"You're Gonna Make It After All..."

Long drives always drive me crazy. I barely made it home on time Saturday night before my brain got too full and exploded.

I then promptly scribbled a bunch of thoughts onto some paper and fell asleep. (It was 7:30. pm. Yes, I am lame). I am going to proceed with trying to turn those into coherent thoughts and post them as such. I am also going to try to write shorter posts, because, ohmygod, have you tried to read some of my older stuff? It's loooong. (Hi, my name is Captain Obvious.) Which, ya know. Was necessary at the time, cause I had lots to say. But it makes it hard for me to go back and re-read things because I just start to glaze over.

Anyway. Why was I making an absurd cross-state trip just mere days before Christmas when I would have to do it all over again? Well, my little sis was having her (first) college graduation ceremony and of course I was going to go. Even though we'll have to do it all over again in May when she completes her Master's program and has another one. (yeah, yeah - she may be going to get her Master's degree, but I went to a bigger school, so I'm calling it a draw on the sibling-rivalry-one-upmanship-scale.)

What's weird is, I didn't even think about my own graduation much (obviously, some, it is inevitable in that setting) until I was pulling into town and all of seven blocks from my apartment. It's been three years. Three years I've been out in the big, scary Real World... and you know what? I am holding my own. I don't know why this revelation always amazes me, but it does. I did it. I made it.

(Every once in a while I get that cheesy Mary Tyler Moore Show theme song in my head. Cause I feel as though somehow it applies to me, too.)

I may not have a "life plan" yet, maybe I never will, but I am feeling good about that. It's kind of liberating - everything I DID have planned, I achieved, and with my usual perfectionistic flair. Now? Who cares! I can take whatever comes my way and I am not tied down to any preconceived notions of what my life should look like. Because, in all actuality, I am exactly where I want to be. I'll figure out the rest later.

Today Sucks. I'm Going Back to Bed. Again.

This is where I get really grouchy. For a couple reasons.

1. I had to stay home sick from work today. Normally I can flop back into bed, grab a couple extra hours of sleep, and be fine. I kept delaying the inevitable until I finally just threw in the towel around noon and called it a day. I have at least gone from an all-over blah to a concentrated pain and suffering level situated somewhere in my left sinus cavity, but that in itself is pretty useless knowledge because I don't know how to FIX it. Also, I get really crabby about missing work. I also get really crabby about being sick. Especially once I reach the point where I am moderately functional again and have time to dwell on the fact that I feel like shit.

2. We're supposed to get ANOTHER fucking blizzard this week - I am hearing another 15" of snow, hoo-fucking-ray... and it's supposed to hit therabouts on Wednesday/Thursday. Thursday being Christmas Eve. Meaning, I might not be able to go home for Christmas. This will then be the first Christmas I have missed spending with my family in 25 years. I am 24-0 at Christmas. Fuck you, 2009. Can't you wait until, like, New Year's Eve or something when I don't have to go anywhere?

Harumph.

Also I wrote up a few posts yesterday while I wasn't dead and scheduled them so if you see non-irritable posts in the next couple days, it's because I wrote them while in a much better mood. Hey, I am TRYING to not bombard you with posts or long posts or lots of posts. You're welcome.

EDIT 12/22: SuckWeek continues - today my back tire is flat. Fucking bloody hell fuckers. I hate winter.

Extreme Home Makeover, Blog Edition

If you're reading this from the web and not from a generic reader, you may have noticed that this blog looks TOTALLY DIFFERENT now. (If you ARE reading it from a reader, this is the point where you get your ass to my page so you can seeeeeee it). I liked my template, mostly, but it was generic and I was bored with it and so I'm like, "what if I just change the color?" and so, whilst consulting with a couple of my web-savvy friends along the way, I managed to find, update, upload, and edit the photos in my code to make it more... custom.

In case you are still in your damn reader, or had no idea how it looked before, allow me to present to you: a visual.

Before.

After. Obviously. Since that's what it looks like *rightnow*

See, I'm not COMPLETELY webtarded, as I previously thought.

