cake

All day yesterday, I was dreaming about cake. I don't know why since I am normally more of an ice cream girl, but for some reason, cake sounded really appealing yesterday. Feeling unfulfilled, I showed up to work today wishing that I had thought to stop by the store for some cupcakes or something. I absently opened up the fridge at work, wondering if I had anything edible left in there, and was astounded at what I saw. There it was, a lovely cake all beautiful and frosted with bright colors and swirls here and there! I blinked twice, thinking that I must be really hungry if I am imagining such confections that don't even exist, and was surprised to see that it was still there! My cake prayers had been answered! I slid the cake back into the fridge and inquired around as to whom it belonged to. Ahhh. Kali's goodbye cake. I slowly walked past her desk and back to my office. She was no where to be found. I lurked in my office for a while just killing time, when she came into the corridor and stood in my doorway. "Come have some cake with me!" she commanded with a smile. "Ohhh, alright I guess" I said with as much hesitation I could muster.

I did my best to contain myself as she cut the cake into eight equal pieces and then brought out the plates and forks. I suppressed my delight as she handed me a huge slice and a fork and I got straight to work on that cake. It was lovely, even better than my previous days cake dreams had prepared me for. I made my way through the cake, and even left a little frosting on the plate so I looked like it had only been halfway satisfactory. Then I went back to my office and tried to control the urge to go find another piece. If there is still a piece left after work is over, I may snag a bite or two. Besides, if it is calling my name all afternoon, I just don't have a choice...

Cookie Dough

As I was enjoying a bit of dessert for lunch today, I started wondering if other people enjoy cookie dough as much as I do. Are there cookie dough connoisseurs out there that revel in the unbaked form as much as I do? Can cookie dough be considered an art form?

I submit to you the following pictures.

Cookie dough in the form of a fetus. Doesn’t every mom to be want a fetus shaped cookie cutter, so she can bake up a bunch of little fetus babies and in a fit of craving, devour them all in one sitting? How sweet! Alien babies!

Cookie dough in the form of Mount Rushmore. Save money on expensive family vacations by making your little monsters create their own historic landmarks. Then simply place them in another room, and take a “family trip” to go see them. Other popular “destinations” include the pyramids of Egypt, and the Eiffel tower. Enjoy!



I have to say, I am always surprised at the things you can find on the internet. There is no end to the craziness, much like this blog…

Plant Killer

This morning when I got to work, I found my little plant had turned yellow and brown overnight and was drooping down in a most dejected manor. Crispy brown leaves surrounded the little pot. Poor little plant. It never had a chance, not even from the very beginning. As soon as it was placed into my hands, its fate was sealed, as I always have been and always will be, a plant killer.

"Your plant's looking a little sad there." Thanks Kali. I know. Even with a pencil stuck into the dirt to try and give the plant some stability, it still leans precariously.

"Maybe you gave it lead poisoning!" Thanks Sarah. Last I checked, pencils were made of graphite, not lead, but I appreciate your concern.

"You killed it." Thanks Lauren. I had a glimmer of hope that it was going to be resurrected and was just temporarily dead, but now I see the truth.

Go toward the light, little plant.

I hope it is in a better place. *sniff*

Who put me in charge?

Sometimes I really wonder what my boss was smoking when she decided to promote me to office supervisor. Who in their right mind would chose a crazy like myself to be in charge of an office? Today is a prime example of that. The boss is gone, three of the other women in the office are gone and one more will be leaving at 2:00 p.m. I brilliantly suggested that we have a pizza party at precisely 2:05 p.m., lock the doors, turn on the answering machine and cause havoc and debauchery until closing time. Then I remembered that I am the supervisor, and should not say things like that out loud.

"I will not have an illicit party at work. I will not have an illicit party at work. I will not have an illicit party at work. I am the supervisor." I think I need a time out.

Fajitas

Last Saturday for Valentines Day, Scott and I went down to Pocatello to see my family. Romantic, right? Yeah, it was my idea. Anyway, we went to a mexican restaurant for dinner, and I ended up taking home some leftovers, as did my mother and sister. My sister dutifully wrote our names on top of the styrofoam boxes and stashed them in the overflowing fridge when we got home, so when Scott and I went to leave, I just grabbed the box with my name on it.

