So Let Me Carry On This You Sit Back And Vomit

Oh stomach, why must
you be so volatile? The
vomit needs to stop.

As for my achy
joints and feverish brow: you
are not welcome here.

Though I have to say,
the appearance of my hip
bones is a bonus.

Fools In Their Madness All Around Know That The Light Don't Sleep

To say that I do not cope well with stress is not entirely accurate as it implies that I cope to a certain degree.

This week has been a mishmash of various stresses (lessons learned this week: occasionally a key employee will get sick at an extremely inopportune time hence, backup plans should be in place as trial and error is not the best method when it comes to learning how to do a company's year end financials; Wolfgang is a lying bastard and should not be trusted when he acts all housebroken and obedient (fluids to hit my sheets this week: vomit x 1 and pee x 2); eating ice cream for dinner will not make you feel better, especially if eaten while watching skinny bitches on America's Next Top Model.)

Throw in a nightly wakeup call from Wolfgang (hereafter referred to as Whiny Asshole) a week of rainy weather and you get a very shouty Hillary. (You get an especially shouty Hillary if you let Whiny Asshole play on the bed, even though you were left explicit instructions to not let him play on the bed due to his inability to keep his bodily fluids to himself, as evidenced by the giant puddle of pee found on the bed last night.)

Calling this week "rough" is a gross understatement.

However. In an hour I will leave the office. In two hours I will be at home, barbecuing burgers (rain be damned!) and watching the hockey game with friends. And in roughly 8 hours? I will be asleep in my (hopefully!) pee-free bed. This week kicked my ass but it's Friday now, which means gin-yes, stress-no.

I Am Just Your Ordinary Average Every Day Sane Psycho

My rough week continues and the only thing making me smile is these effers:

I especially love how Stella is all "whatever" and Wolfgang is all "where did the ground go?" I would also like to point out Wolfgang's freakishly long legs. He is almost as tall as Stella but weighs less than half of her weight. He is the definition of lanky.

In this shot the puppies are using their Jedi Mind Tricks to try to get me to drop the peanut butter treat I'm holding.

And in this one Wolfgang has given up on me ever dropping the treat and is leaping into the air (I'm not kidding - he can jump three times his height) to try to snatch it out of my hand. I love the crazy eyes.

This week has been madness but it's been nice to be able to come home each night and snuggle with Shawn and the pups, who simultaneously make me sane and drive me batshit crazy (case in point: I was cuddling the pups on the bed last night, watching tv (ANTM: was I the only one who fast forwarded through Celia's moment of pure stupidity? It was just so awkward. I couldn't take it.) Wolfgang was being particularly cute and melting my heart. And then he vomited all over the duvet. And my head melted.)

And We Each Have Our Own Set Of Stars To Comfort And Guide Us

Rough week = comfort food. Fact.

In the frying pan I've got 1 large onion (diced), 3 stalks celery (chopped), and about 5 cloves garlic (minced) frying away in a few tablespoons of olive oil. In the pot I've got 3 russet potatoes (peeled and quartered) boiling with a teaspoon of sea salt and 4 or 5 cloves garlic (smashed.)

After the onions, celery and garlic have softened, I added a package of extra lean ground beef. After it browned sufficiently, I added roughly 1 cup of frozen peas, a can of corn (rinsed), approximately a teaspoon of salt and about a tablespoon of dried basil. I let that cook for a few minutes and then dumped in a can of tomato sauce.

Once the potatoes were cooked I drained them, added a few tablespoons of butter and milk, and mashed them.

The meat goes into the casserole dish first, followed by the potatoes. Sprinkle paprika on top (I don't know why. Cottage pie is like potato salad - it has to have paprika sprinkled on top or it's just not the same.)

Bake at 375 degrees Fahrenheit for about half an hour, or until the potatoes get nice and crispy on top.

For maximum comfort results, after eating cottage pie finish your meal with an ice cream sandwich. Or two.

Every Morning There's A Halo Hangin' From The Corner Of My Girlfriend's Four Post Bed

Yesterday was a rough day. I cried at work, which makes me feel like a major douche (though really, it was only the second time I've cried at work and if you compare that to the number of times I've felt like crying at work, it's pretty impressive.) I just felt like shite yesterday and work was really overwhelming and my boss was being a persnickety bastard and then my head melted. Mondays consistently kick my ass.

