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! :)