It's Just Abbey

Everyone hates giving to charity right? Right.

Wait, what? No. Giving to charity rocks! Why? Because it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside because you did something for your fellow man. When they cure cancer, I’ll know I helped. Warm and fuzzy all over.

But you know what does suck about giving to charity? Guilt money. You know what I mean. When you are at the store trying to budget $30 worth of groceries to last a whole week and the cashier asks, “Would you like to donate a dollar to children born without arms and will never know the joy of giving another person a hug?” Throw away that Ramen, Abbey feels sad. Here is a dollar.

Or the worst and most common scenario. You finally find a parking space in the back of the lot. You wrap your scarf around your head and make a mad dash for the door. Just before you get inside to the glorious heat you hear it. The bell. That lone bell in the silence of the snow. You look. There she is. Standing next to a red bucket slowly waving her bell. She is all bundled up and all you can see are her eyes. Her pain ridden eyes begging for a dollar. Why? That dollar isn’t for her is it? No. It is the Salvation Army buckets. But giving her that dollar, or spare change will make her not want to kill herself for signing up to ring a charity bell. Ugh! Here’s some money! Buy some hot chocolate!

That isn’t warm and fuzzy charity. That is the kind of charity you know won’t call you in the morning. You didn’t respect it and it didn’t respect you. But you know what does give you that pure love sensation?

Interactive donation.

If you want me to donate $20 to Kids Without Midichlorians I would just walk away. Boring. If you want me to participate in a pie eating contest for $20 measly dollars and all entry fees go directly to Kids Without Midichlorians then sign me the hell up and get me an apple pie! STAT!

What does this have to do with anything?

Thursday text to Hoppie: “If I pay, will you wear heels, a Big Ben jersey, and walk a mile at the park?”

Response: “Sure.”

Let me explain. So, Saturday was the Walk a Mile in Her Shoes walk in our local park. It was hosted by the Open Arms Domestic Violence & Rape Crisis Services. It is just like it sounds like. Walking a mile in lady shoes. The tough men and boys of our community walked a mile in heels.

I didn’t know they would be providing shoes so I packed up in my car to go shopping for giant mountain man heels. I found them. 13 wide. They were sensible, three inch heels. I got him thick heels, not stilettos because I didn’t want to kill the poor boy. He was thankful I did this because the provided shoes were pointed toes and spiked heels. I can't even walk in those. I don't know how they did. Brave men.

The other part of that plan was for him to wear a Big Ben jersey. You know, as a statement. YEAH! I AM A GIRL WITH OPINIONS ABOUT THINGS!

But we backed out of the last part because even though Rothlisberger is a giant douche bag his jersey still costs full price. I may be a part time hippie but I am also a middle class 20 something. Eighty bucks for a jersey? NO SIR!

So we got to the race and signed Hoppie up. Guess what? We got a free reusable shopping bag.

Boom. Sure we donated money to help stop domestic/sexual violence and rape but is it wrong to be super jazzed about a ruby red reusable shopping bag? Yes. Bad Abbey. Sorry dad, I freaking love those bags! I’m a crazy bag carrying freak!

Let me brag a second. There were men who walked the mile. Hoppie ran. He. Ran. In. Heels. That’s right everyone! You are all wicked jealous and stunned. I know I was. What can I say? He is fabulous.

It was a great event and a wonderful day. I know everyone was proud and I for one think it should have had more in the local paper than just a little picture and a caption. Getting the facts out is the first step, right?

Okay. Serious time guys.

• Every 2 minutes, someone in the U S, is sexually assaulted
• 1 in 4 girls will be sexually assaulted by the age of 18
• 1 in 6 women have experienced an attempted or completed rape in their lifetime
• 15 % of sexual assault and rape victims are under age 12

Grossed out? Me too. If there is a Walk a Mile in your area do it. Support your local rape crisis center. Where does the money go? I’m not honestly sure but if I were in charge I would get all that money and buy a baseball bat. Then I would use the remaining money to drive around the country breaking the knee caps of any and all rapists and abusers. You are all a bunch of sick bastards.

This blog started out so happy and lighthearted. Researching those facts just made me mad so in efforts to make the ending of this blog less rage filled, here is a tiny kitty:

Want to know more?
The Walk A Mile In Her Shoes Homepage

Yesterday my work place issued out happy green, reusable shopping bags. Go green and all that jazz. Can I tell you how much I love reusable shopping bags? A lot. They are awesome. I haven’t become the person who carts in 50 bags for her weekly shopping yet… Usually I only bring in about one or two otherwise I feel like a dork. I’m here with all my bags!! LET’S SHOP! YAY ENVIRONMENT!

So I took my bag shopping immediately after work. I had to test it. You know, for science. At the cashier I flipped open my bag to put in my giant box of corndogs and something fell out. I looked down to see that a small black case had hit the ground. Curious. I picked it up. Oh! Free glasses!

Wait what?

Let’s review. Strange glasses fell out of my free bag. Not sunglasses. They were reading glasses. Bifocals. Seeing specs. I checked out and started walking home. Okay. So I found free glasses. What to do?

