French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

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Katrina Rychling
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Katrina Rychling » Fri Jun 26, 2009 1:07 pm

There was nothing in the house to eat and I mean nothing. But the smell of French toast wafted up my nose. At first I thought I was dreaming, however when I came fully awake I realized alas that the smell was not coming from my kitchen, but from my next door neighbors.
Which would not have been a problem, but as of late the next door neighbor and I had not been on speaking terms. I was hungry,. I was ravenous. I was desperate. I needed that French toast. I sat up in bed and began plotting what I needed to do to get some, and I had to do it fast before all the food was gone.
I quickly pieced together a devious plan. It was evil, it was wrong and it just might work. I snuck over to my neighbor’s back yard, making sure no one noticed me. I was not sure if I could go through with it but I was so hungry the only thing that would satisfy me was that French toast.
I put a tiny hole in her kids swimming pool. Then ran back to my house to watch the excitement. In a little while the hole had gotten larger and water was rushing out of the pool flooding her backyard.
“Whoosh,” the sound of the water surging out of the pool finally got my neighbor’s attention. She looked out back to see her backyard almost completely flooded. As reality sunk in she ran outside and stared in horror as her yard was flooding.
While she was distracted I snuck into her kitchen and grabbed the French toast, careful not to forget the syrup. I raced back to my place and ate a leisurely breakfast of French toast, while my neighbor tried in vein to salvage what was left of her backyard.

Zrubi
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Zrubi » Fri Jul 10, 2009 1:47 pm

My stomach gurggles and pleads to be filled with whatever is creating that delicious aroma.
-It's just french toast stupid stomach, you can live without. As I can live without you. - I stopped talking to my stomach, instead I direct my words to my neighbor who cannot see me from my window now but that has left the window open from her kitchen just to show me how evil she is. She knows I love french toast, that bitch. And the memories with it, he just like picking on the scar doesn't she?

I knew it was a bad idea to fall inlove with the enemy. We always had our quarrels since the day I moved in, first was my music being too loud or that my dog jumped her fenced once or twice. Then, the airing my clothes in my own garden brought shadows to her when she was sunbathing and thought to be disgusting to have my underwear "on display" for the world to see. I tried to explain her the meaning of the word privacy and freedom. I was this close to use the words "this is America..." but I hate those words and I will just sound like my father if I did so.
But from those quarrels obviously loved sparkled because, well because we were spending to much ****ing energy in each other, so we we just ended up ****ing each other with a lot of energy too. I believe there is a lyrics of a song that says something about sex being so much better when you are mad, never understood it until I met her.

So there she is, somewhere in that kitchen I know. Out of my sight but no for long. It has been a week and she refuses to return my calls or see me. But she taunts me every time and I'm inpatient.

Her backdoor is close, in more senses than one. I need to think of something to get those delicious sweet buns. Cause for some reasons she doesnt use regular bread for her french toast, she thinks she is such a chef.

Finally I realized the best distraction is of course the most obvious one. She has a cat of course, how much more opposite can we be. I unleach my dog and he inmediatly starts barking at the fence, cause she knows the cat is on the other side. I see movement in the kitchen, she is going to check on her cat and let it in. I climbed out my window and into hers. Success the french toast is now mine. When I am about to take the first bite her voice comes from behind, I turned instinctively not without gulfing a slice first.
She is wearing nothing, except the cat still in her hands. She sets it on the floor and approaches with hypnotic movements. She take a bite from the dangling piece of bread hanging from my mouth and makes a sound that I recognize. After swallowing I grab her by the waist and pulled her close. Her mouth tastes like syrup, sugar and butter, and her. We end up in her kitchen table, she is covered with syrup and powder sugar. Is messy but who cares this is sweeter than many things in more ways than one.

writersblock
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Re: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby writersblock » Mon Jul 13, 2009 2:25 pm

