Heart attack and vine

I am so annoyed with the word chipotle’. It’s become a potato grater on my ear.

I’m enjoying a batch of nice homemade popcorn, real butter, real salt, real slow death in a bowl. It’s my reward for getting my Shirley Jackson presentation together for tomorrow.
Now, last time I seemed to have jinxed myself, so I don’t want to go to far with any self congratulatory crap, BUT I have started to creep upon catching up in math and bio, the getting of the homework scheduled in and accomplished.
The beginning to grasp the immensity and the sheer stupidity of taking 6 classes.

This weekend is possibly my last grasp at a social life, tis the season to make strudel at Strudelqueen’s house. That’s Saturday after work. Then Sunday I agreed to make Karl La Fong beef wellington for his birthday dinner. I’m so screwed. But I quizzed Uncle Bunny at length before he left for his fabulous trip to Hawaii, and I bought the best puff pastry to be found. What? You thought I would make the pastry? I believe I’ve ranted about my lack of pastry skill before.
But my pate’ is to die for, so - fingers crossed, asparagus steamed, maybe it will all come out ok.