The Amazingly Interesting Adventures of Heather in Audit-Land

A slow sunrise over the city.  Heading back to the airport with Michael Buble crooning over the speakers.  I don't want her to go.  But this is the way the world works.  Sisters get older.  Sometimes they move away.  But they never stop being a sister.  Or a friend.

 

I don't want her to go.

 

[Four days earlier]  It's the middle of the frickin' night and I am driving on rain-slicked back roads with Papa in the passenger seat thankfully not pointing out each and every time I hydroplane.  I'm anxious.  Skywalker is coming home for our birthday.  I have not seen her in a million years.  She has been living it up out in Colorado.  I am cursing the MIT nerds for still not perfecting teleportation and blabbing to Papa nonstop.  Repeating myself.  Saying stupid s**t.  It's at this exact moment I realize how much I missed her.  Faithful readers will know that we're twins.  No...that does not mean she is a doppelganger.  We do not share a brain.  I cannot feel her pain.  She's just my best friend.  That's enough for me.  That's all she ever has to be....

 

Get to stupid BWI and park, Papa reading off the quadrant we are in just in case I forget how to retrace my steps back to the car during the 20 minutes it takes to pick someone up.  <chuckle>  I poke fun at Papa, mostly because he is either completely oblivious to it or chooses to ignore me.  That's cool.  I appreciate his calmness in moments like these more than he knows.  All the coffee shops are closed which is totally ridiculous.  When could you better use a cup of steaming caffeine than in the middle of the night?  Haven't been to the airport in a while but not surprisingly they still have the Threat Level announcements broadcasting to everyone in predictable 15 minute intervals.  I don't even know what Orange means anymore.  I'm sure if it was bad...the announcement would be a little longer.  Something new that I haven't seen before was the radar with little plane icons blipping across the screen, showing you where impending arrivals are at that exact moment.  Her flight number blips up still outside of Baltimore.  Blip.  Blip.  This is like watching water boil.  Blip.  Blip. 

 

People are deplaning, so I stare because I'm bored and anxious.  Some of the freakiest weirdos deplaning here at BWI in the middle of the night, let me tell you.  My favorite was 'I'm With Stupid', huffing and puffing, sex indeterminate striding through the security gates with purposeful conviction until it saw the sign for Baggage Claim and then the inner struggle played out before my very eyes - take the escalator, take the elevator, escalator, elevator, escalator, elevator.  Stupid made a few false lunges toward the elevator and then opted for the escalator.  <shaking my head>  Ahhhh...if only that was the most difficult decision in my life right now.

 

Skywalker calls and despite the cursed time-lagging lying blipping icons, she actually has landed.  Awesome.  More awesome when I see her.  She looks happy.  And that is just frickin awesome.  I miraculously remembered where I parked the car and we head back to loverly Germantown.  Chit chat, end of a hockey game, baked ziti and off to bed because we're ancient and need as much sleep as possible.  Tomorrow is a big day.  I need to get my retarded license renewed at the retarded MVA because I'm totally retarded and totally forgot.  Great.  Also on the list of places I'd rather not hang out on my day off - the MVA.

 

They call it the 'Express' office which is just a blatant slap in the face.  Nothing works any faster, Express my ass.  MVA employees get paid bonuses the longer they take to do things.  More weirdos here to stare at.  And then just staring at the number board waiting for my number to come up.  I'm B110.  We're on B101.  B102.  G37.  What the hell?!?!  That's not even fair.  That's making up your own rules and then breaking them!  I hate this place.  Finally, it's me.  Vision test which is a total joke.  And then Speed Racer behind the counter asks if my address has changed.  Nope.  And then she goes, 5'1" and 135 pounds?  Hahahahaha...yeah sure honey.  That's hilarious.  First of all, anyone looking at this horrific picture will probably think the weight refers to the pumpkin noggin alone.  And second of all....<shaking my head>.....why in the world am I lying on my driver's license?  What kind of ridiculous denial is that?  I'm living in Fantasy Land where if the MVA stamps it into a hologram then it must be so.  Stupid...

 

Barbecue for dinner, catching up with the Parentals and then off to watch them ballroom dance.  We enjoy watching them because they have so much fun.  Not to mention they look absolutely fabulous doing it now.  Fred and Ginger.  I also enjoy the ballroom dancing scene because it is like stepping through the looking glass.  My mother asked us to be polite if anyone asked us to dance.  Uhhhhhhhhhhh...nobody told me that was a possibility.  This could end badly.  Then...just in case anyone in the entire studio missed the fact that we were there....they announce it.  With a microphone.  Fred and Ginger's kids are here.  And it's their birthday!  Oh sweet Jesus...if only I'd asked the MVA Speed Racer to put a 'graceful elegant 135' on the stupid license.  All in all a good day.  Skywalker got me a LiteBrite and a Darth Vader mug.  The Parentals got me a slicer/dicer/weapon against home intruders and some moolah for shopping (preferably for something that wasn't black).  And the Hubby announced we will be adding Cat #2 to the mix.

