I am very much on board with the new trend in winter parties....the hot chocolate bar. I love that it can be appropriate at everything from a child's birthday party to a fancy wedding reception- just depends on how you present it.Chef Giada De Laurentiis has pointers on what to have on hand for your own hot chocolate bar, but certainly there are so many ways to make the unique and delicious!
Images: luv4chocolate, andersruf, babble, lipstickandruffles,theartofweddings
2 Ocak 2013 Çarşamba
hot chocolate bar
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I'll Sign Now
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You know, when I was originally formulating this post in my mind, I thought that I would just look up quotes or conversations that those goonies on shows like Jersey Shore or Real Housewives said while they were being recorded. However, during my research, I started seizing because my IQ was falling at such a rapid pace.
The point I was going to make was that if dumb idiots like Snooki and SItuation and IDon'tKnowThese'TardNames can get their own show and be on Dancing with the Stars, WHY CAN'T i ?
The following is why Bestie and I should have our own freakin' television show:
Scene: One of my very best friends had a baby last week. Her in-laws are precious, but are much more well-to-do than I, had several conversations while Ashley was in recovery. Action!
The point I was going to make was that if dumb idiots like Snooki and SItuation and IDon'tKnowThese'TardNames can get their own show and be on Dancing with the Stars, WHY CAN'T i ?
The following is why Bestie and I should have our own freakin' television show:
Scene: One of my very best friends had a baby last week. Her in-laws are precious, but are much more well-to-do than I, had several conversations while Ashley was in recovery. Action!
Me: So Ash's in-laws were trying to decide which places they should go to lunch. I didn't recognize one restaurant they mentioned, so when they asked me for a good place to eat, I tried to think of the most expensive place I had eaten and it wasn't what they were looking for.
Bestie: What restaurants were they talking about?
Me: I don't know. Some places that started with "Cafe" and ended with a French word.
Bestie: Yeah. We eat at places that end in cafe.
Me: Like "Today, I had lunch at The Hospital Cafe." It'd be different if I said "Cafe Hospital."
I'LL Give You Something to Write About
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Dear Pe-o-ple Magazine,
I just wanted to send you a quick thank you note for letting me know that sometimes celebrities don't wear makeup. This whole time, I thought that when they were finished posing for the camera they just climbed back into their Barbie box before they eventually wound down.
Idiots.
Sincerely,
The Student Who Wishes You Would Do a Story On Her, Since You're Obviously Running Low on Material
I just wanted to send you a quick thank you note for letting me know that sometimes celebrities don't wear makeup. This whole time, I thought that when they were finished posing for the camera they just climbed back into their Barbie box before they eventually wound down.
Idiots.
Sincerely,
The Student Who Wishes You Would Do a Story On Her, Since You're Obviously Running Low on Material
Why I Don't Like Being in the Water
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So it's finally happened. My bestie and inspiration for craziness has finally realized that I am severely disturbed and probably equally undermedicated. I don't know why. All I did was tell her about my latest dream. I don't know why she freaked out.
I'm at the point in my night life now where I realize that I am dreaming and just decide to have fun. I can fly all over the world, move stuff with my eyes, and smooch a still very much alive Heath Ledger. I obviously enjoy dreaming, but every now and then a nasty ol' nightmare will slip in and ru'rn my life.
Night before last, I had the first non-lucid dream that I've had in a really long time. In my dream, I was watching these freaking idiots kayak in the middle of the Perfect Storm. Naturally, their kayaks all flipped over leaving me creeping about in the sky, praying that I wouldn't have to rescue them because I am absolutely terrified of drowning.
Well, I had to. Jerks and their inability to survive underwater....
I was swimming in the ocean trying to save some of these morons when about 200 of these appeared
Scary. Super scary. Times 200. I'm not exaggerating about the teeth. On the contrary, there were more than that. Luckily, as one was about to introduce me to Steve Irwin, I remembered that I COULD fly and pulled lots of dumb deep sea kayakers to safety.
Part of me wishes that I could say that was the end of the dream. But no. This was one of those dreams that I could not wake up from.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting with a man that I rescued that was apparently my husband. As we were snuggling, I noticed with my X-Ray vision that he was moving in a freakishly similar way to the giant Robot Sharks. I suggested that we go see a doctor who, unfortunately confirmed my fears. My husband was bitten by, and was slowly turning into, a giant, radioactive robot shark.