Fast forward two days, when I started anticipating finishing up my lovely fajita leftovers for dinner. I could just picture the tortilla, chicken and pepper strips, shredded lettuce and cheese, and the spoonful of sour cream that I had lovingly tucked into my styrofoam box. My mouth was watering just thinking about it. Imagine my surprise when I opened the box and was confronted with about a tablespoon of lettuce and two pieces of chicken. My mouth dropped open in surprise. Could I possibly have grabbed the wrong box and ended up with someone elses' pitiful pile of leftovers? It must have been my sister's fault for writing the wrong name on the box! How had I been so careless as to not check the box when I grabbed it out of the fridge? I was sooooo disappointed. I chucked the box with the measly two bites of food into the garbage in protest, and skipped dinner instead.

I went to Scott's house and was sharing my miserable experience with all who would hear. It took me a minute to figure out that Scott's "I'm sorry" was not a consolation for the prize that I had been denied, but an apology for his part in the tragedy. "YOU ATE MY FAJITAS?!?!?!?!" I demanded with incredulity. His guilty smile told me all I needed to know. "I left you lots of lettuce though!" he timidly pointed out with a sheepish grin. I couldn't help but laugh. He owes me for this one. Tonight we are going to Stockman's restaurant, and I fully intend to steal his leftovers, as well as covet my own.

The money game

Today at lunch I was commiserating with my friends about making more money. Their ideas ranged from stuffing envelopes (do I get hazard pay for paper cuts?) to selling my eggs (honestly, knowing how crazy I am, why would they suggest that I allow miniature versions of myself to be running around?) and everything else in between. When another girl came into the break room, I drew her into the conversation and was reminded that I already have a business, I just don't make any money at it. I got into selling jewelry a while ago and really have not done much of anything with it in quite a while. So, I have decided that rather than selling off my potential future offspring, I will do a blowout sale on my jewelry supplies and sell off my inventory! I just have to figure out the most cost effective way to do it, without angering the "Cookie Lee Gods" that control my sales tactics.

Other potential money makers that I may try include selling books, movies, and perhaps clothes. Any other good ideas?

Great Ideas

Great Idea #34882

Get Valentines day treats for office, and then leave them in your car while you make one more stop. Besides, doesn't everyone love runny frosting?

Great Idea #34883

Preheat the oven for pizza on friday night without checking that boyfriend's roommates left boxes of matches there to dry out (!?!?!?). It is not like the house burned down or anything! Only a few of them caught on fire!

Great Idea #34884

Donate plasma to save some extra cash. So what if you get bruises the size of tennis balls on your arms and all your co-workers think your boyfriend beats you!

All thumbs

My grandma used to say you had "the dropsy" when you couldn't hold on to anything. I have taken "the dropsy" to a new level, and have determined that I am all thumbs. The other day I spent over two minutes attempting to capture a post it note that would not stay in my clumsy hands. Every time I picked it up, a great whirlwind would mysteriously form in my office and whip the precious square from my hands. What could I do but curse at the blasted breeze that everyone thought I was imagining?

Sometimes I will unconsciously hold my hands in fists with my thumbs tucked inside. When Scott questions me about my balled up fists, I tell him I am preparing for my first WWF boxing match, and I demonstrate a skilled block and jab with them in front of my face, and proceed to knock myself in the nose. He has started to call me "Thumbs" which is like one of those stage names I guess. I decided I will add a last name to give myself a little more credibility. I am considering "Thumbs McGee" "Thumb Thumper" and my personal favorite, "The Thumbinator" but have yet to make a final decision.

By the way, I really don't know what WWF stands for, I thought that combination of letters just seemed like they sounded good. The only thing I can come up with is wimpy white female...which is not very flattering, I know.

A little nudge...

Every now and then, I am struck with the realization that God is providing me with a little nudge in the right direction. Some are more forceful than others, and most of the time it happens when I am being an idiot. Please allow me to articulate.

Nudge #1
I write a scathing email about the injustices of being forced to work with individuals that have the intelligence of a single celled organism, and the irritation of working with the worlds most outspoken woman, both in the same office. Just as I am about to post my anger and frustration, my internet locks up and deletes the essay in it's entirety. Nudge. Control yourself. Don't be a hater.

Nudge #2
Another office individual brings in a photo album of her wedding for me to look at. She has engagement pictures, ceremony pictures, reception pictures and all the details in between. She tells me how easy it was to make her bouquet and decorate the reception. Nudge. Marriage. Don't stress, it's easy.

