And in the morning, I’m making raspberry waffles.

“I don’t know why more people don’t want to be friends with me,” she said in the most humble and confused way possible.

Don’t get me wrong, I may not have a huge amount of friends, but I couldn’t ask for better friends than the ones I do have. But why there are only like 10 of them is beyond me. Seriously, I am polite, can usually make people laugh (or at least nervously chuckle), and I can make great raspberry waffles. So what’s wrong with me? I mean sure I’m a little awkward and I take a while to warm up to people and I’m a stereotypical introvert (which you’d never guess by how much I talk on this blog, huh?), but do you think Einstein had social skills and liked unnecessary small talk? I didn’t think so. And yes, I just successfully compared myself to Einstein.

But enough about me and my Einstein-ian inability to behave normally around other people. Let’s talk about raspberry waffles. I thought I invented them until I googled “raspberry waffles” and about a billion pages popped up. As Einstein (back to him) says, “Creativity is knowing how to hide your sources,” so let’s just say I made up the idea of raspberry waffles all on my own, ok? I’ve noticed that I use the creativity is knowing how to hide your sources phrase a lot. Actually the other day I said it as well as “You can never be overdressed or overeducated” and “Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt” all on the same person and I succeeded in totally confusing her. I was very happy. I mean, I felt sad for her that she couldn’t handle my impressive knowledge of random quotes, but happy I was able to use them correctly and annoy someone. My day would have been complete if I could have thrown in “Your mom goes to college” too. Oh well.

I strongly don’t recommend going for a half hour run and then coming home and eating two huge waffles. Actually, I really don’t recommend doing a lot of things that I do. For example, do not watch the season 6 finale of Psych and then when you get supermegaultra upset over the depressing cliffhanger ending, don’t go watch House just to find out that *SPOILER ALERT* Dr. Australian left the hospital that Dr. House’s team is at (I have no clue what the name of the hospital is because, again, I just started watching the show in season 8 and I’ve only seen a few episodes. And not once have they diagnosed someone with Lupus. Sad.) and that Dr. Guy who dies in dead poet society is going to die yet again. Seriously that guy must go after crazy roles because he wasn’t too mentally stable in Swing Kids either.

I’ve decided that maybe the reason people stay away from me is because I’m just a little too different. And an example to back up my theory is that the other day I was talking with this hilarious black girl and out of nowhere she was like “Girl, you crazy. But you alright.” That’s comforting…I guess?

Raspberry Waffles

Adapted from AllRecipes

2 eggs, divided
2 cups all-purpose flour
1 3/4 cups milk
1/2 cup vegetable oil
2 tablespoons white sugar
4 teaspoons baking powder
1/4 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
8 oz fresh or frozen raspberries

Preheat waffle iron.
Beat eggs yolks in large bowl with until fluffy. Beat in flour, milk, vegetable oil, sugar, baking powder, salt and vanilla, just until smooth. In a separate bowl, beat egg whites then gently fold in the egg whites and raspberries.
Spray preheated waffle iron with non-stick cooking spray. Pour mix onto hot waffle iron. Cook until golden brown (you can tell if waffles are done if steam stops coming out the sides of the iron). Serve hot. Yum.
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Tales of adventure (which includes, but is not limited to, the lost art of money folding, bad bowling skills, and secret admirer valentines)

It’s funny how going out and doing stuff can make you realize how much you don’t go out and do stuff. That made sense, right? Basically, I hit the town yesterday. I’ll tell you all about it only because if I didn’t, I’d probably be wasting my life on Pinterest right now. Or watching reruns of Psych. I’ve heard it both ways.

When choosing a “fun activity” to do with your friends Marie and Emarshily, pick something all of you are actually good at. If none of you are good at bowling, maybe you shouldn’t go bowling. How can you tell if you’re not good? If you are 16 and your two friends are both 17 and all of you ask to have the kiddie bumpers on the lane put up, you’re not good.

When going bowling, one does not simply use their real names, just as one does not simply walk into Mordor. You have to pick cool, hip names. I used Napoleon, which totally stood for Napoleon Bonaparte, not Napoleon Dynamite… and my bowling mates were The Dowager and Heathcliff. Oh, and I can’t bowl to save my life.

80 points. And that was with the bumpers up. Oof.

Marie was so upset I lost, she threw a temper tantrum right in the middle of the bowling alley and started smashing that weird podium thing. It was awkward. We were fingerprinted, had our pictures taken, and then were escorted out by 2 huge security guards. Thanks, Marie. They’re totally never letting us back in there now.

After bowling, we ran across the street to get lunch at IHOP. I love IHOP. Although I don’t love the name, because when I type it out, I feel like I have to put it in all caps since it’s an acronym and then I shout in my head. Story of my life. When you go to IHOP (shouting again…), do yourself a favor and specify a waiter/waitress with a sense of humor. Ours didn’t. I ordered a Belgian waffle and there was the option to get fruit on it, so I said to the waitress, “Could I have the Belgian waffle with that blueberry stuff on top?” And she looked at me like she was Luke Skywalker and I was Darth Vader telling her I was her father.

People that work at IHOP have weird names. Take our waitress for example. Her name tag said Beashariquedstify or something like that. All I know is that there were way too many consonants for it to be a real name. And she introduced herself as “bee”. I wanted to ask her how she pronounced her real name and also what was going through the mind of her mother when she named her that, but I didn’t. So I decided we should fold her tip into tiny paper airplanes.

APPARENTLY people don’t like it when you turn their tip into art, because she totally gave us the evil eye as we were leaving. Um, her loss. Look how awesome those are.

So that’s how I spent my Sunday afternoon. How was your weekend? Did you find out that the secret admirer valentine you hired someone to send to someone else was basically interpreted as a death threat? Is it the second year in a row that you’ve sent out secret admirer valentines and both years the receivers of the valentines have been severely weird out? No? Then I envy you.