Obviously, I was devastated. I'm pretty sure that the man in my dreams was attractive. I know I was madly in love with him because I crawled to meet Sheldon Cooper so that we could keep him from turning into a monster.
It worked. Only except for that he didn't know who I was. I used all my chips with stupid Sheldon and he wasn't up for building a time machine to take me back to the point before the love of my life was turned into a freaking zombie of the ocean.
I'm still a little upset about it, actually.
I'm at the point in my night life now where I realize that I am dreaming and just decide to have fun. I can fly all over the world, move stuff with my eyes, and smooch a still very much alive Heath Ledger. I obviously enjoy dreaming, but every now and then a nasty ol' nightmare will slip in and ru'rn my life.
Night before last, I had the first non-lucid dream that I've had in a really long time. In my dream, I was watching these freaking idiots kayak in the middle of the Perfect Storm. Naturally, their kayaks all flipped over leaving me creeping about in the sky, praying that I wouldn't have to rescue them because I am absolutely terrified of drowning.
Well, I had to. Jerks and their inability to survive underwater....
I was swimming in the ocean trying to save some of these morons when about 200 of these appeared
Scary. Super scary. Times 200. I'm not exaggerating about the teeth. On the contrary, there were more than that. Luckily, as one was about to introduce me to Steve Irwin, I remembered that I COULD fly and pulled lots of dumb deep sea kayakers to safety.
Part of me wishes that I could say that was the end of the dream. But no. This was one of those dreams that I could not wake up from.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting with a man that I rescued that was apparently my husband. As we were snuggling, I noticed with my X-Ray vision that he was moving in a freakishly similar way to the giant Robot Sharks. I suggested that we go see a doctor who, unfortunately confirmed my fears. My husband was bitten by, and was slowly turning into, a giant, radioactive robot shark.
Obviously, I was devastated. I'm pretty sure that the man in my dreams was attractive. I know I was madly in love with him because I crawled to meet Sheldon Cooper so that we could keep him from turning into a monster.
It worked. Only except for that he didn't know who I was. I used all my chips with stupid Sheldon and he wasn't up for building a time machine to take me back to the point before the love of my life was turned into a freaking zombie of the ocean.
I'm still a little upset about it, actually.
Nice Guys Really Don't Finish Last
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A couple of weeks ago, one of my favorite YouTube stars made a video about how "nice guys" don't really finish last. The basis of Jenna Marbles's video was nice guys go for girls out of their league with which they have nothing in common, are rejected, and then become all emo and pouty.
I was shocked and appalled at the comments left by these "nice guys"!! They were vile!! One responded to the comment I posted (which I am going to discuss here) and called me a variety of unsavory names. I told him that maybe if he stopped playing Call of Duty 18 hours a day and developed some people skills, he wouldn't come across as so repulsive. I regretted that because it only fueled his pathetic little fire.
If by some slim chance in hell any of the "nice guys" who left nasty comments on that video reads this blog, the only thing I have to say to you is you're not nice. You're actually quite horrible.
So while I agree with Jenna's statement, I disagree with her reasons. I think nice guys don't finish last because they go from "nice guy" to "creeper." So really, they are a "creeper who finishes last."
This sounds cruel and was the reason Mr. Call of Duty felt it necessary to call me names, but hear me out.
There are lots of nice guys in the world. Sweet, loyal, friendly, etc. Their mothers and grandmothers have told them what a catch they are and any girl would be lucky to have them. However these guys lack a very important quality: People Skills.
Like Mr. Call of Duty, they are petted by strong female relatives, who may or may not be crazy themselves, but lack the ability to have a conversation with a non-familial female. If/when a new girl approaches this "nice guy" and, God forbid, gives him positive attention, his brain starts to go into overload.
This is the unfortunate trigger that sends Nice Guy into Creeperville.
He starts to become very clingy. Always asks the girl who she is with, what she's doing. Calls every fifteen minutes and texts every two. Next thing you know, you catch him going through your dirty laundry sniffing your underwear.
Now, he's a Creep. What do we do with creeps? We call the police. Or, at the very least, change our phone numbers.
I was shocked and appalled at the comments left by these "nice guys"!! They were vile!! One responded to the comment I posted (which I am going to discuss here) and called me a variety of unsavory names. I told him that maybe if he stopped playing Call of Duty 18 hours a day and developed some people skills, he wouldn't come across as so repulsive. I regretted that because it only fueled his pathetic little fire.