First. Put the glasses on. Why? Science. CSI investigation. How blind is the person who lost these? I walked most of the way back wearing them and looking at things. I made a mental note to take some Advil when I got home.

Second. Freak out because HOW DID THESE GET IN MY BAG!? Okay, breathe Abbey. What do you know? You got the bag from your boss. Are they his? No. He was wearing his glasses all day so they weren't his. Could my coworker have switched bags with me? No. He wears glasses of a different shape. Not these. There was only one clear answer. They were evidence to a murder and they were planted on me in the store. Crap. Okay, no worries. You just found them… Oh no! And your prints are all over them and you are wearing them jackass! Take them off take them off take them off!

No one knows where they came from. No one was missing them and no clearly blind people were wandering around the workplace. This case is still open and due to my ADD probably on the fast track to a cold case.

What does that have to do with anything you ask? Because it is Earth Day everyone!

I know it is late but there is still time to do something for mother Earth. What can you do, you ask?

Stand up. Walk outside to the nearest grassy area. Lay down on your belly with your arms straight out to your sides. Give this big ball of dirt a hug. A big freaking bear hug. But not a Short Faced Bear hug because they are extinct!

Not willing to crawl in the dirt and love your gravity giver? Watch the Lorax.

What is the Lorax? Oh sweet readers, I am glad you aren’t talking to me face to face because if you had asked me that face to face I would have decked you. Right in the throat.

The Lorax is a classic tale by Dr Seuss. Short synopsis:

The world was awesome and lush. Then Satan moves in and starts tearing it all down for the sake of capitalism! The Lorax, a small bro with a killer 'stache says, “Hey dude. Knock it off.” Satan says no. Rinse repeat. Then due to the ignorance and pride of arms with no faces, the world was dead. Unless (spoiler alert) something changes. Dot dot dot!

Watch it and be merry ------> HERE!

When I watched it today I thought about it and decided that Steve Jobs is the Once-ler and a Thneed is an iPad. Don’t believe me?!

EVIDENCE!

Case. Closed. Happy Earth Day hippies!

Update on my post yesterday. My abs hurt so bad it hurts to laugh. Moving on.

So tonight was class three of cake decorating class. It was yet another jump into making flowers. Tons of flowers. We learned to make daisies, pansies, daffodils, primroses, and a new way to make roses.

I am pretty decent at making blobs that look like flowers but I am not too good at making flowers that look like flowers. I don’t know. I am seriously so anti-flowers at this point I don’t know what to do. Three weeks of flowers. Learning new pedals and various middle sections.... Over it! When do we get to make thorns and Venus Flytraps!?

Here is my main issue. I shake… Alright. My abs hurt a lot and the only joke I can come up with is terrible and lacking of taste. Bear with me. My hands shake worse than Michael J Fox. THERE I SAID IT. I’M SORRY!

Anyone still reading? Good. Stay tuned for my terrible Michael Vick and puppy joke.

Where was I? Oh yes. My shaking issue. This is an issue that comes from either the stiff frosting or my over sugared shakes. Either way it makes my flowers look all wilty and sad. Who likes a sad flower? No one. That’s who.

Side bar. So when I was in high school I did an art project in charcoal. It was a daisy with the worlds mort depressing face ever seen. I was so freaking proud of that art piece. It was my vision. It was my masterpiece. If I recall, the art assignment was to recreate a picture that speaks to you. For some reason, my emo little heart called upon a flower in desperate need of Prozac. I took it home and it has been dubbed Sad Flower for all of eternity. I haven’t seen it in years but I can almost bet that when I move into my first house my house warming gift will be Sad Flower in a beautiful frame. They are biding their time to spring that sucker one me I just know it. My parents have kept most of my art but to this day Sad Flower is a favorite. In close second is my CIA Pizza Man. God that man was gorgeous.

I really need to get a picture of that flower. It will blow your minds.

Back to the cake decorating. I only took two colors to class. Pink and yellow. I forgot to make a plain batch of white so I ended up with some odd looking daisies. Also, some odd looking pansies. Well, all the flowers really kind of looked like they belonged in a collage made by a 14 year old girl. See?

My mom refuses to keep any flowers. I had to keep forcing her not to eat ones she deemed unworthy. Her friend from work kept the mantra, “If you can’t see the mistake from the road, it’s fine.” A mantra I took to heart because I saved everything. And I mean everything. That one look weird? Saved. That one clearly have too many pedals? Saved. That one look like a liver spot on an old man's face? Saved.

When we did the daisies it was the only flower our instructor had issues with. She didn’t know how to make them pretty like the book. I found a cheating way to make them and showed everyone. She was resistant at first but the flowers looked pretty good so I taught everyone my cheater-cheater-pumpkin-eater ways. There is the right way to do things and then there is the faster way to do things. I like finding the latter because I am a lazy little snot. Mawhaha.

