Ugh.

This afternoon sucked. I mean, really sucked.

After lunch, I got back to my desk and had voicemail from Kathie saying a file she’d emailed me a while back turned out to have a virus on it. I think I’ve run a virus scan since then, but I figured I’d download a demo of Norton Antivirus just in case. (I had McAfee already.) The download went fine. Partway through the install, my system just froze up. So, I rebooted.

And rebooted.

And rebooted.

I couldn’t get past the login script for the network. All I’d get of my desktop would be the wallpaper. After about 7 attempts to reboot, I gave in and called the help desk. Around here, that’s a serious last-resort action. Within 30 minutes, a guy had arrived. He walked into my cube saying he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to find out what was wrong. Great. To make sure everything was clear, I explained what I’d done and what had happened. He sat down and poked around a bit. I pulled out all the software and booklets I had for my machine, which was probably only about 8 months old (Pentium III, 500 mhz, running Windows NT).

After about 15 minutes, I told the guy that if it was really going to be a hassle, he could just format and reinstall. I’d lose my email backups and a few personal files, but nothing vital. He seemed greatly relieved by that, but was going to go ahead and try to repair first. I nodded, and went to find my boss to tell him what was happening.

What is that crap they tout about NT, how stable it is, crashes less, etc? Bullshit. I’ve had problems with that PC since I got it. A few months into working on it, I suddenly got the Blue Screen of Death. Since the help desh didn’t know when they’d be able to figure out the problem, and my job depends totally upon my computer, and since I had a major project that needed to be completed, we told ‘em to format and reinstall. So they did, but they reinstalled only the bare minimum of applications. I had to track down and reinstall everything else myself. I lived without soundcard drivers for 4 months.

It took three more days to get my email up and running. That’s something else I rely heavily upon in my daily work. It took my coworker (who used to work the help desk) to call down, demand they send him the ID needed, and he took care of my email problem.

So, this guy probably got started on my computer around 12:45. He’d had to go with the format/reinstall option. 5:00, he’s still working on my system. There was one point where he had problems getting TCP/IP set up. Then he went to Dell’s support site to get my video drivers. We were having internet connection problems, so it took about 3 minutes for each page to load. One page took SEVEN MINUTES to load (I watched the clock). He downloaded the appropriate driver- and my machine won’t recognize it. He tried to use the cd that came with my PC. That didn’t even work. So, tomorrow morning he’s calling Dell.

4 hours of mind-numbing boredom later my computer still wasn’t usable. And, I sat there nearly the whole time in case the tech needed info from me. He didn’t, but he sure did like to chat. At least Alex let me go home early, since the guy had to leave and I wouldn’t be able to get anything done.

I guess this is good that it’s a holiday week, since that means things are slow. ‘Cause I’ll probably lose most of tomorrow too, completing the repairs and reinstalling all the software that I need.

In the mean time, I’ve decided that now is a good time to crack open that bottle of Goldschläger.

Cheers.

I’m the Queen of Impulse Shoppers. I shouldn’t be allowed into stores. Any kind of store. I also shouldn’t be allowed to be bored. I sometimes make bodily alterations to myself when I’m bored. I mean, nothing really freaky. (Well, I guess it depends on your definition of ‘freaky.’) But multiple hair colors, ear piercings, and a tattoo have come out of me being bored.

I was vegging on the couch and channel-flipping. I came across Jackie Chan’s “Who am I?” playing for about the 3 billionth time since I first saw it about 2 years ago. At least I caught fairly early into the movie, as I’ve seen the ending about a dozen times. The scene I watched contained the two cute chicks, the race car driver and the CIA? FBI? agent. Anyway, what makes this movie relevant to the first paragraph is that I had a sudden urge to dye my hair that strawberry-blondish color of that girl.

Pamela: Dale, hey! Can you come out here? Quick?

Dale: Yeah, what is it?

Pamela: Do you think I look like her?

Dale: Uh… well….

Pamela: OK, OK, do you think I looked like her back when I was skinny and had my hair cut like that?

Dale: Oh, yeah.

Pamela: I want to look like her.

Dale walked back towards his computer.

Dale: Cool.

Pamela: I want to dye my hair that color.

Groans from the other room.

Dale: Please don’t dye your hair!

I got up and walked over to him.

Pamela: I have this sudden urge to dye my hair blonde.

By this point, Dale’s practically whimpering.

Dale: Please don’t! I like your hair the way it is!

Pamela: Ok, how about I just buy that Chunking* kit and put streaks in it again?

Dale: No!

Pamela: But, you’ve liked the streaks before.

Dale: No!

Pamela: Hey, it’s a compromise….

And then I turned deaf ears upon his further pleas and got my purse. Hey, I was bored.

I found the Chunking kit after a minute of searching the aisle. Then, rather than get Dale’s Altoids and go, I started wandering.

“Oh cool. They have that new Mentadent toothbrush with the flexible head. I want to try that…. Let’s take a quick peek at the nail polishes…. Oooh, look at all the bath stuff…. Hm, maybe I can find an Ace bandage or something I can wear instead of the brace the hospital gave me. This thing’s too bulky. Ah… There’s some bandagey-looking stuff.”

It took me 10 minutes to figure out everything I was looking at is for feet only. I looked around and remembered there was more stuff about 10 ft away on the other side of the aisle. As I was moving the correct direction, something brightly colored caught my eye. I turned to see a little orange bear stuffed behind some bottles of something on a shelf. I pulled him out. He was pretty darn cute! There was a fancy tag on him, but no price. Apparently, he’s from some Jim Henson show called “Bear in the Big Blue House.”

I headed over to the toy aisle to see if there were more and find out his price. Hm, not one in site. As I was exiting the toy aisle to go to the register, I nearly fell into a bin filled with children’s books and stuffed toys. A few more orange bears peeked up at me. The sign taped to the side of the bin said $5.99. Muah! He’s mine! (I told you I was a Toy Junkie.) I grabbed two double packs of Altoids for Dale, paid, and left. I completely forgot about looking for a different bandage for my ankle. I also forgot Q-tips. We’re down to like, 3.

Dale thinks the bear is pretty damn ugly. *sniff* But he cooed over the mints. He’s totally addicted, but he never buys them himself for some reason. I always get them for him. He gets excited each time he gets another tin. I feel like I’m supplying him with crack or something.