I sat in the kitchen while flipping through a cook book and couldn’t figure out what exactly I was in the mood for. Aggravated I slammed the book closed and sat with my hand to my chin and couldn’t help but listen to my stomach grovel in pain, not only was I hungry but now I could smell the most wondrous aroma ever. I quickly raced over to my windowsill and saw my ex-best friend standing in her kitchen preparing the most delicious meal I had ever smelt. The hunger pains quickly turned into ominous growls. I furrowed my eyebrows at the sight of her stirring the dish, she looked like friggin’ Betty Crocker herself! Standing there in the kitchen with her tidy white shirt and her ruby red apron, curls in her hair, she was straight out of a 50’s magazine. I stormed out of my house, slamming my door, and stomped my way over to her window to get a better glimpse of her assortment of food. I clearly was able to distinguish the aroma to be that of French Toast. Oh that made me infuriated. The Betty Crocker-wannabe knew I absolutely LOVED French Toast! Not only did she know that I loved them, she picked this particular day, the day after our falling out. Of course! I had to get back at her. I waited till she was taking the French Toast off of the stove and placing them onto a plate, and ran to the front of the house. I rang the doorbell and quickly and effortlessly ran back to the windowsill. I waited till she was out of the kitchen and at the front door. I jumped up through the window and wiggled my way through and collapsed onto her kitchen floor, peering in her direction; she was meandering outside to see if she could spot the doorbell ditcher, little did she know said ditcher was inside. I grabbed the plate of French Toast and jumped out the window right as she closed the front door. I lifted the plate like the Stanley cup, I had won! I sat beneath “Betty’s” window and enjoyed every last bit of the toast, it oozed with syrup and tasted creamier than anything I had ever tasted. Girl was a good cook, I thought to myself. I sat comatose on her lawn and didn’t even notice “Betty” had come outside and witnessed her fattened neighbor leaning up against her house with stomach protruding and a smile on her face. “Betty” let out a long angry scream as I said, “Those were absolutely delicious!”

noahmikal
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby noahmikal » Tue Jul 14, 2009 10:40 am

What is that smell? I've never smelled something that is so inviting. It has to be the restaurant down the street, but they are not opened this early. As I was wondering about the inviting smell, a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts.
"Ms. Roz, would you like to buy a candy bar for the youth department at my church?" the neighborhood boy asked.
Investigating the source of the aroma, I asked,"Do you know where that aroma is coming from? It's making me so hungry."
The boy raised his eyebrows. "Ms. Roz, I have gone to every house on this street. And that's your neighbor, Mrs. Kyle. She's cooking french toast." As anger rose within my heart, the little boy taps my hand, trying to get my attention.
"Um, Ms. Roz..."
Where did she find time to cook anything? She spends all her time jogging around the neighboorhood, wearing her little tank tops and skimpy shorts. Where did she find the time to cook between having loud parties and interupting my beauty sleep?
"Um, Ms. Roz, she's a very nice lady. She offered me a slice of french toast. It was good. Just ask her if you can have a slice of toast. I'm pretty sure she will share." said the concerned boy.
"NO, I'll make my own! And..."
"Excuse me, Ms Roz. I don't think the frozen kind will smell like Mrs. Kyle's." said the little boy.
As I stood at my door, taking advise from a seven year old, I realized that I never introduced myself to my next door neighbor. The only thing she was known for, to me, is interrupting my sleep at night. I never even told her how I felt about all the noise and traffic that disturbs me.
"Ok, son. I'm not dressed appropiately right now, but could you do Ms Roz a favor and ask Mrs Kyle if you can have another slice of toast? If you will bring the toast to me, I will buy this entire box of candy for your youth group."
The boy agreed. I thought, I'll introduce myself later because it's too early in the morning. As, I walked to the kitchen, pouring a glass of orange juice, that will taste great with my french toast, I hear a knock at the door. As I opened the door, the little boy is standing with a plate of french toast in one hand and syrup in the other.
"Thank you! You didn't have to ask for syrup. I have some, but thanks. Hold on a minute and I'll get my purse so I can buy the candy." I said.
"Ms. Roz, I will need to come back later with your candy. When I told Mrs Kyle about our deal, she offered to buy a box of candy too!" the boy said with gladness.
"But, why would she do that?" I replied.
Mrs. Kyle stands from behind the bush and said, "I always wanted to introduce myself, but I always thought I needed a reason to come over. No one around here really talks to me, so thats the reason for all the parties. When I found out you liked french toast, I thought we could enjoy them together with orange juice and get to know each other."
"Oh my Goodness. I would love that. I already have the orange juice ready for us." I smiled.
In the end, all parties got what they wanted. The neighborhood boy not only sold two candy bars, but two boxes of candy, and the neighboorhood ladies became best friends. The answer for all the smiles in this neighborhood was french toast.

