Grace Has Nothing To Do With Aging.

It has been forever since I posted anything remotely food related on my other blog.  Which is a shame, because I’ve actually been doing crap.  And by crap, I mean creating and baking .. Not, well ...

Anyhoot,

(Taking a line from The Boogey Man there - thanks Momma .. and like you need the advert.  ;)   )

The daughterling has officially turned 15.  Aside from making me feel as old and dangly as some of the women in National Geographic, it has come to my attention that I am “officially”, officially off the “Cool People” list.  Having never been aware I was ever even on it, never mind knowing that there is such a thing, I met the news with little more than a sigh as I scratched under my old lady boobs and hiked my grannie panties up to meet them.

I get to do that now; dress to fit the part.  And have I mentioned the allergies?  Well yes, at least I still have those, if not my dignity.

So let’s see, where am I with everything ...hhmmm?  Well, due to my extraordinary ability to turn anything into a sloth-fest of laziness and confusion, I’m going the nutshell route.  Again.  (Suck it up and deal, I’m incapable of behaving at the moment.  Benadryl does weird things with my meds.  And the fuchsia, lederhosen wearing elephant walking across my ceiling playing the part of a gay Maria in The Sound of Music is really starting to become a distraction.)

As I was saying;  Nutshell.

Had job at bakery.  Quit to work at tea house.  Quit working at tea house to go back to work at the bakery because tea house owner was mad as a hatter - Bah-dum-dum.  Discovered the more I worked, the less others were inclined to, which utterly stressed me out and forced me to consume mass quantities of yummies.  Then I got fat, which made me angry, and I don’t do angry and fat in any sort of reasonable way, so either someone had to die, or find a job.  Then I reasoned being angry, fat, and incarcerated probably wasn’t much of a solution, thus I did the only sensible thing I could; I quit my job.  Now I can’t afford food, and the afore mentioned individual, whom I’ll call Bupkiss, could likely escape should a foot pursuit take place, because now I’m so weak I couldn't catch Bupkiss if he was both lame and blind.  

Problem solved.

That last bit may have been a lie.  Maybe.  The thing I’ve found with men is they are biologically geared to block out a woman’s voice .. Unless she’s saying something like, 
“I ruv you rong time!  You rike-a boom, boom, yes?”  ... But where does that get me?  So I’ve gone the Greek route ... now say it with me, “The man is the head of the family, but the woman is the neck, and the neck can turn the head any direction it needs.”

The head needed turning.  I turned it.  Beats breaking it.  Everybody wins.

End of nutshell; The head turning has been effective to an extent, and I still have the option of going back to the bakery.

Which, if anyone read back a few posts, might leave one wondering how that’s possible.

Answer; I'm freakin Wonder Woman.

Truthful Answer; Situations were hammered out and I agreed to finish out my two weeks.  We even went to dinner, which I slopped all over myself because I ordered a spicy noodle soup, and all they gave me to eat it with were chopsticks.  That’s not even the odd part .. because it was a Chinese restaurant.  The thing is, I typically use chopsticks at home to eat, so you would think I could pull it off without looking like a convulsing manatee.

Nope.  Didn’t happen.  Score two on the uncool scale.

The chopsticks at home?  It’s a thing.  You’ll get over it, my husband has.  In my defense; did you know they sell packages of disposable chopsticks for super cheap?  Well, they do, and now I won’t waste a fortune in missing silverware my children insist they’ve never touched. (And judging by the carpets, they may be telling the truth.)  

Though to clarify, by silverware I mean; Made In China --which translates into "tin, and possibly lead silverware."

At least the chopsticks don’t contain lead, cause I’m not needing anymore crazy.

Anywhat,

(Really, thanks Momma, I’ve expanded my vocabulary.)

Made nice with boss lady, and am sitting around rotting.  Also sneezing.  Possibly drooling. Most definitely looking like a glazed over crank whore, only without the “whoring” perk.

(Yes dad, that was a joke.  Me make funny rong time!) 

So, back to the point.  Daughter 15, been baking, turning heads, no whoring. (At least none I’ve been conscious of.)

I made Wednesday (daughter) an ice cream cake for her birthday, because let’s face it, what they sell at the store is NOT cake.  It’s rabbit poo ensconced in a robe of shortening and red dye #5.  My girl had a chocolate cake with French vanilla ice cream and a chocolate ganache, Swiss butter cream.

That’s how I got fat.

I’ll make another and post the recipe and how to’s.  Because my ass really needs it’s own zip code, and fat loves company.  I would love for someone to try it and tell me what they think.

I also have to apologise to Wednesday.  She didn't appreciate my comments on her texting a few posts back.

Because she's 15, and I'm uberly unfunny, and she will totally only text to two people at a time, and doesn't need any one's approval. Just FYI.  Now you know.

(... unless she wants a purse from a shop too girly for her to be seen in... so she makes someone else go get it for her.  But that's an inside joke, and likely just as unamusing as ever.)

Hhhmmm.  My bad.

And for those of you with visual needs;