Fire Starters and Bark

There's something about beginning therapy with a new psychiatrist that makes me feel like a complete tool.

I know there is nothing wrong with having a shrink.  Most people have one, and most people are on anti-depressants...aaaaand those who aren't, probably should be.

I walked into the new office yesterday morning and proceeded to fill out the kajillion pages of my history.

Since my 'tard general practitioner  refused to refill my anti-depressants (I KNOW, right?  What an douche.),  I had to bust ass and get an appointment with a REAL psychiatrist.  I'm still bitter about the general practitioner situation. And cynical.    

This psychiatrist thing was a big deal for me, y'all.  Because I have not been too keen on them since my last one told me that I wasn't "in a sorority anymore."   Ummm, yea?   Rude.  I'm NOT the Greek type.

I've been trying to get into the Christmas spirit, nevertheless, WITHOUT being properly medicated.   Which is harder than one might think, yet when making yummy treats it helps things out a tad bit.

So, as you can see, I made an obscene batch of my mother's sweet Chex Mix.

It has pecans, coconut and raisins in it...along with a brown sugar butter and vanilla sauce poured over it and cooled.

F-in' "A" it is so righteously awesome.    I'm going to be giving it out as gifts...except the family has eaten almost two bags already.  So, I better give them away very soon.

I am also making cinnamon sugar almonds and almond bark-dipped pretzels to add to my gifts I planned to hand out, but who would have thunk that "almond bark" is no where to be found at the local "Pubix," (as my dad calls it)?

Is almond bark a Midwest thing?

After wandering around for a long while, I finally asked someone who looked like he had worked there for too long.

 "Where is the almond bark?"

"What?"

"I'm looking for almond bark."

"Bark is in the deli."

That didn't sound right, AT ALL.

Almond bark is an alternative to white chocolate.  It comes in a big brick that can be melted and goodies such as  pretzels, Oreos, etc. are dipped into it.  It is sweet and not anything akin to a slab of  ham.

"Almond bark is in the deli,"  I asked, suspiciously.

"Well, "bark" is in the deli.  I'm not sure about almond bark."

There was CLEARLY a disconnect.

I thanked him for being so incredibly helpful and wandered off toward the bakery, then the deli.

There was no "almond bark," nor was there any "bark."

What the hell did he think I was asking for?  I'm still wondering...what the frack is "bark?"  Is it a southern thing?  Did he think I was looking for firewood?   I'm still confounded.

I wanted to say to him, "In Des Moines, there were entire ENDCAPS of almond bark stacked six feet high and it sold like hotcakes."

So I left, with a lone bag of pretzels and no almond bark.  I would have ventured on to another store, but Maggie has decided that she will refuse to sit in a shopping cart.

When I try to forcibly PLACE her in a shopping cart, she won't sit down and screams bloody murder.

So, it's either, a.) carry her (she weighs upwards of 35 pounds now), or b.) allow her to walk.  She has no fear, however, and wanders everywhere else other than by my side.  She was particularly fascinated by cupcakes last night.  

This does not make for an enjoyable shopping experience.  It actually makes me want to hang myself.

I went to bed with  good intentions of getting up this morning to continue with my festive Christmas baking of easy snack foods that will surely add another ten pounds onto my fat ass.

But I do believe that between 11pm last night and 7 am this morning, I was hit by a truck.

The fifteen year old is already bitter that he occasionally watches his 2 year old sister while I go to the grocery store, but I asked him AGAIN ~ despite this ~ to watch her so I could go back to bed.

Maggie has a propensity now to get into her ass cream and spreads it all over her stuffed animals, walls and on the dog.   So she has to be watched uber closely.

Also, last month she almost set fire to the house  because she pulled down the toaster's lever to "on."  That would have been fine and a rather benign incident; however,  I was sorting bills and placed our property tax bill on top of the toaster.  So...it promptly set afire.

 It's wildly frustrating that I can't just have a normal toddler who will zone out in front of the television  so I can nap.  Instead, I have one that sets fires, who tries to escape and who  climbs the pantry shelves.

She is also quite different in that she doesn't care for dolls and other things that other girls are attracted to.  Instead, she carries her two Pikachus around and asks me to find Pokemon videos on my Iphone.  This is one of her favorites.  

After a nap, though, I don't feel any better.  In fact,  I feel worse.   My entire body, including my hands, aches.

HO-HO-HO.

I'm a little nervous because we clearly do not have a doctor to go to.  

Perhaps some more sweet Chex mix will make me feel better?  Or some good ol' carbs in the form of bread?  Or what about some boxed wine?

Yep, some boxed wine sounds like a plan.