FOOD.

My parents gave me an older bread machine.

My parents live a healthier life than I do, I guess. They stopped using this old machine. Yay for me! I am loving it.

Breakfast: bread!

Lunch: bread!

Dinner: bread!!!

I have only had it for a week or so and already I already have said the phrase "My pants are so tight, wait...these are my loose pants!" ARGH. That might have something to do with me cutting fat slabs of it and then slathering them with butter and peanut butter for ever meal.

My breads have been quirky. Dude called them artisan bread. I guess I can blame the machine. Its not like *I* had anything to do with it. The machine is an artisan.

I also was handed down this book from my grandfather, which has more hazardous recipes for me to try. I am going to make a bread from each continent.

I laughed at a particular chapter in the book...

What? You need someone to tell you how to slice bread?? You shouldn't handling a knife then, because you obviously have the brain of some sort of chimp.

Then I tried to cut my bread...Pathetic.

I sucked it up and went and read the chapter. I must have chimp brain. My slices were 2 inches thick at one end, and paper thin at the other and the whole loaf look like wolves tore at it.

But it tasted SO GOOD.

*Explodes*