The Price is Wrong, Bitch.

You are about to enter another dimension, a dimension not only of sight and sound... but of mind. A journey into a wondrous land of imagination. Next stop.......... daytime television! Dip deep into the black hole of your memory and remember a time when getting to stay home "sick" from school was not only a rare happening, but a day cherished by vegging on the couch with free reign over the television and ice box. To this day when I think of staying home "sick" I immediately hear the Andy Griffith whistle playing over and and over in my mind- the show I only knew existed in the obscure world daytime television. As quickly as I remember the tune, I remember quickly changing the channel because I actually hated that show. Instead I would allow myself to become immersed in the fantasy land of daytime game shows. Among the upper echelon of this genre was of course, The Price is Right. While most awkward girls my age might fantasize about being one of the glamorous Barker Beauties, I instead dreamed of being that random audience member chosen by Rod Roddy because of my sparkling personality and/or uniquely designed homemade T-shirt expressing my love for Bob Barker and his skinny microphone. After all, he would love me too, impressed by my vast knowledge of the prices of toaster ovens and Cadillacs alike. The chance to dominate on plinko and win BOTH showcase showdowns were of course delusions of grandeur.....but they were nonetheless, MY delusions... delusions that now only exist in my memory.... delusions that I hoped to rekindle while staying home from school "sick" this week, but instead got a big fat idiot standing in the way of memory lane... that fat idiot being Drew Carey of course. I know I am like a year and a half late to this train wreck, but as I sat and watched Mr. Carey's despicable attempt in hosting a show that I hold so dear to my heart, I couldn't help but wonder why he thought he could fill the shoes of the greatest game show host of all time with his stupid laid back nonchalant demeanor, beady eyes, and patronizing phony giggles!! There is no connection between you and the guests Drew....there is no love, nobody wears a 'I heart Drew' shirt and nobody wants you holding that skinny microphone! It's all a CROCK!! A SHAM! A travesty to sick kids staying home from school everywhere!!! You are no Jay Peterman and you should be ashamed of yourself! That is all.

Get Me One Please.

Just another fabulous reason to live in New York City- where in Orlando can you find a bakery that specializes in conecakes???? Apparently this delightful treat is making a mighty comeback and they couldn't be more up my alley, oKAY?! Here's how you make them:


For 12 or more servings

Ingredients:
1 box of cake mix (plus eggs, oil, water - see box for quantities)
flat bottomed ice cream cones
icing
decorations

Directions:
Follow the directions for cake mix. Stand one cone each in a muffin pan hole (usually 12). Fill the ice cream cones 3/4 full with cake batter. Bake according to the cake mix directions. When done, remove and cool completely. Ice the tops of the cones and decorate!

Other suggestions and comments:
Note: Watch the cake rise, sometimes a few cones may start to bubble over; take a toothpick and poke it down, it's less sloppy that way.


All I have to say is my kids are going to have the best teacher EVER this year!!!!!

Dear Bacon,

Even though I hate to touch you when you’re in the raw
When I cook you up to a perfect crisp, you’re anything but blah.
I enjoy you most with peanut butter which many think is gross
I crave the sweet and salty deliciousness between some whole wheat toast
Even though you spit at me and like to burn my hand
You make me fat, my stove a mess, but my kitchen can withstand
The hatred that you have for me as I burn you to perfection
Little do you know my dear oven mitt offers great protection
Don’t worry sweet bacon; you’ll live your life snug inside my freezer
Until a recipe calls for your awesomeness – then you’ll become a crowd pleaser.

This poem is dedicated to my husband and all bacon lovers out there. Holla.

Life is Sweet.

I found this pic a long time ago and just recently came across it again. Pretty much sums up everything doesn't it? It's a great day to be a woman!!!....

A serious rant. I promise it won't happen often.

As I was watching a friend open gifts at her babyshower this past weekend, I had an intense flashback, and I haven't been able to shake it since. I hope that by writing this public post it will somehow help me deal with what has been a private issue.

The flashback that I encountered was from my own wedding shower (2.5 years ago!) where I sat and opened gift after gift in front of the ones I love the most. If you're a woman and have been involved in a wedding shower, I'm sure you know the ol' "for every ribbon you snap, that's how many kids you will have! ha ha ha". I remember very well that I was careful not to snap a single one. Ever. Not one. KIDS?!?! Screw that... was my thought.

