There is nothing that sucks more than feeling useless.

Especially when you're a parent who feels useless.

You kittens might be wondering what I'm feeling useless about...

After the last few nights (and a few nights a week during the past month) of Erflet waking up screaming, shaking, and inconsolable - I did what any parent would do. I Bing'd it.

Night terrors, that is.

Like the good mother of a newborn I was, I read the What To Expect books. The pregnancy one, the first year one, and the toddler years one. Back when I had time to read a book and it wasn't a few pages here and there while I was on the commode.

By the way, Erflet thinks it's hilarious to come into the bathroom while I'm laying a deuce and mock me by saying, "Can't I poop in peace?" He's his mother's son.

Anywho, there was a mention of night terrors - to which I paid ZERO attention, obviously. Mommy fail. Some part of my post-partum frazzled baby spitup coated brain must have stored it, though, because I remembered what they were called long enough to type it into the browser.

Kidshealth.org describes night terrors thus:

"Night terrors typically occur about 2 or 3 hours after a child falls asleep, when sleep transitions from the deepest stage of non-REM sleep to lighter REM sleep, a stage where dreams occur. Usually this transition is a smooth one. But rarely, a child becomes agitated and frightened - and that fear reaction is a night terror.

During a night terror, a child might suddenly sit upright in bed and shout out or scream in distress. The child's breathing and heartbeat may be faster, he or she might sweat, thrash around, and act upset and scared. After a few minutes, or sometimes longer, a child simply calms down and returns to sleep."

Holy balls, have these bastards been watching in my windows? This has been happening for the last month (also, yay for mommy guilt, because these began occurring around the same time we moved and so now I feel responsible)(fuck. me.) at least a few times a week and has happened the last three nights in a row.

And there's nothing I can do - he has to 'outgrow' them. My little sister apparently got to the point of running out of the house and punching and kicking people during her night terrors. Great. And, a child has an 80% higher chance of experiencing night terrors if a family member has had them!

On a brighter note, Erf, Erflet and I are going to go hiking again tomorrow. Between working on my feet, not eating as much as I used to, and hiking/walking/swimming, I'm beginning to lose some weight. I say that as I sit here eating half a pint of Ben and Jerry's Mud Pie ice cream.

You know what would be awesome? If I were a size 14 again. I was at my ideal weight when I was a size 14, because I'M SIX FUCKING FEET TALL. Yes, I am tall enough to enter America's Top Model, but I will never do that because I would be so tempted to bring in baked goods and get the skinny stick figures with poufy lips all fat and then I'd get kicked out of ATM and I'd laugh and tell my grandchildren the epic story someday.

Also, then I could wear those adorable jeans I've been holding onto for the last 6 years because my big lard ass can't fit into them anymore but I don't want to get rid of them in the hopes that I'll fit into them again someday.

You have those jeans too, don't lie.

It's cheese, it's cake, it's orgasm in a springform.

Let me begin by saying that I never, ever used to like cheesecake.

I know, get your gasps of shock out now.

I think it's because the only cheesecakes I had eaten were either dry as hell (NOT what you want from a cheesecake) or from a box. As a child, the majority of the food I ate came from a box - contributing to my utterly disgusting picky-ness when it comes to food, I'm sure - or it was burned to a crisp. I still can't stand eating chicken that is juicy, because I grew up with dry and overdone chicken. I finally just began eating my steak medium to medium-well, but I'll be fucked by a spork if I can force myself to choke down properly cooked chicken.

Ohai, tangent.

Then I learned to make cheesecake. I'm still mastering the small stuff, but I've been told (by multiple people) that my cheesecakes rival desserts you find in high-end restaurants. By that I mean restaurants rated by stars, not Applebee's or TGIFriday's. Well, I've been told that a lot of my desserts are better than the *cough*pre-cooked/frozen*cough* desserts you find in fine restaurants.

I now consider my own horn tooted.

Here's photographic evidence. :)

I took a photo of the crust/ladyfingers of my tiramisu cheesecake that I made for a local charity auction, but forgot to take a photo of the finished product. Derp.

A.) Ladyfingers are incredibly delicious, and I heart them. B.) Doesn't it look pretty!?

Speaking of pretty, what could be more beautiful than a marriage of chocolate and Irish Cream whiskey? Especially when it's drizzled with bittersweet chocolate... I give you Chocolate Irish Cream cheesecake:

Well, I can't actually give one to you, kittens. If I could, I would! I swear, if any of you come visit me, I'll make you a fabulous dessert! (If that isn't incentive to buy a plane ticket/take a road trip, I don't know what is!)

One of my personal favorites is Cafe Au Lait Cheesecake. Chocolate crust, a layer of mocha filling, and a layer of vanilla filling. Who could ask for more?

This last one isn't a cheesecake, and I fucked up the crust (I converted a pie crust, lmao), but it's my first attempt at a fruit tart...

Blueberry/Strawberry tart with lemon cream cheese filling:

Don't those berries look mouth-wateringly delicious brushed with melted grape jelly? Oooh, shiny!

So, I work in a lab. A lot of our machines produce a fuck-ton of heat. As a result, we worship at the altar of Air Conditioning. The A/C decided to punk out on us sometime between Tuesday night and Wednesday morning. Bitch. Anywho, the lab has been running around 90-100 degrees and the fucking part we need has to be shipped from fucking JAPAN. So we're stuck in the crazy nasty heat for the next week or two. Blech.

I am also getting excited as I have a fun baking project coming up! My BFF's bridal shower is coming up near the end of August, and she asked me to do her shower cake! It's going to be a coconut cake with vanilla filling (possibly vanilla/coconut filling) and vanilla buttercream frosting. I get carte blanche on how it's decorated, what shape, etc. Except she said no lovey-dovey crap. Which is cool, I've been wanting to do a simplistic, modern cake anyhow. It'll be my first attempt at a tiered cake, as well.

Erflet enjoys listening to the radio at night, and likes listening to the local Top 40 station. I just put him to bed, and 'What's Your Fantasy?' by Ludacris was playing when I turned it on.

I am so Mother Of The Year. :)

Food porn and a new template!

So many exciting things to see and salivate over!

I needed a change, kittens, so here it is! A fresh, new and sassy template for you to feast your eyes on.

And speaking of things to feast your eyes on, have I got some food porn to catch up on. Holy schneikes. Chocolate ruffle cake, brownies, and other assorted delicious confections that will make you wish you lived in my kitchen. :)

For now, we'll start with the most beautiful (not to mention challenging) dessert I've made to date. Chocolate Ruffle Cake!