In fact, I am pretty much awesome. Sometimes.

Thoughts? Feedback? We likes? We don't likes? Let me know. If it makes your eyes bleed I will change it back to the defaults. Maybe.

EDIT: The intensity of the blue was distracting. So I toned it back quite a bit. In case anyone cares. If not.... then.... as you were.

And This Is Why I Drink.

This is not the angsty blog post I promised. Well, I mean, it might be. I haven't really started yet. This is more of a general bitchfest. And yes, there is a difference.

Part I.

I am so fucking sick and tired of being the mothereffing mediator in my family. Especially when my mother flips her shit and starts screaming and raving about how my dad is this spineless asshole who ruined her life and bladdy bladdy blah. Seriously. You've been divorced, what, ten years now? Stop dragging him through the mud and let it go, and for the love of all that is holy, quit pretending the two of you are besties whenever you're not currently pissed to high hell about something he may or may not have done to serve you whatever perceived injustice you've got your panties in a twist about now.

Cause frankly? He's less crazy than you. And you make me want to reach for my xanax. The stuff I save for special occasions.

And for the love of Jesus, please be civil for my sister's college graduation this weekend or I swear to all that is holy, I will get stabbier than I've ever been. Don't ruin shit for her just because you're riding first-class on the Crazy Train.

Part II.

I have had some issues with the Other Neighbor. Not the neighbors that I share an entryway with, the ones that I know and like, but the one around back whose name I think I may have heard but who has gentleman friends over that talk loudly out on their cellphones at midnight on her deck and the (same) one who is apparently unaware that this is a no-smoking building AND that marijuana is, in fact, illegal and that no amount of incense is fooling the rest of us.

I randomly woke up in the middle of the night on Wednesday (Thursday, technically, I SUPPOSE) and my entire bedroom was permeated with the lovely fragrance of Special Smoke. Now, I'm going to lose a lot of street cred here because I don't really actually know what pot smells like, but I do know what cigarette smoke smells like, and I have been to my fair share of rock concerts. And I have awesome deductive reasoning skills.

Anyway, it was horrible, and I had a hard time falling back asleep, which, if you know me, should say something, because I am nothing if not a world class champion sleeper. I debated sleeping on my futon out in the other room but that would have just resulted in me being even crabbier, and besides, I shouldn't have to, just because that bitch was trying to asphyxiate me. My stubbornness? Not particularly a virtue, most days. Then I got hungry and went and ate a turkey sandwich (contact high munchies, maybe?) and then I finally fell back asleep. And was grouchy. And drafted an email to my landlord, which I was smart enough to proofread in the morning before sending, and I told my friend that lives downstairs, so she didn't think I was an epic snitch (this is NOT the first time this issue has come up, although it was the Actual Neighbors who brought it up the first time, and she freely admitted to it)... and she was like, "yeah, the incense has been bad lately" and I'm like, "honey, I am pretty sure that it wasn't incense this time" and she's like, "oh. well, shit." and the landlord (who is fucking awesomesocks) was all, I'm on it. So, if she does it again, she's probably gone, and I'd probably feel bad, except YOU DO NOT INTERFERE WITH MY SLEEP WITHOUT REAPING THE CONSEQUENCES and, also? Smoking (anything) is gross.

Part III.

I owe some poor boys some formal rejections. I'm quite guilty of the fade-away-and-run-fast maneuver and one of the boys I've recently pulled it upon just totally didn't deserve it, and the other one? the arrogant emotional-assault-bag? Well, I should probably come clean so he quits messaging me. I'm at a loss for what to say and I might just take my friend's advice and "borrow" from my rather eloquent rejection from this past summer. I am sure the guy who wrote it wouldn't mind, obviously he's not going to know, but if he did, maybe he would be amused. I'd like to think so, anyway. Plus the whole idea of it is kinda funny. In a really twisted sorta way. But, yeah. If I don't report back on the matter soon, e-kick me in the shin cause I totally deserve it. Except I'd totally be a huger bitch if I did it around Christmas so maybe I should try to get to it this weekend. Otherwise I'm obviously going to have to wait.

