Um, yeah, so I just finished making this for the fourth time in less than two months.
That cream sauce is crazy good. If you haven't made it yet (after the numerous times I have already mentioned just how sickeningly good it is), well, you're just plain missing out. There is a whole big carton (you know, the big cartons, not the little pint-size) of blueberries in my fridge just screaming for some cream sauce. Just be patient, my little blue lovelies. In a few hours you will be dying the sweetest death by cream sauce.
So, if you already didn't think I was a bit nuts before reading about my obsession with Pioneer Woman's cream sauce (and witnessing my actual trying to verbalize with some nonverbal blueberries), let's just take it a bit further, shall we? One other vice in my life is C&H Pure Cane Sugar. That's right, baby, I am talking golden brown sugar. Every time I make this dang cream sauce, I have to dig into the bag of brown sugar, and I just cannot help myself. I shovel spoonful after spoonful into my mouth. Ever since I was a little kid in Sunday School, hearing the story of how God provided manna from heaven to those poor Israelites wandering for stinkin' forever in the wilderness, I reckoned that manna from heaven must have been brown sugar. If you think that manna from heaven probably resembled something else, well, just keep it to yourself and don't burst my bubble. In my little world, manna from heaven and brown sugar are ONE AND THE SAME.
I finally added a music playlist to my blog's main page. If you use Google Reader to read my posts (or any other subscriber) you wouldn't notice this, but if you click directly to my page, it will automatically start playing music. I've seen other blogs that have music and thought it might be fun to have some on mine.
(Insert major high-pitched girly-girl screaming here.) I was just in my bedroom making my bed (yes, it is 5pm, but no matter, at least I did it, okay?), picking up the big European shams off the floor when I noticed something move. Something, as in a brown with eight legs and about 2&1/2" in diameter something. And no husband home from work yet to rescue me. So I took my Coach sandal off my foot (don't worry, I don't own very many Coach items, but by golly, Coach sandals have to be good for something, no?) and pounded the heck out of that little something. As if this isn't enough to make me want to completely avoid sleeping tonight (not to mention the fact that if that was crawling around my pillows, is there anything in my bed???!!! Insert more major high-pitched girly-girl screaming here), I figured I should try and look at pictures on the web to see if it might have been a poisonous spider (Wonderland is known for poisonous spiders -- don't you wish you lived in Wonderland, too?), and now I'm really not going to ever sleep again. In between the pictures of spiders on my Yahoo Images search for "brown spider", there were also way too many pictures of people with half their limbs missing from spider bites where the flesh rotted away. I'm never going to be able to sleep again. I forget that along with my beloved rainy, cloudy, cool days, also comes eight-legged friends that feel the rain is an open invitation in for cocktails. Surely Oregon doesn't have spiders...