It seems that I am finally going to attempt this blogging thing. I have been told it’s all the rage, “the thing to do for aspiring writers and creative minds”. This makes me wonder, how creative this mind of mine truly is. I feel pressurized. But, I do like to think of myself as an aspiring writer. See, the pressure of being a ‘published writer’ is absent in this label. With this tag, I am kind of viewed as someone who is dabbing in ones intellectuality, careless yet interesting. I don’t like labels, but I guess if I didn’t have a choice, I’d like to be put in that box. But now that I have a couple of sentences it has become clear that really, blogging is like having a kind of diary which the whole world can read. It is almost like we have now come to terms with the fact that this ‘whole world’ doesn’t really care about us, but still we are eager to spread our words amidst this laughing, crying, thinking, cheating, lying, loving, masturbating mass that makes up human existence. We want to form part of it, and feel as though ‘everyone’ knows and acknowledges the same thing that we do. After all – as this is the purpose of blogging – people like me splab their words on the internet to feel that this porridge of general human conscience has empathy for what we go through on a day to day basis. So there, I hope you understand what I go through. Oh, and I don’t like porridge. It is slimy and sticky and I have had enough of it before I even swallowed my first taste. See the correlation?

Now despite the first paragraph, this isn’t just one of those cynical blogs which aim to mock you and all the others who are (hopefully) reading this. I should tell you about myself. I like drinking tea out of a glass, taking photo’s, writing and traveling. I love good food and bad food makes me very sad and agitated. In truth, over the past couple of years my life has increasing started revolving around food. Sometimes, in nice times, I go on a surf trip with my boyfriend and his friends, who are all happy to eat porridge 3 times a day (now I have shed light on my view concerning the matter of porridge). I come along and spend my entire budget on food, forcing my boyfriend to do the same. He always agrees, although I can sometimes tell by the annoyed look which settles on his face that he would rather be eating porridge and drinking beer. He wants to talk about surfing, sick barrels and smoking sets, not about how nice apricots taste in a certain Ethiopian curry dish. Though by the end of the day, this look is gone, because often there aren’t any sick barrels to speak about and also because he has had a number of nice, healthy, balanced vegetarian meals, while his friends ate porridge.

I study, at a university in a small town surrounded by huge wine farms and even bigger mountains. The town is very pretty but the people, with some exceptions, don’t quite match up. Of course I have a couple of friends, who are highly entertaining and sometimes very sweet. These are the people that I cook for. After being fired from my 3rd waitressing job (third in a year, not in my life) I decided not to ever again serve people food which I didn’t cook. I hate waitressing. People come and spend money (which they often have more of then I can even imagine my bank account holding) and complain. Sometimes they are happy, but in comparison to the rest of the folk, these happy chappies make up a minor part of the asses seated on restaurant chairs. It’s a similar ration with ones friends and ‘the rest of the world’, friends who are like the cinnamon wasted in porridge. They should rather live in a world composed of pancakes.

So to combat this dilemma of joblessness, I decided a couple of months ago, to start a dinner club. I cook, and my friends who on a lucky night bring their friends (who sometimes are like cinnamon too, but sometimes just like the hot steam which comes off porridge, which one finds comfort in, until it stops and one sees the gray sludge clearly) pay me a small amount for my efforts and we all have a nice evening. These nights of the dinner club, and other events and happenings, are what this blog will be about. So be sure, I will never write about porridge again.