The "drive me crazy" tag

Trace (her j is private) tagged me, and I kinda thought this would be easy.   At any given time, I'm sure I could come up with five things...but here I am, blocked a bit.  I'll play anyway.  I'm sure they'll come back to me. 

These are the rules of the game: You must write a journal entry listing the 5 things that drive you CRAZY  ~ as well as the rules of the game... Then, you select five people to tag and link their names/blogs in your entry... Go to their journals and leave a comment informing them they have been tagged by you and to read your journal to see in what way they have been nailed...! Those five then MUST write an entry listing What drives them crazy and tag an additional five people...

Okay.  Ready set?  You bet!  (Oy, why did I have to be walking behind the kindies today?)

1.  Let's just get this one out of the way...KidzBop.  Now, don't go all crazy on me, Moms that use this.  But seriously, sanitized kiddie versions, with kids singing, of popular music?  No, no, NO.  If it needs to be cleaned up, why let them listen in the first place?  And what's wrong with listening to the regular CD?  I think all this does is teach the kids to listen only to the "hit" off the particular CD, and sometimes, I think it's best to listen to the whole thing.  Sure, it's true, the rest of the CD might suck, but that's when you can have a teaching moment, to explain what a "one hit wonder" is, and teach them how to not buy crap.  All that aside, however, the thing that drives me the most crazy about this is the commercials, on 5000 times a day, forcing the regular version out of your head, and replacing it with the kiddie version.  Ohh!  Aaahhhh!  My ears!

2.  Waking up before the alarm goes off.  I hate it when I am up every hour or so, anticipating the alarm.  I hate it even more when I wake up 2 minutes before it's gonna go off.  That sucks, man, when you are sleep deprived to begin with.

3.  Okay, I'm gonna interpret "crazy" my way, not necessarily to mean "crazy" as in 'pissed off and want to kill someone' but "crazy" as in 'that's so hot, it drives me crazy.'  Ha, gotta sneak in the sexy one, right?  Scruffy.  Drives me crazy when the man is scruffy, and when you hug him, it tickles your neck or cheek.  Stand back, we have takeoff.  Ahem.  God help him if he smells good, too.

4.  When I follow the recipe and it still doesn't turn out quite right.  This doesn't happen too much anymore, but when it does, there's alot of cursing and slinging of utensils, some tears, and a meltdown.  I take the kitchen a little too seriously sometimes.  It harkens back to chemistry lab (you'd better follow the directions, or blow up) and the first time I made a cake, which was a disaster.  It also drives me crazy when someone won't share their recipe.  Look, I'm not gonna make it again in your presence, probably--share the love, I'll give you credit for it.

5.  My brother.  He can drive me crazy in a heartbeat, with just the right set of attitude and that ability siblings have to annoy like no other.  But I still love him.  :)

I've decided not to tag anyone in particular, but invite you all to play along. :D

Hey, I should probably tell the cake story...

I was about nine or ten.  My Mom is really good at making layer cakes.  High, perfect, fluffy goodness, no one cares it's from a box of Betty Crocker.  She had these special pans where the bottom pushes out separately from the sides (but not a springform--a regular cake pan). 

One night, I decided I wanted to make a cake for my Dad.  Just because.  And Mom was tired, but I pushed it and she gave in, letting me do it all on my own, checking on me from time to time to make sure I didn't hurt myself with anything.

Mix, mix.  Everything looks okay.

Pour, pour.  Here comes the problem.  I bent over, to put it in the oven, and as I did, cake batter begins dripping out the bottom, ALL over the place.  I call for help.  "I followed the directions,"  I said, as I fought back the tears.  Mom took one look and said I'd mixed it too thin, so I must've added too much of something.  She took over, cool as ever, and somehow, managed to salvage it, while I just cried. 

It still was eaten.  They're such good sports, and a lot of frosting can hide anything.

To this day, I'm a little nervous when I'm making a cake.

I'm just certain I crossed some kitchen gods when I forced my tired Mom to let me have my way.  (That, or the stain of childhood guilt just stays with you, undiluted by time.)

But my pans don't have removable bottoms, and I stick to cookies.  JJuuusst in case.