In following my sentiments, here is a blog post that can teach us all a lesson. Promise.
http://mikekenny.blogspot.com/2006/12/worst-christmas-song-ever.html
That's the last of the lazy-ass blog posts...I hope.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Grateful for Slack-Assery
I'm not going to go all soft on anybody, and be all, like, Oprah. Yeah, we all know we have it good, and in celebration, my fat-ass gift to you: Two Ingredient Pumpkin Cake. I'm grateful I can be lazy and fat and use cheats on already-prepared food.
Two-Ingredient Pumpkin Cake with Apple Cider Glaze
For the Cake:
1 Yellow Cake Mix
1 15 ounce can of pumpkin puree
For the Glaze:
1-1/2 cups powdered sugar
3 Tablespoons apple cider
3/4 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
Empty the contents of the boxed cake mix and pumpkin puree into a large bowl. Using a hand-mixer or stand mixer beat until well incorporated. The batter will be very thick, but will come together nicely.Pour batter into a greased 7 x 11 X 2 pan. This is the small, rectangular-sized pan from your Pyrex set. You know, the set you had to have when you got married and rarely ever used all the pieces. Finally, you have a use for it.Bake at 350 degrees for 28 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Do not overbake.
Let cool for 5-10 minutes in the pan, then flip onto a platter.
Make the glaze while you're waiting.Combine powdered sugar, apple cider and pumpkin pie spice. Glaze should be thick but pourable. Add more sugar or cider if needed. Pour over the cake while still warm. Reserve some to pour over each slice when served.
Serve warm or room temperature.
Oh, and by the way, I'm grateful for copy and paste, so's I could be even lazier and not have to type out my slackass recipe from whence I stole it.
Happy Thanksgiving, Bitches.
Two-Ingredient Pumpkin Cake with Apple Cider Glaze
For the Cake:
1 Yellow Cake Mix
1 15 ounce can of pumpkin puree
For the Glaze:
1-1/2 cups powdered sugar
3 Tablespoons apple cider
3/4 teaspoon pumpkin pie spice
Empty the contents of the boxed cake mix and pumpkin puree into a large bowl. Using a hand-mixer or stand mixer beat until well incorporated. The batter will be very thick, but will come together nicely.Pour batter into a greased 7 x 11 X 2 pan. This is the small, rectangular-sized pan from your Pyrex set. You know, the set you had to have when you got married and rarely ever used all the pieces. Finally, you have a use for it.Bake at 350 degrees for 28 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean. Do not overbake.
Let cool for 5-10 minutes in the pan, then flip onto a platter.
Make the glaze while you're waiting.Combine powdered sugar, apple cider and pumpkin pie spice. Glaze should be thick but pourable. Add more sugar or cider if needed. Pour over the cake while still warm. Reserve some to pour over each slice when served.
Serve warm or room temperature.
Oh, and by the way, I'm grateful for copy and paste, so's I could be even lazier and not have to type out my slackass recipe from whence I stole it.
Happy Thanksgiving, Bitches.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Life in the Art Room
The art teacher at our school is expecting, so I've been tapped to sub for her while she's having doctor's appointments. Yesterday was one for the books. I learned so much.
It started out well. I love the art room. All that paper and paint and buttons and glitter. There's nothing not to love. So much coming and going. A little clean up and prep, but new kids every 40 minutes. And the fact that the students really like to have Art Ed. makes it an easy day. Usually.
Yesterday started out as a half-day for me, which got changed to a full day when I got there. Not bad, but I would've worn more comfortable shoes, that's all. Dressing for Art is always a challenge, though...professional, yet old or dark enough to hide the spots, or throw away if it gets wrecked. Which happens. Add to that the fact that it was parent visitation, where the Moms and Dads and little siblings sit in on classes, it's never simple.
After bus duty, the Kindergarteners came with their parents. Their project was using patterns, and coloring with markers. It's amazing how many caps can be lost during one half-hour class.