It was sent to me by a gentleman who won a contest at my mom's workplace for a free cake. He wanted to try it, but didn't want to make it himself. So he asked me to make it. It's a chocolate genoise cake filled with chocolate and vanilla creme fraiche and raspberries, brushed with framboise syrup, topped with chocolate ruffles and wrapped in chocolate.

I'll pause for a moment while you go get yourself a towel.

It all starts with the chocolate genoise, of course. It's an easy cake to make, requiring only butter, vanilla extract, flour, cocoa powder, eggs and sugar. The recipe tells you to combine the eggs and sugar in a large, heat safe glass bowl and heat over DIRECT HEAT. Being the dipshit blonde I can be sometimes, I put the glass bowl directly on the burner. Did you know that Pyrex sounds like a gunshot when it explodes? Not to mention how much fun it is to clean sugar/egg mixture from underneath your stovetop. Off to WalMart to buy a new bowl. Aaaaand, take two. This time I put the bowl over a pot of boiling water, and heated the mix to the instructed temperature. Much better. After following the rest of the instructions for the genoise, I pull this pretty, dense and beautifully crumbed cake from the oven:

The most interesting part, in my opinion, was the creme fraiche. It's apparently some sort of delicacy, because you can't find it in a normal grocery store. And rumor has it that if you CAN find it, it's hella expensive. So I searched the intarwebz for a recipe and made my own creme fraiche. (Note to you all; creme fraiche needs to sit at room temperature for about three days before it's ready.) It was a delightful new experience to the tastebuds; thick, creamy, with a sour nutty flavor. Add some sugar and vanilla extract, and it's absolutely delicious once it's whipped:

Once you're ready to fill the cake (seriously, this cake took me four days from start to finish), you torte the genoise into three layers. Then you make the framboise syrup, which consists of water, sugar, and white rum. I KNOW, RIGHT?!

You take an 8" springform pan, line the bottom with parchment paper, and gently put in the bottom layer. Brush it with framboise syrup, then fill it with chocolate creme fraiche. Brush the bottom of the next layer with syrup, and ease it on top of the filling. Then, brush the top and layer with fresh raspberries. Cover the raspberries with vanilla creme fraiche, then brush the bottom of the top layer with syrup. Ease it over the filling, then brush the top with syrup. Refrigerate overnight, loosen the sides of the pan, and this is what you get:

Doesn't look like much yet, but it's gonna be gorgeous! Next, you make the wrap. All you do is spread melted chocolate over parchment paper and carefully press it into the sides. Refrigerate for a few hours until the paper peels away easily. Then top with the remaining creme fraiche and prepared chocolate ruffles, with a single pretty raspberry:

No, I wasn't naked, just in short shorts. :)

Here's what the finished project looks like:

Have you drooled all over your keyboards? I know it was tough for me not to keep a slice for myself. Unfortunately, I didn't get to try any... But they said it was amazing. :) I'm waiting for a special enough occasion to try making this for myself. Or at least to make it for someone who will save me a piece to try. :)

Who would've thought tequila and puff paint would go together?

I've discovered a new talent.

Puff-painting t-shirts. No, really.

Okay, stop laughing. Yes, they still sell puff paint. No, I'm not tragically re-living my youth.

Erf got a work study job at a youth organization at a local rec center, and came home one day with a blank t-shirt that he said he wanted my help decorating. Cause I'm all autistic artistic like that.

He wanted something with 'flames' that looked 'really cool'. So off to the local WalMart to purchase some puff paints and tweezers (because Erflet, for the second time, absconded with my tweezers and had moved them to god knows where).

We put Erflet to bed, and I got to work. Enter some Jeff Dunham's Spark Of Insanity, because I love Peanut.

3/4 of the way through the shirt, my dad knocks at the door. He asks if I want to go and do some shots with him. Um, yeah! But... Can I finish the shirt please?

So he sat down and watched Peanut and Jose Jalapeño with us. ('A condiment?' 'I do not use them.') This is what Erf's shirt looks like:

Pretty cool, huh? I thought I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. So off to a local sports bar we went. Which, hi? Sweet and sour mix is not the same thing as margarita mix. But tequila is tequila... Then I made my big mistake. I told my dad I wanted to do a shot of tequila. I've never shot tequila before, unless you count the shooter of Patron - and let's face it, Patron is in a whole different class from Cuervo. My dad orders two doubles, and orders mine with 'training wheels'. I scoffed. I did a double shot of Jack Daniel's with him WITHOUT A CHASER, didn't I? I could handle tequila. He smiled, and looked at the bartender.

"Serve hers with training wheels."

So after some instruction on how to shoot tequila (apparently, there's such a thing as too much salt), I lick my hand. I apply salt. I shake off the 'too much' salt. I lick my salt-covered hand. I raise the plastic cup (yes, they served the shot in a PLASTIC FUCKING CUP. Ghetto, yo) and shoot the tequila. Midway through, I realize that tequila? Tastes like fucking vomit. Tasting anything remotely vomit-flavored usually triggers my harf-reflex.

I sucked hard on that teeny, tiny lime wedge let me tell ya.

And realized there's still a half a shot in the cup. Shit. My mouth is watering uncontrollably, and I have no clue how I'm gonna taste that again and not vomit. However, the second half-shot wasn't nearly as bad as the first. Perhaps it was the salt. Anywho, I headed home - slightly buzzed, very happy - and did some buzzed intarwebz surfing.

Erf goes to work and comes home with a handful of t-shirts and a box of various colored puff paints.

Guess who got volunteered to decorate shirts without being asked? Yeah, it wasn't Bob Ross. So I thought I'd share photos of my pretty shirts with you, kittens.

I heart this one the most, I think it's wicked.

Yes, I do heart glitter.

Obvs.

I am now going to find a plain t-shirt in my closet and make a shirt that has my blog's tagline across the chest:

"Giving Jesus his money's worth since 1985"

Should I put my blog name and URL on the back, or would that be tacky? What do you think, kittens?

Also, there will be food porn coming soon. I have lots to catch up on, so get ready for some porn-picture heavy posts!

Holy fracking sassafrass. Did I spell sassafrass correctly?

So much shit has been happening, kittens. I scarcely know where to begin.

I had to chide myself this evening when I was IMing with everyone's one and only Aunt Becky, and she had no idea that I had moved.

I fucking suck as a blogger lately. I blame it on a.) an insane work schedule, b.) lack of constant and steady streaming Intarwebz and c.) me just being a lazy bitch.