I managed to get through the day and jump on the train (I got to sit beside a crying baby for half an hour, lucky me) and walk home (through the rain. Of course it was raining! Of course I forgot my umbrella! I love Monday!) I had a pretty impressive funk on by the time I got to my mailbox.

And then my day turned around.

Remember when I did that poll a while back and I couldn't get "answer 5" to disappear and a bunch of cheeky people picked "answer 5" even though it didn't mean anything? And then remember how I told everyone that picked answer 5 that they should send me a present? MERMANDA DID!

Mermanda sent me the most random and hilarious package I have ever received in my entire life. I would like to document it fully here but I don't think I could do it justice so I'll just share the highlights:

First of all, who doesn't love a little Mark McGrath? I don't know why Mermanda has Mark McGrath stickers but it doesn't surprise me. And now I have a Mark McGrath sticker. I will cherish it forever.

Mermanda understands my love for the double L.

Chocolate! This made me laugh extra hard because of the "Chocolat / Chocolate" bit in I Love You, Man (speaking of which, Paul Rudd was on Craig Ferguson last night and it was freaking hilarious. Seriously, go see this movie.)

And my personal favourite: an Obama sticker. Mermanda told me to stick it to a puppy and I tried, but then Stella grabbed it from me and chewed the corner off.

So sad.

In conclusion: Mondays = suck and Mermanda = excellent. The end.

All The World's Indeed A Stage And We Are Merely Players

I saw I Love You, Man last night and I almost peed myself laughing. Paul Rudd + Jason Segel + Andy Samberg = pure comedy gold. There's one bit ("I slap the bass") that made me laugh so hard I thought I was going to vomit.

I wasn't even going to go last night because I'm not someone who usually enjoys movies (I know, right? Shawn is constantly quoting Dane Cook whenever I refuse to go see a movie, 'Who doesn't like movies? Who has ever said, "Hey, you wanna go see a movie?" "Fuck that and fuck your movies! It’s ridiculous, the whole idea of it! It’s just wrong and fake and no!"') I'm so glad I went though because I'm still laughing today.

Also, Jason Segel's character has a puggle and every time they showed it I would start laughing because it looked so much like Stella. Not as cute as Stella, of course, but still very similar.

Apart from the two vomit scenes and the Rush aspect (I'm sorry, Geddy Lee = annoying) it was probably the best movie I've seen in a while. Which isn't saying much, seeing as I don't even remember the last movie I saw in theatre. I think it was Marley & Me and I only went because Shawn's mom really wanted to see it and it was Christmas so I was feeling all charitable and shit.

Anyway. It's Monday. My brain is fried. That's all I've got.

One Thing I Can Tell You Is You Got To Be Free

My aunt believes in Healing Touch and prayer circles and the power of positive thinking. I'm not sure what I believe in but I do know this: my aunt is one of the coolest chicks I know (uhh, this is a different aunt than the one who tried to dictate my wedding flowers.) 

Tonight I'm going to follow her lead and try some of that positive thinking. 

Charming Bitch is a fucking rockstar. She is generous and selfless and life keeps kicking her in the lady bits. She's in the hospital right now and could use a lot of positive thoughts or prayers or whatever it is you believe in. If anyone deserves a fucking break, it's her.

I Am Dreaming Of A Michigan Girl

Friday Faff: Queasy Edition

I am incapable of making chili for two people. I try to limit myself but by the time I get the meat and beans and all the veggies in there, I've got enough chili to feed at least ten people. I hate freezing chili because the veggies always end up a bit manky once they defrost, so instead, Shawn and I eat chili for every meal until we're sick of it.

Whenever we've got a disgusting amount of chili leftovers to plow through, Shawn asks if I can make him a Michigan. I had never heard of Michigans until I met Shawn (he was born in Quebec and sometimes he is very East Coast.) A Michigan is a hotdog topped with chili and onions. It does not appeal to me at all.

However, another bowl of chili did not appeal to me either, so last night we made Michigans.