Flashforward 2.5 years to my girlfriend's babyshower where I stood watching her open gifts-- I was stricken with panic that I somehow jinxed myself for life.

It's been 18 months, thousands of dollars, and what seems like countless doctors visits since Matt and I put the green light on wanting to start a family. That's 540 days of analyzing, calculating, hoping, reading, researching, wondering, praying, pleading, crying..... all for what? 18 months later we have nothing to show for it other than a thick medical file, a lengthy credit card statement, and a lot of pent up resentment. This news may come as a surprise to some close to me- but I feel as I travel down this road of.................. INFERTILITY (there, I SAID it...breathe), I somehow feel comforted knowing that I am able to talk (type) about my issue and have people understand how I feel (or at least try to- which believe me, helps tremendously).

Please know, I am NOT on a "whoa is me" train to "my-life-is-over-ville" (At least not at the moment). I had a rough day and simply needed to put words with my thoughts. I understand that many have it worse than me, but I also see the crackhead down the street with her 47 barefooted children, so what the fuck.

Bottom line: NOBODY...NOBODY should live with the fear that they will never be able to have their own biological children and that's precisely where I reside. Now where is my glass of wine?????

Suck it Quiznos

I've always had a distaste for the Quiznos franchise. I like to consider myself somewhat of a sandwich connoisseur- a sub fanatic, a hoagie extraordinaire. Going to an establishment such as Quiznos is about as infrequent as I wear lingerie these days......

Every once in a while I like to give places such as these a fair chance, so I stopped into one to grab a turkey sub on a desperate afternoon. I walked in and read the menu. It was loaded up with all sorts of specialty sandwiches- none of which fit my fancy. I am a bit of a picky eater I suppose- I like only a few items on a turkey sub and I hate condiments (much to the dismay of Edna - the sub lady at my local publix- much love, Edna!). So I ask what I believe to be a perfectly normal question: Can I make my own sub? To which the cold hearted skank..er girl behind the counter replied: why would you want to do that? Um.... because I don't like any of the 'creative' sub choices you have on the menu!?!?! to which she utters the magical phrase in her most annoying 80's valley girl voice "Well, this really isn't Subway ya know".

The absolute retardedness (new word alert) of her 'justification' for not wanting to make me a custom turkey sub resulted in my COMPLETE AND TOTAL HATRED FOR THE QUIZNOS FRANCHISE and my vow NEVER TO STEP FOOT IN ANOTHER CRAPPY STOREFRONT AGAIN. You insulted this bread, turkey, cheese, lettuce, onion, and a dab of oil, sub eater!

So a big SUCK IT to you, Quiznos. I'd go to Subway any day over your pathetic "mmmm..toasty" lame-slogan-havin'-chiponyourshoulder-valleygirlhiring-nonaccomodating -preservativestuffed-wannabesubshop.

"Still Here, Out Smoking"

OK-- I am not going to lie and say that I have never enjoyed a nice cancer stick while downing a few cocktails over the years, but I AM going to complain about smokers who think they have the the right to occupy two areas in a restaurant JUST because they happen to have a nicotine craving. Last night, I wanted a margarita (well, another margarita)!! We stopped at a bar/restaurant so that I could fulfill my craving. It was 7:30ish and prime Orlando-time to eat. I had already eaten so all I wanted to do was sit at the bar and enjoy a cold mind-altering beverage. I walk in, the bar is PACKED........ except far in the distance, I see a glimmer of hope! Two empty chairs at the opposite end of the bar near the bathroom. YES!!! seeeeeee.... God WANTS me to have a margarita. That is, until I reach the empty seats just to see a sign reading: STILL HERE. OUT SMOKING. What the fuuuuuuuuuuck?! That's IT people: I say it's time to revolt!! If you're a smoker you will just have to accept the fact that your seat will be given up if you HAVE to go outside and inhale tobacco. Plain and simple. Nothing against you as a person- but damn... restaurants should not allow you to occupy two seats for you to bounce back and forth as you please. How I wanted to sit in your seat and wait for your return you greedy greedy smokers.... I hope you know how close you were to my buzzed wrath.