I got ready to “chunk.” Got our biggest bath towel and laid it down in front of the sink to protect the carpet. (For some reason, the designer of these apartments though carpeting half the bathroom was a good idea.) I had a washcloth ready to wipe up splatters. I tied on the too-sexy plastic cap. I began using the little pick-spatula to pull tufts of hair though the holes in the cap. This whole process makes you look so stupid. You’re wearing what looks like a hairy plastic raincap with mange. Also, don’t try to funny in front of your Significant Other while doing this. “I’m not laughing; I’m laughing AT you.”

I put on the gloves, mixed the stuff, and began applying. I hadn’t realized how much my hair has grown since the last time I did this. I ran out of chunking mix and hadn’t fully saturated some of the thicker chunks of hair. This stuff only has like a 10 minute developing time (minimum), so even if I could get Dale to go to the store to get me more, I’d be screwed. I shrugged, waited, and washed the stuff off.

As usually I’d gotten a little nervous and probably rinsed too soon, so the streaks weren’t quite as bold as I’d like. I got a good overall lightening effect out of it. Actually, the streaks blend into my hair color fairly well. As a matter of fact, not one of my coworkers has noticed. To me, there’s just more blonde around my face.

I decided today that I had to update my driver’s license. Dale and I had moved back in oh… April and just ‘hadn’t gotten around to it yet.’ I was getting nervous ’cause Dale and I have also forgotten to renew our registration, and that’s up at the end of the month. I don’t want either of us to get pulled over and be hit with the double-whammy of expired registration and outdated licese. I don’t know about fines for expired registration, but itt’s like $175 for not updating your address on your license within 30 days of a move!

I planned my trip for 3:00, figuring I’d be between lunchtime and after-work crowds. At Alex’s advice, I went to Northcross Mall. The place was nearly deserted. But, I got to wait anyway, since you have to go to the Information Desk to get the form, and the guy in front of me and his wife seemed to be having some sort of conflict with the chick behind the desk. I never heard what was said, but they seemed to keep going back and forth over the same thing.

I got the form, answered the three questions, and went to the “wait here for next available” spot. The entire wall next to me was mirrored, so I checked out my pigtails while I waited. Yep. Pigtails. Since license pictures always seem to make me look like a weird dork, I figured I’d get some fun out of this one. Before going to the DPS, I parted my hair into two sections and braided them. I look like the Swiss Miss chick after binging on her cocoa stash.

“NEXT!”

I handed over my form, license, and $10. I signed the little box with the pseudo-pen, stuck my thumbs on another box, stepped back and lined up my toes with the marks on the floor, made sure my pigtails were hanging in front, *flash*, signed this, signed that, and I was outta there. I was back in the office less than an hour after I’d left. I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever gotten through any sort of bureaucratic process.

* You select “chunks” of hair that you want to lighten. Get it?

I got no rest last night. First of all, I was still rather wired when I finally went to bed at 3am. I think I dozed off about an hour later. Then I tossed and turned and had bad dreams. I dreamt I was coding HTML. I dreamt that every thought I had became subject matter for this journal, and I’d start composing in my head. I dreamt I was in some alien space bar where they kill you if they just don’t like the look of you. How my short, pale, wussy ass was suriving in there, I don’t know. Then around 7:15am, the people across the hall headed out with their two little kids. One of them had this toy….

It’s a plastic dome on wheels attached to a long handle. As you push it along, the bottom pops up and down making these little plastic balls inside it snap against the dome and each other. These little contraptions are typically noisy. Run one up and down a mostly cement breezeway, and the noise is deafening. Fortunately, they went away before I snapped and ran out of my apartment half-naked to scream at them.

I dozed again. More alien space bar. I think I was looking for my sister, or something. Then the alarm went off at 8:30. I hit the snooze twice. Then Spritel decided he wanted to be loving and I just HAD to be awake for his ministrations. I think I got in two more snoozes before I slumped off whimpering to the shower.

Well, with that ranting out of the way, let me move on to today’s pre-selected topic: I am a toy junkie. Not just any toys, but small, useless, silly toys. Often, fast food toys. They’re all over my apartment. My desk at work is covered with them. I realized this a week or so ago when I emailed Kathie and inventoried the stuff on my shelves here at the office.

On the shelf behind the monitor I have the Chik-fil-A plush cow with the “Eat mor chikin” sandwich boards, the “Viva Gorditas” Taco Bell Chihuahua, a Boba Fett Pez dispenser, a vinyl Cartman piggy bank, a Boba Fett Pez dispenser, the “I think I’m in love” Taco Bell Chihuahua, a blue blob “slammer” toy (drop it and it whines one of two phrases), and a monkey Pez Pet gum dispenser. I keep forgetting to bring in the four new talking Taco Bell Chihuahuas.

The shelves on eather side of me hold an assortment of McDonalds collectibles, including several “A Bug’s Life” figures, Cri-Ki from “Mulan, and a fairly old “Scat Cat” figure with it’s mock clamshell case. (Brought back from SC for me by Kathie. Old joke in reference to our then-jobs working for AOL’s Terms of Service group. Forgive us. We were young and needed the money.) There’s also a Phantom of the Opera figure from Jack in the Box.

On top of my computer are a 7″ vinyl Wolverine, a Dr. Evil talking action figure (”Why must I be surrounded by frickin’ idiots?”), a vampire figure from Jack in the Box’s, 1999 Halloween collection, and a Qui Gonn/Darth Maul Lego set.

On top of one speaker is a pink hopping frog I got from Dave&Busters. On the other is a computer-shaped stress toy with my company logo (given to me by Leesa shortly after I started here). My cube is like a fast food toy shrine.

Sitting on my monitor are the McDonald’s Teenie Beanie Iguana and Crab, and between them is a Beanie Baby Bat. (I got them ’cause I liked them. NOT because they’re freakin’ Beanie Babies. I even ripped their tags off so they’re devalued! Muahahahaha!)

Between my keyboard and my monitor is a Beanie Baby Chihuahua, sent to me by Kathie. (Yes, I have a thing for Chihuahuas.) On his head sits the purple plastic bat ring I picked up at the WebAustin trade show, and in front of him is the mood ring Jerrold gave me.

To my right is the Snorlax plush toy. Heh, there’s a little story. A couple of weeks ago Dale went to training in Dallas. He chose to stay at his uncle’s rather in a hotel. His 12 yr old cousin, Ross, got ahold of his mobile phone and changed the welcome screen to “Jigglypuff.” I discovered that after Dale had returned and I went to use the phone. I teased him a bit then asked, “If you’re Jigglypuff, which Pokémon would I be?” “You’d be Snorlax.” “Snorlax? Why Snorlax?” “‘Cause it sleeps all the time.” “Oh, yeah, I’d be Snorlax.”

