Uninvoked

Uninvoked Author has been traumatized.

A few weeks ago a blogging friend of hers, Miss Bluestocking, posted about her fainting episode and encourages her readers to be healthier writers. Somewhere, deep down in Uninvoked Author's heart, a cord was struck. This and the chronic stomach pain caused by drinking too much coffee decided for her to throw it all out and have a week of healthy eating. You know, just to see if it felt any different.

Starting weight: 117.6 pounds
Starting diet: You don't want to know.

Today she decided she would have pizza. That should be pretty easy for her, right? She knows lots about pizza. It's practically on her speed dial. It shouldn't be too hard to make a little dough, roll it out, spread tomato sauce, cheese, and veggie + heart healthy meatie goodness all over it, right? Riiiight?

You can see where this is going already.

Making the dough was actually easy. She deposited the ingredients in select order into her bread maker and pushed the button labeled, "pizza". One hour and thirty minutes later, out popped pizza dough. Well, the pizza dough was done. When the innocent artist attempted to remove her palette from the dough machine, it promptly stuck to her hands. It did not go away either, nor did it leave the breadmaking pan either. It sort of oozed in a ridiculously long ark from wherever Uninvoked Author fled to the pan.

Uninvoked Author wrestled. She fought. She flung herself against the endless dough line like a swordfish fighting a knowledgeable fisherman. Alas, it was no use. The more she fought, the stickier the dough became, and coincidentally, the stickier she became. Ten minutes later, unable to reach the phone to call for help, Uninvoked Author got the brilliant idea of wresting herself free by using flour as a kind of drying agent. This worked. This worked so well that Uninvoked Author was able to transfer all of the dough from the breadmaker to a cooking sheet without any more fearful repercussions.

Her gut filling with pride at her newly one freedom and culinary savvy, Uninvoked Author then began to roll the dough out. Well, sort of. She didn't have a rolling pin, but pizza can be tossed up and down to form that shape right?

This is yet another bad idea on the part of Uninvoked Author. Fortunately nothing dramatic or pizza ruining happened during the realization that this was a bad idea, and the dry flour the pizza dough shed vigorously all over the place was easy to clean up. Instead, Uninvoked Author had the idea to spread it with her fingers, protected of course by more flour.

This did not work.

The pizza dough refused to be transformed into a pizza. It liked its shape. It liked resembling Jabba the Hut in both color and lumpiness. Uninvoked Author was not amused. At first she attempted to work it out with the dough. She smoothed it, plumped it, rolled it, stretched it, offered a hot stone massage and finally threatened it with an early grave. The pizza did not care. It didn't care that Uninvoked Author picked it up and shook it, changed her MSN signature to "****ING PIZZA DOUGH WON'T ROLL!!" or that she wanted to fling it into known space.

Her blood pressure went up. Her pulse increased. Burning hatred oozed through ever pour in her dominoes loving body.

At last she gave into her frustration, grabbed the marble pestle from her mortar and pestle, and did the only thing that made sense to her at the time---beat it with a rock.

This actually worked.

After twenty minutes of BAM! BAM! BAM! "Take that you ****ing pizza dough!" BAM! BAM! BAM! and the landlord below coming up to find out what she was hammering so enthusiastically into the wall, the pizza dough was flat.

Satisfied, she decorated it with the usual pizza fixings, baked it for ten minutes (uneventfully. This is usually the part where Uninvoked Author burns stuff) and then set it in the fridge for Fiance and Uninvoked Author to eat later.

All in all, Uninvoked Author likes the idea of home made meals that are free of preservatives, high-fructose corn syrup, and things that make Uninvoked Author's stomach say, "Blah!" However, she does not think this whole cooking thing will be good for her blood pressure.

She would also like to state that pizza does not normally put her in a homicidal state, she can't remember the last time she said something that needed to be starred out, and that if anyone says anything besides, "My Uninvoked Author! I have never sampled such a tastey pizza in all my life!" There will be a murder case on the front page tomorrow morning.

Here's to writing health, and the bettering of both mind and spirit, one home-cooked pizza at a time.