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Re: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby jaus tail » Sat Jul 25, 2009 5:37 am

I'm dreaming about flying a space ship n killin aliens, when suddenly i see a giant planet with big space ships as guards, they see me and attack their missiles, when i see the missiles i see something strange, i see missiles arent regular conical cylinders with smoke from their rears, i mean there is smoke but missiles are different, triangular,and as they approach i realize that missiles are french toasts with aroma creating a fog, i open the window of my ship and put my head out to eat missile when a fire ball hits my ship and bam,
i wake up, look at the clock, 9 am and i am in my boxers in the bed and i ask, what am i awake so early, suddenly i sniff something from the window,look there and see my neighbor making french toast, and i am drooling over it, i head towards the toast and bam fall off bed, get up and decide to eat the toast, so i look in the mirror, go in my kitchen, pull off some bread, take some cheese from couch and throw it on the bread
, put it for toast and go to my bedroom, check out myself in the mirror, and realize i'm bare chested, so i pick up a shirt, coat, deodrant, wave my hair and go down to kitchen, look at my toast 'somethins missig' i open freezer, put the toast in, go in washroom, flush, come back take the toast from freezer and knock neighbors door with toast in hand

Neighbor
what do you want
I
I hoped that you would apologize for what you did yesterday

neighbor
meaning not inviting you to party

i
party! i thought it was a funeral of happiness, anyways the music was depressing so i want you to pay for my medical bill

neighbor
what medical

i
3 aspirins, a car ride to go to the store to buy the aspirin, petrol bill to buy petrol to drive car to get aspirin, speeding ticket, and ketchup for this toast

neighbor
assume i pay other bills, why should i pay money for ketchup that also for such a horrible toast

i
because of the aspirins i dun have any cash left for restaurant
neigbor
no savings

i
i'm bachelor, straight bachelor

neighbor
ok A. i will not pay for those aspirins n speeding tickets B. you made this toast at home C. bye
she slams door, my toast falls down, i bend down, pick toast n cry

i
you stupid girl (i kick door,she opens) look what u did to my toast

neighbor
you made this toast

i
my ex-wife taught me how to make toast, i could never learn but that doesnt mean you
her dog comes, sniffs toast n goes away

neighbor grins

i
french!

neighbor
poodle!, listen have breakfast here, i mean this toast fell because of me and

i
oh no, its not that bad

neighbor
come on have breakfast with me, its not a date

i
thank god for that
not that you're bad, i'll share your toast

i m eating her toast

neighbor
how come u have an ex wife when u said u were a bachelor

i
she died just before we could exchange the rings

neighbor
oh i'm so sorry

i
ahh its ok, could you make some more toast, i'm really hungry

neighbor
sure, and next time whenever u wana eat come here but not in coat n boxers,

i realize i forgot to wear trousers

Lanee M.
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Lanee M. » Tue Aug 04, 2009 9:50 am

French toast...? I wake, dazed, from a midmorning dream to the sweet, warm, scent of molasses and soggy bread. Where is that coming from?

"Ma?" I call, halfheartedly, knowing that she's away on business, and unless she came back early (doubtful, considering the six foot Australian reason to stay), there's no way the gooey delight is inside the house. I check anyway, to no avail. It's while I'm pulling a Scooby Doo and following my nose wherever it goes, this time underneath the kitchen sink, wheere oozes a far-from-delightful moldy smell, that I spy it. The neighbor, Mr. Charles, flipping something at his stovetop. When I squint, I see the stack of similiarly-cooked stuff on a square plate beside him.

Darn it.

Mr. Charles, my mother's one time business partner and owner of the Escalade I accidently bumped into (it really was a little scratch, after all) on my first nighttime driving excursion. We hadn't spoken in months. I hadn't babysat the twins in the same amount of time. And suddenly Choco, the mocha Labradoar, was dumping steaming morning piles on the lawn.

How could I get to that toast? The answer was lying right in front of me. Quite literally. There was an old, and...ew, molding slab of meat underneath a sheet of tin foil on the counter. Aha. Choco stayed tied on a rope in the backyard, but since he knew me (he was the only member of the family I was speaking terms with), he lets me untie him, and then follows the rotting meat right into the too-small doggy door, thus distracting Mr. Escalade long enough to let me open up his window and take the weirdly square plate and sneak across to my own window. Yay for Mom's moldy meats. Hey. Mom should start a business.