 

That's right ladies and gents, you heard it here first.  Pumpkin will be getting her very own sidekick to slap around.  The new addition will be Pecan.  I have decided that naming cats after pies isn't weird, it's funny.  I doubt the blood-sucking vet will agree with me...Back home after a shopping marathon and dinner again with the Parentals.  A slow Friday night, more hockey and more chatting and the Hubby decided we needed a fire.  This should be interesting considering we haven't had the chimney cleaned in several years.  I mention this and get the Man-huff that means 'do not question my judgment in matters that concern fire'.  It's never dull in our house people....at any moment the creosote coated chimney could catch fire and send flames of neglet shooting from the top of our house.  Never dull.

 

The house did not burn down and the Hubby definitely gave himself a point for correctly predicting this outcome. 

 

Saturday was more visits and more chatting and more driving to and fro and more stupid rain.  And then that slow creeping feeling that this was all almost over.  Watched some Top Chef together.  Decide that Michael is cuter than Brian even if he does seem to have anger issues.  Head off to bed early since we're ancient and need our sleep...did I mention that already?  Except I can't sleep.

 

Thanks to daylight savings magic, the drive starts out in total darkness.  Save the daylight.  The highway is empty in a way that is sort of eerie.  Not many people ever see a Sunday morning from this perspective.  The drive takes hardly a moment and we're there.  And she's heading off.  And I'm hugging her, saying take care of yourself and write to me.  Like it was just another day, except we're a little bit older and she's moved away.  And she heads back through the security gates, with a big smile.  It was the kind of smile that only truly happy people have.  It was the kind of smile you wish for everyone you love.  It was the kind of smile that was kind of contagious.  It's hard not to be happy around happy people.

 

Even when you're crying.

 

Take care of yourself.  And write to me.

 

Later gators,

Heather

 

 

 

 

It’s raining.  Crap.  I have never hated the rain more than I do tonight.  Tonight, you see, was supposed to be the most perfect Halloween night we have had in ages.  I mean….aaaaaaaaages.  A Saturday and not frigidly cold.  It’s dark before 6 o’ clock.  And I am prepared.  Very prepared for this, my most favoritest holidays of the year.  The house is decked out in especially creepy garb this year.  I have skeletons hanging from the light outside.  My ghosties are doing their dance around the creepy tree strung with orange lights and the windows…..ahhhh….did I mention the windows.  The windows have my normal silhouette masterpiece.  I have to say, it looks totally awesome.  I limited myself to one pumpkin this year so I could spend gobs and gobs of money on candy.  Because I expect to have hundreds of little costumed freaks banging on the door all night.  I am ready.  And then it started to frackin rain.

 

<sigh>  This is no good.  No good at all.  It’s not a heavy rain, but probably enough to make the especially small ghouls and goblins cold after only an hour.  And did I mention that my neighbors are totally lacking in the spirit of things?  Yeah.  Let’s talk about my loser neighbors.  The people who never leave and can’t park their car straight have no decorations.  The drug dealer has no decorations.  The international spy has less than no decorations.  I am extremely disappointed.  How in the holy hell are any kids going to be lured into the cul de sac if only one frackin house has any lights up.  I mean, how hard is it to carve a pumpkin?  Come ON!!!

 

Please see the pictures I have added to gain a better understanding of this disaster.

 

Actually, I need to digress for a moment and point out that it actually can be difficult to carve, well not a pumpkin, but a gourd.  Gourds, I assume include acorn squash.  But I like the word gourd better.  I think if we get another cat, I’ll call it Gourd.  That would be hi-larious.  Anyhoo…I saw a few pictures of some carved acorn squash in Martha Stewart’s magazine of deceit.  And of course thought, well that looks cool, let me try it.  Which I assume is what that sadistic woman envisions everyone doing when they see her scenes from Satan.  So I bought two gourds (aka, acorn squashes), one big and one little and thought this will be so original.  I also assume that you can gut a squash like you can gut a pumpkin…most likely because I have never cut up a squash before.  My mother cooks squash and cooks it well.  The Hubby would never eat something orange unless it was deep fat fried in beer batter so I don’t bother cooking it myself.  I lopped off the top of the gourds and much to my dismay….they are not hollow.  Do not laugh at me, gentle reader…seriously…how was I supposed to know this?  Here’s the more important question…how the frack did the Martha Stewart She-Devil get those pictures of what appear to be hollowed out gourds?  I have added them as well for your pondering.  My best guess is that she has sold her soul and can manipulate matter with her mystical powers from the netherworld.  That…or photoshop.

