Slight OCD and Culinary Mavenry

Song of the moment: Straitjacket Alanis Morissette

Today was my mother’s 44th birthday. Which is significant to me because, without her birth, I wouldn’t exist. It was also significant numerically. Let me break it down for you:

44 is a repeated digit number (I like to think of it as numerical alliteration, which is about the closest I can get to what’s occurring there, as there is no term for repeated letters), which already makes it special. It’s also even. Two perfect, matching, even digits. It’s a comforting number. It’s a beautiful number.

But there’s more. As of now (until the 15th of July), both of my parents are this age. Two perfect numbers. Two matching numbers. It’s so neat and tidy.

And don’t forget me (I never do). I’m currently 22. Look at that- another perfect, repeated digit even number. Not only is it another lovely little number, it’s also exactly half of 44.

Were I more crazy than I am, this is the point where I’d equate the numbers to some superstitious belief that these next few months are going to be fantastic and magical and blah blah blah… Let’s face it, I’m a little odd, but I’m not that daft. However, the fact that I find these numbers to be better than other numbers is strange. But that’s the way I operate. Even is better than odd (unless the odd is prime- prime numbers are fantastic). Repeated digits are better than non. If you’ve ever encountered someone with OCD or know enough about the disorder, you know that this is a very, very mild and watered-down version of how their minds work. Some things are just better and right.

My brother ruins the loveliness of our ages, however. The little shit. He’s only 20. 20 isn’t good enough. Yes, it’s even and yes, it’s a factor of 10, but that’s not enough.

Of course he’d fuck things up.

Changing gears, I want to talk about my kitchen experiences over the last few days. Let’s start with where I made sopapillas for the first time (go me). They turned out perfectly, even without a rolling pin:

I'm so proud that I didn't mess up the first puffy pastry dough I've made in years.

I suffered a brief, intense stab of longing for Ghost Ranch, but I pushed past it. I also made pineapple upside down cake. Man, that’s a great cake to make- it is so moist. And it stays that way. No dry, leftover cake that sits on the counter and gets stale.

But my real story centers around me making chef salad yesterday. I was going through the motions, chopping up veggies and such, when I cut into a pepper and saw this:

HOLY FUCK SHIT, WHAT IS THAT?!

My first thoughts? “Oh my god… the pepper ate its twin.”

The moral of this post: Living inside my mind is always really strange, but sometimes it’s really fun.

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