It didn't start well. I've barbecued hotdogs before but never cooked them on the stove. Shawn said the hotdogs had to be boiled or it wouldn't be a legitimate Michigan.

So the hotdogs were boiled. This took one pot.

I reheated the chili in another pot.

Then Shawn said we needed to figure out a way to steam the buns, or else they wouldn't be true Michigans. So I dug out the pot I use to steam vegetables, which is actually 3 parts - 2 pots + a lid.

So at this point we're up to 4 pots and a lid, plus the chopping board and knife for the onions and the grater for the cheese. That is way too many dishes for what is basically a fastfood dinner.

If they tasted good or were good for you, I might not have minded all the fuss that went into making them. However, Michigans taste like ass and are completely unhealthy. Last night's dinner was a massive fail.

AND when I googled Michigans today, I found out that true Michigans don't even have cheese.

Moral of the story: Quebec may have given us poutine but its culinary contributions should not be trusted. I don't know why I didn't learn that after trying tourtiere.

I Can Do Without You, Know What I Mean

Dear Wolfgang,

In order to make life easier for both of us, I feel I should clarify a few things with you.

First of all, the next time you pee on my bed, you're headed back to the farm from whence you came. I am not kidding. The first few times it happened I let it go with minimal angst. You were very young and very tiny and I was stupid for expecting you to have the bladder capacity of Stella. I instigated a No Wolfgang on the Bed rule and life returned to normal.

Over the last month, we've made great strides in the housebreaking department. You have had fewer accidents and finally seemed to realize that peeing outside = peanut butter treats and extra love. Life was getting good, Wolfgang, for both of us.

Until last night. Last night you were allowed to play with Stella on the bed while I read my book.

And you peed.

On the bed.

This has got to stop. If you can't grasp this simple concept (bed = no pee) you will be confined to your crate (aka the one place you have not yet peed in.)

Which brings me to my next point. Your crate is your safe place. It is spacious and comfortable and has an assortment of blankets and toys. The rule is that you go into your crate when we go to bed, seeing as you can't be trusted to not pee all over the damn place. This means that when you need to pee during the night, I have to get up to let you out. Which I don't mind doing at all. I understand that you're small and you have a small bladder and you need to have a nighttime pee. What I don't understand is why you felt the need to wake me up at 1am, 3am, and 6am this morning. You managed to squeak out a bit of pee at 1am and 3am (and then immediately run to the treat container for your reward) but by 6am you had given up the ruse. When I opened your crate, you didn't run to the door but instead ran to your food bowl and wagged your tail. You're cute Wolfgang, but you're not that cute.

Next week you will be six months old. Two weeks after that, you are having the operation that I'm hoping will solve all of our pee woes. I'm not sure what I will do if you continue to mark your territory after the operation. Most likely, I will cry a lot and write nasty letters to you on the internet. Scary, I know.

Love (though I am discovering that my love for you is conditional),
Mama

Stab You From The City Spires

Last week, Mary left a comment on one of my pityriasis rosea posts, asking about my experience. When I tried to reply, I got the "noreply-comment@blogger.com" (hate HATE the noreply-comment) and her Blogger profile is unavailable.

So.

Mary, if you're reading this and would like to talk to me about pityriasis rosea, email me at ninjahills at gmail dot com.

In other "noreply-comment@blogger.com"/unavailable profile news, Tina took offence to my review of Chris Cornell's craptastic new album. I would just like to point out to Tina that I didn't judge it on just one song (hey remember that time that I said that I listened to the whole album?) I'm judging the album on the level of awesomeness that I've come to expect from Chris Cornell based on his previous work. It's disappointing when an artist you admire and respect sells out. If I had been able to email you, Tina, I would have asked how long you've been a Chris Cornell fan. For his newer fans, maybe this departure from his earlier work isn't as disappointing as it is for the fans who have been following him for years. Whatever, we're all allowed to have our own opinions and we're all allowed to voice them. Especially when we're voicing them on our own blogs and not hiding behind semi-anonymity.

Wow, so I'm not sure if this needs to be said or if it's painfully obvious, but I did not get enough sleep last night and I am feeling stabby today. Only ... 7 more hours until I can go home and put on my pyjamas.

