My toasties are shaped like a cake or a really decadent brownie but have the texture of a cookie. I’m enjoying my first toastie with a cup of masala chai that I left in the fridge overnight with all the spices in it. YUM!
I’m going to have to make it part of my recipe: let your masala chai sit overnight (if you have any self-control, which we don’t, so what am I saying right now?)
It’s like drinking a kick to my face.
Today it’s PB&Choco Chip toasties, which I posted the recipe for yesterday but I might as well do it again right now. Hold on. I’ll make it easy for you.
PB & Choco Chip Toasties
- 2 cups almond meal
- 1/2 cup cassava flour (egg replacement)
- 2/3 cup Lakanto monkfruit sweetener — classic
- 2/3 cup Lakanto monkfruit sweetener — golden
- 2 sticks plant-based butter
- 1 cup peanut butter
- 1 bag chocolate chips
Bake at 350 for 40 minutes in a 9×9 pan.
Masala Chai — 1st Attempt
- 2 cinnamon sticks
- 12 cardamom pods
- 2 tsp peppercorns
- 6 cloves
- 4 in. ginger, sliced
- 4 star anise
- 6 allspice
- 6 black tea bags
- 4 cups water
- Boil all the spices in the water for 20 minutes.
- Turn off heat & steep tea for 3 minutes — use more bags for more flavor if desired.
- Combine 50/50 with your ‘milk’ of choice.
How’s that for easy? You didn’t even have to go anywhere. Here you are!
Okay so on to serious business. I got a shower, thank goodness. I’m sad, though. My Ion semi-permanent magenta hair color does not agree with my God-approved shampoo and hair conditioner. You know what does? The vegan crap at Target. Brite. Yeah. This stuff is good stuff, I tell ya. I like Overtones but I’m contending with porch pirates. I gotta watch like a hawk for my packages because the neighbor across the street that my parents trust loves to cherry pick off our porch.
At least, that’s what God said to me.
I’m going to install an electric doorbell with camera soon enough. I have one in the shit I brought with me. Then we’ll see who is stealing from the porch, shall we? I wonder after I prove it to my imbecile father if he will change his tune or give him yet another excuse for being a shady character? He tried to give me all kinds of excuses for the neighbor trying to rape me with his eyes.
That’s rapey-eyed Mike that I’m talking about. I came back to try to get better, you see, living with my parents who make me so angry I can’t even tell you how angry. I’m like… Hulk angry. Good thing I’m a pacifist. At least, until my livelihood is threatened. You stay on your side of the line (outside of my house) and I will stay perfectly happy and civil and leave the bolt action rifle at home.
‘Yeah, but does she know how to use it?’ All I need to know is how to turn the safety off. The rest is point-and-click, just like a video game. God assures me I got this. And, yes, it’s loaded, you fools. And I have plenty of ammo because my father believes there will be an apocalypse and he’s fully prepared to survive it. You should pick me if a zombie apocalypse occurs. Oh wait, it already did.
You’re all zombies on your phone. Haven’t you noticed?
Fix it. Put the phone down. Go outside. Feed birds. Feed mice. Feed rats, even. They all need fed. We took their natural habitat away, so feed ’em. Let them live, too. They’re also God’s creation, you know.
Anyway, rapey-eyed Mike came over and gave me elevator eyes, asked me if I was married, and then left when I said I had a marriage proposal out there in the universe. I’m pretty sure he makes the mistake all men make. He thinks I’m a dyke. By the way, why do we use the synonym for a dam for a lady who likes ladies? Is that supposed to be an insult? Why? Have you seen the Hoover Dam? That thing is fucking impressive, my friends! So, thanks for the compliment.
I know you didn’t mean it that way but that’s what I choose to get out of this.
It’s a choose-your-own-adventure life, you know. I could choose to be angry about that. Oh, that makes you wonder how my father makes me Hulk angry, doesn’t it?
I don’t know if you’re ready for the truth yet. I mean, I’ll gladly tell you, but let’s breadcrumb it in. That’s for the best, trust me. The horror story I have to tell you unfolded over the entirety of my life.
On to happier topics! I got a shower today. It’s a real struggle sometimes. Some days I can only move around for an hour. It really sucks when that hour is over before the chores are done. I hope you’re not struggling like this yourself. I really would prefer to be the only human being with this kind of burden. I don’t think I am, though. To all you who lost your able-bodiedness… I see you. I feel you. I love you.
I’ll tell you something that will make you feel about .0001% better about life: you were forced into it by ignorance and lack of compassion from other human beings, for the most part. You broke yourself trying to make a living, didn’t you? Some people broke themselves having too much fun, and that’s a shame, too. It’d be nicer if all the kinds of fun you can have were safe.
But then we wouldn’t have full contact football, would we?!
What? Football?! She likes football? Didn’t I breadcrumb that in when I said I liked The Waterboy? My future husband adores sports. I might cheer for the opposing team just to give them love while he’s busy giving his own team love. I’m a troll like that. In fact, I’m a troll in general.
I have been a troll all my life. Loki taught me how to do it.
I don’t know all the ins and outs of sports ball, but I do know things like… A touchdown is 3 points and a field goal is 7 points. But I have to ask… why is it that they aren’t just 1 point and 2 points? I’m figuring it’s to kind of tell the sports ball fan how the game is going without having to watch the whole thing. Is this true of all sports ball? Wow. I had no idea.
Why do you care so much about who wins? I thought it was about the sport itself.
