How I spent my Sunday

I also become incredibly crafty this time of year. These are my Christmas ornaments. Drug out my felt and embroidery floss and whipped out a few Christmas gifts today.

How I spent my Saturday

Mmmmm. Apple pie.
This was my first attempt at made from scratch crust and made from scratch filling.
This time of year I have a tendency to feel a bit more domesticated. This usually results in baked goods.
When I moved into my first apartment/house, I spent my first holiday season becoming incredibly acquainted with a Martha Stewart Cookie magazine, and my best friend's Kitchen Aide mixer. I made classic Chocolate Chip, Thumbprints, Hello Dollies, Butter Cookies, as well as new recipes such as Peanut Butter and Jelly Bars and Ambrosia Cookies. I didn't have a Silpat or cooling racks like the recipes called for, so I used wax paper, and cooled the warm cookies on stacks of back issues of Jane and Vogue. My best friend would come over everyday just to see what I had baked, and was happy to take home with her any rejects. Everyone I had a mailing address for that year got a big box of homemade goodness.
I love to bake, but pies have always been foreign to me. No one in my family made pies that didn't have meringue on them or were made with a Jello No-Bake recipe. And crusts were always frozen. I always wanted to make real pie. Something with a double or lattace crust. Something like Aunt Bea's in Mayberry. Like Clarence and Alabama after the movies. Like the "Pie-Maker" on Pushing Daisies (don't they always look delicious).
And I must say, the pie was for the most part a success. My friends and husband complimented me on it. Everyone seemed to be pleased.
But there is one piece left.
In my history of cooking and baking, I have noticed that if something is truly spectacular, there is never leftovers. So I am a little sad that this pie, my first pie that I am so proud of has one lonely piece left in the fridge. Orphaned.
Maybe I should have went with cherry.

Oh, Girl

So lately I have reconnected with my own Gossip Girl S. to my B. We are now reunited. And now that we have gotten past all the nostalgia of "Do you remember that time when we. . .?" I have realized a few things. When we talk, we sound like two bar girls after about three Tom Collins.
Seriously.
One conversation today went down like this:
S. "You know, I think that if my husband actually met my ex-boyfriend E., that they would be best friends."
B. "Your right. They would love each other so much that they would be moving to Massachusetts to get married."
S. "I know, right?"
B. "You know what, maybe you can marry both of them and start your own little polygamist sect,"
S. "Yes!" she said. "Now you thinking!"
B. "And then you'd have two men to bitch at?"
S. "I know!"

Or perhaps this text later in the day sums it up best:
S. "Oh girl. I just drove past a consignment shop that has a sexy Santa lingerie outfit hanging in the window. Who would buy that?"
B. "Mariah Carey. She would totally buy that."
S. "She is imitating me. I married a much younger dumbass named Nick first."
B. "Your right! You totally win. Fuck her and her Grammy winning ass."