The Boyfriend Breakfast Sandwich

One of my promiscuous former co-workers, much my senior, told me, “Don’t you dare ever make him breakfast. That effs with your emotions. That is you f*ing with your own head. You have just crossed that fine line right there when you start cooking breakfast.” This also applies to going out for breakfast or any sort of lingering after a sleepover. It’s called “hit it and quit it” for a reason. Don’t even cuddle. In, out, done and done.

Those were more or less my rules. Detachment. But one day, I just felt like cooking him breakfast. And here we are, three months later, committed. Early on, I created this recipe, and since he raved about it, I thought I’d share:

Click below for the recipe…

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2012 Promises To Be Worse Than 2011


A new year for most people means a fresh start, a clean slate, a time for improvement. Most dolls and chaps are optimistic that this year will be better than the last.

I am not.

It’s strange, because I’m overly optimistic about most things; I can usually find the good in any “bad” situation. But I am not a fan of 2012.

2011 was a great year of ups and downs, but I sense impending doom for 2012.


As the ghosts of January are approaching
Sorrow holds my head in my hands.

Even the light pouring through the window
leaks with grief.

Beside my gaze, he sits                             polishing the piano keys of yesterday.                                                                                          

Interesting Observations Re: That TOM

Unfortunately being a female has some drawbacks, one of those being that monthly red devil. Don’t worry—we all know the symptoms that go with it and I’m not going to get into any of that. I have found, though, that among the horrific inconveniences this time causes on a lady’s day-to-day life, there are a few positives.

I’ll only tell the story from my personal experience, because we females vary greatly when it comes to how this particular demon affects us, and I haven’t asked any other gals about this.

Beyond the agony, agitation, and tiredness, I feel like an alpha female. I perform better at work this week more than any other in the month. I have an adrenalin rush. I have stronger, longer workouts. I have a drive and can kill anyone who comes into my path with my bare hands. I have an extreme hatred for men, which enhances all of these timely qualities. It makes me mean and more competitive (of course, all with a smile) and makes those dummies (XYs) take me seriously. No one, seriously NO ONE, can cross me at this time. It’s great. It’s a great time for getting everything I want when it comes to success.

And then when it’s over, I go back to my pleasant chipper self for three weeks and get to enjoy all those other things I want.


I like giving people nicknames, and I list everyone under theirs (given by me) in my phone. If you don’t have a unique name, how am I supposed to remember which, say, “Alex” you are? Yes, I could use your last name, but that’s boring. People need more individual labels.

Nicknames that other people have given me: Gigi, GG-girl, G-Beez, G-Spot, Gianina Piccolina Ballerina, Little Portfolio, Glitter Princess, Pink Monkey, Peanut Head, (my little) Pony, Whisper, Plumlucky, Blueberry, Bottom Bunk.

The boy who named me Bottom Bunk gave me the phone/nickname idea. One of my good friends is “Maybe” in his phone. Like, what does that even mean? Intriguing nonetheless.

I have several nicknames for certain people. My boyfriend, for instance, is Chocolate Chip (for his obsession with chocolate-chip pancakes), Honeybun or Honeybee (sounds better than honey), Kangaroo (my Roo), Spanish Skin (eh, no explanation needed), and Spanish Stallion (def no explanation needed). In my phone, he is Joe Kewl. K-E-W-L, which I named him the first time I met him, because he seemed cool, calm, and collected in a sea of surrounding chaos. I admire that, because I’m definitely not relaxed, and I aspire to be so chill.

Nicknames also facilitate new bonds. A lady who works in my office, whom I’ve only met once and seen twice, came up to me the other day and said, “I call you Spangles, because you are always sparkling or glittering, or your jewelry is.” I thought that was sweet because I am relatively new. I work for a large company in the way that you see someone on your floor perhaps twice a month if they are not on your project; everyone is so busy you just don’t even run into anyone in the hallway, let alone see the ones you recognize in the bathroom. People know who I am?!

I conclude: Nicknames: Not only are they terrific identifiers; they’re quite endearing!