Last night, Corelyn and I went to the Los Angeles Public Library because I had a book on hold, and she needed to get a library card. I know, it’s ridiculous that she didn’t have one yet. Don’t worry, I told her so.

We went in, and I picked up my book, while she attempted to get a library card. This did not go so well. The woman at the counter told Corelyn she needed something official with her address on it (since her license had her newer address written on the back, which is what the LA DMV people tell you to do!) So we left, almost defeated, and went to the car, where we scrounged around for something with her address on it. We found her registration for her car, and headed back in. This time, we had help from a different woman, and when this woman needed help from the first library women, the first woman looked at us questionably. “You’re giving her a library card,” she asked. Clearly she did not realize we had gone back to get something with the address. I felt like I was in first grade again, getting yelled at for walking my friend A to the nurse’s office, after being told I couldn’t go myself. (I loved going to the nurse’s office, but that’s a story for another time.)

Meanwhile, we assured everyone we had the piece of official address-bearing mail, and the process went on. It took a while. Within this time, a boy next to us asked the first woman (who had helped us originally) if she was ok, “Because you look a little pale.” He was about 11 years old: she was not pleased.

The whole point of this story was to tell you about the fact that we went looking around the library after we got her card, and we found the audio book section, and I found…the most amazing thing in this universe.

“Hey Corelyn, look! Barack’s books!”

“Cool!”

“I wonder who reads them?” I look on the front.

“THEY ARE READ BY THE AUTHOR!!” (I put this in caps to emphasize that I said this in a clearly too-loud-for-the-library voice.)

I proceeded to rent one. It is marvelous. Yes, in fact, Mr. President, I would like to listen to you read your book for 7 and a half hours about your father and family. Thanks for understanding that.

When we went home, I told Jeff, and Lauren and Drew, and then Corelyn later told them all again. Clearly we were  excited.

I love you, Mr. President. I am excited to hear about your life. Here goes.

Corelyn and I are trying this PW challenge. We’ve made 9 of the 63 recipes. It’s only March. I feel OK about it.

A while back, we made chili. It was supposedly simple, perfect chili.

It was simple. It was not, not perfect. No offense, PW, but I am very very very sensitive to spice. And, quite frankly, 2 tablespoons of chili powder is just too much. I should have known, reading the recipe, but I trusted the PW, and nearly burned my face off. But it was delicious, so delicious that I pushed myself through it during 2 meals. So, next time we’ll do it, with much less chili powder.

During the making of the chili, I was horrified when I finished and realized I wouldn’t be able to eat it without a large amount of sour cream. Corelyn looked at me, laughed, tasted the chili, and was equally as horrified. Which made me quote my ever-favorite online video, Salad Fingers.

“Corelyn. What are we going to do?”

“I know, it is soooooooo spicy.”

“I see. Then I must leave.” And by leave, I meant fix the large problem, which cheese, sour cream, and a LOT of water.

This small Parker bowl is the root of all the problems. Look at all that spice.

This is the moment it became delicious, and inedible.

Meanwhile, our third PW recipe (we had made the cobbler earlier that day) was cornbread.

We made Andrew a batman cake for his birthday. It involved homemade cake, some store bought white frosting-turned black, and the bat symbol. It was hard. Here it is.

I then proceeded to eat all of the yellow frosting, as a reward to myself.