Cooking endeavors are getting suggestive all on their own. Not good.

I really need to stop baking.

I have so much Christmas spirit this year that I'm practically crapping candy canes. It's Christmas! Let's decorate! Let's bake cookies! Let's bake more cookies! Who wants a stick of butter for dinner?

All that weight that fell off during the divorce? Whoa, Nellie. I can feel it sneaking its way back on, plastering itself back onto my butt cheeks, once again settling onto the gelatinous shelf of my love handles.

In short, ew.

I actually love to bake, even when the holidays aren't having their way with me. Cooking, not so much. For example, I tried to make breakfast for dinner the other night and came across something called a "Puffy Oven Pancake." It's supposed to look something like this:

Cute, huh? Doesn't the dusting of powdered sugar look adorable? Can't you just picture a delicate array of raspberries and blueberries pooled in the middle?

I got this:

(I cooked this while on the phone with a friend. "How's it look?" she asked. "It has, like, an air bubble erection in the middle," I said.)

No berry pool for me. Oh well.

Anyway, I enjoy baking from scratch. It relaxes me. There's something about working with my hands, and about using ingredients that only gain meaning and purpose when you put them together. I mean really, have you ever heard someone say, "No, I don't want your f**cking homemade chocolate chip cookie?"

If you have, that person needs to be clubbed.

Really, folks. I have freakishly excessive amounts of both holiday spirit and cookies to share. Come and git it.