If by some slim chance in hell any of the "nice guys" who left nasty comments on that video reads this blog, the only thing I have to say to you is you're not nice. You're actually quite horrible.
So while I agree with Jenna's statement, I disagree with her reasons. I think nice guys don't finish last because they go from "nice guy" to "creeper." So really, they are a "creeper who finishes last."
This sounds cruel and was the reason Mr. Call of Duty felt it necessary to call me names, but hear me out.
There are lots of nice guys in the world. Sweet, loyal, friendly, etc. Their mothers and grandmothers have told them what a catch they are and any girl would be lucky to have them. However these guys lack a very important quality: People Skills.
Like Mr. Call of Duty, they are petted by strong female relatives, who may or may not be crazy themselves, but lack the ability to have a conversation with a non-familial female. If/when a new girl approaches this "nice guy" and, God forbid, gives him positive attention, his brain starts to go into overload.
This is the unfortunate trigger that sends Nice Guy into Creeperville.
He starts to become very clingy. Always asks the girl who she is with, what she's doing. Calls every fifteen minutes and texts every two. Next thing you know, you catch him going through your dirty laundry sniffing your underwear.
Now, he's a Creep. What do we do with creeps? We call the police. Or, at the very least, change our phone numbers.
1 Ocak 2013 Salı
Why I Don't Like Being in the Water
To contact us Click HERE
So it's finally happened. My bestie and inspiration for craziness has finally realized that I am severely disturbed and probably equally undermedicated. I don't know why. All I did was tell her about my latest dream. I don't know why she freaked out.
I'm at the point in my night life now where I realize that I am dreaming and just decide to have fun. I can fly all over the world, move stuff with my eyes, and smooch a still very much alive Heath Ledger. I obviously enjoy dreaming, but every now and then a nasty ol' nightmare will slip in and ru'rn my life.
Night before last, I had the first non-lucid dream that I've had in a really long time. In my dream, I was watching these freaking idiots kayak in the middle of the Perfect Storm. Naturally, their kayaks all flipped over leaving me creeping about in the sky, praying that I wouldn't have to rescue them because I am absolutely terrified of drowning.
Well, I had to. Jerks and their inability to survive underwater....
I was swimming in the ocean trying to save some of these morons when about 200 of these appeared
Scary. Super scary. Times 200. I'm not exaggerating about the teeth. On the contrary, there were more than that. Luckily, as one was about to introduce me to Steve Irwin, I remembered that I COULD fly and pulled lots of dumb deep sea kayakers to safety.
Part of me wishes that I could say that was the end of the dream. But no. This was one of those dreams that I could not wake up from.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting with a man that I rescued that was apparently my husband. As we were snuggling, I noticed with my X-Ray vision that he was moving in a freakishly similar way to the giant Robot Sharks. I suggested that we go see a doctor who, unfortunately confirmed my fears. My husband was bitten by, and was slowly turning into, a giant, radioactive robot shark.
Obviously, I was devastated. I'm pretty sure that the man in my dreams was attractive. I know I was madly in love with him because I crawled to meet Sheldon Cooper so that we could keep him from turning into a monster.
It worked. Only except for that he didn't know who I was. I used all my chips with stupid Sheldon and he wasn't up for building a time machine to take me back to the point before the love of my life was turned into a freaking zombie of the ocean.
I'm still a little upset about it, actually.
I'm at the point in my night life now where I realize that I am dreaming and just decide to have fun. I can fly all over the world, move stuff with my eyes, and smooch a still very much alive Heath Ledger. I obviously enjoy dreaming, but every now and then a nasty ol' nightmare will slip in and ru'rn my life.
Night before last, I had the first non-lucid dream that I've had in a really long time. In my dream, I was watching these freaking idiots kayak in the middle of the Perfect Storm. Naturally, their kayaks all flipped over leaving me creeping about in the sky, praying that I wouldn't have to rescue them because I am absolutely terrified of drowning.
Well, I had to. Jerks and their inability to survive underwater....
I was swimming in the ocean trying to save some of these morons when about 200 of these appeared
Scary. Super scary. Times 200. I'm not exaggerating about the teeth. On the contrary, there were more than that. Luckily, as one was about to introduce me to Steve Irwin, I remembered that I COULD fly and pulled lots of dumb deep sea kayakers to safety.
