My Collision With the Easy Bake Oven

My younger sister and a friend of hers are visiting us for a few days from the throws of southern Idaho. Last night before we indulged ourselves heavily in some of the best Cuban food ever at Pambiche, we were reminiscing about growing up, when I first knew I liked boys (some things never change), and other nutty childhood memories. I reminded her of the Christmas that I took her out to the proverbial hiding spot for all of our presents. I always knew right where they were and never passed up an opportunity take a peek (or six). I found the box with her Easy Bake Oven in it. I think that was one of the earliest points where I knew there was something amiss with me.....I was more fired up than she was about that oven! With my young brown eyes all glazed over with glee and dilating like a snake coming into the daylight, I said "There it is!" I could hardly wait for Christmas morning. Soon as the wrapping paper was dutifully shredded and tossed from one end of the room to the other, we had that thing out of the box and fired her up. Complete with the included 75 watt bulb. Whoo whee! We're cooking now! It came with a couple of little boxes of cookie or cake mix which cooked okay. But for some reason, my creative and twisted (young gay Idaho) mind went to work thinking of how we could kick it up a notch (I was doing it a long time before Emeril was). I dug through the refrigerator and found a pack of Hormel bacon and snuck it back down the hallway to the bedroom where the oven was. We slapped a few pieces of the bacon into the oven and turned it on. And waited...and waited...and waited. Hum. What's wrong? Three and one-half hours later, sis and me staring and staring and staring, with the bacon barely glistening from just being semi heated up, it still lay there....wobbly, flimsy pig fat doing it's best to perform (we've all been there, haven't we??). I still claim to be more into the art of cooking...not the science (science requires education). 75 watts never was going to cut it. I think that someone should have been able to easily identify my SI at that point. They were probably too busy trying to figure out how to make me wear a hunter's vest and get a fishing pole or rifle to look good on me.

So now that you all are getting sassy and thinking you're more masculine that I ever was (you probably are), take this little masculinity test from Old Spice. My score was 58% which Old Spice calls "Atrocious." Can you imagine? Me being called atrocious on the masculinity scale. I can't either. But who knew some of that crap. If they'd had questions about which color pillows to put with which sofa fabric, or how to get a size 34 waist nicely into a pair of size 30 Abercrombie and Fitch jeans, I could have performed marvelously, not atrociously. You'll see what I mean.

SI = Sexual Orientation