Of Ewoks and Pudding and Making Whoopie

So, in addition to the fun-filled and exhausting days of work and school, I also managed to get bronchitis and sinusitus. Turns out that if I'm ever exposed to anthrax, I am completely screwed because I found out (the hard way) that I'm allergic to Cipro. After a good run of antibiotics to which I am NOT allergic, I managed to get the mother of all colds.

Oh, and my job situation is in complete and utter turmoil. For the past several months, it's been a roller coaster of stress. I didn't know if I'd have a job on October 1st until late September. I didn't know if I'd have a job on November 1st until late October. I still don't have confirmation that I have a job on December 1st although it does seem likely but then, of course, it's back to wondering if I have a job on January 1st. After that, I will either definitely be employed or I will definitely not be employed. Makes it a little hard to plan for much of anything.

Thus, I've spent the majority of the month of November either whining or in a strange fog of ewok-filled pudding dreams and whining...lots and lots of whining. But that's all over now and I am right in the middle of making whoopie...





Whoopie pies, that is. Pumpkin whoopie pies to be exact. What? You thought I'd be blogging about sexual adventures? First of all, um, NO. Secondly, even though we've already established the fact that I am insane, between work and school and making whoopie pies, there is no time for much of anything else. Oh, and I'm learning (re-learning?) Spanish.

So, rather than whining, I've decided to give it up for a day or two and see how that works out for me. Hopefully, I'll be able to let you know how that goes. If I'm not back soon, do not assume that my head exploded from unrelieved-by-whining stress... unless, of course, you hear about a woman in Alabama who was found with her head all exploded from stress and shit.

If the whoopie pies are good, I'll post a recipe.

I also want to rant (different than whining) about the TSA and the new "You can't see London, can't see France, unless we see your underpants" policy.