Shortly thereafter, while Christmas shopping, I found a nice collection of Pokémon plush dolls at Spencers. I got a Jigglypuff for Dale and a Snorlax for me. This was the first time I’d been able to find any Snorlax toys. I discovered how fitting Snorlax is as my Pokémon alterego. “Snorlax is very lazy. It just eats and sleeps. It is rotund, grows in bulk, and becomes steadily more slothful.” Yeah, that sums me up!

Well! It’s just past lunch and I’ve already had a couple of pleasant surprises. First, my mother called. We spoke briefly, then she put my sister on the line. I hadn’t yet gotten to speak to Phaedra about her Christmas, so we had a nice long chat. Around 11:15 my phone rang. “Pamela? I have a Patina…. Mitchell? Oh Mendez….” (What? Is Patina calling me collect?) “She’s down here to see you.” AHHH! Patina was in the lobby! Yippee!

Patina is a dear friend who moved away in July to take a job in San Francisco. Dale and I have only gotten to see her once since then. I’d heard she was going to be in Austin for the holidays. Apparently so! I went down and brought her back up to my area. She went to talk to my boss (who she’d gone to highschool with) while I tried to get ahold of Dale. In a matter of minutes, Dale was waiting downstairs. Alex, Patina, and I joined Dale, and we went to Chuy’s for lunch. The food was ok, but the conversation was great. We’ve really missed Patina, so it was good to see her again, if only for a couple of hours.

I’m going to skip the events of my day prior to getting home from work, ’cause I know this entry’s gonna be long, and the early stuff is mostly boring anyway.

I got home around 7:30 to find the living room rather cleaned, the other ‘public areas’ neatened and vacuumed, and 2 of the 3 cats already shut into our bedroom. We were gonna have company, and Adam’s girlfriend, Leslie, is deathly allergic to cats. I did a bit more neatening in the living room (just moving stuff to another room), and caught and put Spritel away. Then, I decided to go through my boxes of semi-sorted photos. I pulled any that had the cats in them.

For some reason, I decided that 10 minutes before guests were due to arrive was a good time to start a project. One of the gifts Dale and I had received was a wooden photo storage box. The lid held 5 photos of various sizes. I started going through this 2″ thick stack of cat photos trying to decide which would look best in which spaces. Adam and Leslie arrived. Then Steve. Then Aaron. Then Rick and Mandy. From my spot on the floor I did introductions as necessary.

“Hey, guys, which picture of Pumpkin do you think I should use?” Aaron picked, “The one on the right.” Steve picked, “The one on the left.” “OK, Dale, you’re tie-breaker.” Dale picked, “The one on the left.” That settled, I flipped through a few more pictures, and found an entirely different picture to use. And got shit from the guys for like the next 10 minutes. Mandy settled down next to me and helped me pick a few more pictures. The box came out looking rather nice, and the timing was good as dinner was ready.

Tacos and beer. Ever a popular combo in central Texas. Dale also picked up Goldschlager for me, and DeKuyper Buttershots Liqueur and Bailey’s Irish Cream for making Buttery Nipples. Neither Dale nor I are really into drinking, so we actually sent Rick home to get his Dave&Busters shot glasses.

Some time during dinner, Rick got hold of a cat toy. It’s a small piece of rabbit fur dyed black and formed into a puffball. Tribble comments began immediately. Mandy lost Geek Points for not knowing what a Tribble was. Rick stuck the ball on his finger like a little puppet. Rude insinuations about Tribble molestation began. Then someone pointed out the remarkable similarity in appearance between Rick and the Tribble. “If everyone has a twin somewhere, it looks like you’ve found yours.” Rick continued to play with the Tribble and discovered it had multiple uses, including posing as a patch of fake chest hair, a lá Austin Powers.

Unfortunately, shortly after dinner, Adam and Leslie had to leave. She had to get up early, and her cat allergies were really becoming bothersome. Mandy asked to do the dishes. Like we’d say no. Steve played bartender. He was very proud of his Buttery Nipples. The Bailey’s layers were floating perfectly upon the DeKuyper’s layers. Due to my sensitivity to alcohol, I declined to try one until late in the evening. They gave me a mini-shot. The aftertaste was the best part. (Having never had one, I was told that the proper way to drink a Buttery Nipple was to toss back the shot, swish it around in your mouth to mix the liqueurs, then swallow.)

About the time we decided to play Robo Rally, Aaron decided to wuss out and go home. Bah! The remaining five of us gathered around the freshly cleared dining room table. I really didn’t want to play, as I suck at Robo Rally, but I didn’t want to be a party pooper. I’d explain how the game is played, except that the rules are so damn convoluted, I can barely figure it out. Basically, each of you is a little robot. Your goal is to navigate across a series of gameboards (based on the number of players) and ‘capture’ flags. You get randomly dealt motion cards (Move 1 Forward, Rotate Left, etc.), you pick 5 and lay them out face down. Each player turns over a card at a time. You move according to what your card says. Then it gets complicated.

(Side note: My little cat, Maggie, is currently trying to lick the last bit of DeKuyper’s off the neck of the bottle. This is the kitty who won’t eat anything but catfood and Pounce, yet seems to like the booze. Spilled Guinness is hers, as are my occasional Kahlua Mudslides.)

There are about 300 factors that can affect your robot. Each round consists of 5 cards, and you have to go in a certain order (determined by numbers on the cards) ’cause what one bot does can affect another. Where you are on the board can cause you to move additionally. Other robots can ram you out of your square. You can get shot by lasers and other robots. You can fall into pits, get crushed, and flush down whirlpools. Then you turn over the second card. Have I mentioned that this is a very sloooow game?

Rick managed to flush himself during like the second round. Shortly after that, Mandy and I ended up in a position where she just repeatedly shot the shit out of me until I died. You get like 3 lives. At midnight, Rick and I were both down to 1 life each. I was trapped on a conveyor belt system. (I always manage to miscalculate my turns, miscount my moves, and generally get very very confused. I really suck at that game.) Dale was on his way to the second flag. I don’t think anyone else had gotten their first flag yet. We decided to declare Dale the winner and call it a night.

Since Mandy had taken care of the dishes, I just came in here to write this. Now, I’ve got to get it posted, as Scott’s bugging me to let him read it. Night all!

