. This thing is broken."
So I tossed the razor on the counter and left. It wasn't even an electric razor. It was one of those cheap plastic things you get at convenience stores.
Anyway, my mom was walking by later, and when she saw my face she went:
So naturally I freaked out and I asked her
And after I told her what I had done she sat down and informed me solemnly that eyebrows never grow back and that I would be a social outcast forever and I might as well take her eyebrow pencil and draw in a new one, 'cause I would never see my eyebrow again.
Haha, just joking.
She didn't say anything, except that it was a stupid thing to do (I already knew that by then).
I spent weeks blubbering and praying it would grow back before school - and you know what? It grew back. True story!
And I never looked at my eyebrow again.
That is, until now. Just to check if it was still there.
(It is.)
Friday, April 20, 2012
Beignets
So I made the beignets - which is good - but they did not turn out the way I wanted them to.
The moment I came back from my soccer game, dizzy and sore, I collapsed on the kitchen table like a drunkard. Then the notion popped into my head: This is the perfect time to make beignets.
So I stumbled out of the chair and collected everything I needed. My mom walked in at this point and asked me just what I was up to. When I informed her that I was making beignets, she decided that it was high time she made dinner, and set about doing just that. In hindsight, I'm pretty sure she wanted to keep an eye on me.
Not that I needed it. I was doing just fine until I realized I had no measuring cups. We hadn't unpacked them yet.
So I just used this cup, which looked like the right measurement to me.
Not only did the dough not rise, but it was now a hard mass. So I left it out the rest of the day, and forgot it, and went to sleep another night having not baked the beignets.
The moment I came back from my soccer game, dizzy and sore, I collapsed on the kitchen table like a drunkard. Then the notion popped into my head: This is the perfect time to make beignets.
So I stumbled out of the chair and collected everything I needed. My mom walked in at this point and asked me just what I was up to. When I informed her that I was making beignets, she decided that it was high time she made dinner, and set about doing just that. In hindsight, I'm pretty sure she wanted to keep an eye on me.
Not that I needed it. I was doing just fine until I realized I had no measuring cups. We hadn't unpacked them yet.
So I just used this cup, which looked like the right measurement to me.
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| The cup I used for almost everything |
My mom helped me several times anyway, despite the fact that I told her I didn't need it.
"That water needs to be warmer for the yeast to ferment."
"Don't turn the mixer too high - that's about it."
"Clean up your mess, please."
That was another thing: her work-station was spotless. Mine looked like a flour tornado had touched down and ransacked our cupboards.
When it was all mixed, I stood there and read the recipe over in a "now what" kind of way. I have my dough, what do I do with it?
Oh, I have to cover it and let it rest 15 minutes, and then roll it out and cut it and put it on a baking sheet - hmm, this sounds like the part where I bake it....
WRONG.
After I put the beignets on the sheet, all ready to bake, I have to wait 45 minutes to let them rise.
That was too much for me. I was already beginning to become crazy with exhaustion, so I popped it in the oven and told myself by the time I came back in the morning it would have risen, and I'd be able to bake it then.
They didn't rise.
 |
| Taken at night |
 |
| The morning after |
Not only did the dough not rise, but it was now a hard mass. So I left it out the rest of the day, and forgot it, and went to sleep another night having not baked the beignets.
Now, I'll probably be shot for this breach of hygiene, but the next morning I decided it had taken long enough, and it hadn't risen and probably never would, and i was going to BAKE this dough.
So I did.
And this is what they ended up looking like:
They were like those English muffins I've eaten and disliked, only sweeter (I had piled on the sugar in the hopes that it would make up for every other deficiency).
I didn't even bother to force it on people. I miserably left my piece on the counter, where it hardened instantly into something rock-like. In an effort to make me feel better, my mom consumed about two before she dumped the rest in the trash.
Thanks, Mom. I'm going to stick to burning cookies next time.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
I announce my intent to bake beignets
I don't know if most girls my age can cook and bake, but I have issues with it. I believe this stems from the fact that cooking requires 100% of my attention, and I cannot give it more than 70% at a time.
My chief problem is making sure things don't burn, although I also have an issue with losing the measuring cups and then 'eyeballing' all the measurements. Also, I have an issue with not adding salt.....but back to burning things.
What happens is I pop the mix in the oven. "Okay, I'll let this bake 15 minutes," I tell myself.
I get bored and leave after two minutes, thinking, The timer thing will beep and I'll hear it.
What really happens is I come back thirty minutes later to find my mom has tried to rescue the cookies, but they're all burned and crusty on the bottom. We don't usually buy sweets in the house, so anyone who wants a sugar fix will end up miserably gnawing on my rock hard cookies to satisfy their craving. I don't even think the family gets excited when I try to bake anymore. They've been disappointed too much.
I even burn the waffles in the waffle maker. Once I made a waffle that was so hard, we used it as a Frisbee, which was funny until it almost broke our neighbor kid's hand.
Anyway, I've decided to change all of this right here and now. I'm going to make beignets.
I can hear you asking, why beignets?
Because my mom had a box of Cafe Du Monde beignet mix, and it was gathering dust until I dug it out of of the pantry. I planned to make it ever since I discovered it's the same thing Princess Tiana makes in her movie, but my mom threw it away recently on the grounds that it was expired (do flour and sugar even expire?)
So I copied a cool recipe for oven baked beignets from Eat Live Run (I don't want to set the house on fire trying to fry things) and I'm going to bake them and upload the pictures on this site, iA.
Will I burn them? Will they taste good? Will they be hard enough to use as weapons this time?
FIND OUT when I get around to making beignets.
My chief problem is making sure things don't burn, although I also have an issue with losing the measuring cups and then 'eyeballing' all the measurements. Also, I have an issue with not adding salt.....but back to burning things.
What happens is I pop the mix in the oven. "Okay, I'll let this bake 15 minutes," I tell myself.
I get bored and leave after two minutes, thinking, The timer thing will beep and I'll hear it.
What really happens is I come back thirty minutes later to find my mom has tried to rescue the cookies, but they're all burned and crusty on the bottom. We don't usually buy sweets in the house, so anyone who wants a sugar fix will end up miserably gnawing on my rock hard cookies to satisfy their craving. I don't even think the family gets excited when I try to bake anymore. They've been disappointed too much.
I even burn the waffles in the waffle maker. Once I made a waffle that was so hard, we used it as a Frisbee, which was funny until it almost broke our neighbor kid's hand.
Anyway, I've decided to change all of this right here and now. I'm going to make beignets.
I can hear you asking, why beignets?
Because my mom had a box of Cafe Du Monde beignet mix, and it was gathering dust until I dug it out of of the pantry. I planned to make it ever since I discovered it's the same thing Princess Tiana makes in her movie, but my mom threw it away recently on the grounds that it was expired (do flour and sugar even expire?)
So I copied a cool recipe for oven baked beignets from Eat Live Run (I don't want to set the house on fire trying to fry things) and I'm going to bake them and upload the pictures on this site, iA.
Will I burn them? Will they taste good? Will they be hard enough to use as weapons this time?
FIND OUT when I get around to making beignets.
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