Part IV.

The holidays are stressing me out. Like, hardcore. I know, I know - you're all, "join the club" EXCEPT I don't usually get stressed out. I usually enjoy the holidays. BUT. Guess what. Being poor has once again ruined my goddamn life. Christmas is expensive. Even if I didn't buy presents, there are still cards and cookies and traveling and I may as well just call all the people that sent me bills this month and apologize in advance. Or maybe I should apologize to my bank. Except they don't care, because they make lots of money on my overdraft fees. AND I don't have time to donate plasma right now and I neeeed the extra money. Dear 2010: please don't suck, financially. Or I will find your metaphorical groin and kick it as hard as I possibly can.

Part V.

I am failing, guys. My hardcore determination to eat well and exercise and try to be thin is... faltering. I'm gonna go ahead and blame the holidays cause DAMMIT THERE ARE COOKIES EVERYWHERE AND IT'S MY OWN FAULT BECAUSE I BROUGHT THEM INTO CREATION and I don't take care of myself and then I get tired and exhausted and have no energy, not even to do my damn 10-minute Pilates (although I always allow 30 mins because I do 3 of them). And my calorie counting? heh. I've fucked that up so hard it needs a post-coital cigarette. I think... I might just give up and try again AFTER the holidays are over. Besides, I am at least feeling appropriately guilty when I consume something with lots of calories, so I am sorta training my brain. I'll get there. Maybe.

Fin.

Cookiethon II: Revenge of the Cocoa

I swear I am not going to turn this into a baking blog (because that would limit my subject matter entirely too much, and it's hard to drop therapeutic f-bombs when you're talking about cookies. Unless of course you happen to be near my kitchen while I try new recipes. In which case... nevermind.)

I am working on a real (and if we're lucky, angsty) post but right now my head is rather shoved into my ass so it's more incoherent than usual AND I should be wrapping Christmas presents AND I should be doing my Christmas cards, but, I don't wanna, so, anyway, I am going to share my latest cooking adventure with you. So there.

Monday night's endeavor was a batch of chocolately cherry cookies. Unlike the sugar cookies, these were not some time-honored family recipe. They are out of a magazine I bought in line at the grocery store while buying powdered sugar for said sugar cookies cause I effed up the frosting. They looked super easy and kind of interesting so I figured, what the hell? Tis the season to bake and give shit away so it doesn't all land on my ass, so, Operation New Recipe began.

Well, first off, the batter is really bitchy. Like, I don't even know. Cocoa powder? Apparently really freaking messy. It just poofs everywhere and leaves a chocolately residue which you THINK sounds like a good thing but it's not. And then trying to mix it up was a challenge cause I could hear my poor trusty Kitchen-Aid handheld mixer practically huffing and puffing (like I do after I try to run more than, say, a block) because the mixture is incredibly bitchly thick.

Once I got through that, I figured it was a piece of cake (no baking pun intended) from there.

Then... the frosting. Oh, God, the frosting.

I apparently can't read directions... or something. Every single recipe I've ever made that involves chocolate chips uses the whole damn bag. So I dump it into a saucepan, dump on the condensed milk, and wait for it to melt. And wait and wait. And then a little lightbulb goes off in my head and I peer back at my propped open magazine... I was supposed to use HALF the bag and HALF the can of condensed milk. Oops. Now, this would be no big deal... except it made an unholy amount of frosting. It would be wasteful to throw it out. So, I kind of backed myself into a corner of making another batch. No biggie, I had the stuff.

Batter went better the second time around. First batch baked. Wasn't sure how to tell if they were done. The time given was insufficient, I can tell you that much. The amount of icing I ended up with? Yeah pretty much would have been enough for eight batches. Makes me wonder how much I would have ended up had I actually bothered to pay attention to the recipe.

Anyway I ran out of cherries so I couldn't make a third, fourth, or seventh batch. That, and I should probably place a moratorium on baking until I (a) get rid of some of this stuff or (b) find more containers. I don't even know where to PUT anything.