Hrm, today wasn’t such a great day. I tossed and turned all night, having the same wacky repetitive dreams, the details of which I can’t remember, but they were enough to keep me from getting any rest. So, I stayed in bed late. After I got up, I somehow managed to get Dale to agree to clean the living room. His only demands were that I be on the couch and something “good” be on the TV. He also agreed to go out to get lunch (Jack in the Box) and dinner (taco fixin’s from H.E.B.). Well, by the time he left I was pretty hungry. By the time he got back, I was phenomenally bored and cranky.

We unloaded gorceries and ate. Then he said his stomach was bothering him and went to soothe it with some computer games. An hour or so later I (from my perch on the couch) asked when he was going to get around to the actual cleaning. “In a minute.” Another hour later, I was asking the same question from beside him, where I was fiddling with my own computer.

I don’t know why I kept bugging him. I mean, he agreed to do it, why couldn’t I just let him get it done in his own time? Hah. ‘Cause then it wouldn’t get done until I did it. *sigh* I’m still pretty damn cranky. Anyway, he finally tore himself away from what appears to me to be an insanely boring game (it’s one of those “build your own civilization sims”). He’d pop back in every once in a while to see how his culture was doing.

We’d planned on getting the living room cleaned so we could invite Rick and Aaron over for dinner, but those plans fizzled. It seems they’d already made plans with some other friends for steaks at their place. Dale and I were welcome, of course. See, the stuff always happens at R&A’s place ’cause they have all the toys- Sega, Dreamcast, Nintendo 64, Game Boy, 2 computers, 2 TVs, 2 VCRs, and a multitude of board games. Soo Dale and I decided to go with that plan. Unfortunately, dinner wasn’t scheduled until 9:30, ’cause that’s when Steve was supposed to be back from Houston. (It was currently 6:30.) So, I fiddled around on my comp until I was utterly bored, then Dale and I went headed out. Me: “C’mon, I want to kick your ass in Soul Calibur.” Dale: “Bring it!”

Unfortunately, it was my ass that took the kicking. Rick has three controllers, one of which has the ultra-comfy grips and direction pad, plus two extra program buttons. I can’t use the damn thing. I’m bad enough with the directional-thingy, but I really can’t tell which way that one is moving. And, I kept hitting the wrong buttons. After something like 5 straight losses, I demanded Dale switch controllers. I stomped him the very next round. “See, I told you I can’t use that controller!”

He settled down to play one of his best characters, Hwang, and promptly trounced me again. (I only play Voldo, as I want to get used to at least one character.) I started to get cranky. The whole time I’d been vocally and vulgarly expressing my displeasure. About the time I was barely even watching the screen anymore, Dale declared he needed a break. Safe move. I switched the game over to Arcade mode and began to play that for practice. First two rounds were easy. I ran into trouble on level 3. But, I persisted. Then I got stuck on level 4. From his perch near Aaron (who was playing some Indiana Jones computer game), Dale commented that I was playing in ultra-hard mode. “I had trouble getting past level 3 yesterday.”

I persisted, and 30 minutes later I was repeatedly getting stomped by Yoshimitsu. I hate Yoshimitsu. I hate that he can heal himself. I hate that little giggling sound he makes. I was going to beat Yoshimitsu if my hands fell off and it killed me. “Oh! That’s bullshit! I knocked him out of the ring before I fell off! How’d he get the win?!” Dale nodded in sympathy. (He’d come back over to watch me.) I got into a frenzy of just hitting buttons. Somehow, finally, I beat Yoshimitsu. I made it to level 7!

Mandy and Steve had arrived (at different times) and I’d barely noticed. I challenged Steve. I think we played a couple of rounds, him beating me, then I gave the controller to Dale. I wandered over to where Rick was watching Aaron. “I made it to level 7.” Rick asked, “On ultra-hard mode?” “Yup.” “Cool.”

Mandy didn’t need any help in the kitchen, so I sat down to watch Steve and Dale. I think Dale’s the best player out of the group, but Steve held his own. Then dinner was ready. After we ate I told Dale I wanted to go home. I was still feeling bored and cranky. He played against the computer a bit, picking up where I’d left off, then he took me home.

I sorted through the presents we received then came in here to write this entry. *sigh* I am still cranky. I don’t feel like being online any longer, but I don’t want to watch TV or go to sleep. I guess I’ll try to do some reading. I can’t believe I’m looking forward to going to work tomorrow.

Night y’all.

It’s Christmas! It’s Christmas!

Voices downstairs woke me up this morning. Shamed, I figured Dale and I had overslept again. (This is an 8am Christmas-type of family.) “Why didn’t anyone wake us up?” we mumbled. After morning ablutions, we went downstairs and learned that half the family hadn’t arrived yet. “What time is it?” I asked Karen. “About a quarter to 9.” Wow, we’d gotten up and ready on a *Saturday* 15 minutes earlier than I’m usually up on a workday!

More chatting took place, along with teasing Jill about the size of her stocking. “Bill’s mother made it! She didn’t know how big it was going to be….” At last Grandmom and Granddad arrived with Gary and his sons, Rhett and Ross, bearing bags of presents. Once they’d unloaded, the front sitting room nearly overflowed with gifts. It was like every child’s dream of what a Christmas morning should look like. Without delay, everyone was seated and gift-handing-out began. Let it suffice to say that everyone was pleased all-around with what they received.

A few highlights: I received the traditional joke gift- three coaster-like glass things with butterflies encased in them. Apparently, that thing has been passed around for years. I’ve been assured I don’t have to actually display it anywhere. Karen (Dale’s mom) opened a box only to get hit in the face by the giant fish exploding out of it. Thor (Dale’s step-dad) had crammed a 5ft fish pillow into a small box. Dale’s grandparents were surprised with a gift of a trip to Hawaii, along with Grandmom’s two sisters and their husbands (who we supposed were also surprised by the news). Bill and Jill, and Dale and I recieved patio furniture sets (to be picked up) from Karen and Thor. These were announced by little poems written by Thor. Ours went like this:

(Hey, I didn’t say it was the best poetry!)

