April showers bring May flowers......bring June snow?!?

Next week is June. Seriously? Did it really snow yesterday?

I love Mary Burbank

READ PREVIOUS POST (BELOW) FROM TODAY FIRST.......

Mary is one of our faculty members and she just made my day. Totally un-provoked and having never seen my blog, she asked me if I was losing weight. Yes, just a few minutes ago. Isn't she a dear?

AND! I told her about that horrendous person this morning and she came up with a "come-back". Here is it:

Meanie: "Are you pregnant"
You: "No, but how far along are you?" And at this point, reach over and rub her belly!!!!!

Ha! Ha! Best come-back for the pregnant line, ever!!!!!! I rarely get this line from a man but I think I would do the same thing. Just to show that his big 'ol gut looks like a baby-belly too.

WARNING: Explicatives

Dear bitch, fucking stupid bitch, for that matter,

No, I am indeed not pregnant--thank you very much for asking; I apparently just have a very large gut. You, however, should have been pushed down the stairs by my large belly, kung-foo-panda style. Trust me, she was no more fit than myself and it would have been a good match, gut to gut.

And now for my tirade, this is a question that you should never, ever, under no circumstances, no exceptions, by no means, ask. I don't give a shit if you are in the delivery room and the woman is in labor. Never ever. Besides being a major fat insult, how do you know if that poor woman has been trying to have a baby for years and happens to look like she is pregnant because she is injecting hundred of hormones? How do you know that if tragically the almost-mother just miscarried. Never ever. It's not your fucking concern and you are a horrible, ignorant person for just blurting out your thoughts. I would much rather hear, "gee, you've put on a few pounds lately".

I've had this conversation with several women and none of us have been able to come up with a witty, back-handed insulting response. "No, I'm not pregnant. I guess I'm just fat" is not a good one. It does not make the poor fatty feel better. ( I use the word "fatty" in jest. I'm trying to inject some humor, not additional insults.) A response of "You are a bitch" doesn't help either. It needs to convey how remarkably stupid and insulting the comment was in the first place. Anyone?

And P.S., I do acknowledge that I have gained some weight after getting married. I have a rule, when I say "fat", I must add "and happy". So, yes I am fat...and happy.

Something to ponder as you wait for your bus

Yes, I saw this in good 'ol Midvale, UT (7200 south & 900 east)

You just cannot get good help these days

Dear starbucks cashier,

Vital questions you might have asked:

• Whole or nonfat milk?
• regular or sugar-free syrup?
• what size?

Questions you did ask:

• How do you pronounce your last name?
• What is the origin of your last name?
• Is it Irish?
• Do you like your American express card?
• Ooooh, a gold credit card! (Not a question but stupid nonetheless)

This was quite an adventure this morning and I will own that I was throwing some serious dirty looks through this transaction. This cashier was a strange one. She would ask the above questions, then step away from the register, before I even answered, to do some non-essential task. Like refill the the song cards, as she is carrying around my order cup. She comes back to the register, picks up exactly where she left off with her questions. Then inputs my order in the register and before taking my out-stretched credit card, steps over to the drive through window and straightens the stack of napkins. Comes back, takes credit card, asks more strange questions, walks, with credit card in hand, to the back wall and straightens some bottles. Oh, she did mention that she was "multi-tasking". More like didn't take her dose of ritalin.

I did, however, appreciate her haircut. Do you remember in the 90's, where women would shave the lower half of their hair and wear the rest up in a ponytail? Perhaps it was a small town thing.