Fifth grade is using black paint and chalk pastels for their project. As I have done in the past with Ketchup, I shook the quart-sized bottle of tempera paint without checking the lid. I splattered black paint high into the air and all over the cabinets, floor and kids' projects. The upside was that I managed to avoid splashing it on myself. Miraculous as that was.
It looked as if the room was attacked by a random pack of angry seagulls. That is, if seagulls pooped black.
Out came the mop and sponges. Just in time for the PTA moms to come through.
The Fourth graders were splattering watered-down white paint over black construction paper to look like outer space. How can a ten-year-old get paint on both her shoes AND her hair? How about on MY shoes and my hair?
Now, if you didn't know, pastels have to be sealed with a spray fixative which smells like airplane glue. With the fifth graders using chalk, and the third graders using oil pastels, PLUS a pregnant Art teacher, guess who inhaled all the fumes? Yep.
I stunk out the entire Kindergarten hallway. I put all the projects on a biggie drying rack, opened the door, pushed the rack outside, and sprayed away. It still got in the building. So much so that the KG teacher, another Preggo, (Seriously. There are FIVE pregnant teachers in the building. I'm *so* not drinking the water in that school. Hell, I won't even let them breathe on me. Keep that Baby Juice to yourself.) Asked if she could shut *my* door. She was getting nauseated.
Hon. If you stuck around in there, you'd be as high as I was. I vaguely remembered waving her off, and floating over to the sink.
So I push the rack right up against the wall, because the wind was picking up. You can probably guess what happened next, right?
My last class of the day was the First Graders and their parents. I looked like I had been dragged through the mud, and was tripped out on brain cell killing fixative. So when a little girl asked "Hey, Mrs. W. Why are those papers blowing all over the place out there?" I had to react quickly.
Ran out, grabbed the cart, and the loose papers just in time to see the door close, leaving me locked outside in the SNOW. Yeah. I said it. As one of the Mommies opened the door for me she yelled "Hey Kids! Look outside. It's SNOWING!!" So all twenty rushed over to the windows to see the flurries. I never did regain control of that class.
So, after bus duty AGAIN, I shuffled home, hung over from the crash after my sealant buzz, with stickers stuck to my feet, paint on my shoes, fuschia chalk on my sweater, a wrecked manicure, and what I think (HOPE) is papier mache in my hair.
To fully appreciate Art, one must suffer through the process. I've paid my dues for today. And I'll go back tomorrow, because it's what I do.
It started out well. I love the art room. All that paper and paint and buttons and glitter. There's nothing not to love. So much coming and going. A little clean up and prep, but new kids every 40 minutes. And the fact that the students really like to have Art Ed. makes it an easy day. Usually.
Yesterday started out as a half-day for me, which got changed to a full day when I got there. Not bad, but I would've worn more comfortable shoes, that's all. Dressing for Art is always a challenge, though...professional, yet old or dark enough to hide the spots, or throw away if it gets wrecked. Which happens. Add to that the fact that it was parent visitation, where the Moms and Dads and little siblings sit in on classes, it's never simple.
After bus duty, the Kindergarteners came with their parents. Their project was using patterns, and coloring with markers. It's amazing how many caps can be lost during one half-hour class.
Fifth grade is using black paint and chalk pastels for their project. As I have done in the past with Ketchup, I shook the quart-sized bottle of tempera paint without checking the lid. I splattered black paint high into the air and all over the cabinets, floor and kids' projects. The upside was that I managed to avoid splashing it on myself. Miraculous as that was.
It looked as if the room was attacked by a random pack of angry seagulls. That is, if seagulls pooped black.
Out came the mop and sponges. Just in time for the PTA moms to come through.
The Fourth graders were splattering watered-down white paint over black construction paper to look like outer space. How can a ten-year-old get paint on both her shoes AND her hair? How about on MY shoes and my hair?