Ah, here’s a funny little story. When we arrived last night, Dale’s mom said she had a surprise for us. “I was cleaning out this room, and I found these two bags. I think they must be yours, because there are receipts inside from Tyson’s Corner in Virginia.” “What?” I looked into the bags. One contained a bunch of unsigned Christmas cards. The other held a couple of picture frames and two books. “Dale! These are some of the presents you were supposed to give out last year!!” “Uh, are they?” We tried to figure this out. Dale asked, “Well, why weren’t you here with me?” “Because you moved down here at the beginning of January, before me. You came here and were supposed to give these out late. *I* didn’t get to Texas until mid-January!” “Oh yeah….” His mother just laughed. We figure Dale had arrived, dropped the bags in the corner, and promptly forgotten about them.

Oh yeah, when Jill and Bill opened their gift from us, I warned them that part of it was broken. Jill unwrapped the bride ornament and showed it off. The groom ornament was the other casulty of my fall. I explained that a replacement was on the way, but I’d wanted to give them something on Christmas. Someone managed to come up with a romantic twist to the story. Now it goes that when I dropped the package, the groom ornament cushioned the blow for the bride ornament, sacrificing himself for her.

After the unwrapping came one of Thor’s legendary breakfasts. Finally, I could take a painkiller. That, along with food coma, promptly knocked me out. I went to nap. Dale woke me an hour later and said it was time to go to his Dad’s. We wagon-trained out there with Bill, Jill, and Adam. I got to meet his step-mom’s sister and her two kids, who never spoke to any of us. More chatting took place, then a lunch in two rooms. Dale’s step-brothers left to visit some of their other family. Then there was another gift exchange. Then several more hours of chatting. Dale’s Dad is a really nice guy. In some ways, he reminds me of my own father. Unfortunately, despite another painkiller, I was hurting, and because of the painkiller, I was drowsy. Jill and Bill had to leave. Dale and Adam kept talking about computer games or something. It was a nice visit, but I really wanted to go home and to sleep.

I tried calling my family on the way ‘home,’ but I just got the answering machine. After we got back to Karen and Thor’s, we found out we’d missed a call from my parents that afternoon. After some munching and TV, Dale decided he wanted to head back to Austin. So, we quickly packed up and not so quickly said our goodbyes. Again, an hour into the trip, I climbed into the back seat and dozed the rest of the way. After we got home and loved on the cats a bit. There was a message from my sister, but it was too late to call them back.

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

Dale and I planned to be on our way to Houston by 10am. I think we got up around 10:30. After hurried packing, we were on our way. Being in pain and on drugs, Dale was stuck doing all the driving. About an hour into the trip, he pulled onto the shoulder of the road so I could climb into the back seat, where I dozed until we arrived in Houston. Amazing how a little nap can really shorten a drive.

We arrived at Dale’s parents’ where there was much of the usual greeting and hugging and insulting. (The insults were exchanged between Dale and his brother, Adam. Somehow, the instant they’re near each other, they both revert to 6 years old.) I had to explain several times over while I brought a crutch with me. The family was extremely sympathic. Karen (Dale’s mom) kept wanting me to sit down and elevate my foot.

The house was decorated for the holiday. Seven stockings hung from the mantle. Two were differently styles and labeled “Jill” and “Bill” (Jill’s husband) so I figured one of them must be for me as well. I was touched. Dale took one look at the stockings and said, “Isn’t that blatant favoritism, Mom?” Jill’s stocking was more than twice the size of the others. Laughing, Karen explained that it was made by Bill’s mother.

A little while later I heard Jill and Karen discussing what they were going to wear that night to Grandmom’s for dinner. I looked down at my casual top and cargo pants, panicked, and found Dale. “I didn’t bring anything nice! Look at my shoes!” (Because of the brace, the only shoes I can wear are sneakers.) “Relax, no one’s expecting you to dress up.” “You should have told me! I have nice stuff I could have brought! It’s just… you’ve seen my family! We all dress casual!” “It’s OK! What you have on is fine!” “I do have a nicer sweater I can change into….” So I changed my top and we went to Grandmom’s and Granddad’s.

I swear. Dale doesn’t have a family. He has a clan. A tribe. G&G’s house was packed. There were 16 people swarming around their house. And they’re all wonderful. No, really, I love my in-laws to death! Since Dale and I got together, they’ve always made me feel so welcome, and a total part of the family. It’s nice to know that (uncle) Mark feels comfortable enough to call my “Gimpy,” and that (uncle) Gary’s already added me to their family tree. It was a really nice evening. There were too many people to sit at one table, so three were set up in various rooms. There was constant movement, constant talk. Normally, that would drive me crazy, but it was a nice distraction from not being with my own family.

After dinner, a small group of people left for Christmas Eve church services. Dale and I played Sorry! with (uncle) Mark and (cousin) Ross. I can’t remember how long it’s been since I’ve played that game. The board looked older than me. The game was fun and I cleaned up by drawing a 7, enabling me to land my last two pieces on Home in the same move. Sweet. The guys kept playing and I think Mark came in 2nd.

After we got back ‘home,’ Dale and Adam stayed up, but it was time for me to go to bed.

FINDINGS:

Images of the lung bases are normal.

Images of the abdomen show vaguely heterogeneous enhanced lesion located in the right hepatic lobe anterior segment near the gallbladder. This area measures approximately 1.3 cm. The rest of the liver is normal. (Some stuff about other organs being OK.)

IMPRESSION:

There is a vague heterogeneous enhancing area located in the liver. This lesion is nonspecific and like represents focal nodular hyperplasia, or less likely hemangioma. Unremarkable CT scan of the abdomen otherwise.

---

hyperplasia - An abnormal or unusual increase in the elements composing a part (as cells composing a tissue); the enlargement of an organ or tissue

hemangioma - A tumor composed of blood vessels. It is usually benign (noncancerous) and generally affects the skin, but may involve other parts of the body, such as the intestine or nervous system. Capillary hemangiomas are composed nearly entirely of tiny capillary vessels. Cavernous hemangiomas are composed of blood- filled “lakes” and channels.

Basically, I either have a small bunch of cells on steroids or a collection of blood. Either way, the doctor assured me it’s non-cancerous.

Dale and I overslept. I took a painkiller. After hobbling through a shower and getting ready, he drove me to my office so I could pick up my car. (We’d left it there last night, due to the whole ankle-hurting thing.) I went to the hospital, arriving 25 minutes late for my appointment. Fortunately, they didn’t just tell me to reschedule. I was taken back almost immediately, then I got to wait about 45 minutes to see the doctor. During my wait, I skimmed through a magazine and realized the pharmacist meant it when she suggested I take the painkillers with food to prevent an upset stomach. The doctor wizzed in, explained that the catscan hadn’t really revealed what was in my liver but it *wasn’t* cancer, and since I wasn’t in pain or discomfor, I should just schedule another catscan and follow-up in 6 months. I just kinda nodded and asked if I could have a copy of the catscan report, ’cause I’d never remember the medical terms he used, and he told me it was mine to keep, shook my hand, and disappeared from my life for the next 6 months.