I have a date with my mother on Sunday to make more flowers. I am going over to her house and we are going to crank out a gross of flowers. Why a gross? Because having a ton of flowers will be like having a crib sheet for a final exam. You may not need it but it feels better knowing it is there. Right? Right. Maybe we will even make flowers that aren’t just pink and yellow. Shocking, I know.

Next week we will be making our final cake. We will be taking in all the flowers we have been making for the last three classes and decorating a cake of horticultural proportions. Hope no one has allergies! Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains. (Everyone get that reference? No. Too bad. I’m like the freaking Gilmore Girls of obscure references. Try to keep up.) Here is a cake related video… Kinda. Okay. This song has just been in my head for hours. Thanks dad.

After my dad showed me this I showed my parents the Motherlover video and scarred my mom for life.

Now if you all don’t mind, I am going to go crawl into bed and dream of the days before breathing made my torso flair up in fire hot pain rendering my motionless and paralyzed. It has been a long day. I’d sigh but it would make me cry in agony. And here is a question. If I worked my abs why to my legs hurt? I don’t understand anything anymore! I need some cake.

So this morning I woke up bright and early to watch the Boston Marathon coverage. Let me tell you guys, sitting around snacking while other people run is very invigorating. I got exhausted just watching. But it did spark a small conversation via Facebook with Tank. He informed me that my town will be hosting a Boston Qualifying marathon in October and I should totes run.

Okay. Let me take a moment to remember my first marathon that happened a year ago next Sunday. It was 80 degrees and I was dying. I was running through mile 19 and heard an ice cream truck in the distance. I immediately thought I was having a stroke. They say you can’t remember pain but I can tell you that I remember the dull stabbing in my hips like it was yesterday. I remember the only difference between me running and walking was about 4 seconds of speed. I had glimpses of my life and a warm white light… No wait, now that I think about it that was just the sun glaring down on me in judgment. Screw you sun.

Let me tell you internet. It was the proudest day of my life. If you have ever run a marathon you know exactly why. But for you non running/non marathoners that are reading this let me break it down for you.

26.2 miles. Twenty six point two MILES.

Walking that far is impressive. Finishing is a personal victory in personal endurance. Still don’t get it? I had visions of my thighs snapping and two and bleeding out all over the pavement. At mile 22, that visual was more appealing than running another 4 miles. Finishing takes strength.

So, I am running that marathon in October. Yeah. I am a sucker for punishment. But this time I am going for time. Tank mentioned qualifying for Boston. After I finished laughing my ass off I thought that about it. Now, there is no way that I can finish in 3 hours and 40 minutes. Maybe 4:30. Probably 5:00 but maybe 4:30.

So the training is on! I am going to train and hobble through another marathon (if I can get the day off work that is… grumble…)

So what does that mean? It means more of me complaining about a hobby I love and do voluntarily. You are all welcome. I am going to become a long distance runner if it kills me. And it probably will. If I qualify for Boston I won’t be able to run it. Why? Because I will explode in happiness all over the finish line. That would be unpleasant. If I qualify for Boston I will eat my hat! Note to self: Get a hat just in case.

I need to work out even more and work on my mileage. I took the day off running just to give my legs one more day of freedom before training of doom sets in. But I did sit down and do Ab Ripper X.

Dear My Abs—
I AM SO SORRY!

I feel fine now, honestly but I will tell you now that in the morning I will be in serious amounts of pain. Think about it. Is there anything worse than sore abs? Legs and arms are easy enough to handle. Limping around or the inability to scratch your own face painlessly is one thing but have you ever had sore abs and the flu? I have. You never realize how much you use your abs in a cough until that moment. I had a fever, a headache, couldn’t eat and every time I coughed I burst into tears. If ever there is a time I advocate using “FML” it would be then.

Anyway, I got through most of the work out without too much trouble. I did scream at the instructor and flip off the screen a number of times but I survived. I am going to dig into the rest of the P90X stuff later and incorporate it into my training just as soon as I have a few days to sit around immobile. I like to plan ahead. Just saves the heartache and the limping.

Why P90X? It seems to have a bit more bang for my buck so to speak. My brief affair with yoga yielded no results and is just too freaking calm and bendy for my taste. I need something OMG IN MY FACE and something I can feel. And if I could I would get into Krav Maga but my rinky dink down doesn't offer that kind of fun. Boo. Probably for the best though. Making my body a weapon would get me into too much trouble. Learning to run faster from trouble and farther from trouble would be ideal.

So I will start my long journey of marathon training yet again. I will become a gym rat again which is good since membership there isn’t exactly free… I will need to make sure I keep my mind active throughout this time around. Last time I just ran, ran, ran. When it was over I just had this crazy identity crisis and couldn’t focus on anything. I did have a strange idea to start a web comic the other day. Maybe I should look into that. Look at me, I am just full of crazy, awesome ideas!

Pain is weakness leaving the body! What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger! Other clichés! Huzzah!

I know what you are thinking. “But Abbey, it is Saturday!” Well, shove it up your pie hole because I do not conform to your reality! FACE. Okay, either that or yesterday was crazy busy between work and trying to get Hoppie all amped or his birthday. Uphill battle my friends.

