THE SAUCY MARRIAGE PUDDING

"VALENTINES, STEP ASIDE. THIS IS PROFESSIONAL LOVE LIFE" I was born a cynic. I mean was that not obvious? Had I been able to remember I'd say with certainty that I came in this world, a genetically negative and unpleasant baby who cursed at the color pink if she could form words, who went on to earnestly suggest divorce with a LA divorce lawyer as an alternative lifestyle for her parents at age five. Perhaps the last ounce of my lacking fluffiness died with the moment when my best friend stuffed Raccoon was brutally trashed in a random afternoon while I was away citing ABC's at pre-school, the last straw in leaving a cold, hardened human being walking this lonely planet believing that all loves are, ultimately, just temporary. So yes, I was born with, and still have now, a good faith in cynicism. But somehow at the age of 27, I married my very first boyfriend. How did that happen? Don't ask me, because after 5 1/2 years of dating and another 6 years in marriage, I've still got absolutely no clue. I mean that's not what a respectable cynic would do, is it? Well first, let's

TIRAMISU CHURRO + WARM COFFEE CUSTARD

The problem with me as a recipe dreamer hallucinater during the still-ongoing Thanksgiving carnival is that every year, in utter rudeness, I always feel like leaving the table even before the turkey makes it out of the oven.  Evidently from my premature and inappropriate blabbering of the X'mas blend coffee bars in last November while the whole town was still chattering about tweaking pumpkin pies to death, to now this uncooperative side-tracking dessert that doesn't even rhyme with "ies" and " akes", it is obviously true.  I have no table-side manners.  Now before I leave, pass me the damn stuffings. If you think that I have zero patience, nor the skills to time a topic in order to be well received, you're

POST-HAWAII BLUE & COFFEE CRUSTED NUTS

The danger is real. There's a paradise out there. You can't move two steps without hearing old-time tales of unsuspecting wanderers who passed by and never left, got sucked in by that boundless flickering of Pacific blues so wicked that they dared plunging into the terrifying anxiety of a slowed down life. Made home, even a family, grew roots. Their next generation, born-and-raised, has fascinating stories to tell about their unwavering connections to being the children of these captivating islands, seeding ideas inside visitors with a less affirmative mind such as myself who all, at one point or another, fondled the unthinkable

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