Part of me wishes that I could say that was the end of the dream. But no. This was one of those dreams that I could not wake up from.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting with a man that I rescued that was apparently my husband. As we were snuggling, I noticed with my X-Ray vision that he was moving in a freakishly similar way to the giant Robot Sharks. I suggested that we go see a doctor who, unfortunately confirmed my fears. My husband was bitten by, and was slowly turning into, a giant, radioactive robot shark.
Obviously, I was devastated. I'm pretty sure that the man in my dreams was attractive. I know I was madly in love with him because I crawled to meet Sheldon Cooper so that we could keep him from turning into a monster.
It worked. Only except for that he didn't know who I was. I used all my chips with stupid Sheldon and he wasn't up for building a time machine to take me back to the point before the love of my life was turned into a freaking zombie of the ocean.
I'm still a little upset about it, actually.
Nice Guys Really Don't Finish Last
To contact us Click HERE
A couple of weeks ago, one of my favorite YouTube stars made a video about how "nice guys" don't really finish last. The basis of Jenna Marbles's video was nice guys go for girls out of their league with which they have nothing in common, are rejected, and then become all emo and pouty.
I was shocked and appalled at the comments left by these "nice guys"!! They were vile!! One responded to the comment I posted (which I am going to discuss here) and called me a variety of unsavory names. I told him that maybe if he stopped playing Call of Duty 18 hours a day and developed some people skills, he wouldn't come across as so repulsive. I regretted that because it only fueled his pathetic little fire.
If by some slim chance in hell any of the "nice guys" who left nasty comments on that video reads this blog, the only thing I have to say to you is you're not nice. You're actually quite horrible.
So while I agree with Jenna's statement, I disagree with her reasons. I think nice guys don't finish last because they go from "nice guy" to "creeper." So really, they are a "creeper who finishes last."
This sounds cruel and was the reason Mr. Call of Duty felt it necessary to call me names, but hear me out.
There are lots of nice guys in the world. Sweet, loyal, friendly, etc. Their mothers and grandmothers have told them what a catch they are and any girl would be lucky to have them. However these guys lack a very important quality: People Skills.
Like Mr. Call of Duty, they are petted by strong female relatives, who may or may not be crazy themselves, but lack the ability to have a conversation with a non-familial female. If/when a new girl approaches this "nice guy" and, God forbid, gives him positive attention, his brain starts to go into overload.
This is the unfortunate trigger that sends Nice Guy into Creeperville.
He starts to become very clingy. Always asks the girl who she is with, what she's doing. Calls every fifteen minutes and texts every two. Next thing you know, you catch him going through your dirty laundry sniffing your underwear.
Now, he's a Creep. What do we do with creeps? We call the police. Or, at the very least, change our phone numbers.
I was shocked and appalled at the comments left by these "nice guys"!! They were vile!! One responded to the comment I posted (which I am going to discuss here) and called me a variety of unsavory names. I told him that maybe if he stopped playing Call of Duty 18 hours a day and developed some people skills, he wouldn't come across as so repulsive. I regretted that because it only fueled his pathetic little fire.
If by some slim chance in hell any of the "nice guys" who left nasty comments on that video reads this blog, the only thing I have to say to you is you're not nice. You're actually quite horrible.
So while I agree with Jenna's statement, I disagree with her reasons. I think nice guys don't finish last because they go from "nice guy" to "creeper." So really, they are a "creeper who finishes last."
This sounds cruel and was the reason Mr. Call of Duty felt it necessary to call me names, but hear me out.
There are lots of nice guys in the world. Sweet, loyal, friendly, etc. Their mothers and grandmothers have told them what a catch they are and any girl would be lucky to have them. However these guys lack a very important quality: People Skills.
Like Mr. Call of Duty, they are petted by strong female relatives, who may or may not be crazy themselves, but lack the ability to have a conversation with a non-familial female. If/when a new girl approaches this "nice guy" and, God forbid, gives him positive attention, his brain starts to go into overload.
This is the unfortunate trigger that sends Nice Guy into Creeperville.
He starts to become very clingy. Always asks the girl who she is with, what she's doing. Calls every fifteen minutes and texts every two. Next thing you know, you catch him going through your dirty laundry sniffing your underwear.
Now, he's a Creep. What do we do with creeps? We call the police. Or, at the very least, change our phone numbers.
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