Diary of a Dairy Queen

I have a cold this weekend, so I cancelled my plans yesterday and stayed in watching The Office, which wasn't a bad way to spend a sick day. Today I went to get the ingredients for my baking project, which is a dairy extravaganza. For example, it calls for FIVE 8oz packages of cream cheese. Even for someone who struggled with his multiplication tables, that's a big number. I don't want to think for too long about the fact that what I'm making takes forty ounces of cream cheese, plus heavy cream, butter, and sour cream. I stood there in the grocery store looking at the rectangles of cream cheese and thought: "My goodness. Eight is quite a large amount of cream cheese to buy all at once," and put eight packages into my cart. Again, it wasn't until I was on my way home that I thought over my list in my head and remembered that it called for FIVE 8oz packages. I have more cream cheese in my fridge than I've had in several years.

Should have bought bagels.

Today I'm going to make a cheesecake. What does that make you think of? Whenever I think of cheesecake, I think of The Golden Girls, where any problem, no matter how big or small, could be tackled with your housecoat-wearing friends and a cheesecake. When I was in high school and getting interested in writing, my parents told me that if I end up writing for television, I should make sure it was like The Golden Girls. I didn't watch an episode until my junior year of college, when I was studying abroad in Norwich, England.  I became hooked, and watched all eight seasons (thanks YouTube!) through the course of my year. I watched the last episode just days before leaving England.

Cheesecake makes me think of takeout lasagna and Tangueray in my sock drawer.

Making a cheesecake is pretty involved. You mix part of the crust but then refrigerate for an hour before you continue. You have to bake part of it, then put part of the mixture in, then a separate mixture goes on top. There are lots of fluctuating temperatures and in-and-out of the oven action. It gives me plenty of time to write between baking. Or play with Twinkle Toes, which is what I end up doing. He never gets bored playing, and it's fun to see him get better. He jumps a lot more, but sometimes does a funny twist and ends up landing on his side, heavily.

I'm headed pretty full-fledged into single cat man territory. When I go to a dinner party with other single gay men, I actually have the thought that I would rather be home with my cats, reading Jane Eyre. The guys at the dinner party spent the night talking about being home owners, eye creams, who's hot in chorus, and finding boyfriends on dating sites. I spend my weekends thinking about what I'm going to bake next, and would rather spend my nights curled up with my old cat than at a bar making small talk. Still, one must make some sort of effort, I suppose. I have almost decided not to go and adopt a third cat because...well, I guess it's obvious. You don't want to be the single, otherwise normal guy with three cats. Not until you really give up, at least.

Damnit. I left out the whipping cream and egg yolks. I actually opened the oven after ten minutes cooking, wondering if I could still mix them in.

Here is the finished creation:

and even without those two ingredients it's delicious. Off to watch Mad Men with Elise.