Poor wordplay based off of late 80s comedies aside, I decided to try my hand at baking cinnamon-sugar scones on Saturday morning. I am, by no means, a proficient baker. I have baked some banana bread (no nuts) in the past, which came out very good the first time and less than good the second time, which was when I tried to entirely replace sugar with Splenda™ (curse you diabetes), but lately I have been watching far too much Great British Bakeoff on Netflix, so it was bound to happen at some point that I would decide to try my hand at some simple baking.
Once upon a time, I hated to be called Michael. This wasn’t something born out of childhood and always being called Mike so just being used to it, there was way more to it than that, but I’ll explain why momentarily. Lately, though, I’m finding that I actually prefer to be called Michael, especially by the people I’ve been meeting lately in Richmond. It is honestly the work of one woman, which is funny, because it was the work of another woman who made me start to loathe my actual first name.
Can you say worst couple days ever, because I sure can. I have never had my travel plans go quite as awry as this trip to Toronto. Honestly, I’m so fucking stressed about the whole thing that I’m about to have a complete breakdown.
Today, I had to replace my iPhone 5S for the second time. The first time, back in December, I completely blame Apple for, but this time around, I’m pretty sure it was my fault, although I did manage to still get it replaced for free.
How, you may wonder? I’m glad you asked.