Lanee M.
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RE: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Lanee M. » Tue Aug 04, 2009 9:50 am

French toast...? I wake, dazed, from a midmorning dream to the sweet, warm, scent of molasses and soggy bread. Where is that coming from?

"Ma?" I call, halfheartedly, knowing that she's away on business, and unless she came back early (doubtful, considering the six foot Australian reason to stay), there's no way the gooey delight is inside the house. I check anyway, to no avail. It's while I'm pulling a Scooby Doo and following my nose wherever it goes, this time underneath the kitchen sink, wheere oozes a far-from-delightful moldy smell, that I spy it. The neighbor, Mr. Charles, flipping something at his stovetop. When I squint, I see the stack of similiarly-cooked stuff on a square plate beside him.

Darn it.

Mr. Charles, my mother's one time business partner and owner of the Escalade I accidently bumped into (it really was a little scratch, after all) on my first nighttime driving excursion. We hadn't spoken in months. I hadn't babysat the twins in the same amount of time. And suddenly Choco, the mocha Labradoar, was dumping steaming morning piles on the lawn.

How could I get to that toast? The answer was lying right in front of me. Quite literally. There was an old, and...ew, molding slab of meat underneath a sheet of tin foil on the counter. Aha. Choco stayed tied on a rope in the backyard, but since he knew me (he was the only member of the family I was speaking terms with), he lets me untie him, and then follows the rotting meat right into the too-small doggy door, thus distracting Mr. Escalade long enough to let me open up his window and take the weirdly square plate and sneak across to my own window. Yay for Mom's moldy meats. Hey. Mom should start a business.

tiatodd
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Re: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby tiatodd » Sat Nov 14, 2009 3:03 pm

I had just gotten out of the shower when the aroma of maple syrup drifted to my nostrils. Slipping into my favorite jeans and Hello Kitty T-shirt, I inhaled deeply. Someone was making French toast, and it was now my mission to obtain some.

I adjusted my glasses and examined the old clock on the bookshelf, above my seldom-used television. It was 8am. Who in their right mind (not including myself, as, if you know me, you would conclude I am not in my right mind) would be up bothering to make French toast at 8am on a Saturday?

After pondering this a moment, I decided it didn’t matter. I was still hungry, and there was still French toast begging to be devoured. I crossed over to the window, opening the blinds to a white world. Then I resolved to be productive enough as to at least put on my slippers, and trudged out my apartment door, my nose being my guide.

The scent led me to the door on my direct left. Oh, hell, I thought. It’s Joyce.

You see, she and I never exactly saw eye to eye. She’d like to think we did; or rather, she didn’t care, as long as I went with whatever she wanted. I had recently conveyed that I was not a sheep to be lead around by a corrupted shepherd, and well, things went about as smoothly as drying yourself off with sandpaper. To put it in few words, we now ignored each other’s existence. However, out of this now arose a problematic situation. Our conflict was now standing in between the precious French toast and myself.

I hesitantly knocked on the door, tugging a smile to my lips. The door swung open, Joyce’s glossed lips in a smile that vanished quickly as she slammed the door. More than a little upset, I shook myself out and tried again, making a point of this time jamming my foot between the door and its frame. I still have the bruise.

“Joyce, hey. Listen…I know we haven’t spoken in awhile, but I’m willing to put all that behind us…”

“Cut the crap, Tia,” the bottle-blonde snapped, pretending to pay meticulous attention to her manicured nails. “You and I both know you just want some of my breakfast. And you’re not getting any.”

My faux smile dissolved into a smirk, and my eyes narrowed. “If that’s the way you want to play, then. Be that way. But considering how you already more than fill up that tank top, I personally don’t think you need the calories.”

It worked. She was shocked. I had a bit of fun locking her out of her own room, not to mention eating all her French toast. And…maybe I poured orange juice all over her Gucci bag, but there’s no evidence to prove that I did so.

Emerald Gypsy
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Re: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Emerald Gypsy » Thu Jun 03, 2010 6:37 am

Living in France and unable to speak the language fluently has its drawbacks--or so I thought.