That being said, here are my photos from the Almost Fail Cookies (tm) and this recent baking experience.

Turd balls on a sheet.

Cherry pockets.

Mmm, frosting. Way. Too. Much. Frosting.

They tasted all right. Not earth-shattering awesome, but acceptably delicious.*

Oops. This guy is a little exposed.

This is how much frosting I used for only two batches.

I was being very generous with the second batch, at that.

Also: I still haven't changed my stove clock since daylight savings time. Oops.

*EDIT: after they fully cooled down, these were really fucking tasty. Just so you know. I'd give you the recipe but then I'd have to get up and go look for it. So maybe another time.

I Think It Might Be Blaspheming To Call This a Christmas Miracle, But I Might Anyway

GUYS MY BOOTS MY BOOTS MY LOVELY SNOWBOOTS ARE HEEEEEERE!

I haven't had snowboots since I was a kid. They were accompanied by snowpants. Which I hated. You know what else I hate? The smell of wet snowpants when all the kiddies come in from recess. It's a wretched, wretched smell. I even hated it when I was a kid, which I think is probably weird.

Anyway. I ordered them after Snowmageddon #1 and then it snowed a lot again and I continued to wear my damn sparkly ballet flats because I am a moron and I do own other shoes but sometimes I am too lazy to tie things in the morning, OKAY, so it wasn't a problem except that I had to chisel a sheet of ice off my car this morning and it was a hundred degrees below zero (approximately) and I was actually lamenting my lack of gloves more than my inappropriate footwear, but tonight when I was driving home from belt testing (which I actually feel good about, we shall see) I was like "dammit my Snowboots better be on my porch when I get home" but of course that was ridiculous because I just ordered them on Friday and they didn't ship til Saturday and they went USPS which means it would have had to have been nothing short of miraculous if they arrived.

Then I checked my mailbox and I dropped my electric bill down into the ginormous, knee-high snowbank that I had to trudge through to retrieve and my legs were cold and snowy and I cursed my lack of snowboots and then I went inside and LO! ON MY STAIRS! A parcel!

I had also ordered some Christmas presents so I had to see if it came from Amazon or the Boot People (I didn't want to get my hopes up.) The Boot Fairies. The magical, wonderful Boot Fairies.

And they were my boots and I did a happy dance and I ran up into my apartment and I put them on and they fit and were fuzzy inside and warm and I may or may not have worn them around my entire apartment and baked cookies in them and did dishes in them and all but snuggled them.

I am excited to wear them outside. Except I have a client meeting tomorrow. So I have to dress nice. So I should probably wear (bring) real shoes.

NOT ballet flats.

Probably.

Cookiethon 2009

So, it's not the holidays without excessive baking. In particular, it is not Christmas without sugar cookies. Not just ANY sugar cookies, mind you, but the sugar cookies I grew up with that are ridiculously bad for you and ridiculously delicious.

I forgot how much of a pain in the ass they are to make. I started Friday night, finished a batch Saturday, baked the last batch on Sunday, and am still dragging my feet on finishing them (icing and decorating, to be specific). Still, they're totally worth it when they're done. I'm just not sure any cookies should merit random bursts of obscene words.

Because I'm lame, I took pictures of various cookie bits... with my phone... which got some flour in the rollerball... which actually seemed to make it work a little better... go figure. So the quality is shit but you can get the idea.

Also, apparently, I am the keeper of an icing recipe that my friend Calee desperately wants. Muahaha. (She's not getting it at least until I get the hat she made me.) I didn't realize it was such a valuable formula. #powertrip

Anywho. I've got a couple more recipes I would like to try out, so I'll likely have a few more batches yet before I hang up the apron, but, we're off to a good start.

And yes, I am blogging about cookies because I don't want to blog about my feelings or any other similar shit because I am in a Mood and I will probably just turn into an emotional headcase as per usual.

red & white cookies

Pretty swirl design as the blue frosting came into being

AAAaaa! Frosting everywhere!

Shiny pretty blue cookies.

A sampling of the finished products.