So, a few weeks ago, Erf, Erflet and I packed up our shit and moved out of our three bedroom apartment in Souptown and moved into a three bedroom house in Dull-uth. The reason sucked. Because of Erf and I losing our jobs last November and my obstinately pig-headed insistence to make my old job work (when obvs, I'm NOT a high-pressure salesperson), we had gone into arrears on our rent. We did get things paid up, but alas started to fall behind again. Not by much, we were paying what we could and would usually end up current within a month. My job only pays me $8.50 an hour, and my ex-coworker - who didn't give a shit if he broke lenses, thereby affecting our breakage 'bonus' pay - really screwed Sam (the lab manager) and I out of money.

Our lease was up at the end of June, and our landlady chose not to renew it. Which, dudes? I totally understand. I would've done the same damn thing. But moving? It sucked. I especially felt terrible moving Erflet AGAIN, when we had just moved into that apartment a year prior. Luckily, he's a hardy little fella, and he loves the new house. We're house sitting for my mom's friend; her mother passed away in May and this was her house. Mom's friend has her own house, and owns this one free and clear. So she needed someone to occupy it. :)

So here we are, and our new place is literally right across the street from McDonald's. And smelling frenchiddy fries from your front yard? IS OF DE DEBBIL. I've managed to abstain thus far, but my tenuous hold on self control can only be greased by spontaneous french fries for so long.

Seriously, do they put crack in the McNuggets and fries? Am I the only one who feels that way?

We also are going to be adopting two adorable dogs; we're fostering them until the shelter's vet has an opening to get them fixed. Then the adoption will become permanent. Kittens, meet Mr. Bill:

And Miss Mya:
Bill is a huge 71 lb ball of lovable kisses and energy, and is a black lab mix... We think he might be mixed with American Staffordshire or something similar, as his ears are docked and his tail is not, as well as the shape of his head and legs. He is Erf's dog, through and through.

Mya is a 9.8 lb ball of snuggles and kisses, and is a Chihuahua mix. I always said I'd never have a fucking chihuahua, because they're all Paris Hilton-y purse dogs. But Mya must be mixed with a terrier of some sort, because she is lap-size and very healthy. And seriously, dudes? I fell in love with her immediately, and she with me. She loves snuggling with me, and sleeps behind my knees every night, and adores car rides where she's on my lap with her head resting in the crook of my elbow. She's got a beautiful brindle coat, too - except for the three white toes on her back left paw. She's quirky, like me.

So that's really about everything up til now, I'd update a little more frequently but I'm leeching Intarwebz from McD's (retribution for the french fry stench) and I don't always have connection to the internet. I'm hoping to get a USB network adapter to boost my signal reception, but the one I want is like $55... Bleh. I need to check Craigslist, note to self....

*off like a prom dress to search Craigslist*

How I got squirted on by (an obviously male) machine.

So I'm sitting here going through my Reader, and I decided that I'd much rather write shit for people to read, than read shit that other people have written. I've got a couple of pretty good stories from work so far, and I thought I'd do the fabulous thing and share them with you.

Not like you have a choice about what I write. So ha. :)

My new job as a lab technician is going swimmingly. My third day on the job I was able to do a pair of glasses, from start to finish - by myself. Wahoo for me! From what everyone has told me, I seem to be smarter than your average bear. Or technician trainee. Whatever. It was kind of hilarious, because as my manager and I were talking about the other trainee, he told me had to keep reminding himself not to compare his progress to mine, because I was way ahead of where I should be.

Someone's going to have to come pop my fucking ego, because my head is too big for me to fit through the damn door. Seriously. I am awesome.

Also? Erf and Erflet are play wrestling in the living room. It is quite distracting, but in a cute, 'father-playing-with-his-son-who-may-randomly-hit-his-father-in-the-nuts' way.

So the whole process involves tracing the glasses, entering the prescription into the computer, lining up the axis, using the metal blocks and alloy machine to block the lenses, using the generator to cut in the prescription, buffing and polishing the lens, adding anti-scratch coating if necessary, blocking the lens again, cutting it to shape, adding UV protection or tint if necessary, then mounting the lens (ha, mounting) into the frames and checking to make sure the glasses are as they should be.

Well, on Thursday I was in the starting station - doing everything up to the generator. And I was trying to block a lens with the alloy machine, I broke the lever. This lever? Not an easy fucker to break. There's a huge spring that I undid or some shit, and the machine had to be taken apart to re-mount the spring. Both Sam and Lucas kept laughing and saying, "We've never seen anyone do that before." Because, apparently? It takes a lot of torque to undo that spring. I am she-woman, hear me roar!

Sam and Lucas proceeded to tease me the next few days about laying off the 'roids. :) FYI, the guys I work with (even though Lucas is a fuckstick and had quit - Saturday was his last day - before I started) are fucking AWESOME. It was mildly amusing when they each said to me, "Let us know if anything we say offends you." Because, ha! I can't recall the last time I found anything offensive. I'm a crude bitch, yo.

The other day I said to Sam, "You know, I do actually like Celine Dion. But, you know, I've got a vagina so it's cool."

The look on his face was priceless. Like he's never heard a female talk that way. Poor sheltered guy. He's in for such a shock. :)

So later that day after breaking the lever, I had left a cooling ring on the alloy machine and the alloy cooled and hardened inside the rubber nipple. (Dudes, I know. This place is full of hilarious and awesome innuendos.) I could not, for the life of me, dig out the alloy. So I did what any true blonde would fucking do. I pulled the lever in the hopes that the alloy would melt the cooled alloy. Apparently, the alloy machine was seeking revenge. It decided to squirt me with shiny, silver, 114 degree metal. Typical male, showing me who was boss by spooging on me.

Apparently even inanimate objects find my tits irresistible. Because that's where it decided to shoot it's load. Right on my chest, and down into my bra. Yeah, I know. Of course Sam and Lucas crack up laughing, and manage to spit out, "We've never seen anyone do that before!"

They say that a lot. To me, anyway.

So I had to go in the bathroom and fish alloy chips out of my tits. I came back in and said, "You know, that's the first time I've ever taken my bra off at work. It was rather awkward."

Yes, kittens! It's a POST!

I know, I've been a terrible, terrible blogger. I haven't updated with regularity, and every post since I got the interwebz was strewn with hostility and a complete and utter lack of humor.

And humor was something you were used to getting from me, kittens. It was something *I* was used to getting from me. But for a while there, I lost it.

I quit my job on Thursday. It felt hella good. It felt like I was getting oral from Gerard Butler while he was offering me diamonds with one hand and chocolate with another. It was delicious, and my tummy was all full of the butterflies. That's not to say that I didn't appreciate the opportunity to learn and grow, but let's face it - when a job nearly makes your husband leave you, it's to the point where it's JUST. NOT. WORTH. IT.

