The other night when I was at the Shingle Mill, a friend and I were talking and she said she was throwing a small 'thang' Thursday night (tonight) for her boyfriend's fiftieth birthday at the Drift Inn (the Shingle Mill is our 'home bar' but there are many others in the area that are frequented by locals). She asked if I knew anyone who makes cakes "Not chocolate or vanilla-something kinda different." Without really thinking, I blurted out "I make a mean carrot cake!" I was 'hired' on the spot.
I decided to make it here at the house as this is where the larger kitchen appliances (i.e. the food processor) live and also because if I bake anything at the houseboat, one end ends up twice as high as the other. (Evidently we are listing more than just a wee bit.) Of course there is no perishable stuff here since Alex is staying at my Mom's, so this involved several trips back and forth to the houseboat for things I forgot the FIRST FIFTEEN times: left the cream cheese on the counter, the pecans in the freezer, the eggs in the fridge, the vanilla in the spice rack-you get the picture. On my last trip to get THE FARGING DRIZZLE OF MILK I needed to make the icing, my neighbor stopped me on my way in and said "Oh, by the way...I ran into you know who and she's been up all night and she and her old man are 'at it' and she said if I see you to tell you to FUCK THAT cake." Fuck. Me. Running.
Don't get me wrong-I love carrot cake. But when the Unit heard that I was making one he said that just that morning he had been thinking about having me make him one. So I got enough crap to make two. The prollem is that I just made a pan of brownies that I have studiously ignored during the day, but that somehow keeps getting smaller and smaller each night, usually after a few big girl drinks when my inhibitions are low. Not getting any sex-might as well eat (at least that is how I imagine the conversation with myself goes-fortunately, drinking said big girl drinks leaves me suffering from selective amnesia, wherein I remember I had fun fun fun but forget all about the brownie edges and pack of peanut butter crackers whose wrapper I found on my nightstand.) So you see my dilemma-I have brownies haunting my evenings already, and if I add a carrot cake which I will feel compelled to *clears throat* get rid of in anticipation of the FRESH one I will be baking for the unit Saturday morning, I am not gonna be able to squeeze my fat arse into my Awful Waffle outfit for his homecoming. Or the jeans I just got that make my butt look so fabulous that I felt compelled to do much posturing and unnecessary bending all over in Walmart whilst purchasing ALL MY FUCKING CARROTS.
Anyone want some dessert?
- I love a lot. I wait a lot. I try to find a lot to laugh at. I don't usually have trouble with that. I pray a lot. I'm not always sure who or what I pray to, but I firmly believe that prayer makes a difference. I try not to panic very often. I try to learn something new every day. I spend a lot of time poking my nose into other peoples' bidness via their blogs. I clean up an awful lot of feathers. You can dress me up, but you can't really take me out. I travel a lot when I can find bird sitters and we take them with us when I can't. I drink, prolly to excess, but I rarely get sick because my body is a hostile environment to germs (or maybe no SELF RESPECTING germ would LIVE in my body?) I collect: gnomes, passport stamps, MONEY-preferably US dollars or Euros, red headed womyn and chicks named Stephanie. My Momma taught me many many years ago that girls don't fart, they foosie. She taught me lots of other chit too. Thanks for stopping by-leave me a comment and let me know you were here, feel free to link to me, or email me at firstname.lastname@example.org