Doodeedoo...

So I think I really hate when other people go on vacation. Either that or I just hate when people go on vacation at my current branch. I have no clue why, but noone can seem to manage to put together a schedule that makes any sense or has any semblance of adequate coverage on days we need it. While, yes, yesterday was a holiday, we should have had another teller scheduled for the day. Someone calling out sick should not automatically send us to crisis mode. Granted, we also have two people out at the same time because they just had new additions to the family... Either way, it should not matter. It was known long before hand about when they would be due, and plans should have been made in the event of the babies coming early or late.

Anyway, just wanted to bitch about that for a few minutes. Though I have had to take on a lot of extra side work that our assistant manager usually does, I really do not mind at all as it gives me an opportunity to show I CAN do it. Which is always a good thing when one actually wants to move up in a company.

So! New tattoos...I have a couple of Buddhist Mantras that I wanted to get tattooed on my forearms, as well as one I want over my heart.

The Mani Mantra, which is the Mantra of love and compassion:


The Pani Mantra, which is the Mantra of protection and to overcome both inner and outer obstacles:


I still need to get quotes on these, but I'm guessing I will be dropping a few hundred to get those two, and another $150-$200 for the last one.

That's all for now!

Apple Pie...

Because I make awesome apple pie, I am going to post the recipe. Mostly because I have made a few lately, and why not share?

You will need a GOOD pie dish, one at least 2" deep, with an unglazed bottom, because it helps ensure even heat distribution, and that the bottom crust will be cooked properly. You will also need a pastry blender for the pie crust. If you want to be creative, you can get a lattice pie top cutter, or be like me and just cut vents in the center.

Crust:
3 cups sifted flour
1 cup vegetable shortening or lard
1/2 teaspoon salt nnn
1/2 cup ice cold water

Pie Filling:
5 large apples
2 tablespoons lemon juice
3/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1/2 teaspoon nutmeg
1 tablespoon butter
1 beaten egg white
1 teaspoon sugar

Preheat oven to 425°F. Grease a 9" pie plate. Make pie crust. Blend flour and salt together in a medium bowl. Cut in shortening with pastry blender until mixture resembles coarse crumbs. Using a blending fork, stir in water, a tablespoon at a time until dough forms a ball. Do NOT over mix. Divide in half and wrap in wax paper. Refrigerate at least 30 minutes before rolling. Meanwhile, make filling - peel, core, and slice the apples. Cut slices into quarter pieces. Place in bowl and toss with lemon juice. Combine sugar, flour, cinnamon, and nutmeg, then add to bowl of apples, making sure apple slices are evenly coated. Take dough out of refrigerator and roll one into a 12" circle approximately 1/4" thick. Fold in half, place onto pie plate, and unfold. Layer apple slices in the crust. Cut the butter into small pieces and scatter over the apples. Brush edge of crust with beaten egg white. Roll out the top crust, place over the filling, trim and flute edges. Make 3 steam vents in the center. Brush with remaining egg white and sprinkle with 1 teaspoon sugar. Bake at 425°F for 15 minutes. Turn oven down to 375°F and bake 35-45 minutes or until crust is golden brown and filling is bubbling. Cool to room temperature before serving.

Helpful tip: If the edge of the crust starts to get a little too golden, get a square of aluminum foil large enough to cover the pie. Cut a circle in the middle so it will only cover the crust, then place over the top of the pie. This should keep the crust from browning anymore while the rest of the pie bakes.

Well, Well...

So it looks like I may start using this place again after all. I like that, even though I am not paying for a subscription, I am not being punished with ads for it. Unlike LiveJournal...

Anyway, so a lot of things have changed since I last posted here. I am still working for The Bank, I have acquired two ittle kittums of my own, JiJi and Jade, as well as a Betta fish named Mr. Nibbles.

This is JiJi:


This is Jade:


This is Mr. Nibbles:


I have managed to acquire a few new tattoos, some new piercings, got rid of one or two, have plans to replace them, as well as plans for new ones. I also have a few ideas for new tattoos, but more on that later.

