How could you...

...not love this face?

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

It was an unexpected and spontaneous Valentine's Day present.




But what was even more unexpected is how I just completely fell on my bum walking down the stairs of my apartment. The person on the other end of my phone call had no idea. I did not mention it, nor did I make waves as my ass made contact with the first icy step, only to slide down to the next one.

I didn't want her to know.

But the pain was such that I couldn't help but pause, mid-sentence, and say, "Um, I definitely just fell down the stairs." I sat there for a moment, slightly shaken, and in a deep state of prayer - please God, let no one be outside to see this.

And across the parking lot I limped to start the car, continuing on with the conversation as if my graceful maneuver was simply a fleeting thought.

But it definitely happened.

That Store That Must Not Be Named

I will call it purgatory. And I spent a large portion of my Tuesday in this cooperate-sized purgatory.

Funny how folks will pay $35/year to be a member of such a place. Sure you can buy in bulk for a reduced rate, but you can also sell your soul to the devil for an easy life.

I'm not quite sure how the two compare, but just go with it k? It's my cynicism.

I will continue now.

I walked into purgatory complete with proof of my employment, so that I might, too, become a member. But the letter was not written to the expectation of the gatekeeper, and I was not allowed in.

Ok, I was allowed in. But didn't get to have the discount.

I decided to shop anyway. I was already here. Supplies needed to be had. And I wasn't about to drive all over town to find yet another purgatory-like place.

After an hour or so gathering what I came for, I waited in the line. A long-ass line. Now this is specifically set up in purgatory as a way to pay penance, to stand alongside others and reflect on your life, your day, the calories in the cookies you're buying.

So I took this moment to reflect on how I had failed the gatekeeper upon entering. And with that, made a phone call to the office to notify my co-worker of what's expected in purgatory for future reference.

Funny, you can't find these details in the Bible.

Unloading my supplies onto the check out line, I anticipated explaining my lack of membership to the money changer. But she would not have it... she would not have me leave without bearing the mark of the purgatorial beast.

Back to the gate I went to receive my one day pass. Hey-when in Rome, do as the Romans do. So it is with purgatory... I must bear the same mark as each and every sinner in that place.

Here.... here's my one day pass ma'am. And may all of my brothers and sisters waiting behind me glare with their irritated stares and daggers as I have forced them to linger in the line of penance.

As if this merry-go-round wasn't embarrassing enough, purgatory had one more lesson to teach me.

I don't know if you know this or not, but purgatory does NOT accept VISA. MasterCard? Yes. Discovery? Of course. A debit card bearing all the funds you have? Naturally.

But not VISA. Of which I had two.

So out of purgatory I went, empty-handed, frustrated, embarrassed, and vowing never to return. Screw the line of penance, I'd much rather just take my VISA to a store of vast mediocrity.

My New Creative Outlet

Some might say that idle hands are devil's playground. But I would venture to say that, sometimes, idle hands can be an open door for creativity.

Furthermore, being homebound and idle is the perfect recipe for a tasteful creative outlet.

<------ Notice.

These lovely jewels were made my scratch, with a little dose of love and a possible sneeze or three. I tried to cover my mouth in time, but I make no guarantee's.

A few hours later, as I was watching the Food Network, a little muse sat upon my shoulder and declared that I should make chicken Parmesan. My fingers were too covered in egg yolk, raw chicken juice, and bread crumbs to take a picture of the food itself. But I do promise, I actually made it.

Lastly, thumbing through the small collection of cookbooks contained in the cabinet above my sink, I decided to make Hummingbird Cake. What's that you say? Why it's only my most favorite cake of my Grandmother's (God rest her soul).

So I figured, why the heck not? Let's go for it. And for it I went. Luckily for me, Tab was sickly too and felt equally inspired to be creative. So we had a competition on cake decorating.

The icing is a cream cheese icing made from scratch by yours truly. And the chocolate decor is melted nestle chocolate chips. We used actual cake decorating baggies.

So whose cake is the fairest of them all? I'll let you be the judge.

My cooking skills have been tweaked for the time being. I'll see how long this lasts. In the meantime, I will enjoy these flu inspired creations. And keep them all to myself.

No Sympathy Required

It's just that I'm now on day two of this process and have a lot of time to think.

A LOT of time.

So here is a list of my illnesses over the past few months. Read and enjoy.

1. Shingles - October
Originally mistaken for a spider bite, I was quite taken aback with this diagnosis.
2. Cyst - October
Happening within days of the shingle diagnosis, this painful happenstance kicked off my
journey to a better and bolder character.
3. Cyst removal - October
Quite possibly one of THE MOST painful procedures and experiences I've ever had (and I'm
not prone to exaggeration), my character was well on its way to perfection.
4. Cyst recurrence - December
After making a mental connection with a weakened immune system from the shingles two
months previously, my sense of integrity was shaken.
5. Mysterious Growth - December
Let's not go there. This one could possibly make it to a teaching hospital. I am proud to
further the study in medical science.
6. Flu - February
Immediately following a youth ski trip, I began to feel less than upon arriving home. Four
days later I finally make it to the doctor only to be sent back home for another four.

It's not my preferred way to build what some may call "character". But I suppose one can't necessarily develop TOO much character; perhaps cynicism or a martyr-complex.

But character? Nah. I'm cool.