Now, if you didn't know, pastels have to be sealed with a spray fixative which smells like airplane glue. With the fifth graders using chalk, and the third graders using oil pastels, PLUS a pregnant Art teacher, guess who inhaled all the fumes? Yep.
I stunk out the entire Kindergarten hallway. I put all the projects on a biggie drying rack, opened the door, pushed the rack outside, and sprayed away. It still got in the building. So much so that the KG teacher, another Preggo, (Seriously. There are FIVE pregnant teachers in the building. I'm *so* not drinking the water in that school. Hell, I won't even let them breathe on me. Keep that Baby Juice to yourself.) Asked if she could shut *my* door. She was getting nauseated.
Hon. If you stuck around in there, you'd be as high as I was. I vaguely remembered waving her off, and floating over to the sink.
So I push the rack right up against the wall, because the wind was picking up. You can probably guess what happened next, right?
My last class of the day was the First Graders and their parents. I looked like I had been dragged through the mud, and was tripped out on brain cell killing fixative. So when a little girl asked "Hey, Mrs. W. Why are those papers blowing all over the place out there?" I had to react quickly.
Ran out, grabbed the cart, and the loose papers just in time to see the door close, leaving me locked outside in the SNOW. Yeah. I said it. As one of the Mommies opened the door for me she yelled "Hey Kids! Look outside. It's SNOWING!!" So all twenty rushed over to the windows to see the flurries. I never did regain control of that class.
So, after bus duty AGAIN, I shuffled home, hung over from the crash after my sealant buzz, with stickers stuck to my feet, paint on my shoes, fuschia chalk on my sweater, a wrecked manicure, and what I think (HOPE) is papier mache in my hair.
To fully appreciate Art, one must suffer through the process. I've paid my dues for today. And I'll go back tomorrow, because it's what I do.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Party Like It's 1968!
It feels like The Old Days over here. My feet are killing me and I have bruises of unknown origin. The bitter disappointment of knowing I had a Real Good Time without remembering all the details is somewhat softened by the fact that there's photographic evidence of my enjoyment. If only there was a Denny's nearby, my night would've been complete.
Lori threw a biggie 40th birthday party for her husband Ron. The fun was doubled because he is a twin, and EVERYBODY knew about the party, except Ron. He was so surprised, he just sort of wandered around the room with a dazed expression on his face. Friends flew in from all over to join the party. It was just really nice.
Lori had one other surprise up her sleeve, though. And she knew it was the primo-top-of-the-heap trick, and even if Ronnie did find out about the party, he'd never find out about The Big Surprise.
The expression on his face was priceless when the leader of his all-time favorite local band walked up behind him, and said, "Hey, Ron. Happy Birthday!" Lori had hired the Craig Thatcher Band to play at the party. This was super funny because Ron was all disappointed that he wouldn't be seeing them this month. And he was just looking at the schedule and when "private event" popped up, he was so bummed. How funny is it that his party *was* the private event?
So we ate, danced and reconnected with friends, which, I think was the *real* birthday gift. Happy 40th, Rolland and Ron! I hope the pictures do justice to the fun we had.
Lori threw a biggie 40th birthday party for her husband Ron. The fun was doubled because he is a twin, and EVERYBODY knew about the party, except Ron. He was so surprised, he just sort of wandered around the room with a dazed expression on his face. Friends flew in from all over to join the party. It was just really nice.
Lori had one other surprise up her sleeve, though. And she knew it was the primo-top-of-the-heap trick, and even if Ronnie did find out about the party, he'd never find out about The Big Surprise.
The expression on his face was priceless when the leader of his all-time favorite local band walked up behind him, and said, "Hey, Ron. Happy Birthday!" Lori had hired the Craig Thatcher Band to play at the party. This was super funny because Ron was all disappointed that he wouldn't be seeing them this month. And he was just looking at the schedule and when "private event" popped up, he was so bummed. How funny is it that his party *was* the private event?
So we ate, danced and reconnected with friends, which, I think was the *real* birthday gift. Happy 40th, Rolland and Ron! I hope the pictures do justice to the fun we had.