Speaking of Hoppie! Welcome to another exciting installment of BFFridays (on a Saturday... Shut up!)

I am going to try something new for this profile in order to avoid me rambling on and on about our history together. It gets long and freakishly boring to read. Believe me. I love our back story and even I got winded proof reading the first attempt at this blog. So, I will be doing it a little different.

Quick scene set up. This was back when I was living with Twat Waffle and also going through the worlds dumbest break up. Hoppie was the best friend of a young squire that Phedre had taken a shine too. Therefore Hoppie and I were designated wingmen for our respective friends. This clip will help explain how our meeting went down:

The Genie would be me. Crazy, talks too fast, and lives in a lamp. Aladdin is Hoppie. Clever, tricky and has amazing pecs. Done. That was the summer of 2007. We met and became inseparable. We went on adventures together, we witnessed the growth and decline of our friends’ relationship, and then banished a surly old dude to confinement.

That paragraph was 61 words. I had a LiveJournal looking post last week that was at the brink of 1500. Yikes.

SO! Hoppie and I have been dating since 2007. What does that mean? That means the boy has endurance. Most people can barely listen to me talk for 10 straight minutes and he has been dating me for damn near 3 years. He is a computer nerd to his nerdy little core. He fixes computers and builds awesome websites. He is the king of button mashing leading to numerous fights when he accidentally beats me in fighting games. I cart him around to most of my races because, other than the Beer Bottle Open incident, he is a great camera man.

He likes fast cars and faster processors. He likes his women like he likes his coffee. In a plastic cup.

I will tell a few small stories just so you can understand our relationship.

-Before we started officially dating he once lifted a queensize mattress with no struggle whatsoever and carried it away like he was carrying a blanket. Phedre’s jaw just hit the floor. Considering my last boyfriend threw his back out lifting a computer monitor… We could both appreciate acts of utter manliness.

-During our first real spat (read: I was mad, he was panicking) he blurted out: “I am freaking addicted to your ass.” I started laughing too hard to be mad anymore. And let me clarify, Your Ass =/= My Ass. Your Ass = Me.

-The moment I realized he was my penguin was one day we were sitting around chatting and I rambled out loud, “He should be careful. You can only get punched in the nose so many times before you die… Wait, or maybe that’s drinking your own urine. I forget.” To this day I have never seen him laugh that hard.

-Our longest running joke is that since we both have so many physical ailments, like my stomach from hell, if we ever reproduce our children will be jellyfish.

Occupation: Tire tossing engineer
Hobbies: Building computers, fixing computers, destroying computers, buying presents for his girlfriend, tormenting his girlfriend when she says things like HYPERBOWL, playing with his car.
Location: Ohio Ohio Ohio
Favorite TV shows: South Park, How I Met Your Mother, and Psych
Favorite Drink: A cold one. What kind of cold one? Depends on the day. Usually that means Dr Pepper.
Car: A Jeep of Doom and an Acura of Vroom
Favorite thing ever: His Eve account he just acquired. I was going to answer “me” but I can’t say that with a straight face. Damn you Eve!
Proudest moment in life: I’m legally not allowed to say but it involves a wombat, a tube sock and preseason tickets to see the New York Jets.

Hoppie’s code name derives from his longtime used internet handle. That’s it. Nothing special. BOOOORING! I can’t be creative all the time! What do you people want from me?! I would tell you more but there are far too many stories to tell about him and not nearly enough internet space to fit it all. Three years piles up a lot of fun anecdotes about camping, road trips, family dilemmas, and long arguments about the pronunciation of words. I can imagine married people could write books about their lives. (They are called autobiographies, Abbey...)

Anywho, that's it for Hoppie. He is around me all the time so you won't be lacking in Hoppie stories at all. I hope you all have a wonderful weekend kiddies and btw, if you haven’t already BE MY FAN! See you all Monday! New Dueling Books next week! I know you are excited! I AM!

(This weekend I will spend the hours thinking about how to stop overusing exclamation points. F Scott Fitzgerald did say, “Cut out all those exclamation marks. An exclamation mark is like laughing at your own jokes.” Although who am I kidding. I ALWAYS laugh at my own jokes. I’m hysterical.)

Pardon this blog if it is a little incoherent because I just got finished with an hour and a half chat with Brown that started with “OMG tea party people are NUTS!” and it finished at “Who the fuck thinks that the new trilogy of Star Wars is preferable over the original?!” It got a little heated because if I have one nerve, it is people who like the new Star Wars movies.

Midichlorians. Conversation over.

But that is a blog for another day (or a 5 part series and a documentary) Today is about cake decorating! YAY!

Now this was my second time playing with royal icing. It was no more fun than last time. If anything, it was worse. Lemme explain.

First, we had to make color flow icing. To do this you have an icing that is pretty solid. You then trace an image you want to create. Then you add water to your icing to make it all runny and gooey. After your outline is dry you pour in your liquid icing. After a few days of drying you are left with an edible butterfly, squirrel or whatever you created. They are flat and hard sugar treats. Homemade decorations. Awesome.