Ruby's Christmas

12 Puppy days to Christmas
author anonymous

On the first day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
The Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the second day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the third day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
Three punctured ornaments
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the fourth day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
Four broken window candles
Three punctured ornaments
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the fifth day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
Five chewed-up stockings
Four broken window candles
Three punctured ornaments
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the sixth day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
Six yards of soggy ribbon
Five chewed-up stockings
Four broken window candles
Three punctured ornaments
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the seventh day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
Seven scraps of wrapping paper
Six yards of soggy ribbon
Five chewed-up stockings
Four broken window candles
Three punctured ornaments
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the eighth day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
Eight tiny reindeer fragments
Seven scraps of wrapping paper
Six yards of soggy ribbon
Five chewed-up stockings
Four broken window candles
Three punctured ornaments
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the ninth day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
My wreath in nine pieces
Eight tiny reindeer fragments
Seven scraps of wrapping paper
Six yards of soggy ribbon
Five chewed-up stockings
Four broken window candles
Three punctured ornaments
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the tenth day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
Ten Christmas cards I shoulda mailed
My wreath in nine pieces
Eight tiny reindeer fragments
Seven scraps of wrapping paper
Six yards of soggy ribbon
Five chewed-up stockings
Four broken window candles
Three punctured ornaments
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the eleventh day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
Eleven unwrapped presents
Ten Christmas cards I shoulda mailed
My wreath in nine pieces
Eight tiny reindeer fragments
Seven scraps of wrapping paper
Six yards of soggy ribbon
Five chewed-up stockings
Four broken window candles
Three punctured ornaments
Two leaking bubble lights
And the Santa topper from the Christmas tree.

On the twelfth day of Christmas my puppy gave to me
A dozen puppy kisses And I forgot all about the other
eleven days.

Merry Christmas y'all, from our family to yours!

Visions of sugar plums

I finally caught the Christmas bug and have been baking up a storm. For some reason, treats and goodies are what I associate with the holidays. That and Christmas cards. Unfortunately, Brad is going to associate doing the dishes with Christmas baking. He has been kind enough to clean up after my messes and only complains about it when he thinks I'm not listening. :) Just kidding, honey!

2 weekends ago, I started the baking extravaganza with some caramel apple cinnamon rolls. Delightful, if I do say so myself. I have always shied away from bread. It just seems tricky but it's all about the Bosch mixer. Next up was the annual gingerbread men. The secret is a little lemon zest in the dough. Strange, I know but it just gives it this bright hint. And don't overbake them, for heaven's sake! In my humble opinion, gingerbread men are soft. Gingersnaps are crunchy. (Geez, someone is passionate about her gingerbread cookies!)


And then, for the crowning event that weekend, I made this pear tart....in 2 attempts--funny story now, but I wasn't laughing then. The first crust attempt was tossed high in the air when I forgot the tart pan had a removable bottom. As I was taking it out of the oven, holding it underneath, my hand punched right through the pan, sending the crust 3 feet in the air. Ironically enough, I made a conscientious decision to hold the bottom of the pan so that I wouldn't break the sides of the crust. Burned myself in the process and literally had crumbles of dough from floor to ceiling. (Thank you again, Brad, for cleaning up this one. I was busy having a break-down and trying to remember why I had started all three desserts at the same time.)

You'd think I would have learned my lesson but the next weekend, I was back at it again. I decided to try my hand at my mom's homemade wheat bread; first time I've ever attempted it. Must be a pretty fail-safe recipe because it turned out surprisingly well! So much that I made another batch a couple of days later.

And then thought, "hell! might as well make some fig jam to go along with it". I just found a recipe on the internet and it was sooooo good. Crazy-Brad wanted to do dishes for the 14th time that day and made a request for his favorite holiday treat, eggnog pound cake. Oh, you have no idea! It is truly worth the 1562 calories per slice.

And after all this, I still wanted to bake something for the neighbors. (You are wondering what we did with all the previous baked goods. Brad and I took them to work so we can spread the weight gain among more people!) A couple of friends came over and we became a caramel-apple-factory-making-machine. 60 gourmet apples in 3 hours, baby! (Brad likes to claim that it actually took 15 hours, including clean-up.) We must have come up with 10 different designs and toppings. This one is a caramel, white chocolate toffee apple:

and a red chocolate, caramel one:



And a white chocolate, caramel apple one just for the kids:


Brad gets credit for sprucing up this one. He added the hat, arms and scarf ties. That man is more creative that he ever lets on.

Now that I've run out of the crack I musta been smoking, I think I've had my fill of holiday baking. I'll be moving on to homemade soups. Goodness gracious, I'm going to be the size of a house by New Years!