Yeah, Right, All Over Again

As if it isn't enough that the Upper Peninsula is on fire and I can't go there for vacation, hubby-man checked the extended weather forecast for the Traverse City area and it's supposed to rain all next week. I have a feeling we're staying home after all. If we do, I'm gonna have to break out the cat o' nine tails and make this herd work on my house and get it finished once and for all.

I'm having a mad craving for Chester's Cheesy Puffcorn. I don't know what's up with that. Only one store around here sells them (the itty bitty store near my house) and they had only one bag, so who knows when - or if - they will get more. And cucumbers. I'm dying for a cucumber. I think I should just go out in the kitchen and make a 42-pound batch of fudge and sit and eat it all. Fudge just like my grandma taught me to make. It's so good, it's better than sex. It's even better than Mountain Dew. Hell, it's better than Mountain Dew and sex together (not that I've tried that, I can't fathom the logistics of it and don't like getting sticky; I just mean the pleasure of both of them combined but not necessarily at the same time, kind of a synergistic thing, ya know). It's just yummy, creamy goodness in little brown squares (or big brown squares, depending on how you cut it in the pan). We're not talking fudge with marshmallow cream, either. It gets it's creaminess directly from Grandma. I'm the only one she taught how to make it, and it's all my secret now, so NEINER NEINER NEINER.

Ah, fuck me running with a baseball bat, I'm rambling again. I need some of that ever-elusive sleep.