Well, my mom and I had serious issues. Between our crack addict shaking and our ability to spill liquid icing EVERYWHERE we were a mess. You could give toddlers paints and tell them they could paint on anything in the house except paper and they would make less of a mess than we did. Needless to say we probably won’t be using the things we decorated. They are weird orange and green monstrosities with drips and drops all over them. Again, Duff, Charm City Cakes will have to survive a little longer without us.

Then we moved onto royal icing flowers. This class we were making violets and cherry blossoms. We struggled with the icing we made because it was too watery. UG! My mixer had sounded like it would die any moment so I added more water. MIIIISTAAAKE! The flowers I would make just looked like blobs. They would look like a flower for a second then eat itself into a round ball of goo. So I sat there for most of the class adding some properly made royal icing and powdered sugar to ours. I was trying to make it harder!

That’s what she—NO ABBEY. That was last week!

So after a while, and a broken hand, we finally got some working icing and made some flowers. I saved anything that looked decent but my mom was convinced she could do better so she is making hers at home. I have little hope in my abilities so anything worth a damn then you can bet your ass I saved. But I had one issue.

Is it just me or do these flowers look the same? Almost exactly the same?

Besides the dots and the color… the same right? I don’t know. I bet once they are all piled onto a cake they will look better but I just keep scrutinizing them and making them self conscious. Bah. Stupid flowers. I kinda just wanna keep making clowns. I’m not a real flowery person so I am not a huge fan of the final cake we will be making. Let’s be honest. In the span of my life there is a greater chance of me needing a Boba Fett cake over me needing a garden party cake. I mean, let’s just be serious.

I should really start a nerd cake decorating class. I mean, I will need to know how to make nerdy things when I make my Legend of Zelda wedding cake. Right? Right.

Next week we are making even more flowers but we are returning to roses. I am excited for those! I love making roses. They are so much more fun and interesting looking. Plus, if I add violets to a cake who is going to be impressed? No one. If I add roses who will be impressed? Everyone. Why? If your boyfriend shows up with violets will you care? No. Because you are cold, heartless bitch. If he has roses? You are putty in his hands. Roses have magical powers. True story.

Anyway, I have a love/hate relationship with royal icing. I love it because it is something you can save for later. I hate it because it gives me hand cramps. I am a knitter for Pete’s sake, I don’t get hand cramps!

So next week, stay tuned for the 5 other flowers I will be learning to make. I will warn you now, it will probably sound like this, “OMFG, I HATE FLOWERS!!!!” You’ve been warned.

Side note of happy: I bought a cuppiecake decorating book. (God, I am going to get SO fat…) I know the first thing I am going to make and it is called TV Dinner CupCakes.

Bam.

You so want those now don’t you? One of the few things that make me happier than usual is food that looks like other food. A cupcake that looks like an ear of corn? Sold.

Stay tuned tomorrow for my next installment of BFFridays where I will be profiling Hoppie. It may or may not be riddled with rainbows and hugs. Depends on how I am feeling. Hell, he could piss me off between now and then. The post will then be entitles, “6 Great Places to Bury a Body.”

Let me level with you. You need to read more. Wait wait! Don’t leave, hear me out.

I don’t care if you read 3 books a week or half a book a year, you need to read more. The Kindle and the iPad are helping me in this campaign because they are making books accessible to the person on the go who also really likes gadgets. Reading is something everyone should be partaking in! And not just books. Newspapers, blogs, magazines, erotic novels, whatever you can get your hands on that has print on it. READ DAMN IT! And if you don’t want to read, email me your address (itsjustabbey@gmail.com) and I will come and kick your ass until reading is the only activity you are physically able to do. It is a little tactic I like to call Extreme Motivation.

Anyway, here is the deal. I cannot make the whole world read because let’s face it, who listens to me? No one that’s who. Why would you take my advice? I am a crazy person. But you know who I trust? Anyone who writes for Wired magazine. I trust them with all my daily needs from tech to obscure science. Sure, they tried to cram an iPad down my throat for three solid months but I’m not mad at them. Nope. Everyone has their phases.

Today I discovered the greatest idea they have ever hatched. The idea is called One Book, One Twitter hosted by the wonderful people at Crowdsourcing. Basically, after the two week voting period about what book everyone should read, we get the chosen book and read it. Together. Like a big happy family. Or a giant demented Twitter feed, whatever works for you. We talk about how awesome/crap it is, laugh together, cry together, get confused together all on Twitter. Brilliant. Simply brilliant. Why so brilliant? Because all you need is a book and a Twitter account. Two very easy things to procure!

Just take a second to think about how great this idea is. Really think about it. I want in on this so here I am being in on it because let’s be honest, this is so much better than any of my ideas. Running down the street with a bell with a sandwich board that reads, “READ OR DIE” is not as effective as I imagined it. Kinda turns people off of the idea apparently.