 

So, back to the night in question.  I have parked myself next to the front door in the delusion that some kids may still be coming by.  The door bell is broken so I hung a sign that explains the kids have to knock.  Kids of course have no idea how loud a knocker is on the inside of the house and so they will invariably be banging it with all the strength their twiggy little arms can muster.  My little waiting station is stocked.  I have my laptop hooked up with Shaun of the Dead playing.  A grown up drink ready to be slurped down, pigs in a blanket baking in the oven, a fan, a chair to put my feet up on, a camera (you never know when you’ll need photographic evidence a misdemeanor) and an extremely uncomfortable chair from the kitchen which is the only one I felt motivated enough to drag down the stairs.  The grown up drink is my own personal interpretation of a tequila sunrise and by interpretation, I mean of course I made it with rum because the Bacardi was on sale and let’s face it…these days….sales rule my life.  Point number 2, equally important though, good liquor will make any interpretation of any drink taste just fine.

 

The minutes are ticking by and the movie is playing and I am becoming increasingly more agitated and irritated and inebriated.  Where are all the bloody kids!  Damn it!  I have ten pounds of candy just sitting here, staring at me….goading me into eating it.  This is no good at all.  I get through a whole rum rise before the first kid starts banging on the door.  ‘Jesus Christ!’ from upstairs where the Hubby is trying to watch some college football… ‘They’re gonna break that thing down!’  I chuckle because he has never been that into this holiday and he mocks my efforts to overdose the neighborhood on sugar.  I am however, glad he has some sports to watch tonight so that he doesn’t have to wait on me.  The Pumpkin who has been stalking around my little station trying to convince me with her psychic mind tricks that she needs a pig in a blanket or she will starve to death, goes streaking up the stairs.  She does not enjoy visitors, especially ones that are lower to the ground than me. 

 

The kids are adorable of course, with their TRICK OR TREATs and their thank yous and their little costumes.  Lots of Michael Jacksons this year.  But they are coming very few and far between.  I cut off the normal-two-to-a-kid rule way earlier into the night than normal and I start telling the greedy little sugar monsters to take handfuls.  Alas, I am sitting here now at 9pm….which is the witching hour for the little ones….with bags of the diabetic coma inducing crap.  This is no good.  I even walk outside to see if I can scope any impending visits and banging on the door….and much to my dismay, the neighborhood has gone dark.  All my loser neighbors have turned their lights out.  What is THIS?!?!  AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  Now there is no chance any kids will be coming down here…

 

The pizza bagels are out.  It’s 9:08 and the door starts banging.  Time for the teenagers and their not really costume costumes.  Their handfuls are, thankfully, much bigger than the little ones.  So half the bowl goes in one visit.  Fabulous, there is still hope that I will not be forced to consume what is left of the chocolate.  The Hubby, who is a freak from outer space if I have never mentioned that before, doesn’t really like candy.  I know.  I think he must have been dropped on his head as a baby.  Time for another rum rise and the door bangs again…I’m almost sure I’ve seen one of these kids earlier in the night and I don’t even care.  Take as much as you want.  The Hubby is falling asleep watching the World Series be delayed.  I usually wait until 9:30 to stop handing out candy.  Maybe I should just put the rest of it out on the doorstep.  I’m sure somebody will take it….

 

Yeah, so I considered that for all of three seconds before a Reeses peanut butter cup (which was made by the devil) beckons me.  I have now eaten so much sugar I feel like vomiting all over the cat who is giving me her usual look of apathy.  All in all the night was a total disaster…too much candy left.  Not enough kiddies.  No tricking and not really treating.  The Hubby is snoring on the coach now…I guess baseball does that to some people.  So I figure I can watch Saw III on the dvr upstairs, with the rest of the pizza bagels….and a few more goobers….and lemonheads….and maybe a snickers.  Or two.

 

Happy Halloween gators,

Heather

Yeah, yeah, yeah...already behind and only episode two.  It's not like I get paid for this or anybody reads it consistently enough to notice.  <smile>  Thanks for all the gentle reminders and subtle threats, everybody.  I feel so loved.  So the episode starts off with the Jerk talking it up with Copper about her smack talking during the first tribal council....you know when she said she didn't trust him.  <chuckle>  This guy is a huge control junkie.  She says we can still talk even though I don't trust you and he's like ok but you see what happened to the last dumb ass girl that stood up against me...Copper, now might not be the best time to stick your neck out there.

 

Then Sweater Vest agrees to allign himself with the Jerk...because you really have to be in an alliance with somebody.  Then the Jerk starts going on and on about the hidden immunity idol.  I think he's a moron for bringing it up because no one has even said there is one.  Sweater Vest thinks he's a moron for bringing it up.  And admit it, so did you.  So what does he do?  Yup, he finds it.  Without any clues, under everybody's nose.  He's rooting around in a tree trunk in the middle of camp like a freak and again....nobody asks a single freaking question about what the hell the guy is doing down there.  So he hides it in his drawers and then tells Sweater Vest about it the first chance he gets.  <shaking my head>  I hate him more because he's stupidly lucky. 