You Made My Blood Run Cold And Filled Me Up With Sorrow

Dear Chris Cornell,

I was only fifteen when Soundgarden broke up; too young to fully understand the significance of such an event. Truth be told, at that time I could probably only name one of your songs ("Black Hole Sun" obviously.) I'm told that you attempted a solo career after Soundgarden - a move I am glad I was blissfully unaware of. It was not a successful attempt and you soon ditched your efforts at becoming a solo artist to form Audioslave with the boys from Rage Against the Machine. It was during this time that I realized your genius. Audioslave's music was pure, the lyrics were inspired and your voice was amazing. Audioslave remains one of my favourite bands of all time.

Seven short years, and three albums, later Audioslave disbanded due to "irresolvable personality conflicts as well as musical differences." Which was disappointing but understandable - bands break up all the time. The fact that you were planning another solo release helped ease the pain of Audioslave's demise. Until I actually heard your solo album and it was mediocre at best, boring and pointless if we're being honest.

Which brings us to your latest solo effort.

You teamed up with Timbaland for this record, which is a funny choice for a rocker. I mean, I will admit to being a sort-of-a-little-bit-I-guess Timbaland fan. I enjoy listening to the music he produces for Justin Timberlake and Nelly Furtado, but I don't think I could name anything he's done on his own. And that type of music isn't the music I listen to for enjoyment - it's the music I have on my "get off your ass and exercise, fatty!" playlist on my ipod (yes, it's really called that.)

Your latest solo album was released last week and immediately the controversy started when Trent Reznor Twittered, "You know that feeling you get when somebody embarrasses themselves so badly YOU feel uncomfortable? Heard Chris Cornell's record?" (Which, I'm not going to lie, I thought was effing hilarious.)

After reading your cutting response ("What do you think Jesus would twitter?") I had to go out and buy your album to decide for myself. My conclusion after listening to the whole album (though my ears were begging me to turn it off midway through the first track. Let me just emphasize that - FIRST TRACK), is that you are either a completely clueless d-bag or an evil genius. I can't decide which.

Your latest solo album sounds like a Britney Spears album that you're singing on. Where are the guitars? Where is the grunge? WHERE IS THE ROCK?

The rock is lost, along with your dignity.

I could forgive your foray into pop music if it was good pop music. Like I said, I'm not a huge Justin Timberlake fan but I do listen to his music when I'm in a certain mood (a fat mood. Shut up.) However, I'm sad to say that there is not a single track on your album that I like enough to put on my workout playlist. Your new songs are upbeat and have catchy rhythms but in the wrong way. For example, I have had the chorus from your first track (you know, the song that made me want to stop listening to the album) stuck in my head all day. The chorus that goes, "That bitch ain’t a part of me. No that bitch ain’t a part of me. I said no that bitch ain’t a part of me. No that bitch ain’t a part of me." So you see, memorable just for the wrong reasons.

Chris Cornell, that sound you hear? Is Tom Morello laughing. Hysterically.

Love,
A Former Fan

The Strange Days Have Come And You're Gone

Wow, I did not mean to leave my pity post up for so long. Sorry, dudes.

I slept a lot this weekend and all of a sudden I don't feel so crazy. Funny how that works.

Saturday morning was pretty rough, trying to wrangle the two puppies while getting ready for K's baby shower. Wolfgang managed to jump out of the bathtub while I was grabbing his towel, and then ran around dripping water everywhere. On the way down to my car, Stella had an accident in the lobby and of course I had nothing to clean it up with so I had to take Wolfgang's blanket out of his crate and use it. I managed to get both the pups in the car and drove up to the garbage room to dispose of the soiled blanket. Let me tell you, driving a stick shift with one hand while holding a blanket of poop in the other hand was a new low for me.

We made it to my parents' house in one piece and I put Stella in the back yard to run around with my parents' dog. It was a very rainy day and the patio was soaked and slippery. Stella took a sharp turn and ended up skidding across the patio ... and stood up favouring her back leg and shaking. At which point I may have had a bit of a meltdown because seriously, I cannot take any more puppy drama, especially half an hour before the guests were due to arrive.

My dad stepped in to save the day. He brought Stel in and washed the mud off her. By the time he let her out of the sink, she was walking around with no problem. I think she scared herself more than anything because she hasn't been favouring her leg or limping at all.