I interviewed for the job on Wednesday morning, and by 3:30 Wednesday afternoon they were calling me to offer me the job... I am going to be a lab technician (doesn't that sound all fucking grown up and shit?) at an optometry place called Eyemart. I'm going to get a white lab coat to wear. One that doesn't make me hug myself all the time! I'm going to be cutting the lenses for glasses and assembling the glasses.

Most importantly, I'm going to have pretty much set hours and I'm going to have a steady paycheck. Because it sucks to have your landlady asking you when you'll be able to pay her SOMETHING towards rent. And having to tell her you didn't know because you didn't know when your next paycheck will be? It was a huge flux from when Erf and I were both in steady, full time jobs and paying our bills with money to spare. I hated it, and it was depressing. And while I know there will still be struggles ahead, I'm looking forward to the time when Erf graduates from school and is able to get a big-boy job, I'll be working full time, and we'll be able to afford a fucking date night now and then.

When I informed my boss of my intentions to terminate my employment, I thanked him for the opportunity and said that he and I both knew that it wasn't working for me. And I didn't (and still don't) feel it's fair to keep working somewhere where it's just not working. He was a good boss. But he looked at me and said, "It's hard for it to work out when you can't give it 100%." And I realized that this was the right choice. 100% means spending more time away from my family than I am willing to, it means sometimes going 3 or 4 days without seeing my son, it means being absent from my marriage... I gave it 100% once. My husband threatened to leave me, my son was having behavioral problems.

Nothing is worth that. Never again.

I like working a set schedule. I like having someone to answer to. I like knowing how much money I'm going to make. If that makes me less of a person in their eyes, than so be it. But I'm happy again for the first time in a long time. I can have tickle fights with my family without being annoyed. I have happily watched my son's behavior problems dissipate.

Yesterday was my birthday, today is Mother's Day. A weekend of celebrating getting myself back. To celebrate being able to have my family begin to reconnect.

I missed me.

Sometimes, we forget.

We forget the little things.

We forget that every action we make is permanent.

We forget that no matter how much we apologize, nothing can ever take back something that hurt someone else.

We forget to tell people when they've hurt us.

We forget to enjoy the sweet baby breaths.

We forget that the laundry/dishes/TV/computer will wait for 10 minutes without irreparable harm while we sit beside our children's bedsides and stroke their hair.

We forget that making the decision to cater first to our families will most likely be the one with the best outcome for our future.

We forget to be faithful to ourselves, even if it's once in a while.

We forget sometimes to balance being faithful to ourselves with being a well-rounded, good person.

We forget to make ourselves happy, and we lose ourselves in the daily grind of trying to eke a living from this crazy, unstable society.

We forget to tell our significant others how much we love and appreciate them.

We forget that it's okay to make dinner from a cardboard box and to serve it on paper plates every once in a while.

We forget that it's important to sit down as a family and share a good meal.

We forget our family.

We forget that while it's great to speak up for yourself, sometimes what you say isn't worth the pain it might cause the person on the other end.

We forget to appreciate the opportunity to shut the fuck up.

We forget to apologize when we underestimate the opportunity to shut the fuck up.

We forget that when Da Momma ain't happy, ain't NOBODY happy.

We forget that sometimes it's okay to lose a fight or two to your children. They need to learn that at one time or another, everyone loses - even Mommy and Daddy.

We forget that it's okay to show our children that we're not perfect.

We forget that it's not always okay to do something just because someone else has done it.

We forget that it's okay to compromise, and that it doesn't always need to be our way or the highway.

We forget to speak up for something or someone when we know in our hearts that it's right.

We forget to speak up when we know in our hearts that something is wrong.

We forget that sometimes, it's our fault and no one else's.

We forget that karma has a way of coming out in the wash.

We forget to pay attention to that little warning bell in the pit of our stomach.

We forget to look at every side of a decision before making it.

We forget that it's not okay to feel this unhappy.

We forget that it's okay to want and expect more of the good things that we deserve.

We forget to give ourselves credit.

We forget that feeling this unhappy, sad, restless and frustrated should be motivation to get up and do something about it.

We forget that we are the ones in control of our own destiny.

We forget that nothing is going to just come to us, we have to go to it.

We forget that things that seem ideal and perfect in the beginning usually reveal themselves to be the complete opposite by the time all is said and done.

We forget that we should be accepted because of who we are, not in spite of it.

Sometimes, kittens, I forget. How about you?

Sugar-coated marshmallow fluffy bits of goodness. And I'm not just talking about last night...

Don't you absolutely hate it when you have a topic to blog about, and then forget what it was once you're at your computer?

That elated feeling of "Oh my gosh, I actually have a really good topic to talk about!" and then the letdown of, "what the fuck was I going to blog about again?"

I've even tried reminding myself via Twitter. I remembered the topic, just not what I was going to say.

As my friend Ooh Law Law would say, "Eff it, give me Doritos."

Speaking of shout outs, I have a long overdue one... But better late than never, yes?

My best friend Dana's mom started a new blog about her new wine club called Wine Timers, where she and some close wine-loving pals get together once a month to try new wines, socialize, and just have some fun! She was kind enough to feature a post about my Chocolate Red Wine Cupcakes, because, DUH. They're chocolate cupcakes with RED WINE IN THEM AND THEY WERE DELICIOUS. So go check out Wine Timers, and perhaps it'll inspire you to begin your own wine-tasting club!

Yesterday I went over to my friend Julie's house... And together with our friend Becca, we were supposed to teach Julie how to bake pies. However, Julie is a wee bit overzealous, and decided making ten pies was a good idea. Ha, yeah. Not so much... There wasn't so much 'teaching' as 'hurrying the fuck up so we weren't baking till 10 pm' going on. We made two french apple pies, two french silk pies, two strawberry cheesecakes, a lemon meringue pie (that turned to fucking soup because the filling didn't firm up), a strawberry rhubarb pie and a banana cream pie. Yeah, I know! I'm crazy tired today, and I still have to clean the kitchen and begin doing crap for tonight's Easter dinner.

Fuck that ham shit, we're making turkey burgers. I hate anything with veins of fat, so I avoid ham. Because, obviously. I'm also making homemade macaroni and cheese (which I have been CRAVING) and corn. And possibly brownies. Because brownies rule. And I may as well stick to the whole comfort food theme. I was going to try making beingets, which are a New Orleans dessert. But they just sounded too mothercocking complicated.