Stepping out of his office, I realized what a mistake the painkiller/empty stomach combo was. I rushed, er hobbled, to the nearest bathroom where I got to review last night’s dinner in detail. I went home, called Dale and told him I was OK, then crawled in to bed. Dale came home for lunch and napped with me and left an hour later. I was barely aware. I finally hauled my sick-and-tired butt out of bed after he got home that evening. Since I’d gotten nothing done, Dale agreed to wait until tomorrow to go to Houston.

While I freshened up, Dale called Aaron and invited him to dinner, but he’d just eaten, so Dale and I went out alone and planned to go to Aaron’s later. When we arrived back home, I remembered I’d failed to pick up ribbon so I went back out to Walgreen’s. A couple of hours later (yeah, I’m a shopping fanatic), I arrived home with ribbon, bows, more wrapping paper, a couple of PopShots disposable Polaraids (so much fun for only $20/apiece!), Altoids (Dale is addicted), holiday cards, and probably some other stuff we didn’t really need. I called Aaron and suggested an alternative to an evening at his place; he agreed to come to ours to keep Dale company and use my scanner while I wrapped.

I measured, cut, discarded the inaccurately measured piece of giftwrap, and watched Pumpkin roll himself up in it like a kitty cigar. I wrapped, taped, tied, and curled. And carefully placed the finished gifts in a large box (the very one that had obscured my view of the sidewalk yesterday) so that they would all be together when we started loading the car. Silly me, I forgot about Spritel’s addiction to ribbon. During a lull in the music we had playing, I heard a suspicious rustling. Damn! He’d chewed half the ribbon off Dale’s mom’s present. I was about done wrapping, so Dale took the whole box out to the car. I think Aaron left around this time.

I’d been standing and moving around a lot, which I wasn’t supposed to be doing, so my ankle was bothering me. In order to take a painkiller, I got some cereal (it was all we had in the apt.). Spritel and Pumpkin loudly asked for some milk, so I obliged, pouring a little into two bowls, since the last thing in the world those boys are capable of is sharing.

I was being distracted by “Exocist III” on the tv when Dale started yelling so I went to check out the fuss. It seems Spritel had horked up outside the computer room. There, amidst the mess, were chunks of curling ribbon. *sigh* Dale was generous enough to clean up. It figures. The cat will eat anything, despite the usual unpleasant results!

I had so many plans for today: get my car, go to the doctor, wrap presents, do laundry, pack, maybe even a little cleaning, then leave for Houston when Dale gets home. The day actually went more like this: get car, go to doctor, get sick, sleep, sleep, sleep, dinner, wrap, sleep.

Owwwwwwww.

*whine*

*whimper*

I fell down this morning.

I stopped by the leasing office on the way to work, because last night I’d gotten two notices that there were packages waiting for me. One box was pretty big, which made it awkward to carry, but they were both light so I wouldn’t have to make two trips. I just had to struggle out the door while some woman stood several feet away and just watched me.

I was approaching my car when coordination failed me (again). The sidewalk curved away underfoot but I didn’t see that ’cause of the boxes, and I brought my right foot down on the edge of the walk which was higher than the grass, causing me to flip the boxes into the air, twist my right ankle, and fall down and skin my left knee.

I sat on the ground as far from my ankle as I could get, and cussed for about three minutes. After realizing I could indeed move my foot, I slowly tried to stand up. A man walked up and asked if I was OK. “Yes, I’m fine,” I mumbled, when in reality I had been wondering if I could drag myself to the car to get my phone so I could call my husband and whine.

The man was nice enough to pick up my boxes and put them in the trunk of my car, which was about 5 feet away. The trunk, that is. I managed to fall down within reach of my front bumper. I got myself into the car, and decided I could drive the mile to work.

To distract myself from the pain, I was wondering about the feasibility of suing my apartment complex. “That sidewalk is a safety hazard!” Nah, too much trouble. Thoughts rambled on… “Damn, driving hurts! Well, it’s a good thing Dale’s gonna be doing the driving when we head to his parents’.” “Hm, what if I end up in a cast again? Maybe I should trade cars with Dale. He’s got the automatic.” “What difference would that make? I twisted my RIGHT ankle, not my LEFT!” “Jeez, what if this is bad? I’ll never get in to see my doctor today!” “Oh crap, I have an appointment tomorrow morning. Will Dale have to take off work to drive me in?” “Hmm, should I park in Visitor parking, so I don’t have to walk as far?”

I’ve now been limping around the office for a while, explaining to my concerned teammates that I’m a klutz. I called the doctor’s office, but had to leave a message (they don’t give you the option of waiting on hold). Two hours have gone by, and they still haven’t called me back. This bad boy is really hurting, but I don’t feel like spending $50 for the privilege of going to the emergency room.

Earlier, I went into the restroom, took off my sneaker and sock, and examined my ankle. It doesn’t look swollen or bruised, but it hurts like a bitch. (Even after a painkiller.) I’m also missing a square inch of skin off my left kneecap, and boy does that sucker sting!!

I called the clinic back, this time hitting the “this is an emergency” extension. Got through to be told all the doctors are booked. Imagine that. “Why,” I wondered the last time I had an emergency (sever abdominal pain), “don’t they keep some slots open for emergencies?” The lady gave me the number of the Urgent Care clinic, telling me it opens at 5 (3 hours to go) and that I needed to call right away to get an appointment. Then she transferred me to my doctor’s voice mail where I basically left a message pleading for him to squeeze me in today.

This is my third bad sprain. The other two were severe enough that I ended up on crutches and in casts. In the 7th grade, I’d sat on my left foot for an entire hour. When class was over, my ankle collapsed outward so far the knob of bone smacked the floor. As my foot was still asleep, I didn’t feel a thing. I even went to dance class that night. But the next day the swelling and pain were so bad, it was Emergency Room time. (I spent a lot of time there as a child.) What I’d manage to do was spread the cluster of tiny bones in my ankle apart. I had a plaster cast to the knee for six weeks, which is kinda cool when you’re in middle school. Especially since it got me out of physical fitness testing. (Hard to do shuttle runs in a leg cast.)