Nudge #3
Lost my debit card. Pretty sure I lost it in my house, but I called to order a new one and they won't get you a new one until they cancel the old one. Was a whole week without a debit card, even though I found the old one a day after I ordered the new one. Nudge. Spend less money. Be more responsible.

Nudge #4
Am attempting to work up the courage to get my patriarchal blessing due to some enthusiastic encouragement from Scott. Got phone call from old branch president out of the blue the other day asking if I had taken care of that yet. Nudge. Stop procrastinating. Just do it.

Wow. How about that. It never fails that whenever I get a little too high handed and cavalier with my life and my semblance of control, I am reminded that I need to step down. Awesome.

Crockpot crap

I am sooooo mad at my crockpot! I want to throw it out into a snow drift today and never see it again. I put in a beautiful little pork roast the other day, and some baby red potatoes and turned it on, anticipating the aroma that would fill my little house very soon. Unfortunately, where this is a hand me down crockpot, I was unaware that it only has two settings. Boil and off. Not so conducive to the slow cooking of a roast. So I put it on the "simmer" setting and discovered 12 hours later that it was incorrectly labeled, and should have been called the "fake you out so you ruin your food" setting. OFF. That thing would have fed me for almost a week, and here I am, throwing it out to the dogs. What a lovely waste.

After I discovered my roast tragedy, my mom suggested turning it up to the boil setting to kill the bacteria so I could still eat it. Um. I. Don't. Think. So. Not that I wouldn't enjoy a good case of salmonella or food poisoning, I mean really, who wouldn't? Vomiting, fever, nausea, and my personal favorite, diarrhea. Please. *rolls eyes* Sign me up for that one. I could use a few days off work... Hmm...

Cookie givers and cookie receivers

Someone once explained to me that there are two types of people in this world, cookie givers and cookie receivers. Cookie givers are the ones that provide you with information and share their feelings. Cookie receivers are the ones who get that information and don't give any back. As I was told, you can be both givers and receivers, but most people lean to one side or the other for the majority of situations.

Saturday night, I decided to be a cookie giver. I talked about it over dinner at girls night, and then I told Scott how I was feeling and what I was thinking later on that evening. It was really hard to do that because I was hoping that he would give me back some cookies in response. No. He said "Ok, lets go move some furniture!" Cookies denied...

On Monday I decided to make some sugar cookies to give away for Valentines day. I made the dough and put it in the fridge with the intention of finishing it later on. When I was summarizing my many accomplishments for the evening to Scott later on that night, I told him I made cookies. I neglected to tell him that I didn't bake the cookies. So he goes scouting around for the missing cookies and can't find them, so he asks me about them last night. Although it explained why he couldn't find them, it meant he would have to wait until I got around to actually baking them before he could partake. It also meant that the next time I get thinking that I need to give out some metaphorical cookies, I am going to think pretty hard about the kind of cookies I am giving.

In need of a little estrogen...

Considering that I work in an office of nine women, you would think that such a phrase would never enter my mind, let alone escape my lips, but I have decided that I need some girl time. I spent Saturday night on a girls only excursion and enjoyed myself so much that I planned two more for this week. Tonight is girls night at the movies where we fully intend to enjoy the action packed "Quantum of Solace" James Bond movie. Naturally we are only going because of the amazing stunt work, it has nothing to do with the the *shiver* leading man. On Wednesday night, the plan is to attend an all girls spa party to clean and buff our faces to a new shine, which has nothing at all to do with the gossip and laughter that will permeate the entire evening. *snicker* At least that is what we tell ourselves...

Growing up in a family of four girls certainly gave me plenty of girl time, and I am very happy to say that it also gave my brother girl time as well. I remember him as a four year old kid, wearing a blue green dress and too big high heels, tottering around behind us. (I also remember him wearing a red and black skirt and dancing around in it. That was only last year, but still... ) We had spa parties, movies and innumerable Mary Kay makeup sessions. We celebrated and enjoyed being girls.

Some guys attempt to understand what the draw is with girl time and why their wives/girlfriends make it a priority in their busy schedule. It must be important to them, right guys? Otherwise why would they give up their time watching you surf the Internet, play video games or watch TV? *smirk*

So men, don't interfere when your lady wants some girl time. Offer to watch the kids, do the dishes or at least stay out of the way. She will be happier, and therefore, you will be happier.

Just for you, Mo. And by the way, a kilt is still a skirt. What a stud!