I have been thinking about getting back into the habit of blogging on a semi-regular basis for a while now, but just never managed to actually do it. Between facebook and Twitter, I have the itch to over share again. Not to mention this is a place where certain friends and family members do not visit, and I will be able to talk more about various things in my life I would otherwise have to avoid to save delicate sensibilities.

Anyway, this is all for now, but hopefully more will be forthcoming...?

A Song of Sherwood...

by Alfred Noyes

Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake?
Grey and ghostly shadows are gliding through the brake,
Shadows of the dappled deer, dreaming of the morn,
Dreaming of a shadowy man that winds a shadowy horn.

Robin Hood is here again: all his merry thieves
Hear a ghostly bugle-note shivering through the leaves,
Calling as he used to call, faint and far away,
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.

Merry, merry England has kissed the lips of June:
All the wings of fairyland were here beneath the moon,
Like a flight of rose-leaves fluttering in a mist
Of opal and ruby and pearl and amethyst.

Merry, merry England is waking as of old,
With eyes of blither hazel and hair of brighter gold:
For Robin Hood is here again beneath the bursting spray
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.

Love is in the greenwood building him a house
Of wild rose and hawthorn and honeysuckle boughs:
Love is in the greenwood, dawn is in the skies,
And Marian is waiting with a glory in her eyes.

Hark! The dazzled laverock climbs the golden steep!
Marian is waiting: is Robin Hood asleep?
Round the fairy grass-rings frolic elf and fay,
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.

Oberon, Oberon, rake away the gold,
Rake away the red leaves, roll away the mould,
Rake away the gold leaves, roll away the red,
And wake Will Scarlett from his leafy forest bed.

Friar Tuck and Little John are riding down together
With quarter-staff and drinking-can and grey goose-feather.
The dead are coming back again, the years are rolled away
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.

Softly over Sherwood the south wind blows.
All the heart of England his in every rose
Hears across the greenwood the sunny whisper leap,
Sherwood in the red dawn, is Robin Hood asleep?

Hark, the voice of England wakes him as of old
And, shattering the silence with a cry of brighter gold
Bugles in the greenwood echo from the steep,
Sherwood in the red dawn, is Robin Hood asleep?

Where the deer are gliding down the shadowy glen
All across the glades of fern he calls his merry men--
Doublets of the Lincoln green glancing through the May
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day--

Calls them and they answer: from aisles of oak and ash
Rings the Follow! Follow! and the boughs begin to crash,
The ferns begin to flutter and the flowers begin to fly,
And through the crimson dawning the robber band goes by.

Robin! Robin! Robin! All his merry thieves
Answer as the bugle-note shivers through the leaves,
Calling as he used to call, faint and far away,
In Sherwood, in Sherwood, about the break of day.

A Loom of Years...

by Alfred Noyes

In the light of the silent stars that shine on the struggling sea,
In the weary cry of the wind and the whisper of flower and tree,
Under the breath of laughter, deep in the tide of tears,
I hear the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

The leaves of the winter wither and sink in the forest mould
To colour the flowers of April with purple and white and gold:
Light and scent and music die and are born again
In the heart of a grey-haired woman who wakes in a world of pain.

The hound, the fawn, and the hawk, and the doves that croon and coo,
We are all one woof of the weaving and the one warp threads us through,
One flying cloud on the shuttle that carries our hopes and fears
As it goes thro’ the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

The green uncrumpling fern and the rustling dewdrenched rose
Pass with our hearts to the Silence where the wings of music close,
Pass and pass to the Timeless that never a moment mars,
Pass and pass to the Darkness that made the suns and stars.