Look. Go to this site -----> http://www.wired.com/epicenter/2010/04/one-book-one-twitter-let-the-voting-begin/

Vote for a book. You have two weeks to do so. Not that it matters. I have a sneaking suspicion that we will all be reading American Gods in a few weeks. The author, Neil Gaiman, has a twitter account and rallying his troops. I'VE GOT YOUR BACK MR. ORWELL!

I am pulling for 1984 because EVERYONE should read 1984.

Let me rephrase that. Everyone should read 1984 three times in their life. Once in high school when you begrudgingly flip through it, again as in idealistic 20 something, and then finally, right after the weight of the world has finally been heaved onto your shoulders. It is different every time and you learn something new each time you read it. I think it is especially important today for a thousand different reasons that I don’t have time to list. Hell, read the book to be a rebel. It is one of the many classic books that have been banned from many places. Once you read the book you will understand how ironic that act really is.

What am I trying to say in this blog? Read 1984 because it’s awesome. No wait, I mean, read anything (just make sure 1984 is on the reading list. Because it’s awesome.)

But mostly this blog is about getting involved in One Book, One Twitter. If even 5% of the #OMGjustinbieber yahoos would read one of the books on the list, the world would be a better place.

Oh! I know. Let me add some key words and phrases to this blog to reel in some of the hormone fueled tweens/teens through the genius of Google Search.

“Justin Bieber is my boyfriend.”
“Robert Pattinson is a sexy biatch.”
“Megan Fox naked.”
“Two chicks making out. But the chicks are hot, not uggos.”

There. That should land the lowest common denominator, don’t you think? Fantastic. Hey! If you found my blog because you Googled one of the above phrases, read a book or I’ll kick your ass! Yeah! That’ll teach those hooligans!

Go. Vote for a book. Join me in this huge book club of sorts. Make the world a better place. Help make One Book, One Twitter the new best thing since sliced bread!

Besides, reading makes you more smarter. Totes.

So I had a crazy crazy weekend. How crazy? I currently can’t move. That’s how crazy. Crazy enough for me not to be able to string these thoughts out into a coherent blog! Woo! Get pumped and let me break it down for ya list style.

1) I videotaped my dad putting bees into a hive

Scene: My dad and I fitted with netted hats. He had 4 boxes of bees. Got that? Boxes. Of. Bees. That’s right everyone, they send people bees in boxes. What kind of boxes? These kind.

How do you get those bees out of the box and into the homemade hive you have so lovingly crafted? Whelp, you rip off the top and shake them out like money in a piggy bank. I have footage of my father shaking out four individual boxes of bees. The first shot is short. He started shaking and I ran away. I don’t care how much protection I am in. If I learned anything from Looney Tunes other than which way to turn at Albuquerque, it was that a swarm of bees is not to be taken lightly.

So on a Friday night I stood in the cool wind while bees crawled all over me. Bam.

I put together a video for it but between chopping out all the audio because my parents' neighbors are rednecks with loud, uncontrollable dogs and having a power struggle with Windows Movie Maker I ended up not being too terribly happy with it. 10 points for anyone who gets the presence of the Blind Melon song.

2) I ran a 5K

Did you read my last post? No. Go do it. This point will make WAY more sense.

3) I helped Hoppie dig up sod.

Were we burying a body? Answer: No. Why would I blog about that? Although, if I up and decide to move to Mexico... You know what, never mind. Moving on. Do you guys know what really isn’t fun? Answer: digging up sod. Honestly it was just exhausting. Chopping up a lawn and digging out the grass. You know what is heavy? Answer: Plods of grass and dirt. It is two days later and my back and arms are killing me. Hoppie dug them out and I carried them away. Let me tell you guys. Gardening is tough. This was so much easier when I was watching my dad do it and while not helping at all! Hmph.

4) I watched the Streamy Award Show.

MIIIIIISSTAAAAAKE!

5) Arrested Development Marathons

Holla! This is an addiction that Brown got me on. Say what you will, that man has taste in television.

6) I think I am bailing on Script Frenzy

I'm not sure script writing is for me. Plus, I forgot how busy April is for me. Birthdays, races, classes, etc. I barely have time to run after work most days. I have been so burnt out when I sit down to work on the script I just end up doing this:

LAURA entered the room looking distressed and craving a taco. She looks to TONY who is eating a taco.

LAURA
That taco looks good.

TONY
It is pretty tasty.

Then for seemingly unknown reasons TONY runs LAURA though with a broadsword until the life leaves her eyes. TONY finishes his taco and the jumps off a cliff.

For a romantic comedy there is only room for one random, violent death. I dunno what it is but by the time I sit down to write I just hate everyone in the script and want them to die. Then I kill them. In strange and gory ways. I suppose this is how Chuck Palahniuk started.

7) I got a new phone!

I love getting new phones! It is so exciting for the first few weeks. I always swear that this time I am going to keep my phone safe and happy. Not a scratch on it. Never drop it. Never throw it.