 

Over at Glue we get to meet another Sucker, I mean Survivor...and that would be Yasmin.  Like Jasmine...but not.  She's complaining like I would be.  About how much she hates nature and it's so uncomfortable and blah blah blah.  Here's how she and I are different - I did not voluntarily let them strand me on an island out in the middle of NOWHERE.  You idiot.  Stop complaining.  It's a million bucks.  They're not gonna just give it to you! 

 

Time for the Reward Challenge.  Kind of rugby, except the guys aren't as hot and there are girls.  And the rules are don't do anything Jeffy poo thinks is a cheap shot.  Three people in the pit from each team fight for balls which they throw up to three other members who have to shoot the balls to the opposite side of the pit into baskets.  Skull cracking violence ensues until Jeffy poo ejects Country Boy for tripping the lawyer....which basically caused Foo Foo to lose because they were down a person in the rest of the challenge.  Although Sweater Vest did put on a valiant effort.

 

The Fat Chef was apparently too fat for the challenge and suffered from extremely low blood pressure afterwards.  The Medical people....who always seem to have an Australian accent for some reason...pulled him from the game.  That was kind of too bad but he probably would have been voted out next anyway.  And I'm thinking ok, that's it for the week right?  Oh no, Jeffy poo says you're still voting someone out Foo Foo.  See you at Tribal.

 

Cut back over to Glue, who hasn't gotten a whole lot of air time since they don't suck so much.  They won some fishing gear in the challenge so Shambo takes it out for a spin.  Except of course she can't really use it, doesn't catch anything even though she's out in the ocean for hours and also ends up breaking the snorkel mask.  Not normally a devastating event but this is Survivor Land.  She may as well have peed in the water well.  The other twist in this season is the winning tribe gets to send someone from their tribe to the losing tribe to 'observe' until tribal council.  So the Lawyer Leader of Glue sends nature-hating Jasmine with a 'Y' over to Foo Foo. 

 

I don't like her.  She immediately starts patronizing the losers and if this had intentionally been to demoralize them, good on ya.  But it wasn't.  She seriously thought she was doing some good.  I hate people who cannot read reactions in other people, or who are purposefully oblivious to it.  We emote.  It's one of our gifts as humans.  Take advantage, you nincompoops.  So anyway, nobody at Foo Foo likes her either, especially Country Boy.  She immediately tells him she needs to talk to him and then confronts him with accusations about tripping a girl (that would be her) during the reward challenge.  Or actually she made it sound like he body slammed her into a concrete floor and then smacked a chair across her back.  He, rather unfortunately, attempted to use logic and reason to point out that it was a competition and she was a threat to his competitors.  No, no, no....Country Boy she was just looking for an apology.  Sometimes women just want you to apologize, even if you're right.  Being right is sometimes irrelevant, we just want an apology.  Don't ask for what, it's for whatever reason our scary minds have conjured up and there is no way you will be able to understand so don't ask.  Just apologize.  He didn't and then it got ugly.  A screaming match later and Country Boy was calling her ghetto trash and making fun of her grammar....which I know I do to people too but will never do again because dear Lord did he sound like a snob.

 

So the Editors try to make it look like there's a chance Country Boy will be going home, because he's a trouble maker and he was chopping wood in the middle of the night waking everybody up....big no no on Survivor.  Any fan would know that.  But he's not going home.  It's obviously Copper.  During Tribal Council she points out that she was the only one to bring her bags....a good sign you're going home.  Jeffy poo makes them vote anyway.  Once the votes are read, the decision is final.  The person voted out will have to leave the tribal council area immediately.  And of course it's Copper.  So the two old farts are off of Foo Foo....and the Jerk is an early favorite to go far in this game.  And that makes me clench my fists in fury over the unfairness of it all...I am personally rooting for Sweater Vest.  And maybe next week we'll get to meet the rest of the cast that is apparently too boring to get on TV...I might get this week's episode recap done in a more timely fashion and then again I might not.  Hold yourselves together, I haven't forgotten about anything.

 

Later gators,

Heather

 

 

There’s a chill in the air.  It’s already dark outside.  Fantasy football things are lying all over the coffee table.  The Pumpkin has her normal look of apathy as she hangs her ever widening girth precariously over the edge of the sofa.  The Hubby is grumbling about all his aches and pains.  It sounds like any other Thursday night….except of course it’s not.  Tonight it starts.  Survivor.  I am so starved for some good reality TV, I am practically jumping up and down.  Practically.  I did watch Big Brother (glad that Jordo won) but it’s not the same.  Survivor is the ultimate of ultimate.  I mean……they’re on an island for crying out loud.  Out in the middle of NO WHERE.  In NATURE.  <shiver>  It’s more fun than anything watching these people go all Lord of the Flies, waste away and scheme and plan.  Almost as much fun as it is to watch Jeffy Poo interrogate them and make fun of them and patronize them.  This is Season 19, in case you’re keeping track and we have seen every single episode of this show and so let’s keep the trend going.