Stella is so impressed with my parents' new extra-deep laundry tub

After that, everything was great. The shower was fun. The games weren't too lame. Everyone appreciated their prize of cock soup (yeah I did!) K lives up in the Okanagan so I don't get to see her often enough. It was so nice to spend the afternoon with her and her adorable son (who, apart from having a serious tantrum over not being allowed a third cupcake and feeding Stella a chocolate Easer egg (I got it away from her before she made it through the candy coating), behaved like a champ.)

The rest of my weekend involved a lot of sleeping and it was fabulous. I don't feel exhausted today and I have to say, it's a strange and wonderful feeling.

You Won't Have To Worry Yourself Sick Til You're Blue In The Face

Friday Faff: Edition of No Substance

The puppies are causing me to fret.

Last weekend I took Stella to the vet for her annual visit. She weighed in at 21lbs, which we soon discovered was all muscle when it took me plus two others to hold her down for her vaccinations. She got her boosters and the rabies vaccine and deworming medication (and I waved goodbye to $121 ... stupid expensive vet visit) and then didn't poop for two days. And I was all fretty fret fret on Twitter (ps: thanks Charming Driver, you made me feel less twitchy.)


I was hesitant to take her to the vet because she wasn't in any pain, her energy level was the same as it always is, and she was drinking and eating normally. Also, after she got the rabies vaccine last year she developed a giant lump on her back. And I spent $40 to have my vet tell me that lots of dogs react strangely to the vaccine and that unless Stella is swollen around the face and having difficulty breathing, she's fine and it will pass. I set a poop deadline and if nothing happened before it, I would take her to the vet. Fortunately she beat my deadline and everything is fine.

However.

Wolfgang upped his game this week. It doesn't matter what time we feed him or what time we take his water dish away. It doesn't matter that we're feeding him food with the highest protein percentage available or that we're feeding him the largest amount recommended for his weight. The little stinker refuses to sleep through the night. Lately he's not just waking up once a night, either. Last night he cried on three separate occasions, loud enough and long enough to wake me up completely. The first time he needed a pee. The second and third time he ran over to his empty food dish, tail wagging hopefully. I don't feed him when he wakes up during the night. I don't want to encourage his rotten, demanding behaviour. Wolfgang will not finagle a midnight snack out of me. I'm tired, though. I'm tired to the bone today and no amount of coffee will change that.

The situation is exacerbated by the fact that I don't have Shawn's help this week. He's doing an intensive training program this week, capped off by a five hour exam on Saturday, so it's been my job to help lessen his load. It means that I am in charge of the puppies and I am attempting to keep food in the fridge and clean underwear in our drawers, and I really don't mind it, I don't. I just want to sleep through the night, just once. It's been so long.

I'm overwhelmed and I feel like a dork for being this anguished by two little puppies. How will I ever be a mother if I can't even handle taking care of pups? I'm assuming that babies are more labour-intensive than puppies and I cannot adequately describe just how deeply that scares me.

This wasn't supposed to be a poor-me post. I wanted to talk about how scandalized I was by your comments on my family shenanigans post (Nilsa, I was shocked when I read yours. You made your brother eat dog poop? I am surprised he still speaks to you!) And I wanted to thank you for your baby shower game suggestions. Ms. B, I am totally stealing your Who's Your Mama idea. Oh and Racquel? Your comment made my day. My plan for tonight is to watch the hockey game and make cupcakes. If that doesn't beat my grumpy mood into submission, I don't think anything will.

Happy Friday, lovelies! Stay out of trouble.

There's Clouds In My Shower Ghosts In My Arms

It seems that getting knocked up is the cool thing to do lately. (Seriously, I could have linked to a million more people. I can't believe how many babies are currently brewing. Then I thought I'd start linking to people who aren't actually pregnant, because how funny would that be? But then I got lazy. So. Onwards.)

I'm throwing a baby shower for my dear friend, K, on Saturday and have no idea what hosting a baby shower entails. I thought I'd bake a bunch of cupcakes and provide a location for people to come and lavish K with gifts. I didn't realize that I'd have to provide entertainment as well. (For me, cupcakes = entertainment. What can I say, I'm easy to please.)

