I'm digging out from under boxes from The Great Moving House Adventure (All two blocks of it--yes, you read that correctly--we moved two blocks. LOL), although slowly, I'm still trying to get stuff sorted and organized with the unpacking.
A few weeks ago, there was an incident online which I won't even dignify with commenting about, other than to say lesson learned and after nearly twenty one years on the internet, I will remain as neutral as Switzerland. JS
Cancer Bitches is growing by leaps and bounds!
Cookies, I've created new ones with using my base recipe, white chocolate chips and raspberries. People jumped on those like crazy. Some even made it to Oklahoma City, although I think more of my lavender cookies made it there than the raspberry ones, but that's okay. My cookies are traveling! Next up, miniature blueberry lemon cream cuppy cakes! (Yes, oh yes, there will be foodporn!)
The Children of the Fur like the new house. I've acquired a couple of small baskets and they really like laying in those for some reason.
I love living where I live. I was out and about to pick up Football Monkey this week when I stopped by a shop in town. At the shop next door to where I was going in, there was a man and a woman, each with a rather large blanket, running around the parking lot. They were chasing a ginormous rooster that's evidently been running all over town for the last two weeks and nobody can catch it. I hope they caught it because roosters are chickens and chickens are scary, although I have to say it was pretty fucking entertaining to see people chasing a rooster in town.
People are trashy. I picked up trash from the fence line earlier this week at Mr. K's around the corner. People are seriously trashy. This wasn't stuff that was blown around by the wind because you know, Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain. This was people being too fucking lazy to ditch their trash properly and tossed it out the window. A porn mag, seriously? Beer bottles, water bottles, sports drink bottles, empty cigarette packs, paper soda cups. But a porn mag? What a fucking I can't even come up with something creative enough for that shit.
Up side? I had carrots with me and was nicely hugged, nudged, and loved on by the horses who wanted carrot bites. (Yes, horses can hug a human if they use their head and neck the correct way. It's pretty awesome to be hugged by a horse. It's probably like petting a sea turtle, dolphin, or elephant.)
Now that I've unpacked probably 3/4 of the way, I want to go back over to the small show horse barn and start grooming again, even if it's only once a week because of football going on right now. (Note to self to avoid the scary, rabid chickens there.)
Speaking of unpacking, I found my horse cookie recipe. This is awesome because I have peppermints and carrots and molasses and oats, so I can make horse cookies. How fucking awesome is that, readers? Pretty fucking awesome!
And speaking of finding my recipe, I stopped off at the local library to see if they had any interesting books available for sale. Let me tell you, I walked out of there after having paid one USD with five books, two of which were amazingly spiffy recipe books! I've got a wealth of new recipes to monkey around with in the kitchen and spent only twenty cents on each book! I am sofa king awesome!
I've acquired more twit followers than I can shake a stick at, all over the world in all kinds of varying fields, and the same goes for my pinterest boards, although pinterest is now wanting to charge for paid pins, so I'm not too sure about that yet. We'll see how that goes.
There's a crochet project I'm working on, which could turn out to be interesting, if it works.
Recently, there was a discussion about advice for flatness. Of course, there was a comment made about breasts not defining us as women--there always is one of those. And of course, I had plenty to say about that shit. I said I felt like my breasts did define me as a woman because they helped make me appear to be more feminine and they were part of what made me a woman and I hate not having them now. If anyone feels like their breast did define them as a woman and that was ripped away, that's normal. One person said she hadn't thought about it from the perspective of if someone didn't like being flat. It opened up the conversation enough to where I was able to tell her I got so tired of seeing the fake platitude crap about yippee-skip-acceptance that I started the Cancer Bitches group. If someone is having a bad day, and it happens to everyone, they're allowed to say something there in a safe space instead of being told to suck it up and wear the pink ribbon because yay, gtfoi, pink ribbons and shit. Nope, if someone's having a shit day, they can cry or vent or rage in a safe space and will be given kindness and respect and now she's a Cancer Bitch. (No, we aren't always going to agree with each other about everything all the time, but that's part of being a mature adult, being able to discuss things with others, even if it's not always something everyone will agree about.)
Change what you can't accept or accept what you can't change. I can't fucking change how much cancer fucked me over in a multitude of ways. It fucking happened and I can't fucking change that and I sure as fuck refuse to accept it.