Speaking as an anger crazed, clumsy person this never lasts long. I end up dropping it/throwing it in rage and then giving up hope after one scratch. But isn’t the first drop the worst? It just topples in slow motion. Your whole life stops. Your useless hands do nothing as you watch in horror. BAM! Nooooooo! You inspect it to see the damage. A tiny scratch always looks so huge.

Then somewhere down the line you find yourself in a Verizon store explaining to the nice man helping you that, no, taping your track ball into your Blackberry actually works. You just have to clean it out every few weeks. Could I have traded my broke ass Blackberry in for a new one? I shinier one? Yes. But are you going to trade your puppy in when he loses a leg? That's what I thought.

I don’t care what anyone says. That phone had character. RIP my pink Blackberry. Please welcome into the world, Abbey’s Blackberry Storm2.

8) I have decided to ride my bike to work

This idea hasn’t been completely thought out. I’ll admit that. But have you see gas prices? Yeesh! It would also translate into my training and being healthy-ness. Now if I can just find a way to swim more often I can TOTALLY start training for the Iron Man. What? What’s that? Just train for a triathlon and not the Iron Man? Uh, no. You gotta risk it to get the biscuit! BREAK!

Gah. So there it is. My brain just threw up this blog and you get to bask in its awesomeness. I have a dueling books post coming up and will for sure get to my BFFriday profile of Hoppie. It is his birthday on Friday so it will make it all the more special. He’ll feel so loved (read: embarrassed) because if I can’t help it, I will blog it full of sugary, sap with rainbows and unicorns and there is nothing anyone can do to stop me! MAWHAHAHAH!

(I feel controlling my own blog has gone to my head. I should not be allowed to wield this much power. Whateves! Back to laughing like a lunatic.)

MAWHAHAHAHA!

So I had my first 5K of the year this morning! It was the Sting 5K in Sidney Ohio.

This race holds a special place in my heart because it was the first 5K I ever ran. Ever. I finished at 28:09 last year and spent the summer trying to beat it. The race was through Tawawa Park I hold is one of my favorite races so far. Racing it twice, I can say it for certain. It is my favorite race.

I ventured on this one alone so I loaded up my care with fruits and other light snacky, runners foods and was on the road. I also packed a Dark Chocolate Starbucks Frappachino for some caffeine before the run. I knew I would need it. I would drink it at 8am, an hour before the race. That was the plan.

So… 8:30 rolls around and I was rigging my chip to my shoe when I realized I hadn’t drunk my frappachino of happiness. I cracked it open and in about three gulps, it was gone. I can’t tell you why I chugged it but I did. I licked my lips, looked at the empty bottle and said, “Whelp, that was the stupidest thing you’ve ever done.” And I made my way to the start line praying my stomach wanted to be nice today.

I had a brief discussion in line for the only port-a-potty about marathons and held my own and gave advice. Unlike last year I just stood there, looked at the ground and pretended to be invisible. These are my people now! They have accepted me into the runner’s clan! Warm and fuzzies all over guys. All over.

I’m not gonna lie to you, I wasn’t feeling hopeful about my timing prospects. I haven’t been training for speed so coming close to last year’s time wasn’t even in my head, let alone beating my personal record of 27:18. I just wanted to get less than 30 minutes. That’s it. This was a run for nostalgia and to see where my training had put me. I stretched, scoped out the other runners. Before I knew it the air horn sounded and we were off!

Nice and slow. That was the plan. Don’t kill yourself. That was also the plan.

Air horn sounded. New plan. FAST. RUN FAST! TRY TO DIE YOU RUN SO FAST.

I was cookin’ along for the first mile. I didn’t dare look at my Garmin. If I knew how fast I was really going I would freak myself out and throw the whole damn thing. The first place runner zoomed by fast (his final time was ~15:40. I wasn’t catching him. No way, no how) and the woman next to me made a comment about it. From that we chatted for the better part of a half mile about running and where we were. I knew I was okay because even though I felt like I was running like a spooked horse I could still talk. Excellent. Everything was going to be alright. Anyway, she was clearly faster than I was so at one point I just faded back trying not to embarrass myself by throwing the brakes mid sentence or something ridiculous.

Yeah, I can be running an 8:40 mile and still worry about social graces. You only wish you were this crazy.

I ran by the mile two water stand because, yeah, I am a bad ass like that. Plus I was worried anything compounded onto that frappachino would just be the final nail in the coffin leading to a puking mess near the children’s play area. That would just be unpleasant for everyone involved. Mostly the innocent children. And my shoes. New race goal: Abbey, if you puke. Don’t puke on your shoes. Check.

My legs started to get mad around the 2.5 mile area. My calves always complain so I just let them ride but my quads started to fatigue. That was new. I looked at my Garmin and realized I was dangerously close to beating not only last year’s time by my PR too. Uh, hey Abbey’s legs. Shut up. Run faster.

So I started to book it around the final bend. The finish line was in sight and I had never been happier to see a giant clock. That clock meant free bananas and water. GO LEGS GO!

I zoomed by the finish line and damn near collapsed. I was completely out of gas. I was running on fumes. I put my whole heart into that 5K without intending to. There is nothing worse than finishing a race and feeling like you could do a few more miles. I looked cautiously at my Garmin.