 

The Hubby has recently developed a rather annoying habit of talking through shows and then rewinding the DVR.  I imagine this will be part of my Hell when I get there…he has become entirely too comfortable with my level of patient acceptance.  Anyhoo, this season the kiddies are in Samoa.  Samoa is about halfway between Hawaii and New Zealand.  We start the show with these suckers paddling in from the middle of the ocean…I guess they just dumped them off somewhere.  They are already divided up into two teams – Yellow and Purple.  Yes the teams have names and no I don’t really know how to spell them.  The purples sounded like Glue. And the yellows sounded like Foofoo.  So that’s what they are from now on. 

 

20 people to start off with…that feels like a lot for some reason.  Is it always 20?  Maybe less.  Anyway, there’s Hat Man, Copper, the Marine Mullet, and Buzzcut all talking about how they’re so happy to be here, blah blah blah.  Now they land on the beach and here’s Jeffy poo looking adorable as usual.  So the teams have to pick a leader right away, before they even know everybody’s names.  So Glue picks Dreads to be their leader.  He’s a lawyer…so I’m not sure this is a good idea.  Foo Foo picks Dr. Mick and I don’t care if this is a good idea or not.  He’s very easy on the eyes.  The only thing worth mentioning about the Leader Election is that the Marine Mullet goes by the name – Shambo.  This lady is hi-larious….I hope she’s a good character.  Going through the votes we get to see more of the contestants – the Country Boy Ben, Sweater Vest, and Mareeeeeeeeeeesa. 

 

Now the Elected Target has to decide who is going to participate in the reward challenge.  Apparently they need to magically know who would be the best at what.  An impossible task, that they will undoubtedly get criticized and blamed for…..oh I love this show.  They have to pick a Swimmer, a Strongman, the Most Agile and the Smartest.  Glue picked Pretty Boy John, Buzzcut Erik, Yasmin, and Shambo.  Yes, Shambo was picked as the Smartest and she immediately started complaining that she didn’t think she was smart enough.  That's ok, hon.  We don’t think you're smart enough either.  Foo Foo picked Sweater Vest, Hat Man, Mareeeeeeeeeeeesa, and Elizabeth.  Yes Elizabeth was picked as the smartest because she’s Asian…and she seemed pretty ok with that.

 

Now, please don’t act like you weren’t surprised that Sweater Vest could swim like a dolphin…he used to play on a water polo team in college or something or whatever he said.  But he just blew away the other guy in that leg of the race.  Then they had to lift these logs to use as stepping stones.  Hat Man seems to be a little bowling ball….they both struggle but Foo Foo gets done first.  Then they have to walk across a balance beam, flashing cleavage and unwinding a key through a rope.  Then the key is used to unlock puzzle pieces which Smarty Pants has to put together.  Foo Foo led most of the time and ended up winning Fire.  Good for them, they should have won.  Jeffy poo called Glue a bunch of losers, threw a map at them and off they went.

 

Time to set up camp.  Why is this always such a cluster f?  Setting up camp seems to be the hardest thing to do….and I’m not really sure why.  You know you’re going on Survivor, right?  Wouldn’t there be a couple of things you would do beforehand to prepare yourself?  Like, learn how to start a fire, put on a little weight and I don’t know….maybe Google how to build a camp site on the beach?  That would seem a teensy bit prudent to me…So Dreads Esq. initially has everything under control over at Glue but then Pretty Boy who is apparently a real rocket scientist <chuckle> mucks everything up with his silly plans and trying to do it right.  <pshaw> Everybody starts complaining and then just gives up and goes for a swim.  Shambo is not making an effort to fit in….<shaking my head>…..

 

At Foo Foo, Ben Boy knows he knows better than anybody else knows and so he’s gonna tell everybody what he knows, ya know?  Don’t be bossing Dr. Mick around!  Ok, go ahead and do it, maybe you’ll go home first you idiot.  Then Hat Man…who is going to quickly earn a new nickname….starts making alliances with all the girls.  His ‘Dumb Ass Girl’ alliance, as he refers to it.  <sigh>  Hat Man owns an oil company and is probably in league with Lucifer.  Copper is the only girl that doesn’t seem to trust him.

 

Then it really starts.  This Huge Jerk starts lying to everyone about how he was living in N’awlins during Katrina and he was a firefighter and his dog drowned.  And nobody is asking him any questions….maybe it’s the auditor in me but I would have asked some questions.  Big Fat Liar.  And the dog dying?  That almost wasn’t fair….nobody likes hearing about a dead dog.  Even in a lie, it’s sad.  Jerkface is convinced he has everybody wrapped around his little finger.  Then he empties all the water out of the canteens.  Then he puts Sweater Vest’s socks in the fire.  <crinkled up annoyed look>  Jerky McJerkalot thinks he’s a super villain.  We shall see.  I do really hate him….so that’s a good start.