And after spending 8-9 hours baking my fucking ass off yesterday, I am so not in the mood for complicated. I'll be lucky if I get off my ass and take out the trash and wash the damned dishes. Ha. But I kinda have to because my parents are coming over.

Erflet had a good Easter morning, he got two baskets... Was on a sugar high when my BFF Dana came to visit. Good thing he's cute. :) He kind of wore himself out at the grocery store running about, I think. That and the fact that he spent all day yesterday on Julie's son's trampoline. :)

Erf is going back to school tomorrow after having two weeks off for spring break. He's kind of nervous as he's got more classes this semester along with a math course. We both suck at math. He had fun at Julie's yesterday, too... He actually came out of his shell, I was so proud!

I'm going back to running shows tomorrow... Out of the marketing room, back to the real money-making.

I'm so way too tired for dishes and more cleaning. But my kitchen is nasty. So much for a day of relaxation before I get back into the grind. *headdesk*

Why I punched myself yesterday...

Yesterday was a stabby sort of day... And the way today has started, it's probably going to be the same.

Yesterday I get to work and my boss bitches me out for some stupid thing I really have no control over... We verify that both husband and wife should be at the appointment. I tell them this. My manager tells them this. The associate arrives and the wife isn't home. This, of course, is my fault.

And then I think I called every douche bag in the area I was calling yesterday.

I got the "I'm going to tell you I'm not interested before you even get a chance to say anything" douche. The one who, after I say, "This is Ashley with XYZ Company, how are you doing today?" snaps at me... "I'M NOT INTERESTED IN WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING." *click*

Seriously, how difficult is it to listen to what a person has to say and tell them - POLITELY - that you appreciate their time, but you're just not interested. It's a much kinder way to tell people that. People who work in call centers usually don't get paid shit, and they have to deal with a crap ton of rude ass motherfuckers. Is it really that difficult to just be polite and tell them you're just not interested?

I also got the, "This just isn't worth my time" douche. I'm so terribly sorry, I didn't get the memo that you are GOD. Really? You don't even know where I'm from or what I'm calling about. I could be calling you to tell you that my mega-conglomerate company just took over the piddly shit insurance company you go through, and that your insurance is about to be cancelled. Not that this is what actually happens, but still. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I HAVE TO TELL YOU. How do you know it's not worth your time?

The "I have more important things to do" douche. Closely related to the "This just isn't worth my time" douche. I actually had someone tell me yesterday that they have more important things to do and they really didn't care to hear what I had to say. Unless you're on your way to catch a plane to de-worm orphans in Somalia, perform a life-saving surgery, or doing a colon cleansing... Well, I'm sure you can catch my drift.

The "I'm going to let you get to the very end of your spiel before I tell you I'm not interested" douche. You should know halfway through my spiel if you are or are not interested. Then, see above rule and say, "I appreciate your time, but I'm just not interested. Thank you."

The "I'm going to ask 5,000 questions about each and every gift you offer me and THEN tell you I'm not interested" douche. I seriously had one lady ask me about 10 different questions regarding what types of toilet paper our grocery coupon booklet offers. No joke. I get that you have a sensitive septic system, but really? You really need 50 cents to $1 off of your oh-so-precious toilet paper? BIG DEAL. PAY THE EXTRA 50 CENTS.

Also, I'm dealing with something right now that is making me even stabbier than usual... So I'm thinking it's in my best personal interest to just leave the public word-vomit portal before I spew something really bad... Because it could unleash a shit storm that I just do NOT have the energy to deal with.

Anyone out there willing to lend me their blog to spew forth an anonymous post of vitriol?

Stupid free Interwebz...

I have a confession... (Ha, I typed foncession instead of confession at first. Perhaps today's a lysdexic day...)

I leech free interwebz. There happens to be an open network connection that's usually around 54-68% signal strength, and I'm too poor to pay the $50-60 per month that decent internet costs one in this hellhole of a stupid ass town.

The bad part of all this is that I have no idea when I will and will not have Interwebz. I think the streak so far is a week with the 'Webz not working. It keeps giving me this "Cannot associate with Access Point" error. And I know to fix it you're supposed to press some button on the modem. But what the fuck can I do when I have no idea who I'm even leeching from?!

Coincidentally, the interwebz always seem to be connected at THE MOST INCONVENIENT TIMES. Like an hour before I should be going to bed, or when I have errands to run instead of the time to lounge around and surf the 'Webz.

But mothercocking ass monkeys, I paid $140 for a wireless network card and a RAM upgrade. Interwebz need to be cheaper.

Ace Of Base's 'Don't Turn Around' just came on Media Player.

I tried scallops for the first time last night at my parents' house... We had steak and scallops, salad, veggies, potatoes, and then amaretto cake for dessert! It was a shit-ton of food, and it was all delicious. Is there anything happier than steak with drawn butter?

Maybe eating stale Peeps for breakfast. Pink bunny Peeps. Ooooh yeeeeeeah.

Oh yeah, give me some of that Funky Cold Medina.

So, I happen to live in a city that used to be able to tout the fact that it had the highest bars per capita in the United States.

Yeah.

Is it really any wonder how we got our nickname, Souptown? No, not really. It's a tradition here in Superior when one turns 21 to do the bar crawl down the main drag - Tower Avenue. You want bars? We've got bars. Of all shapes, sizes and types. And we've got bars in every part of town. We've got Lost In The 50's, a bar for those who want to get lost in time. The Anchor Bar for those who want a biker bar that, frankly, makes some of the best greasy burgers in town (you know, for when you've got a hangover from drinking there the night before). The Lamplighter for those who want skanky strippers, Frankie's for those who like to sing karaoke with the coke-sniffing owner, The Main for the light-in-the-loafers crowd... Plus about 10-12 others I haven't named.

No joke. I searched for "Bar" in Superior WI, and Google Maps came back with 198 results. For a town that has around 27,000 people. Yeah, we wean toddlers on whiskey here.

Anywho, one of the most well-known bars in Superior was the Cove Cabaret. Every bar that's been in that building has closed after a short stint. Kind of like Jordan Sparks' career.

And the Cove was described a 'sleazy club' with a light-up dance floor (think Saturday Night Fever), disco ball, and Wet T-Shirt Wednesdays. There are local archived photos of couples cutting a rug on the light-up dance floor under the bright, sparkling light of the disco ball in the 1970's. Also, my mom used to participate in Wet T-Shirt Wednesdays. Is it good or bad that I'm proud of that?

Wednesday night was Ladies Night, and ladies could drink free from 11-midnight. Thursday featured $1 Imports and Wine Coolers. Classy.

