First of all:
I hit 50k words exactly yesterday. I've hit a bit of a brick wall in terms of plot, but I'm not particularly worried about that right now, as I have hit the required word count and will probably poke at it during the next week.
Secondly:
Tomorrow, being Thanksgiving, means that my husband and I are going over to his cousin's house in a neighboring town. (For those of you familiar with the Mercy Thompson 'Verse, it's the one that's the home to the fictional Mike's.) It's something like a twenty minute drive, which all things considered is not that bad in terms of traveling for Turkey Day.
Most people may ask why I'm not making the pies, and it comes down to two years ago. Our first Thanksgiving after we got married was spent with my parents three years ago. I asked my mother what she wanted me to bring, and she said salad fixings. Easy enough. No complex baking required. The next year, Thanksgiving was at husband's cousin's house. Between Thanksgiving 2008 and Thanksgiving 2009 my husband found a recipe for a chocolate pecan pie. He decided to make it to take to his cousin's house, which was a smashing success. He made it again for the Christmas Eve dinner at my in-law's.
Last year we had Thanksgiving over at my Grandma's house in the next town over (for those who are up on current events and stuff, the town is also the home of Kennewick Man). That's about a twenty minute drive from my apartment. My uncle came up from Wyoming and the whole family was together, which given that my grandparents' house is on the small side, was pretty damn entertaining. All in all it was fun, and again the chocolate pecan pie was hit. Of course not everyone believed me when I said that my husband was responsible for the awesome pie.
This all came about because my husband found he recipe and I informed him under no uncertain terms that if he wanted the pie, he was going to make it for himself. He seemed okay with that. Though my husband isn't a huge fan of cooking and baking, he can do it, and often times very well.
For those of you who question my ability to bake, remember I made a red velvet cake that sold at auction for $625 this past March. I can bake, all right. And I am awesome at it. But that is irrelevant to this story.
Anyway, he's baking pies, and I casually mentioned that he should put on the Slave Leia apron to keep from getting covered in purred pumpkin. He didn't seem to find the idea of wearing an apron with epic boobs and a metal bikini painted on it nearly as entertaining as I did. Though it might have been because I was threatening to take pictures to post on Facebook. And Twitter. And probably here.
Because that's how I roll. XD
So now I'm sitting, watching Mythbusters while the apartment begins to smell like baked pie crust and pumpkin. And tomorrow it will smell like pie crust and chocolate.
I think I'm dreading getting up to hit the gym tomorrow morning, though. Augh.
I hit 50k words exactly yesterday. I've hit a bit of a brick wall in terms of plot, but I'm not particularly worried about that right now, as I have hit the required word count and will probably poke at it during the next week.
Secondly:
Tomorrow, being Thanksgiving, means that my husband and I are going over to his cousin's house in a neighboring town. (For those of you familiar with the Mercy Thompson 'Verse, it's the one that's the home to the fictional Mike's.) It's something like a twenty minute drive, which all things considered is not that bad in terms of traveling for Turkey Day.
Most people may ask why I'm not making the pies, and it comes down to two years ago. Our first Thanksgiving after we got married was spent with my parents three years ago. I asked my mother what she wanted me to bring, and she said salad fixings. Easy enough. No complex baking required. The next year, Thanksgiving was at husband's cousin's house. Between Thanksgiving 2008 and Thanksgiving 2009 my husband found a recipe for a chocolate pecan pie. He decided to make it to take to his cousin's house, which was a smashing success. He made it again for the Christmas Eve dinner at my in-law's.
Last year we had Thanksgiving over at my Grandma's house in the next town over (for those who are up on current events and stuff, the town is also the home of Kennewick Man). That's about a twenty minute drive from my apartment. My uncle came up from Wyoming and the whole family was together, which given that my grandparents' house is on the small side, was pretty damn entertaining. All in all it was fun, and again the chocolate pecan pie was hit. Of course not everyone believed me when I said that my husband was responsible for the awesome pie.
This all came about because my husband found he recipe and I informed him under no uncertain terms that if he wanted the pie, he was going to make it for himself. He seemed okay with that. Though my husband isn't a huge fan of cooking and baking, he can do it, and often times very well.
Anyway, he's baking pies, and I casually mentioned that he should put on the Slave Leia apron to keep from getting covered in purred pumpkin. He didn't seem to find the idea of wearing an apron with epic boobs and a metal bikini painted on it nearly as entertaining as I did. Though it might have been because I was threatening to take pictures to post on Facebook. And Twitter. And probably here.
Because that's how I roll. XD
So now I'm sitting, watching Mythbusters while the apartment begins to smell like baked pie crust and pumpkin. And tomorrow it will smell like pie crust and chocolate.
I think I'm dreading getting up to hit the gym tomorrow morning, though. Augh.