I've been frantically searching the Internet for non-lame baby shower games (no really, I googled "non-lame baby shower games") but guess what I found? LAME BABY SHOWER GAMES. I am uninterested in anything that has to do with guessing which chocolate bar has been melted into a diaper. I am equally uninterested in pinning anything on anything (whether it be a baby in a belly or diaper pins on your sweater (also, I do not understand the point of the diaper pins on your sweater game. Surely there must be more to it than just pinning diaper pins on your sweater, right?).) As far as guessing K's weight or the circumference of her belly goes, I just want to say that I value my friendship with K and would like it to continue past this weekend.

The only games that have appealed to me so far are the Celebrity Baby Names game (where you match the crazy baby name with the celebrity parent) and Baby Price is Right (where you have to guess the price of certain baby items.) Both seem to be a bit intense though, as far as preparation goes, and I'm hoping to not devote a lot of time to this shower. I know, I'm a rotten friend. I just don't have a lot of free time this week and I was hoping to spend the free time that I do have, watching the Canucks games (there's 3 this week. 3! On top of all the other tv I watch! It's madness. Oh and speaking of the other tv I watch + madness: really Tyra? The goddess of fierce? Really?)

Then there's the prizers. Prizes! People are coming to my house (well, my mom's house but only because it's way bigger than mine) to eat my food and I have to give them presents. What the eff is that about? Obviously I think the prizes should be cock soup but I don't know how appropriate that would be at a baby shower. K would love it but I don't know if her grandma will.

Anyway.

If you've ever had a baby shower, or planned a baby shower, or attended a baby shower, and played some non-lame games, please let me know. Also, I'm sorry if I've offended anyone by labelling their favourite baby shower game as lame. But if you think the melted chocolate bar in the diaper game is non-lame, I'm sorry to tell you that you're wrong. It is so lame, it should be banned.

Just Beat It Beat It Beat It Beat It No One Wants To Be Defeated - Take 3

After last month's borscht debacle, Alice commented with a beet preparation method she had recently tried (and liked.) Her method was to peel and cube the beets, toss with olive oil, vinegar and sea salt, and then roast them. Peeling and cubing the beets before roasting allegedly results in a less beety flavour. Now, I like Alice. I also really like the combo of vinegar and sea salt. I'd like to be able to say that Alice's beets rock but that would be a dirty lie. All I can say is that Alice's beets sucked less than February's borscht and January's whole-roasted beets.

The trick is to serve the beets with a lot of other foods that you can use to mask the flavour. Gravy helps.

Last week, Lisa asked what food smell you would want to smell like, if you had to smell like it forever. Her post makes much more sense than my last sentence does. Anyway, after concluding that I would like to smell like either limes or rosemary, I decided that I would want Shawn to smell like roast chicken. And then I couldn't stop thinking about roast chicken. I'm crazy like that.


So I made a roast chicken. The trick is to make a mixture of butter (it has to be real butter, none of this margarine crap), lemon zest and finely chopped fresh rosemary. Then you sort of peel the chicken skin up away from the meat and massage the butter mixture up in there. It is disgusting and slimy and suggestive and you're welcome for not posting photos. Anyway, the magic mixture makes the meat really moist and flavourful and the skin really crisp (if you eat skin. Which I don't. But it looks good!) I stuff the cavity with a whole head of garlic and lemon slices for good measure. And now I want roast chicken again, dammit.

the magic mixture

In other chicken news, I found this in the ethnic food aisle of my grocery store:

It should be noted that the badge in the lower-left corner identifies the soup mix as a product of Canada.

Cock soup: it's what's for dinner. This will never get old.

You Left Some Stars In My Belly

Friday Faff: Contracts, Cakes, Creepiness and Cuteness Edition

Without going into too much detail, my employment situation is as follows:
I went for three interviews with the new company and was offered the job on Monday. I was working on a ridiculously long pros & cons list until my current boss increased my salary by 25% to entice me to stay. One of the new job's cons was the pay cut so it was an easy decision to make. If Shawn's situation was more stable, or if he hadn't just taken a pay cut, the decision would have been more difficult to make but for now I'm a sellout and I'm okay with it.

