Ah, Sunday

Another blissfully uneventful day in Pensacola, FL. What did I do all day? I can't say for sure... I know I watched "Sex and the City," and therefore, saw Cynthia Nixon's baby pillows. I watched "Up Close and Personal" yet again, though I don't know why I do that to myself. If you haven't seen it, please don't, because you will cry your freaking eyes out (like I do). Blake was very concerned when he saw I was almost sobbing by my computer. No, no, honey, don't worry, it's just Michelle Pfieffer and Robert Redford.

Blake and I made pizza dough last night. I couldn't for the life of me find pre-made pizza dough in the commissary or Wal-Mart (seriously, what gives, Florida?). So, I got home and decided to make a yeast-less crust. I'll admit, I was kind of grumpy. I blame PMS. Blake was tolerating it with wonderful patience.

So, I wrote down the recipe and we went to the kitchen and I wasn't really paying attention because, you know, I had to nurse the thundercloud over my head (not nurse like... nurse... but... whatever, you know what I mean). So I put in a tablespoon and a half of baking soda. Blake said, "how much baking soda?" and I said, "a tablespoon and a half" and he said, "oh." Into the oven it went. WOW. Have you ever tasted something with too much baking soda in it?

worst . taste . ever

So, I took the toppings off it and put it on top of tortilla chips. It was pretty good, but I felt bad for screwing things up. Blake told me he probably wouldn't have liked it anyway because he doesn't like "bready" pizzas. For some reason, it only made me feel worse that I screwed up something he wouldn't have liked. The mind is so perverse.

Today, Blake said, "if you were a pizza, what would you be? I would be a thin crust, white pizza and you would be... oh what do they call it? A personal pan."