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Chapter 1. How I Got To Vegas.
-I was supposed to fly from Moline to Dallas to Vegas. But then, because I chose to fly American, the 2nd flight got canceled. So I called customer service and was on hold for an hour and a half, at which point they decided I would fly from Moline to Atlanta to Vegas.
The Moline flight was delayed by 15 minutes, which gave me exactly 10 minutes to get to my connecting flight. I sat next to a man who looked like Fabio but smelled like pickles. But when I got there, it had already taken off. So then began the great quest to get me on another flight. This also became the point where I had a HUGE audition in Vegas at 9:25 for Hairspray that could affect the course of my entire life.

I got the flight.

Chapter 2–Why Vegas Sucks
If you are not A: 21 B: Rich, or C: Hot, there is not a lot of opportunity for you in Vegas. This is best exemplified by this story. We went outside, andapparently on the strip there are many club promoters who offer you passes to their clubs to bring in business. One offered us club passes, and we said no, we’re not 21, but thanks. To which the club promoter responded..

“Well, that sucks”. And walked away.

Chapter 3–Planet Hollywood.
Planet Hollywood is HUGE. There is a mall in the casino. And i’m not just talking about like a strip mall. No. This is a huge ass mall. Which, consequently, has been decorated to resemble the streets of Agraba in Aladdin. The ceiling was painted to look like the sky. Oh, and it rains.

On the inside of the building. Every half hour and hour.

Chapter 4: The Elevators
Apparently, Planet Hollywood is so huge that they have to divide the elevators up in to North South East and West, with North and West going to half of the floors, South and East going to the others. There are giant flat screen TVs in the ceilings. One night after we ate, we got on the elevator and there were seven huge black men and 3 little white girls (that’s us). One of the guys said something to the effect of “It’s like a mother fucking rap video up in here”
And there was another guy in the corner who merely nodded silently and said

“Word”.

Chapter 5: The Main Event
So, the pageant was fun. The current (old?) Miss USA looked like a giant bannana, Miss Ohio had to be at LEAST 50 and Delaware looked like a man. And Texas is a hobgoblin in disguise. Donald Trump (who I saw) should make shere to not feed her after midnight, or she might turn into a monster.Although, she is a beauty queen so in reality, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about the imminent threat of food ingestion by the new miss USA.
Abbey was just fantastic. And the bitch gets to be on the Ellen Show, so I think she did pretty okay for herself. I was quite obnoxious, but it was only to really offset the fear I felt by being surrounded by scary pageant moms and rabid California fans. There was a little man down in the front who looked like Sean Astin from the Goonies and started mocking the fact that anything would set off the California fans by yelling “Callifooooornnia”. Which would then send them into veritable paroxysms of joy and happiness about the fact that they did, indeed, support California. Which was funny as hell, except that they were REALLY loud, and I was sitting REALLY close. Of course, I was inappropriate. I tried to lead a cheer to support the tech crew.

No one but me cheered.

Chapter 6: Packing.
I would just like to say that being a beauty queen means that you need to have a TON of shit. If it were me, I’d have a suitcase and maybe a duffel. Maybe. But no. These girls had BOXES of crap. And not only that, but they were supplied with hefty gift baskets as well. Nice gift baskets. Filled with many lovely things. However, the practicality of some is something i would like to address. The specific prize I have in mind is a gift certificate for Eyelash Extensions. The fact that these actually exist could be the basis for an entire note, but that is not the point. Picture in your mind your average computer paper. Got it? Now imagine that someone printed off a certificate for these faux lashes. A thoughtful gift. Now imagine that someone sprayed said gift certificate with some sort of unstickable sticky spray and stuck it to a computer paper-sized piece of glass that is about 2 inches thick. That was the gift certificate. have never heard of anything more ironic than a 10 pound gift certificate for a service used to apply eyelashes.
Also, there was a string-less G-string, which is apparently going to revolutionize the future of our underwear. A string-less G-string. Instead, there are sticky patches that you stick onto your…..person…at…str

So, today at the yard sale, Andrew and I were discussing jobs.
And then I came home, and mom and dad were watching Indiana Jones.
And I got to thinking.
There are a lot of people with shitty jobs in Steven Spielberg movies. Think about it.
Shindler’s List, Jurassic Park, Amistad, ET, Gremlins,The Color Purple, Arachnophobia, The Terminal….
Between people who have to deal with cleaning up dead spiders to dead….dinosaurs…(you totally thought I was going to say Jews, don’t lie)…there are a TON of shitty jobs.