 

Time for the Immunity challenge.  Glue and Foo Foo have to hoist themselves and some rope over these big ramp structures.  Then they have to pull a big box somewhere and then the rest of the team takes apart the box and completes a puzzle.  Sounds like fun.  And by fun, I mean awful.  It is kind of fun watching them push and pull themselves over these ramps….what a mess.  Foo Foo has the lead at the puzzle stage and then Glue gets it.  Like, out of nowhere….they just got it.  And they won.  Someone from Foo Foo is going home.

 

So back at camp, the Tattooed Chef thinks he’s not the weakest player. Oh Come ONNNNNNNNNN!  You moron.  Of course you’re the weakest player.  But he pitches Ashley, this little cute blonde girl that couldn’t hurt a fly.  And Dr. Mick is totally letting me down with his gamer skills….he just agrees like a lemming.  Mareeeeeeeeeeeesa tells Jerkface she doesn’t trust him which he interprets as a threat and then he tells everyone she’s lost it, she needs to go.  Nobody seems to understand his logic, but nobody bothers to question it.  The Mob Mentality, at least it’s not me.  Again, Copper is the only one that doesn’t trust him but she won’t speak up….

 

At tribal council, Cute Ashley is like, la ti da….everything is cool, it is what it is….which Jeffy poo of course makes into a huge deal.  Copper thinks Cute Ashley is the weakest player…probably threatened by how cute she is….Jerkface makes Mareeeeeeeeeeeeeesa sound like a lunatic.  Ben Boy apparently doesn’t like her either.  She says she’s sorry for whatever she did….but honey, it’s way too late for that kind of thing.  People have already made up their minds.   Time to vote!!!!  <hehehehehehehehehehehehe>  I LOVE THIS SHOW.  Oh what I would give to be able to vote people off of my job and off the road and out of my friggin life.  That would be fantastic.  Fan friggin tastic.  The tribe has spoken mother f****r!!!!!  HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.  I am a little delirious from all the sugar I've been shoving into my mouth during this show....should probably calm down a little before I write this.......Once the votes are read, the decision is final.  The person voted out will have to leave the tribal council area immediately.  It was between Mareeeeeeeeeeesa and Cute Ashley, obviously and they tried to make it as dramatic as possible….but in the end it was Mareeeeeeeeeeesa.  So sad for you.  She looked like she was going to cry.  <hehehehehehehehehehehehe>  Loser!  Can’t wait till next week when I hope we get to meet the other 13 players in this game they didn’t bother to introduce….

 

Later gators,

Heather

Obviously I haven’t written in a while…thank you all for notifying me of this.  Some of us are not slaves to the Internet.  Although I must say, for full disclosure, Facebook has been somewhat running my life lately.  I poo pooed it for so long, thinking ‘pshaw……only teenagers get addicted to these stupid social networks.’  Oh no….not just teenagers….it’s like they friggin’ hypnotize you with all those ridiculous games you can play.  And yes, status updates are eerily similar to Tweets.  And yes, I’m a huge hypocrite.  Thank you all for pointing that out as well.

 

Jerks.

 

Anyway, I had other stuff to do this past week besides melting my brain trying to get the high score in Bejeweled.  Other stuff…like Life-Responsibility stuff.  First and foremost, we had another cake-baking adventure to endure this week, so I’ll tell you all about that.  The 2’s were having a birthday party, and not just any birthday party.  A 50^th birthday party.  Reaching the half-century mark is traumatic enough and so to soften the blow, the 2’s held a birthday extravaganza.  I was in charge of the cake.  The birthday gal is into horror movies, and her husband was buying her a cruise for the Big Gift.  So obviously I decided a ‘haunted cruise cake’ would be appropriate.  The cruise was a surprise, but the party wasn’t….so I went ahead with the idea, crossing my fingers that she wouldn’t ask any questions about why the cake was a cruise ship and what the hell that had to do with her birthday or with horror movies for that matter.  There were approximately 60 people attending the party, so the cake had to be about the size of a house to feed everyone.  This kind of endeavor should probably normally only be performed by people with engineering degrees and endless amounts of patience.  I, unfortunately, have neither.  My decade of auditing work is less than useless when it comes to cake baking and decorating.  But that has never stopped me before…..

 

The cake part was the boat.  But it had to be sturdy enough to hold all of the decorations I planned on making.  So an oven-sized sheet cake was in order.  When making a cake this size, there are several things one should really think about before getting started.  First of all, don’t mess up.  You’re using a grocery cart full of ingredients and if you mess up…you definitely won’t have enough eggs left in the house to make another one.  Second of all, have some place to put it when it comes out of the oven.  Someplace where it can sit undisturbed and un-accosted by your cat that has recently become possessed by the devil.  Lastly, don’t mess up.  No really.  Don’t mess up.  Good decorations don’t make up for bad cake.  And yes there is such a thing as bad cake.