Two years ago, Dale and I were carrying an unassembled kitchen table in its box down our apartment stairwell. That thing was terribly heavy, so Dale went down first to take the brunt of the weight. He’d reached bottom, and we set the box on the end of the rail to help pivot it as I came down. Unfortunately, I missed a step and fell down about 3-4 stairs. Lying there, my first reaction was to throw my arms over my head and yell, “I’m OK! I’m OK!” hoping Dale wouldn’t let go of his end. He didn’t. But I wasn’t OK. I couldn’t put any weight on my right ankle at all. He had to get that box the rest of the way to our apartment on his own. I think this time I got a doctor appointment for the next day. It was just a sprain, but I was given an air cast and crutches and told to stay off my foot for the next month.

The company I worked for then had just moved into new headquarters that weren’t fully finished. Guess what wasn’t working yet? The elevator. Guess where my office was? The second floor. I was down to one crutch after about a week, out of sheer frustration. I think I gave up the other a week or so after that. The air cast I used for a while. I think it was over a year before I got full range of motion back in my right ankle, and now I’ve gone and SCREWED IT UP AGAIN. And the day before holiday vacation starts.

*grumble*

Well, I got to see a doctor almost exactly 10 hrs after hurting my ankle. Heard exactly what I expected to, “It’s definitely sprained. Here’s a prescription for painkillers. The nurse will be back with an ankle brace and crutches.” I spent maybe 5 minutes with the doctor. 15 waiting for the nurse. Then another 10-15 as she tried to figure out how to put the brace on my foot then adjust the crutches. (I did one in half the time she took to do the other.)

Hrm, this seems to be a rather bitchy entry, but I get bitter any time I have to deal with HMO doctors….

Around me, the air is filled not with the sounds of holiday music, but with little *thcks!* and slightly louder *thocks!* as well as an occasional, “Hey! That hit me in a sensitive spot!”

See, last Friday I brought in cards and gifts for my coworkers, the latter being cheap little toy dart guns and slingshots. Now, they can all be labeled “Armed and Annoying.” Shortly after the distribution of these toys, a frenzy of dart-slinging occurred, making me seriously question the wisdom of my generosity. I was therefore much relieved when my manager preferred one of the air-launched foam dart guns to the little magic kit I’d left on his desk.

I was jokingly chastised for providing Leesa with even more projectiles, though. (She and Aruna have become notorious for the inter-cubicle dodge ball fights they start.) However, I felt justified as the rest of the team (20+ people) were now also armed. Well, except for one person. Me.

I’d failed to keep back any of these little toys myself. I usually don’t get into the little cube-wars anyway, but this left me at a serious disadvantage. I need a weapon!!

(1 hr later)

I was just pelted from above by 4-5 little foam darts.

I definitely need a weapon!

Ehhhhh…. My stomach hurts. I don’t know what was up yesterday. I had one slice of cheesecake around 2, then nothing else to eat until 9:30, and I was fine. Today, I started thinking about lunch time at 10:30. About 12:15 I headed downstairs, and the ATM wasn’t working. Despite standing in line behind 4 other people, two of whom gave up after the other two couldn’t get any money, I just had to try it for myself. As if I have a magic ATM card.

No luck. So I humbly went to ask one of the cashiers if they took I.O.U.’s. No luck there either. C’mon! It’s not like they don’t know where to find us to make us pay!

I went back upstairs, scrounged through my change purse, purse, and coat pockets. I came up with $.86, not counting the innumerable pennies in my Cartman piggy bank. I glanced at my nearly-empty bottle of soda. Food or caffeine? Food or caffeine?

Keeping my fingers crossed, I sent off a page to Dale that merely requested he call me ASAP. He did. Fortunately for me, he was on his way to lunch. He agreed to stop by and pick me up from my office. Together, we swung by Chik-fil-A, then it was back to my office. I scarfed down my lunch, and maybe that’s the problem. But, part of it is that I keep smelling BBQ sauce, and it’s really icking me out. Earlier, I even carried my trash can into the bathroom to dump the contents there, but there’s a blob stuck to the bottom of the bag so I must suffer.

*sigh*

So, I’ve had an unproductive morning.

A while back, I discovered Pamie. I can’t recall how I came across her site, but I promise it wasn’t from looking up my name in search engines. I know other folks do that, but for me it’s no fun since 99% of the hits that come up are for Pamela Anderson.

So, I stopped by Pamie’s once or twice before briefly, but for some reason over the past weekend I decided to start reading her journal from its beginning, and now I’m addicted. Friday night, I stayed up until about 4:30 am reading Pamie and chatting online with an old friend.

Saturday and Sunday I was out most of the day and didn’t get online much.

Now it’s 3:00 on Monday, and I just realize I’ve spent all day reading her journal! I even got in early and skipped lunch. I’ve completed one project. *sigh* So, I forced myself to stop reading by closing the browser window. That’s when I completed my one project. And what have I done since? Started writing this.

Bad Pamela. BAD!!

My left forearm is aching. Typing is really tiring it out. But, I know why and it’s my fault.

Saturday night Dale and I went over to our friends’ place, and I asked Dale to show me how to play “Soul Calibur.” So he did, and he kicked my ass thoroughly. I did have fun, though I got frustrated at times. I’d start whipping out the moves, thinking I was really playing well, then Dale would stop ‘pulling punches.’ He’d make a suggestion. I’d whine. I’m sure I amused the other guys sitting around. Steve’s early suggestion to even up the match (as if that would even be possible) was for Dale to play one-handed.

By the end of the night, I was actually playing noticeably better. I stuck to one character (Voldo, who looks like a gimp and moves like a break-dancing drag queen) to better my chances of learning moves. I’ve decided Voldo’s cool, but he’s not so hot against opponents with long-range weapons. Still, I want to play him again. I mean, how can I resist a guy with moves called “Broken Doll” and “Freak Attack.”

Anyway, though I wanted to keep playing, I had to give up somewhere in the early A.M. because my left thumb was blistering up and my wrist and forearm ached. I gave up the controller to Matt, then had to force my fingers to uncurl.

So here it is, two days later, and my arm still hurts.

I’m such a wuss.

