Taste test
Originally uploaded by eictm.

Today my 6-year-old son wanted to make a chocolate cake, with sprinkles. So I set out and measured all the ingredients and let Evan take it from there. I think he ate more batter than actual cake.

It's spur-of-the-moment photo-ops like this that makes you appreciate digital photography.

Okay I'll admit it, I crave acceptance. Isn't that pitiful?

I was sure the only person reading my blog was Twinkie. Who else would want to read about how bored I am without a job. Anyway (getting off track again) sMoRTy71 (who cheated and shaved off his devastatingly masculine 'stache) made mention of me in a post to Viva Mustachio. The sad thing is that this small mention has validated my entire existence for the day -- or night depending on where you live.

What day is it anyway?

Of course the fact that others are reading my blog brings up another issue. I got a call from my girl Twinkie the other day.

SIDE BAR: Twinkie is more loved by the masses than I will ever be. This also means that she has more people reading her blog.

Anyway, she wanted to mention that some of my redneck comments might be read by the rednecks themselves. Seems that Twinkie has a following with the redneck crowd and she was concerned that they might link through to my blog and be offended about certain derogatory (but funny) comments I had made. Needless to say I went back to my blog and edited most of them out. See, I am not the bitch many people think I am.

Anyway, I'm mourning the loss of all my great redneck stories. I could write a book about all the bizarre happenings at the old redneck bar. Why do I get such pleasure in being mean?

It's funny some of things you miss about old jobs. I miss staff meetings with the Trivia Geek (who also gets credit for naming my blog.) The geek and I could spend the entire meeting creating humor out of co-workers' flaws or misfortunes. And it just added to our pleasure to watch Jen twitch as we made the meeting run long because of our character assassinations.

It was probably not very professional of me, seeing that I was the boss, but damn it was fun.

Of course that is not all I miss. I miss all of my friends at TR. And I miss the paycheck. That is what I miss most of all, the paycheck. Yeah, I really liked getting a paycheck.

A former co-worker, sMoRTy71, runs a blog dedicated to the almighty mustache. While I am not a mustache connoisseur, the site is unique.

In honor of his 34th birthday sMoRTy71 grew what he refers to as a "devastatingly masculine" mustache. He vows to wear it for the entire year. Twinkie confided that it scared the sh#t out of her the first time she saw him with it.

After reflecting on sMoRTy71's new look I began to wonder--can you see into a man's soul by examining his almighty 'stache?

There's been a death. As an adult you acknowledge the loss and go on with your life. But children are more emotionally involved. No matter how trivial the relationship, their feelings of loss can be extremely painful.

Legs (as he was nicknamed) died suddenly and he was my son's friend. My husband, Mark, underestimated the depth of our son's feelings. Mark was sure that a quick discussion about life and death was all that Evan needed. Mark was wrong.

Evan was determined that the burial had to be as amazing as his friend Legs. In fact, he insisted that the entire family participate.

Did I mentioned that Legs is, or was, Evan's pet crawdad.

I'm sure you're wondering why our son had a pet crawdad. Well, on the day Evan went to the pet store he actually asked his dad for a pet snake. Somehow, Mark convinced Evan that a pet crawdad was way more cool than a pet snake. Mark is a car salesman.. enough said.

There would be no flushing down the toilet for Legs. He was a special, amazing crawdad. Evan decided that he wanted to mummify Legs. He suggested we use toilet paper. He also wanted legs to have a gold sarcophagus. Fortunately, he accepted my suggestion that we build it out of aluminum foil. Evan used a permanent marker to decorate the cover of the sarcophagus with his version of hieroglyphics.

The hieroglyphics included an illustration of Legs and "the rules." The rules state that anyone who opens the tomb will be cursed. According to Evan, the only way to break the curse is to eat shrimp. His reasoning is that crawfish and shrimp are closely related.

Because this was an Egyptian funeral, Evan also insisted that Legs be buried in sand. Lucky for us, we had sand left over in an old, unused sandbox. At 10:30 pm the entire family retreated to the back yard to lay Legs to rest. I am sure this just confirms the neighbors' suspicions that we are not sane.

Tomorrow, Evan and I (at his insistence) will build some traps around the burial site and make some fake snakes to scare off potential grave robbers

The good news is Evan feels much better about the loss of his friend and life will go on.

I have officially slipped into madness. Tonight I made heart shaped biscuits for dinner. I'm sure people might wonder what's so bad about that.

The problem is that I waited for my husband and son to notice and when they scarfed down dinner without a single mention of my creative efforts, I actually felt rejected.

I need to be exercised from my Martha Stewart demons. Tonight, I made chicken with a port wine-walnut sauce, potatoes savoyard, and those damned heart shaped biscuts.

Also, I might be blogging because I am bored and unemployed, but according to CNN blogging while employed may not be a smart thing to do.