Has the soul gone out in the Darkness? Is the dust sealed from sight?
Ah, hush, for the woof of the ages returns thro’ the warp of the night!
Never that shuttle loses one thread of our hopes and fears,
As it comes thro’ the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

O, woven in one wide Loom thro’ the throbbing weft of the whole,
One in spirit and flesh, one in body and soul,
Tho’ the leaf were alone in its falling, the bird in its hour to die,
The heart in its muffled anguish, the sea in its mournful cry,

One with the flower of a day, one with the withered moon
One with the granite mountains that melt into the noon
One with the dream that triumphs beyond the light of the spheres,
We come from the Loom of the Weaver that weaves the Web of Years.

Just because...

...this amuses the hell out of me: Stuff On My Cat

I'm still trying to convince my mother that we need to utilize our retarded kitty as I think we could get a pretty decent stack going on him. If you have any doubts of his stupidity, just look at this picture:

You can tell by the vapid look in his eyes that the wheel may be spinning, but the hamster is obviously dead.


Oh and for more kitty fun, I would recommend cats in sinks.

Serenade...

by Oscar Wilde

THE western wind is blowing fair
Across the dark Aegean sea,
And at the secret marble stair
My Tyrian galley waits for thee.
Come down! the purple sail is spread,
The watchman sleeps within the town.
O leave thy lily-flowered bed,
O lady mine come down, come down!

She will not come, I know her well,
Of lover's vows she hath no care,
And little good a man can tell
Of one so cruel and so fair.
True love is but a woman's toy,
They never know the lover's pain,
And I who loved as loves a boy.
Must love in vain, must love in vain.

O noble pilot tell me true
Is that the sheen of golden hair?
Or is it but the tangled dew
That binds the passion-flowers there?
Good sailor come and tell me now
Is that my lady's lily hand?
Or is it but the gleaming prow,
Or is it but the silver sand?

No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew,
'Tis not the silver-fretted sand,
It is my own dear Lady true
With golden hair and lily hand!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the laboring oar,
This is the Queen of life and joy
Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!

The waning sky grows faint and blue,
It wants an hour still of day,
Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew,
O Lady mine away! away!
O noble pilot steer for Troy,
Good sailor ply the laboring oar,
O loved as only loves a boy!
O loved for ever evermore!

Confessions...

by Robert Browning

What is he buzzing in my ears?
"Now that I come to die,
Do I view the world as a vale of tears?"
Ah, reverend sir, not I!

What I viewed there once, what I view again
Where the physic bottles stand
On the table's edge, -is a suburb lane,
With a wall to my bedside hand.

That lane sloped, much as the bottles do,
From a house you could descry
O'er the garden-wall: is the curtain blue
Or green to a healthy eye?

To mine, it serves for the old June weather
Blue above lane and wall;
And that farthest bottle labelled "Ether"
Is the house o'ertopping all.

At a terrace, somewhere near the stopper,
There watched for me, one June,
A girl; I know, sir, it's improper,
My poor mind's out of tune.

Only, there was a way... you crept
Close by the side, to dodge
Eyes in the house, two eyes except:
They styled their house "The Lodge".

What right had a lounger up their lane?
But, by creeping very close,
With the good wall's help, -their eyes might strain
And stretch themselves to Oes,

Yet never catch her and me together,
As she left the attic, there,
By the rim of the bottle labelled "Ether",
And stole from stair to stair,

And stood by the rose-wreathed gate.
Alas,We loved, sir -used to meet:
How sad and bad and mad it was -
But then, how it was sweet!

...

I'm laughing on the outside,
My smile is just skin deep;
If you could see inside I'm really crying,
You might join me for a weep...

To be or not to be...

...that is the question:

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them?

To die: to sleep;No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;

To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;

For in that sleep of death what dreams may come

When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,

Must give us pause: there's the respect

That makes calamity of so long life;

For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,

The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,

The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,

The insolence of office and the spurns

That patient merit of the unworthy takes,

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear,

To grunt and sweat under a weary life,

But that the dread of something after death,

The undiscover'd country from whose bourn

No traveller returns, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear those ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;

And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,

And enterprises of great pith and moment

With this regard their currents turn awry,

And lose the name of action.