Remember the cheesecake disaster? I decided to try again. Everything went smoothly, from making the crusts to pouring the filling. I was extremely careful with the oven rack and got it pushed back safely. This time, I set the oven for 300 degrees instead of the 350 mentioned in the recipe. The cheesecakes didn’t look done and the toothpick-in-the-center was still coming out with moist bits (are you even supposed to test cheesecakes with that method?), so I kept setting the timer for 5 minute intervals. I think it took a total of another 15 minutes before I got too paranoid and took them out.

While Dale cleaned the kitchen (yeah, I made a mess, but it’s been his turn for sooooo long!), I called my parents. I’d left a message for them Thursday night, then Dad had left one last night. I needed to get a couple of addresses so I could send out the last of my holiday cards. After that business was out of the way, we chatted for a bit. Mom got home and picked up the other phone. Someone asked me about the results of my test. I hadn’t recalled telling them about my cat scan, so I figured my sister had. I hadn’t wanted to tell them, because I was afraid they’d worry. So I explained why I had the cat scan and that I wouldn’t get to talk to a doctor about the results until Thursday, and waited for their reactions. Silence from Dad, but from Mom, “You need to start going to the bathroom more often.” “What?” “This is because when you were little, you didn’t like to stop playing to go to the bathroom.” So then I found myself defending the frequency of my daily bathroom trips.

That’s my mom. Every once in a while she inserts the weirdest comments into conversation. I remember one call home; I’d told her something about the cats. She said, “I don’t like cats. Or squirrels.” “Squirrels, mom? Why don’t you like squirrels?” “You just can’t keep them on the ground!” The memory of that still makes me laugh.

So, addresses gleaned and kitchen cleaned (oooh, rhyming!), Dale and I went over to Rick and Aaron’s and took along one of the cheesecakes. They ooh’d and aah’d, but first we had to finish watching “Remo Williams” then we went out to eat. Along with a couple more guys, we decided to head to Bennigan’s. Then it turned into “Pick on Pam” night.

We took two cars, and on the way over Aaron told us that one of the guy’s (who wasn’t going to dinner) fiancée had just called off their wedding. I got this news about 20 min after I’d just finished asking him “Where’s Mandy?” and a couple of days after I’d handed him a Christmas card addressed to them both, and asked “Where’s Mandy?” On top of it all, apparently the day I’d given him the card was the same day as the break-up.

So, I got picked on at dinner. I was deemed ‘cold hearted.’ Jer, sitting next to me, wrapped his arms around himself. “Brrrr! It’s cold over hear!” Aaron, “It’s a good thing her heart’s three sizes too small!” Ha ha. And what’s my beloved husband doing during all this? Laughing, of course.

Things calmed down and we had a nice dinner, despite the disappointing burgers for me and Dale. (Bennigan’s new sampler appetizer, the Southwest Sampler, was a hit.) After getting back to R&A’s, a quickexchangechange began between the guys. I unboxed the toy I’d left for Rick on Friday and discovered that the batteries I’d put in it for him were already dead. Aaron supplied some more, and I proceeded to use part of a battered Swiss Army knife to undo the minute screw holding the battery compartment closed. Wtf did they use such a small screw? And a Phillips head at that!! You almost need an eyeglass kit-sized screwdriver to get this open. But, I am stubborn and I wanted to show off the toy, so I persevered. Finally got the new batteries in and the hatch closed up again. Showtime!

Rick’s gift was quite a find. Sitting on a floor-level shelf in Spencers, hidden behind a rack of cheap sweatshirts, were a handful of boxes containing colorful little characters called Ooglies®. They look rather like eggs with feet, tails, and giant space-alien eyes. Stick a bunch of batteries in them, and they come to life. They chatter, shake, giggle, fart, squeal, and shake, while their eyes light, spin, and change color, depending on whether you yank the tail, “tickle” the feet, or “pat” them on the head. It was a weird gift and I really got it ’cause I want one for myself but can’t justify that right now, so Rick was the victim. I was unsure of what his response would be. “What’s this cheap thing?” or “Were you on crack when you bought this?” Surprisingly, it was a hit with all the guys in the room, including Rick. “Oh, this is great!”

Only Aaron’s cat hated it, but Arky hates everything. And everyone.

Next on the agenda was a kung fu flick. (It seems Dale and I had interrupted movie night.) I think it was called “36 Chambers of Shaolin” or something like that. The movie ran like a live version of “Mystery Science Theater 2000.” We thought there should be a little silhouette of Jer’s head at the bottom of the TV screen. For some odd reason, not only was this movie badly dubbed into English, but it had subtitles in Norwegian or something. Though I don’t usually watch movies like this, I enjoyed it, mainly ’cause of the fun audience-participation aspect.

I’m on this mailing list for women in the Austin area who are interested in computers and technology. Last week, one of the members, Spike, sent the list her cheesecake recipe. Now, I’ve become a fan of Spike’s writings. She’s intelligent, funny, and can even make a recipe an interesting read.

Back to the cheesecake - Let me start by saying that like experiments in highschool chemistry, my cooking attempts tend to come out not quite as they are supposed to. (The teacher of that chem class once said my lab partner and I were, “cursed by the chemistry gods.”) Still, every once in a while I get a burning desire to try something new. Fortunately, those times are few and far between. So, I went out and got all the ingredients and attacked my kitchen.

I did what you’re supposed to, and read the directions all the way through before touching anything. I read them again, just in case. “Dale, are you supposed to grease pie pans?” “I don’t know. I think so.” “Well, I’m going to just in case.” So I greased the pans (recipe makes two) and floured them (something I remembered from some previous baking), and then I read the directions again. At last I felt confident about starting.

The first stage, the crust, went rather well. I got the dough to the right consistency and it was even easy to shape it the right way in the pie pan. I carried the first shell into the computer room to show off to Dale. “Hey, that looks pretty good!” “Yeah, and it’s my first pie shell ever!”

The second stage even went smoothly. Partially ’cause the cream cheese had been sitting out so long it had softened up nicely.

The third stage, getting the filling into the pans and getting the pans into the oven, was when things started to go wrong. Spike had suggested pulling out the oven rack and putting the pans on it, then pouring in the filling. Ideally with something with a spout. I had used a nifty glass mixing bowl with a handle and a spout (thank you, Pampered Chef!) so the pouring was easy. Unfortunately, when I pushed the rack back into the oven, it stuck then skipped, causing batter to slosh onto the bottom of the oven. Knowing the spilt filling would burn but not wanting to wait for the oven to cool off so I could clean it up, I closed the oven door and set the timer for 1 hour.

20 minutes later the smell of burning filling dr