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Sweater Bears and Frosted Flakes

I was up past midnight last night, lovingly frosting and decorating cookies for the office holiday pot luck.



I made three dozen Garam Masala Chocolate Gingerbread Cookies in the shape of snowflakes and bears, and experimented with the bears' frosting till I hit on a cinnamon-and-cocoa tinged version that seemed appropriately ursine.

So I'm singing "I wanna live with a cinnamon bear, I could be happy for the rest of my life with a cinamon bear...duuuuh dun dun dun..." And after I got them all frosted in their sweet icing sweaters, I switched to "Someone saved my life tonight, sugar bear..."

Anyway, this morning on the way to work, it was Eleanor O and the Christmas Cookies:

Photograph of my Dutch bike with a red cloth-wrapped container of Christmas cookies tied to the handlebars

...which were a reasonable success among my coworkers at the potluck:

Photograph of ginger spice cookies shaped like bears and snowflakes, frosted and decorated

Sad little king of a sad little hill, lost his buttons and looks a bit googly-eyed over it. So I ate him.
A single bear-shaped cookie with missing decorations




Pot luck meals are tricky. It's hard to know just what I'm eating, so the rule of thumb today was "very little" with a side of "hold the wheat". Happily, many of my coworkers are Indian, and they bring Indian dishes, so I majored in a spicy rice thing and some chickpeas, and logged my calorie count as a guesstimate.

This was kind of a concession for me. I'm super-obsessive about the numbers, and I expect I'll continue to be so because my "natural" meter leads me astray. But in real life there will be days when eating what I didn't prepare and can't measure is the right thing to do, and over the long haul I need a realistic strategy. "Under-serve and over-estimate" seems like a useful approach.



In other pleasant holiday-themed news, [personal profile] dine and I met for pulled pork and top-notch fandom conversation last night at Russell Street Barbecue, where she presented me with a Christmas card, depicting an extremely fine naked male torso and the admonition that he knows when I've been good or bad, so be bad, for goodness' sake. It's adorable.

There is such a difference between talking to regular people and talking to fellow fans about fannish stuff. Nearly two hours flew by, and I biked on home afterwards feeling good about myself and satisfied with my evening, instead of wondering if I seemed odd, you know?

Crossposted from Dreamwidth, where there are comment count unavailable comments. | Comment at Dreamwidth.

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