Wolfgang agrees.

Last week Shawn and I made a list of luxuries we would need to do without if I were to take the job with the lower salary. Talking about how we're going to spend my raise (after we take care of a little thing called Credit Card Debt) is much more fun. At the top of my list? Laser eye surgery. To which Shawn replied, "Fuck laser eye surgery. Let's get lasers!" How could I argue with that?

Wolfgang would like some laser eye surgery too, please.

Actually, Wolfgang would just like for his stupid asshole puppy teeth to fall out already.
Oh no wait, that's me and my poor, punctured hands.

* * * * *

I have a confession to make: I hate black forest cake. I made the cake because it's my dad's favourite but I didn't actually eat any. I'm not sure if it was tasty or not. I have to admit, I don't think it was as tasty as it looked. Turtle said the frosting made it skanky (but in a loving way) and Shawn said it was too sweet. Bing, I used this recipe.

* * * * *

Thanks for voting in my poll! The Over-Thinker made a surprise comeback last night and I'm taking all the credit. To the 6 cheeky monkeys who voted for Answer 5, I have decided that Answer 5 = send Hillary a present. So. I like chocolate and books and money.

* * * * *

And now for the cuteness! I saved the best for last.

Wolfgang's newest favourite pastime (besides chewing hands and air-humping) is to lie on my legs and have his tummy rubbed.

Wolfgang has a very difficult life.

He becomes very annoyed when I stop rubbing. You can just file that under "sounds dirty but isn't intended as such."

Rub mah bellllyyy, woman!

Happy Friday everyone!

Baby Come Back You Can Blame It All On Me

I actually wrote this post yesterday but then remembered that it was time for another monthiversary post. So I wrote a letter to Shawn and accidentally posted it with the Over-Thinker poll. It was all kinds of awesome. So if you caught it before I fixed it, this is what the poll refers to:

Ode to the Over-Thinker (I know it's actually a limerick and not an ode but I don't care. I like saying things are odes to other things; it makes me happy in the pants. Well, not really but it is my blog and if I want to say something is an ode to something, I damn well will.)

There once was a lady named Thinker
Who left and my heart did a sinker
My heart has turned black
I hope she comes back
Come on lady, don't be a stinker!



PS - this is the first poll I've ever done and I can't make "Answer 5" disappear. Don't judge me.

Carbon's Anniversary The Parting Of The Sensory - 7

Dear Shawn,

Happy 7 Monthiversary!

The last month has been the most difficult month of our marriage so far. You lost your job while I was in the process of deciding whether or not to leave mine. It was difficult to see you feeling so blue, especially since you are definitely the more positive one in this relationship. And then to top it all off, you got sick with the Flu of Doom and then passed it on to me.

We got through it though, relatively unscathed. My employment situation is officially resolved and my head has stopped melting. You started your new job on Monday and even though you don't love it yet, I'm hopeful that you will soon.

Life is slowly returning to normal.

This past month has made me really appreciate how calm you manage to make me feel. We both know I'm a tad emotive (understatement of the year!) and I while I won't admit to overreacting, I will agree that I tend to react strongly to situations. The upheaval we experienced in the last month would normally send me spinning but you managed to keep me steady. Sure there was stress and a few tears and a few brain-meltingly frustrating moments, but there was also laughter and poutine and homemade chicken soup.

We survived the last month and I can't wait to kick next month's ass with you.

Love you.

Hillary

Crumb By Crumb In This Big Black Forest

A lot has happened in the last week but my flu-addled brain is still in processing mode. In lieu of a real post, I'm posting photos of the Black Forest Cake I made for my Dad's 65th birthday this weekend (well, technically it was his 16 & 1/4th birthday because he was born on February 29th.)

Start with 2 chocolate cakes, cut in half to create 4 rounds

Sprinkle the cut sides with a mixture of Kirsch and the juice from a tin of sour cherries

Make a mocha butter cream frosting

Whip a shameful amount of cream

Layer the cakes with the frosting and the drained cherries

Cover in whipped cream

Top with chocolate shavings

and candles!

Attempt to serve aesthetically pleasing slices, give up when the cake starts to collapse

Happy Birthday, Dad!