I mean, in the Terminal there are McDonalds employees. The ultimate stereotype of the shitty job, there immortalized by Spielberg.

Hell, and some of them are slaves who aren’t even getting paid.

Hands down, the worst job has to be that poor knight in The Last Crusade.
I mean, seriously. The dude sits, all day, every day, in a hidden temple that has impassable obstacles and challenges JUST in case someone makes it in so he can give them instructions. They could have just made a plaque or something with instructions. Plus, I mean, you’d think they could have like, at least given him a book or something. The Bible would get pretty old, I think.

And on top of all of that, he doesn’t even really DO anything.
“He chose…poorly”. Well, no shit sherlock. Thank you for that brilliant observation. I thought the whole face-melting skeleton exploding bit meant that God was pleased with the selection.

Also, you’d think he could like, dust once in awhile. It’s not like he had anything better to do.

So tonight I was going through recipes online, whilst the amazing Abby and I were talking.
And I got to thinking about why I like baking so much.
And I realized something quite profound.

There is a reason why I like baking, why it’s become something of a nightly ritual for me. Well, there are several reasons, but there is one big one that I have come to realize.

Baking bread, at least to me, is quite metaphorical for life. More specifically, the shit life throws at us.

Unless you’ve ever handmade bread, it’s a difficult feeling to explain. But I’ll try.

All bread consists of primarily the same ingredients. But it’s the differences that make each bread unique, so when measuring your ingredients, you have to make sure you do it carefully. Subtle undertones of cinnamon or nutmeg, pungent garlic or melty cheese–some breads begin plain but become great, others can be disappointments.

Some breads are right for some occasions: a think slice of cinnamon ginger spice bread dusted over with powdered sugar isn’t right with your spaghetti, nor is a still singing loaf of garlic parmesan right for the office Christmas party. It’s a matter of choosing your situations carefully.

But no matter what type of bread you’re making, from the heaviest sourdough to the lightest of pastries–they all start out the same, as dough.

The thing I like best about bread is that it is alive. The yeast that makes the bread rise is alive and has to be carefully tended to before you even begin to make the bread. If your water is too cold, it will die. If your water is too hot, it will die. If you don’t give it sugar, it doesn’t have anything to feed on and will die. Nurturing your yeast–taking responsibility—is one of the most important things you can do to make bread.

Then begins the waiting game. And anyone who know me know that I am not a patient person. Some recipes call for waiting 15 minutes, others call for 8 hours in a refrigerator to let the bread rise. But you have to. You have to wait, or the bread won’t cook right. Patience, as it were, is crucial.Timing is everything.

And sometimes, no matter how carefully you measure the ingredients, the dough gets really sticky.

When the dough gets sticky, there is only one thing you can do. You have to knead it. And it SUCKS kneading sticky dough. It gets all over your hands and the table and is a bitch to do. But you have to keep at it.

Sometimes it takes a long time to work out. And sometimes it just needs a few minutes of work to come out alright.

But the trick to successful bread is that you have to keep with it. You can’t give up in the middle of things because it seems as though there is no hope. Because things do, usually work out for the best.

And sometimes the dough falls, or the bread burns. It’s just a fact of life. Sometimes things don’t turn out as expected. Maybe your oven was too hot or too cold or your pan wasn’t floured or sundry other problems that can come up. Hell, even the weather that day can affect things.

But the most important thing with bread is that you make the best out of things. Maybe you only get half a loaf. Maybe you make croutons, or bread pudding,or stuffing, or a pie crust. Hell, maybe you just take it down by the river and feed the birds.

But the best part is that tomorrow you can wake up and try again.

Think about it.

I want to talk to you all about a serious problem in America.
Sure, there’s a war going on and a mortgage is required to pay for a tank of gas, but there is another epidemic sweeping the nation: Gym Challenges.
If you don’t know what I’m talking about…here’s what happens.
You go to the gym, and you get on the treadmill. And then, out of nowhere, despite the other 15 empty treadmills dispersed throughout the gym, some jerk decides to run. Some jerky spend-all-day-in-the-gym-m

Eventually I will write something deeply fascinating and thoughtful here.

Until then, please stay tuned.