Another thing (besides Wet T-Shirt Wednesday)(because DUH. Obviously) the Cove was locally famous for was Jim's All Star 101 Shooter Menu. I'm sure many a vomit-soaked floor had this shooter menu to thank.

My dad worked at the Cove, and has an original copy of the list. Let me tell you; after retyping these shots so that they're legible, if you couldn't find something you liked on this list - you were just fucked. You know, unless you're a recovering alcoholic. In that case, I'm sure you would've taken the crappiest shot on the list and loved it like Pam loved Tommy's wang.

You could order any All Star Shooter for $2.50, or a Six-Shooter for $10.

So today, kittens, I'd like to share a few of the most delicious-sounding - and some of the oddest sounding - shots on the list.

Give me a Funky Cold Medina...

Kahlua, Root Beer Schnapps and Bailey's round out this delicious sounding, albeit oddly named shot.

I'd love to have a Menage a Trois...

Kahlua, Frangelico and Grand Marnier. What's not to love about this threesome?

What shot do zombies like best? The Brain!

Strawberry Schnapps, Bailey's and Grenadine. Mmm, Bwainz!

Oh, Christmas Tree, oh Christmas Tree...

Grenadine, Green Creme de Menthe and Creme de Cacao. Mint, chocolate and cherry? Sounds like a festive shot to me!

Chocolate Monk? Sounds kinky!

Kahlua, Bailey's and Frangelico.

Some of the more oddly named shots include:

Camel's Hump

Kahlua, Apricot Brandy and Grand Marnier

Alabama Aggle Slammer

Sloe Gin, Southern Comfort, Amaretto and Orange Juice

Ardvark (Dudes, that's how it's spelled on the menu - I know it's misspelled)

Kahlua, Curacao and Cream

Umbilical Cord

Anisette, Tequila, Bailey's and Drop of Cream

Mishkalishka

Cognac, Coffee and Whip Cream

Red Rooster

Chocolate Mint Schnapps, Bailey's and Grand Marnier

Test Tube Baby

Amaretto, Tequila and Drop of Cream

Ollman

Kahlua, Grand Marnier and Courvoisier.

Of course, for the traditionalists you'll find shots like; B-52, Stiletto, Mudslide, Asshole, Orgasm, Cocaine, Slippery Nipple, Blowjob and Kamikaze.

What does it say about our society that we like to take shots of things that are called Asshole and Test Tube Baby?

THAT WE'RE AWESOME.

Oh, and that if I ever go out and do shots, I'm doing the Pink Pussy shot. Because, duh. Obvi.

Whoever thought of putting wine in cupcakes was a genius.

Yes, I'm talking to you Rachel Ray. Or whoever you paid to make that recipe up.

I was doing some research for a wedding dessert buffet, and I came across this recipe for Chocolate Red Wine Cupcakes with Marscapone Icing. I mean honestly, what part about that doesn't sound delicious?! Chocolate? Red wine? Marscapone?! Yes, please. It'd be like saying no to sex. In a cupcake liner.

So I stocked up on my ingredients. Unfortunately, I forgot that the grocery store I was at doesn't carry marscapone - so I subbed cream cheese instead. Because I know from experience that unless it's in a cheesecake, marscapone and cream cheese are pretty much interchangeable.

Also? I am now in serious love with cream cheese icing. I didn't even have to sift the powdered sugar and it came out as smooth as Pamela Anderson's 7th boob job.

Alright, on to the Food Porn!

So, 4 oz of chopped chocolate, 1/2 cup of unsweetened cocoa powder and 1/2 cup boiling water mix to create this delicious, glossy, dark chocolate-filled bowl of delight.

I poured the red wine first to let it breathe. I used Yellowtail Shiraz Cabernet, because it was the only red I had in the house. I wasn't about to buy a bottle of red to get 1/2 a cup (I'm not a red wine person, I prefer white), but next time I think I'll buy those little itty-bitty bottles that come in a 4-pack.

Chocolate red wine batter, all ready to be divided and baked! Seriously, the batter of this recipe tasted like eating hot chocolate mix with a spoon. Mmm!

Cupcakes, post-bake!

There was a lot more frosting than I had expected, but the more the merrier!

Those grapes kind of looked silly, so I decided to top my little pretty cupcakes with grated chocolate. Next time I think it would be super cute to make little chocolate wine glasses to put on top...

I'm reading through my archives and I've realized something... Besides the fact that Erf just farted.

I've lost a bit of my snark, wouldn't you agree? I need to get on top of my game with this. Off to work in a half an hour. Bah.

I smell like cleaning product...

Last night as I lay in bed with visions of Gerard Butler racing through my mind like cracked out ghetto babies, I decided I need to write him a love letter. Because I could really see myself spawning his crib midgets. I'm pretty sure Erf would forgive me.

My dearest Gerry (because I've heard you prefer to be called that - I've stalked you on IMDb and Wikipedia),

Let me start off by saying that until The Phantom Of The Opera, I had never really heard of you. Then one day I decided, on a whim, to rent the film. And in the scene where the Phantom brings Christine down the hidden passageway - I was spellbound. Those eyes, the set of mouth. And then, oh dear sweet drenched panties, there was that VOICE. The voice that made my heart beat faster, my breath hitch, and my sex clench (Ha, I've always wanted to use that phrase).

And that was it. I was hooked on you. Like young, naive kid after his first shot of heroin.

Then you did P.S. I Love You. For the love of all that's holy, that movie should come with super-absorbent undergarments for the ladies. Because really? I needed a new couch after that one.

This may sound a bit unusual, but I think I much prefer you in Law Abiding Citizen. I have a thing for dark, intelligent psychopaths. And the scenes where you were explaining step-by-step what exactly you were planning for Darby? Sent shivers down into my girly bits.

You're a brilliant actor, but from the descriptions you sound as if you're just as wonderful in person. And I could totally see us living a beautiful life together, singing Phantom Of The Opera songs (even though you've got a MUCH better voice than I do, you'll love my singing because you'll be so devoted to me that I won't be able to do any wrong)(Because, duh, I'm so awesome that who DOESN'T love me once they meet me?). By the way, my son absolutely loves Phantom Of The Opera, and can you imagine how thrilled he'd be to have the Phantom as his daddy?

GERRY, WON'T YOU THINK OF THE CHILDREN?!!!1??

Furthermore, I can bake the shit out of stuff. So come over for dinner, and I'll make bridie and burnt cream.

And we can further discuss when exactly I'll be moving in with you as your sex toy and the other half of your love's duet. I breathlessly anticipate you teaching me how to properly pronounce your first name in that sexy Scottish accent. I'll even wear paisley socks. Haha, get it? Because you grew up in Paisley, Scotland?

