I Have No Twitter, And I Must Rant Publicly

Oven is 100% done for. Good riddance. I spiritually piss on its grave.

Had to move the cheesecake next door to finish baking (to finish baking and beyond… I fucking hate using other peoples’ ovens, as grateful as I am to my neighbors for allowing me to use it… temps vary so wildly and you never truly know what’s going to happen until it’s too late) and I’m going to have to get up early tomorrow to go up to my parents’ house to bake the pumpkin pies. Christ on the cross, it never ends.

In other mildly upsetting news, I finally bit the bullet and bought a new domain. A .nu domain, yukyukyuk.

I’ve been very patient so far today, but it is really beginning to push my buttons.

Baking with my baby.

img_20161123_135450Fall/winter used to be my favorite times of year for basically one reason: Baking. I could use the oven without heating the whole house up, all my favorite shit to bake with is in season, and then I can give it all away afterwards.

Of course, this was all before my oven decided that the time to be a colossal piece of shit was upon us. Now, it no longer works, pretty much at all. I might be able to turn it on, but I might not, and even if I can get it to preheat correctly, there is simply no guarantee that it will stay on long enough to bake anything.

The upside to this is that I get a new oven. The downside is that it’s Christmastime and I don’t want to drop a lot of money on an oven when I could be buying Christmas presents for my kid (and my nieces and nephews who haven’t been liberated by CPS) and dogs.

Also, it fucks with my baking schedule.

Alas, tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and there are cheesecakes and sweet potato pies and pumpkin pies and possibly apple pies to be made, oven be damned.

So, here is my six-year-old daughter, pouring vanilla for a cheesecake. Which is in the oven. Probably baking, but just as likely just sitting there in the bain-marie, raw as fuck and forever inedible.

Such is life.

Mermaids, Part 2: Diana

Mermaids

Fandom: Rule of Rose

Summary: Diana and Jennifer are forced into a tentative partnership when the airship experiences mechanical difficulties.

Part 2: Diana

As a long time member of the upper echelon of the Red Crayon Aristocrats, Diana was not accustomed to being trod upon by anybody, let alone a miserable peon like the new girl.

Her lip curled as Jennifer continued mindlessly on her path, apparently unbothered by the prospect of collision. Her hands moved to her hips, a threatening pose she’d been working on to help better intimidate the underlings, but the foolish girl wasn’t paying mind enough to notice.

Stupid, filthy wretch. If she wrinkles my new dress, I’ll skin her alive.

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Cindy’s Place

I finished it sooner than I thought I would, or else I wouldn’t have posted that preview. Oh well.

Warnings: It’s a horror story, so…

Cindy’s Place

Mother was always the secretive type.

She was for shit at hiding presents or keeping her opinions to herself, and if she was angry at Father, everybody heard about it, but Mother kept her secrets just fine.

Mother used to teach preschool, but had gotten married and twice pregnant in the span of four years, and became a stay-at-home mom instead. This was supposed to mean that childrearing was her new job, but unlike her stint as a preschool teacher, Mother didn’t seem to take this job seriously.

Still, the house was kept, the children fed, the dogs maintained, and because her moods were usually intolerable, her company wasn’t exactly missed when she took to her room and didn’t come out for hours at a time.

Nor did anyone complain when she left the house in the early afternoon without so much as a goodbye, only turning up again at dinner time, each hand clutching a greasy paper bag filled with cold food.

The kids – two of them, ages 7 and 8, both girls and neither possessing of any true fondness for the other – rarely even noticed her absences. They had their toys, TVs, books, dogs, and imaginations to keep them busy. Since they didn’t much care for each other, they kept to themselves, and so neither was able to engage the other in any speculation in regards to Mother’s whereabouts, or bond over their shared disdain for the woman who had, for whatever reason, given birth to them.

After a while, Mother became a concept, really, just a formality. Someone to heat the frozen dinners and sign the permission slips.

It was a perfectly fine arrangement, until Father fucked it up.

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Go tell Aunt Rhody…

I just love when I have a ton of ideas, but no motivation. It’s so much fun to have this kind of creative constipation. Almost as fun as ordinary constipation.

I want to start using my Angela tumblr as a dumping ground for short stories (from Angela’s POV) and random pictures around her house and Pleasantview and shit. I just gotta sit my ass down and force myself to be productive.

 But God, I’m just so lazy. So. Lazy.

My daughter is turning 6 in less than a month. Madness. It feels like only yesterday the midwife was trying to wrench my cervix open by hand… good times.

I need to start “auditioning” cupcake recipes pretty soon. Doing a Shopkins theme for some reason. Google tells me that a cupcake in a yellow wrapper with a dark turquoise frosting will suffice, which is good because I can bake just fine, but I can’t decorate for shit.

And that is life right now…