Blurted in Order of Thought

My dear friend has recently turned me on to Stereo Mood, which allows you to choose an emotion and then grants you a well-suited playlist to accompany such mood. I'm infinitely impressed by this. It's always assumed that music is emotional and therefore songs are considered "happy," or "depressing." This, however, just tickles me. It even has activities-- cooking, cleaning. There's music for raining. I particularly enjoy that one. It's lovely and I feel giddy just writing about it, truly.

She stumbled upon the site and then proceeded to show it to me while we made Tres Leches, Nicaraguan style. What's the difference? Cinnamon. A surprising amount of cinnamon. We were especially ambitious bakers, attempting to make merangue without a candy thermometer. What in bloody blazes is the "softball stage" of syrup? I had no idea until I looked it up. Actually, I'm not too solidified on the topic-- as in, I only researched in a hurry for what that particular stage and temperature proved and nothing else. The curious thirster that I am, I'm a little ashamed by it, but syrup is finicky and impatient.

Besides pride, I wasn't quite sure as to what the point of a 4.0 really was in the moment-- now I know. Money. You can apply for just about anything with a 4.0, as it turns out. Well, well, well. I rather like that. I'm signing up for this and that, applying here and there-- progress, I tell you. It's that good ol' ingenuity and such. I'm not quite sure as to why belonging to this half of the population's sexes allows me to receive money but I suppose I can tut and tisk while I stuff the bills into my apron.

I have a new workout regimen set up to begin in the next few weeks. I get tired of lazing. Actually, I don't. But I become restless and tempted to never leave bed unless I'm a little bit active. So, I'll rather enjoy that. And grocery shopping, when I'm home. I made a list about two weeks ago, but then I left, so that's just sitting idly on the counter.

I really want a pair of white linen pants. I can't describe it, all of the little things that swim around in my mind and sprout grabby hands. I just want it, is all.

Is is odd that I absolutely cannot get Tim Curry out of my head as Frank'N'Furter? I'm irresistably turned on by his younger, transvestite self. Have you seen the legs on him?  He's so overt. I adore it. A friend of mine suggested that transvestites might be right up my alley as companions, due to my disinterest in extreme masculinity. However, when I was explaining my search for balance between femininity and masculinity, I wasn't particularly pointing to a "male tomboy." Not to say that I wouldn't be a bit... intrigued, but that's in my nature. At any rate, I wouldn't discount the opportunity.

Doth shall not protest this,
Yours Truly.