The only team I’ve been on is a Halo team, match-making, of course. I’m only an asset to the team for the first half of the match… and I’ll tell you why: people start gunning for me immediately after I kill them a few times. I can’t dodge and weave six of them at once. Talk about ultimate difficulty!
How? Oh… you know the machine gun that’s the default? Yeah, I use that. It totally makes me look like a noob and I know it. And then… well, you see… if you empty an entire clip at an opposing player, their shield drops. And if you dodge and weave right up to them just as their shield drops, you can pike them in the head.
</Halo story>
I even wrote a poem with a mention to Halo once. I’ll dig it up when I am back in business on my own computer again. It’s borked. Broken! I am the sad. *sadface*
Apparently, when it’s back in action I’m going to stream. God asked me to and I said okay. I need you to realize right now I’m going to put on war paint for this.
No, I’m not going to stream Halo. I’m a one-trick pony! Unless you mean the story mode. Okay, I might be able to do that. I have at least one Halo somewhere. Unless it’s broken. Some of those boxes were shredded when delivered by the moving men. Actually, wait. I might have it digitally! That would be for the best. If my Xbox still works. We’ll find out some day!
It’s going to take me all month to unpack. February, I mean. I got through three boxes today. One was full of kitchen stuff — including an apron. NOW I NO LONGER NEED JAX’S APRON! Oh wait, I didn’t need it to begin with. I just like seeing him in it.
That’s right. My future husband works in the food industry. I want him to feed me. I need a sign for the rest of you: ‘Don’t feed the trolls!’ I can’t eat regular food, nope. That’s why I am researching and creating my own recipes.
Oh, he works at Wegmans, you guys. He is also known as Sir Deli Man, The Mountain Dragon Man, and of course… Jaxon. (Jackson is the pronounciation.) I like Xs and since I’m writing him into existence just for me, I’m spelling it with an X. X is a very unloved letter — have you seen the dictionary? It’s like just a couple pages. Compare that to the letter S. Seriously.
Yeah, I’m a geeky geek. Except, rather, I think I’m a nerdy nerd. Because… you see… the dictionary definition of a geek is a (circus performer) that bites the head off live chickens. I don’t do that. Chickens don’t deserve that. They’re cute. As long as they stay five feet away from me. Actually, I say that, but God says in the future I will own chickens.
He’s pushy sometimes, I gotta say. ‘You’re gonna be a streamer, baby!’ Oh, am I? I refuse! And then he says it again three months later and I’m like, ‘Yeah, okay, I’m warming up to it.’ And now he says it and I’m like, ‘Fine! Help me UNPACK!’
I was delivered the belongings of no less than five people. I am cherry picking what they get back since when they truck went missing, not a single fucking one of them tried to help. I moved in September. I moved on September 1st. I drove my ass from St. Louis, MO to Erie, PA. A 13 hour drive with my three cats. I shoved them in their crates and made them stay there for 13 fucking hours. That’s like two days in cat time, but what choice did I have?
If I had the money, I could have flown everybody. If I had a dependable partner, I could have gotten here sooner by at least an hour. And probably in much less pain. If I had money and a partner, we could have stopped at a Motel 6 on the way and done it over the span of two days. If I had the self-compassion, I would have done that solo anyway.
No, instead, I drove 13 fucking hours on a dislocated hip straight to my parents’ house. I brought the litter boxes, my cats, and a handful of things, like some clothes. Not even all my clothes, mind you, because I thought I was going to be reunited with my things a week later. Not five fucking months later.
God was waiting for Jaxon to step the fuck up to help me. He failed. Now, those guys from Dann moving group or whatever the company is called now, had to move my shit in 3F weather, at night, without lights, into my fucking house.
Jaxon knew all about what was happening all along as I grew sick and died. Okay, nearly died. What’s the fucking difference? I lost my career. My home. Everything but my cats… until my shit showed up just two days ago.
I was about to buy another PS3. That’s when God had had enough of this shit and brought it all back. I don’t even need a PS3 since SingStar is no longer viable due to the PlayStation store closing down for PS3. I bought every song I could that I thought was halfways decent across every genre so that I would have the ultimate karaoke machine. I mean, we played SingStar for like a fucking decade.
My rule was that the newbies got to buy 5 songs. That’s $10. For a party where I made all the refreshments myself, that’s not much. Plus, it was potluck. That’s my style. You bring something to share and I’ll share something, too. At the time, I also supplied the alcohol. People need a little grease to get going when it comes to singing. I’d prefer to supply cannabis, but it’s not legal everywhere yet. I hope that changes soon.
I had a dream about cannabis. Again. Second one in the past month. They’re both because I’m in that much pain. I need an analgesic substance or experience. I am overloaded with fucking pain.
Or, you know… you could try an experiment with me. It just costs a few minutes of your time. Are you game?
Please put your hands together in the prayer position in front of the middle of your sternum and think healing thoughts for me. That’s it. That’s the experiment.
This is Universal Reiki lesson #1. Think healing thoughts, Peter Pan, and then you can fly.
Hmm… I think I might have ultimately put too much ginger in my chai. Or perhaps, conversely, not enough of everything else.
Anyway, I need to get to the store to buy some fresh veggies and Jello for the man playing invalid because he has COVID, y’all! Symptomless COVID. Yeah. We’re immune to it, I’m pretty sure, but you should all be vaccinated by now if you’re gonna be, so I don’t feel bad. I still wear a mask every day because I get sick of men stopping me in the store, interrupting my strategic planning on how to save the world.
Saving The World, Step 1:
CLEAN THE FUCKING OCEAN UP.
I warned you that I’m the Ocean Dragon Lady.
Angel-Sansara 