Cinnamon Apple Crepes

This.

This was going to be a fabulous post on the cinnamon apple crepes I made for breakfast the other day, with delicious cinnamony apples baked to the perfect doneness and vanilla cream cheese filling and the caramel syrup I made to go over the filled brown sugar crepes. It was gonna be good. Probably you would have laughed at the witty commentary, cried at the sad story of the girl in love with food who doesn't like traditional breakfast foods, and left with a new sense of self and a better perspective on life.

I was typing out the recipe for the brown sugar crepes, the last thing I had to do before it was finished.

And then . . . it disappeared.


The end.

Girls' Night

Last night was a girls' night. Me, my mother, and my sister, Kelly-belly, hung out. We didn't do anything epic: delicious food, funny movie, hanging on the couch. But there is something so fabulous about doing nothing with the people that make you you. I wouldn't trade those times for anything.

Thanks Ma. Thanks Kelly-belly. You guys are a significant part of my everything.

Book 12

Interesting read. I saw a lot of my own high school experience and the things I thought about it in this book. Her explanations for why things are they way they are made sense. Sad, though. Sad that is the way it is for so many people. They deserve better than this. All of them deserve better than this, from the populars to the outcasts.

I told my mother today that ballet has done one thing for me: proven beyond a doubt that I have absolutely no balance.

Her response: Yeah, I know.

Oh you do, do you? Thanks, mother dear, for your kind words and loving encouragement.

Ballet

Today is Wednesday. That means yesterday was Tuesday. Do you know what Tuesday means? Ballet. And hobbling. But the hobbling isn't important now. just the ballet.

No, I am not a ballerina. Ballet and I had a brief, slightly painful relationship when I was young. Very young. As in we skipped around the gym in a big circle young. Yup, call me ballerina.

I have no talent whatsoever. I'm not even sure of my ability to touch my toes. Oh, and I definitely don't have the body shape or weight to be a ballet person. But I'm doing it.

Ballet is always very exciting. It exposes me to things I never dreamed I could do. For example, has your foot ever managed to look like a head of cauliflower? It's remarkable the resemblance between my ballet foot and a head of cauliflower. I've taken to calling it cauliflower foot.

Try this. Point your toes as hard as you can. Harder. Harder! Feel the cramp? Now, continue to try to point your foot while it is cramping. Voila! Cauliflower foot.

You know something else interesting about ballet? Not only does it induce cauliflower foot in the uninitiated, it also involves a lot of straddles and split doing, both on the ground and in the air. Nope, not joking. Guess how close I can get to the straddles and the splits. Okay, you caught me. I'm not close at all. So, while everyone else in the class is almost down flat, completely spread apart, I'm having trouble holding myself up because I'm almost not close enough to the ground to be able to hold myself up, but I know if I stop holding myself up something somewhere that should not be torn will be torn.

My favorite part of the one hour class is unquestionably the last 7 minutes when my instructor stands up and claps her hands and says it is time to do some jumping to get our heart rates up. Oh dear. If it is time to get my heart rate up then what was it that my heart was doing for the last 53 minutes? Because if it wasn't up I don't want to get it up. Ever.