Are you one of those people that's easily inspired? I am... I get motivated like no other. A-me watches a hip-hop dancing competition on TV and within seconds my foot is bouncing up, down, side-to-side and I wanna bust a move!

The same thing happens to me when we sit through another compelling drama movie that's already been produced. And don't act like you don't know what type of movie I'm talking about, cause you know!! The "Dangerous Minds" remake EVERY other year with some troubled teen making it big time in some fucking prep school for the kids with gifted legs. Yeah, THAT movie. I hate those movies, and yet, every time we watch one I wanna glide my happy ass through the house and break into a Micheal Jackson choreographed episode of coolness. An episode I'm sure looks something more like a case of epilepsy, but whatever.

This past weekend A-me and Mr. 7 were glued to Food Network, and whaddya think happened? Yeah, I wanted to cook. It's not like I CAN'T cook... I can grill, and I can microwave, and I can make eggs... but I normally don't stray too far from home with the cooking routine. So this was all very new to me, this ...compelling and annoying NEED to cook something, very annoying.

I tripped over an awesome blog, and in it I found a recipe that seemed... too easy. And when I read it I began drooling over my desk like some Labrador on hunt because the thought of eating it was consuming my motor functions. So I contemplated over actually following through with this, I mean... this is serious shit! This is like selling a new car, if I hand out a lemon... my reputation is ruined. So I thought about it for an eternity that took up 32.8 seconds before I committed myself.

I made a list of things I didn't think we kept in the house that I would need to purchase. I secretly checked the cupboards, the spice rack, and the refrigerator. I made small little adjustments to the recipe, making it more my own and doubling the fear of fucking it all up.

The following evening I went to the store. Alone.
I inspected things. I looked at limes with an inquisitive nature and tried to act like I had some sensible knowledge for what a good lime looks like. I picked a green one.
Yeah, me... all by myself, I picked out a fucking lime. Move the fuck over Rachael Ray, Orion's in the kitchen now!

I looked at green onions, and yeah... I know those aren't IN the recipe. But I did it anyway... I picked out green onions. I picked green ones. And I was gonna put those in the recipe! Yeah, me... I made that choice, I fucked with the recipe, because that's what chefs do.

I made my selections, and with excitement I sped home from the grocery store. I threw everything on the counter, and dug out the cooking devices, and washed my hands. Yeah, me... I washed my hands, and not because they were green.

I followed the directions... step, by step, by step.
I didn't spray myself in the eye with lime juice. I didn't slice off a finger when chopping. It wasn't hard. It was easy... too easy.

So with skepticism, we ate the Monterey chicken. I was expecting faces of terror from the boys, grimacing with agony because this molten substance was melting their teeth. I was expecting A-me to throw her nose into the air, shove her plate forward with disgust, and proclaim that this is why we don't try new things. Nothing.

It was fucking awesome. It was easy.... and now all I want to do is cook something else.

DAMMIT!