Because Gerry, you're gonna love me. Don't worry about my husband, it'll be okay. He's totally aware of how insanely attracted I am to you.

Love,

The future Mrs. Butler

Grab your drool napkins, kittens...

As promised, more food porn! I had some catching up to do, that's for sure!

So let's start off with some delicious, red... goo? No, that's homemade strawberry puree glaze! Sugar, cornstarch, and strawberry puree!

This stuff is the shit - it tastes like a liquid strawberry fruit rollup. And who the fuck doesn't like fruit rollups? I think you're a Nazi if you hate fruit rollups.

Ok, maybe I don't *really* think you're a Nazi. But shame on you if you hate on the rollups.

Bee-youtiful strawberries, sans caps, drying on paper towels. Aren't they pretty? So plump and juicy and... Yum. I'm hungry now.

Finally, the finished product! Strawberry pie... Almond crust with strawberries and glaze.

My co-worker, who ordered the pie, said his wife had a piece or two, and he ate the rest of the pie all in one sitting. And he said it was the best pie he's ever tasted.

My boss ordered two pumpkin pies, and here was the delivery... Raw pumpkin pie filling is amazingly delicious, by the way. My boss also said that these were some of the best pies he's ever eaten... They must know that the way to my heart is through my ego. ;)

For Thanksgiving this year, I made French Apple pie, 8th Deadly Sin pie, and Lemon Meringue. The Lemon Meringue looks beautiful fresh out of the oven, doesn't it? I SO need to make another one...

This was a rather interesting frosting to make. They wanted a chocolate cake, but with orange frosting. So I used fresh-squeezed OJ instead of milk in my buttercream recipe, and added freshly grated orange peel. The result at first was a bit mild, so I added more peel. And then more again. And then I noticed (after I left it the hell alone) that the flavor was getting stronger. Hrm. They said that the balance of orange and chocolate was just perfect, though.

Yep, another cheesecake! This time, it was Chocolate Irish Cream cheesecake!

Chocolate, Bailey's, cream cheese? It looked delish, I wish I could have tried it. From what I heard it was really good. :)

I've also found a delicious looking recipe for Chocolate Red Wine cupcakes... It calls for marscapone frosting, and it sounds absolutely delicious. I also just found a chocolate orange cupcake recipe with Limoncello frosting. I need to learn how to make Romano's Macaroni Grill's Ultimate Leaning Bellini... Gotta do something with the leftover Limoncello! ;)

Sex on your screen...

No, I'm not talking about skanky-Barbie-humping-ugly-guy porn. You dirty hussies.

(Shh, I look at porn too. It's okay - healthy, even!)

I'm referring to Food Porn. Yes, it deserves capitalization. You haven't had Food Porn in, well, just way too damn long, kittens!

Because I'm a dumbass and forgot to take any other photos of it, here's a pic of my very first attempt at cheesecake. Orange Delight Cheesecake. It's a delicious lightly flavored orange filling, chocolate crust, and topped with a chocolate drizzle.

It was as delicious as it looks. ;) The photo above was of my mom's second piece.

My determination for making this cheesecake is unmatched; I saw Tiramisu Cheesecake, and I just had to make it. So here we see my chocolate crust (made of crushed chocolate Teddy Grahams, because you can't fucking find chocolate graham crackers anymore).

Now, the recipe touts that marscapone cheese is supposed to make this cheesecake extra-rich. Well, it called for 8 oz marscapone, and 16 oz regular cream cheese. I like things very, very rich. So 24 oz of marscapone it was. The recipe also called for ladyfingers, but I forgot to make them and couldn't find them at the grocery store. So I used vanilla pound cake instead. It worked out, meh, so/so.

I will be the first to tell you this - MARSCAPONE TAKES FOREVER TO BAKE. Don't be stupid and use all marscapone. It doesn't work that well. But, being the diligent baker I am, I just lowered the temp to 200 degrees and let it bake. It did come out with a lovely golden brown crust on top of the filling, though. Silver linings and unicorn farts, people.

Et voila! Tiramisu cheesecake. Filling comprised of marscapone, sugar, egg, vanilla, and coffee-laced rum. Then you top it with sour cream while it's hot (it adds to the flavor, I swear). It called for a dusting of unsweetened cocoa powder, but I said fuck that and grated semi-sweet chocolate over it all. Much prettier. :)

Springform pans are WIN. I cannot imagine making cheesecake sans springform. The crust was a bit overdone, but next time I'll be smart enough to down it back to the called-for amount of marscapone and I'll make homemade ladyfingers.

It was still orgasmically delicious. ;)

Dream about that tonight, kittens. I'm off to help Erf figure out his FaceSpace... lmao.

Shit, am I ever awesome.

I had a one-week follow up doctor appointment today. Besides staring at the doctor's huge, Chiclet-like teeth, I modeled for some photos.

Alright, alright. They were x-rays.

Are you happy? You've dashed my dreams of modeling. HA. Yeah, right. I've never wanted to be a model. As a kid, I dreamt of being a singer. Then I realized that people rarely make it as a singer without a lot of hard work. And me, not so much about the hard work.

Tangent.

So Dr. Chiclet came back in and pulled up my x-rays on the computer. I should have known something was up when he pointed the screen in my direction. He didn't do that last week.

"We've made a new discovery." He announced.

Like he's Christopher Columbus and I'm the New fucking World. Yeah, ok.

"See this right here? It's a posterior tibia fracture. (I could have the verbiage wrong) That means that you did actually break your ankle."

Is it sad that my first thought was, "Cool! A broken ankle sounds way more badass than a sprained ankle!"?

Cause seriously, when you tell people you sprained your ankle, they think it's like a two-day heal or something. But when you say you broke something... There's respect. Like when I told my boss yesterday I wanted to play my first day back at work by ear, see how my leg felt after the first show... He rolled his eyes and said, "Really? Seriously." Like it doesn't still hurt. People don't get how much a sprain hurts. I didn't, until now.

But when I called to inform him that I broke it, there was respect in his voice. Like, "Oh, wow. This really is serious" respect. Luckily he's a great boss, and he's letting me move to the marketing room so I can be on the phone scheduling appointments and elevating my leg.

Also, I just realized that this is my First. Broken. Bone. EVER.

I need to celebrate tonight! Hahaha, I'm sofa king wee tot tid.

Does this x-ray make my ankle look fat?

FYI, the break is right below the little hand. Paint Shop Pro won't let me add a circle or an arrow or anything really, and MS Paint keeps freezing. So this'll have to do.