Monday, September 29, 2008
In Which She Discusses Dreams
I've been thinking a lot about dreams. I'm not talking about "Gee, I wish I won the powerball" types, but actual, real dreams.
I put a lot of stock in what my mind conjures at night. I believe that if you pay attention, your nighttime wanders are telling you something.
Everybody knows I'm not a sleeper; could go for days on 4 hours sleep. I hate it. My mind simply won't shut down. It refuses to remain inactive, which is why my dreams are so important and telling.
Like when I've not thought about someone for a while, and she appears in my dream, just tells me that I've been pushing thoughts of her down, deep in my subconscious. Which, as we're all aware is a deep, dark, roiling pit. Nobody wants to be there. I always say it's a good thing that my mind can't be read. I'd be sent far far away where nobody would ever see me again.
For whatever reason, my dreams have been more vivid in the last couple of months. Lots of waking deja vus. So many recurrences. And lots and lots of visits. People I haven't seen in years, or thought of in months. Relatives dead for years as well as ones with whom I no longer talk. Some pleasant and beautiful conversations. Some are things never before spoken.
I gauge my reactions and try to remember how I acted in dreams, in case the opportunity presents itself during waking hours. Case in point: I have a couple of unsettled relationships, blow-ups and never see agains. Stuff left unsaid. Shitty things done. You know the type. One of these particular persons shows up in my dreams regularly. I always embrace her. Ask how she's been, and tell her it's lovely to see her. Waking...if she walked in front of my car, she'd become a speedbump. Seriously, I have murderous thoughts toward her, her husband their whole family. Pets included.
Aw, c'mon. You all know you imagine these little scenarios. Little vignettes where a manhole cover blows off the street, high into the air, and lands smack on someone, flattening her. Visions of the funeral where you'd wear red high heels and dance the electric slide over her freshly-turned grave, tucking a rose from off the casket spray behind one ear. How much better the world would be with her obliteration... sigh...I digress...
I receive a daily email from The Universe, wherein The Universe discusses how a person's thoughts become things. Everyday is a new message on becoming the person your mind is directing you toward being. Sort of an "if you dream it, you can do it!" type thing.
Sweet Jesus...I hope not.
I put a lot of stock in what my mind conjures at night. I believe that if you pay attention, your nighttime wanders are telling you something.
Everybody knows I'm not a sleeper; could go for days on 4 hours sleep. I hate it. My mind simply won't shut down. It refuses to remain inactive, which is why my dreams are so important and telling.
Like when I've not thought about someone for a while, and she appears in my dream, just tells me that I've been pushing thoughts of her down, deep in my subconscious. Which, as we're all aware is a deep, dark, roiling pit. Nobody wants to be there. I always say it's a good thing that my mind can't be read. I'd be sent far far away where nobody would ever see me again.
For whatever reason, my dreams have been more vivid in the last couple of months. Lots of waking deja vus. So many recurrences. And lots and lots of visits. People I haven't seen in years, or thought of in months. Relatives dead for years as well as ones with whom I no longer talk. Some pleasant and beautiful conversations. Some are things never before spoken.
I gauge my reactions and try to remember how I acted in dreams, in case the opportunity presents itself during waking hours. Case in point: I have a couple of unsettled relationships, blow-ups and never see agains. Stuff left unsaid. Shitty things done. You know the type. One of these particular persons shows up in my dreams regularly. I always embrace her. Ask how she's been, and tell her it's lovely to see her. Waking...if she walked in front of my car, she'd become a speedbump. Seriously, I have murderous thoughts toward her, her husband their whole family. Pets included.
Aw, c'mon. You all know you imagine these little scenarios. Little vignettes where a manhole cover blows off the street, high into the air, and lands smack on someone, flattening her. Visions of the funeral where you'd wear red high heels and dance the electric slide over her freshly-turned grave, tucking a rose from off the casket spray behind one ear. How much better the world would be with her obliteration... sigh...I digress...