You're now returned to your regularly scheduled mundane blog reading. I know you all missed my bitchtastic bitchitude here since I haven't updated recently. I'll try to get that regular updating thing sorted out.
A few weeks ago, there was an incident online which I won't even dignify with commenting about, other than to say lesson learned and after nearly twenty one years on the internet, I will remain as neutral as Switzerland. JS
Cancer Bitches is growing by leaps and bounds!
Cookies, I've created new ones with using my base recipe, white chocolate chips and raspberries. People jumped on those like crazy. Some even made it to Oklahoma City, although I think more of my lavender cookies made it there than the raspberry ones, but that's okay. My cookies are traveling! Next up, miniature blueberry lemon cream cuppy cakes! (Yes, oh yes, there will be foodporn!)
The Children of the Fur like the new house. I've acquired a couple of small baskets and they really like laying in those for some reason.
I love living where I live. I was out and about to pick up Football Monkey this week when I stopped by a shop in town. At the shop next door to where I was going in, there was a man and a woman, each with a rather large blanket, running around the parking lot. They were chasing a ginormous rooster that's evidently been running all over town for the last two weeks and nobody can catch it. I hope they caught it because roosters are chickens and chickens are scary, although I have to say it was pretty fucking entertaining to see people chasing a rooster in town.
People are trashy. I picked up trash from the fence line earlier this week at Mr. K's around the corner. People are seriously trashy. This wasn't stuff that was blown around by the wind because you know, Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain. This was people being too fucking lazy to ditch their trash properly and tossed it out the window. A porn mag, seriously? Beer bottles, water bottles, sports drink bottles, empty cigarette packs, paper soda cups. But a porn mag? What a fucking I can't even come up with something creative enough for that shit.
Up side? I had carrots with me and was nicely hugged, nudged, and loved on by the horses who wanted carrot bites. (Yes, horses can hug a human if they use their head and neck the correct way. It's pretty awesome to be hugged by a horse. It's probably like petting a sea turtle, dolphin, or elephant.)
Now that I've unpacked probably 3/4 of the way, I want to go back over to the small show horse barn and start grooming again, even if it's only once a week because of football going on right now. (Note to self to avoid the scary, rabid chickens there.)
Speaking of unpacking, I found my horse cookie recipe. This is awesome because I have peppermints and carrots and molasses and oats, so I can make horse cookies. How fucking awesome is that, readers? Pretty fucking awesome!
And speaking of finding my recipe, I stopped off at the local library to see if they had any interesting books available for sale. Let me tell you, I walked out of there after having paid one USD with five books, two of which were amazingly spiffy recipe books! I've got a wealth of new recipes to monkey around with in the kitchen and spent only twenty cents on each book! I am sofa king awesome!
I've acquired more twit followers than I can shake a stick at, all over the world in all kinds of varying fields, and the same goes for my pinterest boards, although pinterest is now wanting to charge for paid pins, so I'm not too sure about that yet. We'll see how that goes.
There's a crochet project I'm working on, which could turn out to be interesting, if it works.
Recently, there was a discussion about advice for flatness. Of course, there was a comment made about breasts not defining us as women--there always is one of those. And of course, I had plenty to say about that shit. I said I felt like my breasts did define me as a woman because they helped make me appear to be more feminine and they were part of what made me a woman and I hate not having them now. If anyone feels like their breast did define them as a woman and that was ripped away, that's normal. One person said she hadn't thought about it from the perspective of if someone didn't like being flat. It opened up the conversation enough to where I was able to tell her I got so tired of seeing the fake platitude crap about yippee-skip-acceptance that I started the Cancer Bitches group. If someone is having a bad day, and it happens to everyone, they're allowed to say something there in a safe space instead of being told to suck it up and wear the pink ribbon because yay, gtfoi, pink ribbons and shit. Nope, if someone's having a shit day, they can cry or vent or rage in a safe space and will be given kindness and respect and now she's a Cancer Bitch. (No, we aren't always going to agree with each other about everything all the time, but that's part of being a mature adult, being able to discuss things with others, even if it's not always something everyone will agree about.)
Change what you can't accept or accept what you can't change. I can't fucking change how much cancer fucked me over in a multitude of ways. It fucking happened and I can't fucking change that and I sure as fuck refuse to accept it.
You're now returned to your regularly scheduled mundane blog reading. I know you all missed my bitchtastic bitchitude here since I haven't updated recently. I'll try to get that regular updating thing sorted out.
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