And no, my lovelies, I haven't forgotten my promise of food porn. But interwebz crashed the other day and we just got them back, so I need to upload the photos of the Tiramisu Cheesecake. :)

I think I might be a wee bit OCD...

My name is Ashley, and I am a compulsive Chex Mix separate-er. I cannot simply grab a bag of Chex Mix and imbibe. No.

I must first eat all the pretzels I can. Then come the breadsticks. After that, the rye chips. Which, really, aren't that bad. It's sort of my reward for choking down the awful pretzels and breadsticks. Then I separate the seasoning-drenched Chex from the barely-seasoned Chex. I totally save the best for last.

If I were a kajillionare, I would totally buy Chex Mix in bulk from Sam's Club or Costco - or fuck, maybe from General Mills themselves. Cut out the middleman cost. Then, I'd pay ten or so people like, $20/hr to sort the Chex from the rest of the mix.

Because when you're stupid rich, you can do stupid shit like paying people to separate your Chex. Kind of like in the movie Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory - the old version with Gene Wilder, because Johnny Depp's Michael Jackson-esque nose freaks me the FUCK out - Where Veruca Salt's father buys up Wonka Bars by the box and has his peanut-shelling factory workers shelling chocolate bars.

It would make me undeniably happy. As long as they wear gloves and stuff. Cause, you know. I'm not a germaphobe, but hand-washing is good.

I'm going to attempt my first shower today. Yes, I'm yucky and unshowered. But I just got a removable support yesterday, gimme a break. I don't like to take showers sitting down, and I'm pretty sure I can balance myself long enough to get clean.

But seriously, around 2 am this morning I thought that because lightly walking on my sprained ankle didn't hurt, it would be a good idea to actually do it. This morning, my ankle laughed at me and told me, albeit physically rather than verbally, that walking on it right now is NOT in my best interest. I'm anxious and impatient to be able to walk on my feet and ditch those stupid mothercocking crutches. Having a sprained ankle would be a picnic if not for those damned crutches.

Also? I slept in until 10 am this morning. And it felt GLORIOUS.

Tomorrow, I think, calls for Food Porn. What do you think, kittens? I have a wee bit of food porn to catch up on. ;)

They call me... Grace.

I really am grace personified, aren't I?

The answer to that is, "Yes. I am."

I got to go see an orthopedic specialist today, as my fibula ankle bone wasn't where it was supposed to be. All due to my most recent episode of being Grace Personified.

Yep, I'm that girl. The one who loses fights (frequently) to inanimate objects (such as the ice that whupped my ass on Sunday), and is constantly giggled at by friends and family for her klutziness. It's all good, I've got a Chris Farley-esque attitude about it all. I'll usually do whatever it takes to get people to laugh. If they're not laughing with you, they're laughing at you. And I'm okay with both of those things. :)

PLEASE JUST LAUGH, KITTENS. That's all I ask. It doesn't hurt. Usually.

I didn't do this to make anyone laugh. But I ended up finding the humor in it all anyhow.

Isn't it beautiful? You can even see where that mothercocking splint was biting into my foot on the outside. Fucking splint. At least it's not the size of a baseball anymore!

Here you can see pretty much exactly how I landed. When I say I flipped my foot out perpendicular and did a zombie foot-esque pose, I mean it.

The good news is that they took off the stupid splint (OH! Sweet, sweet relief!), and equipped me with my beautiful new Bledsoe boot. I know, right? You all want one. You know you do.

My ankle bones are back in place (wahoo!) and there wasn't any damage to the tibia or fibula as there can be in some situations. I can begin slowly bearing weight on my foot (which is... good. Or so they tell me) and should be able to walk on it in a few days or so.

Wierd Al Yankovic's "The Night Santa Went Crazy" just came on Media Player. It's delightfully demented and hilarious.

Erf is determined to meet for lunch today - he's craving ribs from a local restaurant called C's. Their ribs are pretty mothercocking good, if only I could get over the gag reflex of the fat on the ribs. Stupid gag reflex.

Grey's Anatomy, Private Practice, and Castle are all new this coming up week. This gives me a serious case of the happy. Castle's episode title this week is "The Mistress Always Spanks Twice". Castle and Beckett in the underground world of sexual domination? I can only imagine what Nathan Fillion will be able to do with this script - he's just too damned hilarious. Even if he doesn't follow me back on Twitter. Sad Panda.

Dudes. THE CHICKEN DANCE POLKA! *Clap clap clap clap*

I'm aliiiiive... I'm aliiiiiiiiiiiiiive!!!!!

So, after $140 on a router and a new stick of RAM, my computer is finally internet capable!

The good news is that I'm going to have a shit-ton of time to blog, kittens.

The bad news is that it's because I sprained my ankle.

Yep, yours truly - who is the most graceful person on earth (/sarcasm) - slipped on the ice and fucked her ankle up royally. I sprained my left ankle, and it went out from me to the left, perpendicular to my leg, as my body weight came crunching down on the right side of my ankle. I felt and heard that little bastard crunch.

More good news? There are no breaks. I still have to see an orthopedic specialist tomorrow, because the ankle bone on the fibula side is separated a bit from where it should be.

I did dun gud. Wanna see my gorgeous, unshaven, swollen ankle? Too bad, you're going to anyway. :)

Isn't it beautiful?

Anywho, I am now the mother of a 4 year old. Erflet turned four earlier last month, and I'm still in disbelief. We had a great time, took him up to the mall, had Pretzelmaker for dinner, played with trains at Barnes and Noble, and got him a double chocolate Godiva cupcake for a treat. :)

Ugh, this damn splint feels like it's cutting into the outside of my foot. At least Erf is being a good nurse... He insisted last night that I be a good patient, no being stubborn about trying to do things by myself. Letting myself be pampered and having every whim attended to is more difficult than I thought it would be... I just don't want to overdo it and then have him tired out when I really need him. I seriously couldn't ask for a better husband.

Poor Erflet was freaked out, though. My mom screamed up the stairs to my dad, "Come quick, Ashley fell!" Erflet was in tears by the time my dad and Erf got me inside. He wouldn't come near me for about a half an hour, and asked me, "Mama, are you going to be alive tomorrow?" I felt so bad for him. My sister, Katie, came to put Erflet to bed while Erf took me to the ER, and she said he had a really tough time falling asleep. He didn't want to go to daycare this morning, either.

But seeing me on crutches is apparently a sight and a half. I've never sprained or broken anything before now, so crutches are a totally foreign concept to me.

I've got some updates and downloads to do, so I'll blog again later or perhaps tomorrow! Yay! :)