 

After the cake was baked, it had to be carved into the shape of a cruise ship.  And here’s me, totally useless accounting degree in hand, artsy fartsy sister a million miles away, staring at this block of cake and trying to imagine what a cruise ship looks like.  I have been googling cruise ship photos for the last week, so I have lots of intricate and ridiculously complicated designs to choose from.  But once you start hacking up your cake, there’s really no going back.  [Please see prior paragraph where I encourage you not to mess it up.]  So with my lethal carving knife in hand I start slicing off parts and stacking other parts and in a sort of art deco modern way, the cake bits begin to resemble what could be mistaken for a cruise ship.  After slathering the whole thing in 8 pounds of icing, I go into a brief diabetic coma from ingesting too many taste tests.  When I come to, the cake is ready to be covered.

 

Hold on a second there, Heather.  You already covered the cake in icing.  What are you talking about?  I’m talking about fondant.  You’ve seen it before, but you probably never cared what it was called.  Fondant is like play dough.  Except it actually is supposed to be edible.  As opposed to real play dough that is only digestable because the Play Dough people knew kids would be eating it by the fistful…because hey….it’s called DOUGH.  <sigh>  So anyway, fondant is edible but I wouldn’t recommend making a meal out of it.  It’s kind of like eating the wax your cheese is covered in….which probably isn’t actually edible so this analogy makes no sense, but work with me here.  It’s no good.  It tastes kind of tasteless, which would be ironic if I knew what irony was….but, more importantly than all that, it makes the cake look gooooooooooood.  So here’s what you do with fondant.  You roll it out like a pie crust, lift it up, place it on top of your cake sculpture and then press it down to make sure it stays in place and is not wrinkled up.  Sound easy?  Right?  <shaking my head>  Right.  I can hear all of you out there shaking your heads no too.  It wasn’t.  I’ve used this crap before but in much smaller doses….covering a whole cake has never been in the game plan until now.  And until now, I assumed it would be no big deal.  Yeah….it was a big deal.  It kept sticking to the counter.  And then it would stick to the rolling pin.  And then it would stick to me.  And then I would pop some in my mouth before I remembered I hated the taste of it.  And then I would be annoyed.  And oh, by the way, if you don’t roll out enough and try putting it on your cake…..it’s a disaster.  Because then you have to take it off, but there is already icing all over it and then you’re thinking - beating someone with this marble rolling pin would feel really good right about now.  Don’t ask me how I know this.

 

Magically, the cake got covered in fondant.  I think I must have blacked out with rage at the previous attempts, because I can’t really recall how exactly it happened.  It just did.  So now it’s time for decorations.  The decorations have actually been in the works for most of the week.  Maybe the most of two weeks.  The decorations are horror movie characters.  I had them all – Freddy Krueger, Mike Meyers, Jason, Dracula, Jigsaw, Scream guy, Chucky, and Pinhead.  I made the little horror movie people out of the fondant too….and again, some artsiness would have come in real handy.  Instead, I have to use my tried and true approach of mess up after mess up after mess up until I stop really caring if it looks that much like the characters.  Now the characters have to be small enough to stand on the cake boat.  Or at least, that was the original intention…..didn’t really end up that way but we’ll get to that later.  The characters also had to have all limbs properly attached.  In an ideal world at least.  But this is not an ideal world.  This is Heather’s Cake-Baking Inferno of Hellish Retribution for Everything I’ve Ever Done Wrong in the World.  So first Dracula’s arms fell off….then Freddy’s hand fell off….then Chucky’s head fell off.  More than one horror movie character got crushed back into a blob of fondant in my decorating fury.  In order to glue parts together, you can use several things…a sugar syrup substance, a hard icing concoction or Krazy Glue (which was the Hubby’s suggestion after hearing me curse for the 900^th time in a row and hearing the ‘splat’ of fondant getting pounded back into the table).  So when you’re gluing stuff together, you have to kind of prop it up so it can dry right and then leave it alone….unless you own a cat that has recently been possessed by the devil. 

