dizzy-dame's Diaryland Diary

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Vas is dis?

This is a resurrected template from my Frazzled Imp days. I loved it dearly, and thought it was one of several lost designs. When I found it this afternoon, I knew I had to modify it for my current journal.

I lurve it so.

Also, there's a script over there to the left of the page, and if you refresh you'll be treated to one of nine different pulp fiction covers.

Go ahead. Try it. I dare you.

In other news, I still feel like ass. Whee.

8:03 PM - October 02, 2004

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Sick as a dog.

Why do these things always have to happen on the Friday after a really crappy week? Why?

I've been alternating between shivering so hard my teeth rattle and my muscles ache, and sweating bullets. My throat is sore, and every joint in my body hurts. My face is burning.

I passed out on the couch for about an hour, and woke up to find Aislinn huddled up next to me, like the little furnace she is, and me drenched in sweat. I got her off to bed, and staggered back into the living room to whimper and moan.

In the bad way, you pervs.

I may try to put on a movie, but I doubt I could actually concentrate on it.

I'm fucking sick. This sucks.

11:37 PM - October 01, 2004

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Concentrated ass.

I feel like concentrated ass.

It's Friday night. I should be feelin' goooood. But, no. It's only asstasticness for me.

I think I'm coming down with something.

Blech.

8:11 PM - October 01, 2004

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Damnit, Janet!

I'm sitting here watching The Rocky Horror Picture Show. It's been roughly six years since I last saw it, and yet...

I still remember most of the AP lines.

Scary or impressive?

I haven't decided yet.

Just wait 'til Columbia flashes that nipple!

11:51 PM - September 29, 2004

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Twatwaffling alternators.

My plans for tonight got cancelled, due to a faulty alternator.

Damn bastarding alternators.

Anyway, we�re on for tomorrow night, provided the rest of his car doesn�t crap out. So, instead of eating crawfish pie and snogging on the futon, I brought home a new family member.

Farley has come to stay. Fuck the pet deposit. Fuck it in the ass. �Til it bleeds.

And for those of you that wanted the recipe for that pie, here it is. Complete with Franci�s alterations for a casserole.

2 pre-made pie shells, 9" deep dish
1 lb crawfish tails
1 large onion
1/2 cup of breadcrumbs, italian
1/2 cup green onions
1/2 green bell pepper, chopped fine
1/2 tsp Tony Chachere's
4 toes of garlic
1/4 cup fresh parsley
4 tbsp tomato sauce
2 ribs of celery
1 can cream of mushroom soup
1/2 stick of butter
cheddar cheese

pre-bake the pie shell, like indicated on package. chop up the onion, green onions, garlic, parsley, and celery *very* fine. Saute the crap out of them in the butter, you don't want them to be crunchy. Add the soup, tomato sauce and Chachere's. Mix well. Add crawfish tails. Saute for another 5 minutes. Stir in breadcrumbs. Pour half of mixture into the pie shells, and then put grated cheese over the top of them, as much as you want. Cook at 350 degrees for 30 minutes. Give it about 20 minutes to cool before cutting into it, or else it'll make a huge mess.

a variation on this is to use diced chicken that you cook with the garlic, onions and celery. use tomato soup instead of cream of mushroom. add a can of drained diced tomatoes when you add the soup. add a small can of evaporated milk when you add the soup. and add 1 cup of breadcrumbs instead of 1/2 cup. then eschew the pie shells and just pour it all into a casserole dish, top with cheese and bake for the same amount of time. makes a damn tasty chicken casserole.

8:38 PM - September 27, 2004

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Pissing and moaning, it's really not who I am.

Dear Diary,

You have been sorely neglected. It�s been ages since last I wrote in you.

Blah, blah, blah. Let the way I started out this entry be a clue to my mental state for the last week.

I think I�ve lost my fucking mind.

Aside from a couple of bright points scattered here and there, it�s been hell. Actually, only work has been hell, but it�s been so hellish I�ve been unable to avoid dragging home the tension with me. I am a walking, talking ball of pent up frustration. It�s been so bad that I went off on a little tangent/rant with the aforementioned date person on the phone yesterday. Someone I�m just getting to know, and there I am bitching and griping, despite mentally kicking myself to stop, and saying to him that, �I swear, I�m going to stop now. I swear.�

Because I�m really not this bitchy-always-complaining-type person. This is a pod person. The evil twin. I�m sarcastic, yes, but not bitchy. Well, not usually, anyway. I have my moments.

The stress has been screwing me up. I need serious unwind time, but can�t seem to find it.

Today should help. Franci and I are going for lunch, hopefully, and I�m going to an eye appointment so I can get some fresh new specs. Also, my first pair of subscription sunglasses, ever. It�s about damn time on that second item, too. Tonight, I�m going out with my downstairs neighbor. She�s been trying to get a night out together since I moved in, and I�ve been putting it off for one reason or another. I�m not entirely sure why, either, as I�ve enjoyed hanging around the apartment with her. She�s cool. Not the usual type of person I�d hang out with, but someone I know I could have fun with.

Tomorrow is being designated as �relax if you can� day. Aside from needing to do a little housecleaning as I�m having J. (because I don�t want to keep referring to him as �date person,� and am not sure if he�d mind me using his full name here) over for some crawfish pie. Yes, I�m cooking dinner for a man. And anyone who�s had my crawfish pie before will know that I�m hauling out the big guns in the Let Me Impress The Hell Out of You Department. Franci can attest to that.

Maybe it will help make up for the bitchy ranting that went on yesterday. I certainly hope so.

Anyway, I need to go clean myself up a bit and dress the child, since we�re still moping around in our pajamas.

I�m such a bum.

12:22 PM - September 25, 2004

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Puff. Puff. Puff.

I lost the fight. I caved. I kept on smoking.

Snitching one here and there from co-workers Monday and yesterday. Then last night I had a date with a smoker, and smoked at least half of his pack of cigarettes. If not more. So, this afternoon I bought myself a carton.

So sad.

And since it's quite possible that the person I was out with last night may stop in and read this (seeing as he has the URL), I just want want to say:

No, it really isn't your fault. Even though we've pretty much come to the conclusion that everything is, this time it really isn't. Heh.

I'm going to go crawl back under my smokers rock now.

7:17 PM - September 22, 2004

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