Friends-in-law

The wedding was beautiful, mostly because the couple getting married are just so. It was a festive weekend, but an exhausting one at that. I have one more energy-draining weekend coming up, and then I can start focusing on test-studying. June is the beginning of my freedom, and I'm actually trying not to focus on the proverbial "light" at the end, because I feel it won't help me go on with the momentum I have right now.

Anyhoo, the wedding. Yes.

So, you may have noticed, but I have attended quite a few weddings recently. 5 to be exact, since last September.

It's the age, I suppose. I'm at the age where people around me are making monumental decisions. I suppose I'm at the age where things are suddenly starting to be more official, and more legal.

Before, friends were friends. There were friends and their boy/girl-friends, and that's what they were. My friend's boyfriend. My friend's girlfriend. My friend's transgendered lover. I never thought of it any further, but ever since my friends starting getting hitched, I've started to become aware of a concept that I've branded in my head as "friend-in-laws".

Friends are not legally bound (unless specific situations obligate them to be so). But when they enter these commitments, I can't help but be really conscious about how they're now in a situation where they are legally responsible of another person. Not in a custodial way (well maybe somewhat), but more in a binding way of your-decision-is-my-decision way.

So my friends make this new jump, and now their spouses become more than just friends by association. They become friends-in-laws. Even though I have no legal connections to my friend, the spouses do, and therefore the idea of "mutual friends" take up a another level. Do I make sense? I don't know.

Soon, there will be kids, and they'll become my... I don't know what, but something else other than just plain kids to me. It's all going to be so friggin weird, but it's such a natural process that I probably will just wake up one day and realize that this is all happening.

Oh well. C'est la vie. I don't mean that woefully, either. But that's just what it is. Life.

Here's a picture of me fulfilling my friend duty as a candle sponsor. The color theme was red and gold because the bride and groom both graduated from USC. No joke.


For my food-blog companions, sorry for the absence of food. These crazy weekends have not allowed me to cook one bit. All I've gots to say is, thank goodness for Trader Joe's.

The Old and the Young

I have been M.I.A. By I.A. I mean, In Action, in Vegas.

I went to my first ever bachelorette party this weekend in Vegas and realized that I really am not cut out for this any more. Here are reasons why:

Exhibit A: I don't gamble or drink that much.

Exhibit B: I have adapted my clients' lifestyle and wake up really early and fall asleep really early. Therefore, I fell asleep at the LOUD LOUD club at around 2:45am. There are pictures, but I shall spare you.

Exhibit C: Despite coming back to the hotel at around 4am, my internal alarm clock still went off at 8am, and I got up and read a book by the pool (I finished Eat, Pray, Love, Yvonne!).

Despite all of that, though, I had great fun. I spent time with girls I usually don't hang out with, and it was nice to get to know them. However, when one of the girls (who is actually a couple years older than me) said, "This weekend made me feel young again," I secretly felt the exact opposite. I can't even fathom how I managed to lead anything resembling a nightlife years ago. And in Spain! Oh Spain! I mean, I pulled all-nighters 3 nights in a row going to clubs in Spain!

I have no idea what happened. I've morphed into an elderly person.

Oh well. This weekend is the wedding! I shall be even more M.I.A., but hopefully you all will stick around until I come back.

When it's worth it.

Do you know that scene in "Ratatouille" when that girl chef tells tells the dopey boy chef that it's important to clean as you go when cooking? I just don't understand how that's possible. That's what my kitchen looks like when I've got things organized. Maybe it's because my way of cooking is all over the place to begin with, so organizing will be counter-intuitive. In fact, it is. I bet if I cleaned as I went, my food would taste like ass.

I'm definitely a cook more than a baker, mainly because I do things by taste as opposed to measuring. But lately, I've been baking more often. Vegan baking to be exact. Do you know why? Because in vegan baking, you can taste the batter without fear of consuming unnecessary bacteria, and therefore room for improvising. To a certain extent. I never mess with the amount of liquid or dry ingredients, because I am no where near the scientist you need to be to start tampering with that kind of shiz.

Anyhoo, I've started baking on Thursdays, because we have staff meetings on Fridays, and my co-workers have become loyal tasters of my baking adventures. This week, I'm going to see how they like some soy-yogurt pound cake. (Yes, all of that yogurt is GONE!)

Usually, the ones that like my baking the most are those people with a bit of a sweet tooth. I hate to generalize, but the majority of them are my female co-workers. My male co-workers will make small complimentary comments, but usually they're not as interested.

One day, though, one of my soft-spoken male co-workers turned to me quite randomly. He said, "You know what, Lisa? You know what I want? That chocolate orange cake you made last week. I really want some with a glass of milk."

When he said that, it made me so happy. He actually doesn't even like sweets that much, yet he thought of my cake (well, her cake). That little comment he made makes all of my baking attempts so worth it. I don't even care if I eat what I make. If someone else is reminded of pleasure when the thought of my food enters their head, that's just... FAAABUUUlous. I'll make all the mess in the kitchen in the world for them.