27:14.

Hells yeah 4 seconds off my PR! Boom. If I had a football I would have spiked it in a touchdown looking area. I felt like I was going to keel over at any moment but I just wanted to poke everyone who passed me and say, “Yeah, new PR. No big deal.” But that would be lame. So I tweeted the hell out of it.

I hung out for awards and guess what? Bam! Second place in my age group. And before anyone asks, there were more than 2 people in my group. I have a new silver medal to add to my collection of third place medals from last year. Move over bronze! Silver is in town! I am so excited! But what is that strange feeling in the pit of my competitive belly? Crap. Now I want a gold. It’s gonna be a long summer.

As I drove home, wearing my medal, I was hoping I got pulled over speeding. Mostly because I was really hoping it would play out this way:

Officer: Ma’am. Do you know why I pulled you over?
Me: Because I am so freaking fast! See this medal? Yeah. I have the need for speed!

Then I would Val Kilmer teeth chomp at him and tell him I was dangerous! I’m sure nothing could possibly go wrong with that plan. Nothing at all.

~*~*~*~

Side note: There was no BFFriday for two reasons. One: I was helping my dad move bees to beehive yesterday and no matter what anyone tells you, it is hard to blog while covered in bees. Two: The next BFFriday is slated to be Hoppie and God help me I can’t make it sound like ANYTHING worth reading. It just gets all gooey and gross and much like this:

In the desolate hole that was my bleak spirit, a light emerged to carry me from the darkness and help me mend the pieces of my broken heart.

No one wants to read that. I don’t want to read that. I’ll try again next week to make it sound less dramatic and intense. I make no promises. Have a great weekend guys!

Huzzah and hurrah! I am back and in action after a much needed mental health day. What do I have for you, my loyal readers? Why, I have the continuation of my cake decorating adventures!

Without further ado, I give you Cake Decorating 201 – The “That’s What She Said” Edition!

Before we went into the first class our homework was to make a batch of royal icing. Now, the last classes we went to we made butter cream icing. It was fluffy and happy. It just kinda hung out until you needed it. Royal icing is much different.

* 3 tablespoons Meringue Powder
* 4 cups (about 1 lb.) confectioners' sugar
* 6 tablespoons warm water

Just do a little math in your head and compare the dry to the wet ingredients. My first concern was that my stand mixer was going to die! It already struggled a little making butter cream and that allowed much more liquid ingredients. So I threw everything in and hoped for the best. At first nothing happened. And then the water reacted with the sugar and meringue powder and clumped together making my mixer slow way down and start crying. I was freaking. It’s too dry! Make it stop!

That’s what she said.

I added a tiny bit more water in hopes of saving my poor little mixer and it worked! I got a nice consistency going and was pleased. But here is where butter cream and royal icing differ. Royal icing is thick thick thick and designed to dry out and harden. After you get it mixed you have a limited time to get it out and into an airtight container. You don’t want it getting hard too soon.

That’s what she said.

So I trotted off to class with my little mixture and was ready for a new class with my mommy.

It was pretty much the same class except two women dropped (no offense ladies, but you won’t be missed) and the addition of my mother’s friend from work. We were back in action.

This class is just about making flowers and basket weave designs. We only started with one with just to get used to the royal icing. I pulled out my concoction and just stared at it. It was all shiny and resembled Elmer’s Glue. I immediately ate some. Yes, kids. Here at IJA we fully support eating Play Dough and glue. It is just a developmental process. And just to be clear, I did Google it and guess what I found:

“A quick search on the internet reveals that 'elmers glue all' is just a PVA suspension ... so if you only eat a little bit then you should be fine, but if you drink a whole bottle then your ears will fall off!”

Thank you WikiAnswers! Go forth and eat glue!

Okay, where was I? Oh yeah, frosting. So I put some of my glue icing in my piping bag and we stared making flowers. Royal icing is so different to work with. Butter cream just streamed lightly and freely. No hassle. Royal? It was hard, tough to manage and gave me hand cramps.

That’s what she said!

So we played around a little and these were the glorious results. Don’t mind them being white. We didn’t bother adding any color. Besides, I like the glue look.

My mom made hers with lilac butter cream. She was a bad student and didn’t do her homework. Tsk tsk.

In classes ahead we are going to learn to make what seems like every flower imaginable. Do you need a cake that looks like Mother Nature threw up all over it? Call me in a few weeks. I will hook you up! You want a three tiered cake with fondant? Eh… Apparently that isn’t until Cake Decorating 301. DAMN YOU! I will never work at Charm City Cakes at this rate! Gah!

Sadly there won’t be any actual cakes until week 4 so you’ll all have to be patient. I will be sending out pieces of cake to anyone who wants them so if you want to get on the waiting list for some cake send a self addressed stamped envelope to itjustabbey@gmail.com

Sorry this was so short. I promise next time will be longer and much much better.

Boom. That’s what HE said. A-thankyou.