I was there on assignment and had just finished unpacking thru the wee hours of the night figuring an early morning start would give me time to acclimate to a new and exciting world I knew little about.
My first inclination of this assignment being different from the others was the intoxicating smell eminating from the kitchen window next door to me. Instead of the drab fare of bagels and cream cheese I was used to eating on the run this was an honest to God, authentic, mouth-watering, get your butt up and go get some--French Toast!!
There was only one problem--We, my new neighbor and I, had never met and I didn't speak enough French to even fathom an introduction. There comes a time however, when you throw caution to the wind and in this case the smell of that French Toast was about to send mine into a tornado!
Following a quick scrub-up, brush through my hair, and the resolve to go forward I went purposely through my front door and knocked on my neighbors.
The door was answered by an OMG hunk of mankind with six-pack abs dressed in jeans. Working laboriously not to stare and using the little French I knew to try and introduce myself I caught his look of total surprise. Thinking it was my horrible use of language I stuttered but was caught short by his finger pointing back at me and his attempt at English saying "You,...okay?"
I looked down at myself only to discover to my complete horror that I was still dressed in my skimpy nightgown!!
I ran back to my apartment and slammed the door. What was I thinking? That was just it, I wasn't. My brain had been hell-bent on procuring some wonderful smelling French Toast only to have the hopes utterly dashed by my lack of attention to details. Great. I'd not only embarrased myself for the eternity of my stay, I still had the gut-gnawing hunger for French Toast--HIS French Toast.
Humiliated, I went to my room and finally got dressed to meet the world. Just as I was coming out and wandering into my own kitchen for a dismal breakfast of cereal there came a knock on my door. To my surprise it was Mr. gorgeous with a heaping plate of French Toast. He nodded toward my balcony table
and smiled.
To date it was the best assignment I'd had and the outcome was an unexpected wedding five months later. The reception was held as an early morning breakfast event. Main course-French Toast!

Castle
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Re: French Toast Fiasco - 5/26

Postby Castle » Mon Jun 14, 2010 10:28 am

The lazy sunlight rests on my eyelids. I don’t want to get up. It’s Sunday. I’m annoyed that the only patch of sun is over my miserably dreary face. I slowly sit up and move my pillow a foot to the left so I can sleep in the shade. As soon as my head hits the pillow, it jerks up; senses on edge… like a cat who thinks they just heard the scattering feet of a mouse pass by.
Was that French toast? Impossible. I live alone. Unless Timmy let himself into my house again. No, he was in Cincinnati. I couldn’t go to sleep with the irresistibly enrapturing scent of heaven’s best breakfast torturing my overly sensitive and jealous nose.

I donned my favorite blue robe over my V-neck T shirt and boxers and made my way downstairs. It wasn’t until I was looking out my window that I found the source of the smell. Angela’s house.
Angela was the spawn of Satan himself. Once she even stole my mail. A few missing pieces of French toast wouldn’t make us even in our relentless neighborly bickering. She was at least seven points ahead of me on the bitchiest neighbor scale. So what if I keep track. Does that make me a bad person? Maybe overly competitive, but bad, no.

I quietly snuck out of the sliding door in my backyard and tiptoed over the prickly green grass into her yard. I froze at the side of her house, risking a peak through the window into her kitchen.
A gorgeous pan of sizzling French toast was not quite five feet from the open window from where I hid. Angela stood with her back to me cutting something on the counter. She wiped her wet hands on her jeans and walked down her hallway.

Perfect. I stuck my head through the window and surveyed my surroundings. There were three pieces of bread in the pan, just enough for me. I heard her starting to sing in the other room. I didn’t recognize the song, but I recognize talent when I hear it, and this was not one of those times.
I climbed through the window, my stomach on the window sill as I grabbed the handle of the pan and quickly took it off the stove. Why only take the bread when it’s not done cooking?

I ran back into my house before the terrible singing voice found itself back in their kitchen with an empty stove top. Both of our houses had a large picture window, both of our kitchens were clearly visible. I set Angela’s pan on my stove and turned on the heat.

I heard a loud gasp from her open window. I glanced up to see her searching frantically for her pan. I knocked on my window and held up the full pan with a smug smile. Poetic justice, oh how sweet you are with maple syrup.

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