 

I don’t know what was wrong with the Pumpkin this week.  Maybe she is allergic to sugar and the sight of so much was offensive.  But after Attempt #1 of several of the characters, I left them out to dry on the dining room table.  Which she never gets on.  Ever.  In her life, she has never hopped up on the table….for all she knew, there was no table, it was a black bottomless abyss that sends too curious cats into the Kitty Limbo where they have flea goop applied too often and have to eat the cheap brand of cat food.  That was the extent of Pumpkin’s knowledge of what was on top of the dining room table, until this week.  I came home after work to look over the drying progress of Attempt #1, only to notice immediately that several of my characters had mysteriously disappeared.  After ruling out that they had walked themselves away or taken suicide leaps off the edge of the table, I started hunting around the rest of the house all the while becoming more and more angry.  Pumpkin, meanwhile, sat perched on the edge of the sofa leering at me with her devil eyes secretly giddy at my fruitless search.  I eventually found one mangled character next to her food dish.  I found the other one….bent and broken to hell, in the basement.  She had quite obviously jumped on the table, taken one look at the little freaks and bopped them right onto the floor with her claws of death.  Now, I have no idea when she actually performed this heinous act, so discipline would normally be out of the question (not that this cat is capable of being disciplined) but I was so irritated by her state of calm and her little beady eyes mocking me, that I flailed the carnage of Attempt #1 around in front of her face until she walked away.  Yes, she walked.  My flailing does not intimidate the cat anymore.  She sees it too often.

 

So after Attempt #87, the stupid characters were done.  As well as they were gonna get done by that time.  Now for the last big hurdle of the cake-baking adventure – transportation.  Yes, I did briefly consider inviting all 60 people over to my house just to eat the stupid cake….but then realized that would entail cleaning up after the hurricane that must have hit the kitchen and living room areas while I wasn’t looking.  Sheesh….my house is always a disaster after a cake-baking adventure….not sure how the entire house gets dirty through this process….but it does.  And no, I did not have the energy to clean so now it’s time to figure out how to get everything over to the birthday house.  If I could do this by myself, it would have been less stressful.  If I could freeze time and teleport the cake there, it would have been less stressful.  When will the MIT nerds figure out teleportation!!!  Hellooooooooooooo….can we get on that please?  Since none of the easy options were available, I had to use the Hubby to help me.  The Hubby has huge bear paw hands and big fat man fingers and very little patience with me screaming at him to hold something more carefully when he already considers balancing the cake parts in one arm while he opens and closes doors to be careful enough.  If our marriage can survive transporting a cake, I think we’re good.  Honestly, there can’t be anything worse to endure than me having panic attacks the whole way there because he’s driving my car that he never drives, shifting my transmission that he’s not used to, taking turns at 12 miles an hour and not 2.  Did I mention the birthday house is only about an eighth of a mile away from ours?  Yeaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh….it took us about ten minutes to get there.  I’m kind of surprised he didn’t stop the car and boot me out.  That’s true love people.

 

So once we’re at the house, and all the cake parts have made it into the house and I’ve walked by everyone including the birthday gal with the cruise ship cake, dodging questions about why it’s a ship like I just didn’t hear them….now it’s time to put everything together.  So all the little characters come out of the box I had them in and I start putting them on the cake….which is exactly when I realized I made the God***n things too big.  No they are not going to fit on the ship.  They are apparently water-walking horror movie characters.  And then to make matters worse, either because it was ridiculously humid out on Saturday or because I had too much bad karma on me from yelling so hysterically at the Hubby….arms started falling off of all the stupid characters.  I wanted to cry.  I wanted to just throw the little limbs back in the box and explain to everyone that the Michael Meyers character must have hacked all their arms off.  I wanted to start mashing up all the characters in my frustration.  And instead, with rage-induced shakiness, I started…..pattttt<hisssssssssss>iently gluing all their God***n arms back on.  I propped all of them up, everybody took pictures and then it was mercilessly over.

 

The hubbub of a 2 party didn’t even bother me after that was all over.  The 60 people in my personal space bubble didn’t even bother me after that was all over.  The ear-splitting decibel level of the 2’s normal speaking voices didn’t even bother me after that was all over.  The rabid mosquitoes on the back porch didn’t even bother me after that was all over….west nile virus shmirus.  I ate enough pasta to offset the 8 pounds of sugar I had already consumed that week and drank enough wine to start speculating about what kind of accent the Pumpkin would have if she could ever learn to talk.  [The answer is Australian….which I came to after saying G’day mate in my head and then laughing at myself outloud].   

 

The birthday gal had an awesome time, made out like a bandit with the stack of gifts she got, and loved the cake.  Mission accomplished.  That was unfortunately not the end of our weekend or of my amazing adventures…..we had one more party to go to and house moving to contribute to, so by the time I rolled into work on this awesomely chilly morning, I am pretty much running solely on caffeine.  I am so over-caffeinated right now, I could probably be called a biohazard.  The pumpkin noggin keeps tilting dangerously to the side as I half fall asleep at my desk.  There are really real work reasons I’m here today, it’s not just to be a martyr even though girls are notoriously good at that.  If I pass out on my laptop and you find me drooling and snoring, please….just leave me alone.  I obviously need the sleep and whatever you need cannot possibly be as important as you think it is…..

 

Later gators,

ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzHeatherzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZ

 

p.s. Pictures will be forthcoming...please just hold yourselves together until I find the time to do it.

 

 

Jerks.