Yesterday, in a fit of domesticity, I decided I would make cinnamon rolls. Those in the know realize how rare an event Daisy cooking anything has become in the last few years. While I used to be a pretty mean baker in my early 20s, I have since moved more into the Lorelai Gilmore school of thought on cooking: Why cook when you can dial? Did you know that they actually have cookie delivery places here in Texas? Not the nasty, tasteless, shortbread Cookie Bouquet things; I'm talking oatmeal raisin, chocolate chip, snickerdoodley goodness, baked fresh and brought right to your doorstep in 30-45 minutes. (I so miss living downtown sometimes.)

For whatever reason (possibly shear boredom), yesterday morning I decided that I was going to bake, and bake I did. I mixed and kneaded and rolled and greased for at least an hour. And the result?

Cinnamon roll paperweights.

That's right. Fist size clumps of what would have been yummy, delicious, gooey-great, cinnamony rolls...if only they had risen.

Note to self: when in the process of baking for the first time in several years, if the thought even crosses your mind that the yeast may be a tad past its prime, then it is probably safe to call it Sly Stallone (I caught Daylight on TV the other day, and he was looking way old back then. No telling what he looks like now.) and toss it out. Otherwise, you not only lose the hour of your life you spent making the damn dough, but you also lose the second hour it takes to clean up the ginormous mess you made making the damn dough and then throwing it out.

And, of course, all that work makes a girl hungry. So you find yourself standing in your flour covered pajamas, listening to your stomach growling, without a cinnamon roll in sight, having to decide if you want to get dressed and go to the store and settle for Pillsbury cinnamon rolls or if you can possibly fake out your cinnamon-craving brain with a combination of pistachios and chips and salsa, since those are the only snack-type things you happen to have on hand.

Being the lazy vacation bum I am this week, I tried the latter of the two options, and while Julio's tortilla chips are heavenly (like Doritos for grown ups), they are kinda like giving a crack addict a Red Bull and expecting it to do the trick. There is no replacement for cinnamon in Daisy's world, so I have been craving cinnamon for the past 20 hours now.

Good thing Big Sis and Favorite Youngest Niece are coming to town to day for some mall time and the only cinnamon treat Daisy likes almost as much as the aforementioned cinnamon rolls and snickerdoodles would be the cinnamon pretzle sticks from Autnie Anne's. A couple of orders of those and I may be almost satisfied.