I receive a daily email from The Universe, wherein The Universe discusses how a person's thoughts become things. Everyday is a new message on becoming the person your mind is directing you toward being. Sort of an "if you dream it, you can do it!" type thing.
Sweet Jesus...I hope not.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Meme...ugh...
I'm on an Internet project, and found this meme on the blog of a fellow member. I thought it was pretty cool.
1.Your rock star name (first pet, current car) Portia Sebring
2.Your gangsta name (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe) Chocolate Marshmallow Thongs (yeah .... that's O.G.)
3.Your Native American name (favorite color, favorite animal) Red Manatee
4.Your soap opera name (middle name, city where you were born) Tereza Philadelphia
5.Your Star Wars name (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 of your first name) WeiAn
6.Superhero name (2nd favorite color, favorite drink) The Hot Pink Royal Bitch (well, it beat "Pink Diet-Coke-and-Lime")
7.NASCAR name (the first names of your grandfathers) John Lewis (SO not a NASCAR name. More Like a congressman's. Seriously, could you hear this: "Hey John Lewis, 'zair sump'n wrong with this car?")
8.Dancer name (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)Beach Hot Tamale (ohhkkkaaayyybe...)
9.TV weather anchor name (your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter) Applegate Altoona (Love it.)
10.Spy name (your favorite season/holiday, flower)Summer Bird of Paradise (!)
11.Cartoon name:(favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now) Mango Panties (Hey, at least today I'm wearing panties.)
12.Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree) Oatmeal Palm
13.Movie star name (first pet, first street where you lived) Portia Cambria (now I always thought that was how you got your stripper name......)
By the way, if you're reading this................ TAG! YOU'RE IT!
1.Your rock star name (first pet, current car) Portia Sebring
2.Your gangsta name (favorite ice cream flavor, favorite type of shoe) Chocolate Marshmallow Thongs (yeah .... that's O.G.)
3.Your Native American name (favorite color, favorite animal) Red Manatee
4.Your soap opera name (middle name, city where you were born) Tereza Philadelphia
5.Your Star Wars name (the first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 of your first name) WeiAn
6.Superhero name (2nd favorite color, favorite drink) The Hot Pink Royal Bitch (well, it beat "Pink Diet-Coke-and-Lime")
7.NASCAR name (the first names of your grandfathers) John Lewis (SO not a NASCAR name. More Like a congressman's. Seriously, could you hear this: "Hey John Lewis, 'zair sump'n wrong with this car?")
8.Dancer name (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy)Beach Hot Tamale (ohhkkkaaayyybe...)
9.TV weather anchor name (your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter) Applegate Altoona (Love it.)
10.Spy name (your favorite season/holiday, flower)Summer Bird of Paradise (!)
11.Cartoon name:(favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now) Mango Panties (Hey, at least today I'm wearing panties.)
12.Hippie name (what you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree) Oatmeal Palm
13.Movie star name (first pet, first street where you lived) Portia Cambria (now I always thought that was how you got your stripper name......)
By the way, if you're reading this................ TAG! YOU'RE IT!
Monday, September 1, 2008
Holy Schnoykies!
The Service just called me in. To WORK. On the THIRD day of school. What? Are they freaking kidding me? I didn't even get a chance to write my "What I Did on My Summer Vacation:" essay. (Coming Soon...)
I don't know whether to be happy that everybody LOOVVVEEES me so stinkin' much or to shick a spork in my stinkin' eye.
I just hope that the potty mouth that I've been nurturing all damn summer can control itself on my FIRST DAY BACK TO FREAKING SCHOOL.
I don't know whether to be happy that everybody LOOVVVEEES me so stinkin' much or to shick a spork in my stinkin' eye.
I just hope that the potty mouth that I've been nurturing all damn summer can control itself on my FIRST DAY BACK TO FREAKING SCHOOL.
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