February 28, 2004

Yes, blogging has been sparse of late...

It's been a busy week, mentally, and I haven't really had the chance to slow down enough to organise thoughts into a blog-friendly format.

The week in brief:

Went to the gyno and had my annual. She said I'm doing better than she's ever seen me, and agreed to move my Depo to 11 weeks apart [they had been at 10]. The only really noticeable PMS symptoms I had in the last few weeks before this shot were some irritability [but not a lot of throwing things] and atrocious absentmindedness, which can be somewhat alleviated with lists, notes, and other various idiot-proofing devices.

Somebody complained about the men's room not being clean, which led to a big hoopla with members of the management, some of them not communicating it in a very diplomatic manner, asking if I actually cleaned the toilet or not [I do--once a week, exactly like I was told to do]. I agreed to start looking in on the bathroom once a night and giving the bowl and seat a swipe if they looked like they needed it. Fact is, that bathroom has one toilet, and you have about 3 men in the plant during the night and 10-15 men during the day. Divide that by one toilet, and that equals the head oughta be getting swabbed every day. [Too, we have two toilets in the ladies' room and twice as many women as men; that could use it every day or every other day as well.] But here's what pissed me off about it: I'm doing exactly what I'm being told to do. If I'm doing that, and it's not yielding the results you want, accusing me of not doing it isn't going to get you better results. You're going to have to change what you want me to do if you want different results. Moreover, I do not use the men's room, except on the rare occasion that the ladies' is in use and I can't wait, or on one memorable occasion when we had a bug problem and the men's was clear and the ladies' looked like...well, it wasn't someplace where you wanted to take your pants off, let's just say that. So not only am I cleaning the bathroom precisely as instructed, I'm not even messing it up! If there are splatters on the underside of the seat, I'm not doing it. For male members of the management [and I mean male members in the worst possible sense] to come up to me and complain that I'm not doing a good job when it's their inexcusable inability to aim their own asses that's the real cause of the problem is completely retarded and imperious, and borders, in my militant feminist mind, on sexual harrassment.

I got some magnets to stick on my car so I can attach weaponry to it for protection when getting in and out of the car in larger metropolitan areas. Unfortunately, I forgot what magnets do to monitors, and I ended up with a blue blotch and a green blotch on the right side of my monitor. Later in the week, the power went out and the monitor mostly degaussed itself when it came back on, but I still had to lug it to town to have somebody degauss it the rest of the way. They didn't do a complete job, either, and there's still a faint darkness to one area of the screen, although it's better than it was before they did it. So for $15, I suppose it wasn't too bad.

I went shopping and bought coffee, herbal tea, something like 10-15 lb. of very nice-looking frozen salmon at $2.99/lb., a throw pillow, a bed pillow, and a large blue candle in a jar for use as an offering, but no new 8 ball, because nobody had one. So you see exactly why blogging has been light: Nothing much interesting has been going on. Not around here, anyway.

Elsewhere, Haiti is at war, gay people are getting married, people are still dying in Iraq and everywhere else, and Bush's chances of election [or reelection, depending on your opinion of whether he was actually elected the first time] are slowly slipping through his fingers. But the only reactions I have to those are personal feelings, and I really didn't feel like talking about those.

It's funny...with the Topamax, I don't feel things as strongly as I used to. I feel sort of numb compared to how I used to be. But people still complain that I get upset, or that I act upset. Somebody said to me in a chatroom that getting angry is a habit. Maybe acting angry is a habit all its own, and maybe a person still retains the habit even after something's changed that makes them feel only mildly annoyed instead of angry.

I napped this morning, and I had a dream that I was driving home, and Ma was in the car, and when I turned into the right street, it wasn't a street, and we weren't in the car, and we were in a crowded checkout lane. The whole place was a fuggin' store. And in the dream, I threw a tantrum over it, and then I was in my bedroom, on the phone with Ma, throwing glasses and jars because I was furious that home wasn't home, somebody had turned it into a checkout lane while I was gone and stuffed it with people and shopping carts.

I don't know what that had to do with anything, and I don't feel like analysing it or having it analysed, I just felt like mentioning it. My unconscious does its job just fine; I don't need to micromanage it and pick apart every report it gives me.

eh. whatever.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Thought for the day: I wonder if Lisa got my e-mail about the function buttons being missing on the M8B MT pages.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 11:23 AM | Comments (0)

February 24, 2004

More Easter-Related Stupidity

It's a little-known fact [mainly because I just made it up] that the author of the Easter carol "Peter Cottontail" had a horrible time trying to get the lyrics just right. Recently some papers were unearthed that documented his early attempts at the words. Let's have a look:

Here comes Peter Cottontail
He's bringing homemade Cocoa Puffs
Whatever you do, don't eat any

Here comes Peter Cottontail
He's coming to mug an unsuspecting innocent bystander
Hippity hoppi

Here comes Peter Cottontail
He's on his way to Frisco to marry Brer Rabbit

Hey yo check out my man Peter Cottontail
He gon' put the smack down on yo ass

Here comes Peter Cottontail
Boy, what a son of a b

Here comes Peter Cottontail
What the fuck does he want now? If he asks for money again I'm gonna

Here comes Peter Cottontail
Damn, I need a cigarette
Hippity h

Here comes Peter Cottontail
easin' limpin' dragging his ass like a dog hoppin' on down the bunny trail
Hippity hoppity and ya don't stoppity Easter's on its way...

Mucho queso to you too.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:39 AM | Comments (0)

Mis preguntas

de la Pelota de Ocho.

Should I go back to school as soon as it's feasible, relegate art to a minor, and start a major in criminology?
It is decidedly so

Now that I've had my Depo shot, will things even out for a while?
Concentrate and ask again

Okay, let me ask another way. Will I stop having scrambled eggs for brains for the next several weeks?
Outlook good

Would it be appropriate to celebrate Ostara by smearing wallpaper paste on myself and running down the street stark naked, shrieking lines from Shakespeare and O'Neill and flinging Swedish meatballs at everybody?
My sources say no

Damn. Well, back to the drawing board. Looks like another year of lighting candles and giving thanks for spring and whatnot.

On the other hand, there's really no sense in wasting perfectly good Swedish meatballs [such as the ones I just had with fresh steamed asparagus and spaghettini...~urp~], so perhaps it's for the best.

Okay, I'm done being dorky for the day.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:28 AM | Comments (0)

February 23, 2004

One more reason...

...to vote for John Kerry, John Edwards, John Jacob Jingleheimerschmidt, anybody, anybody but Bush.

[Link lifted most gratefully from The Witching Well.]

I want a drink.


Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:37 PM | Comments (0)

February 20, 2004

Reinstalling Windows

No. My computer is fine. A guy is coming to rip out my living room window, which is about a thousand years old and broken, and put in a new one. Maybe. It's snowing right now, so I really don't know. Do they install windows when it's snowing out?

Anywho, I gotta get this pigsty cleaned up in preparation for the window guy, who is going to mess it all up again. So it's gonna be short today.

Le Five.

When was the last time you...

1. ...went to the doctor?

Two weeks ago. I'm gonna go again Monday.

2. ...went to the dentist?

December. 2 hours + 4 fillings = 1 sore jaw.

3. ...filled your gas tank?

Last week or something. I don't go anywhere anyway.

4. ...got enough sleep?

um..........uh......Next question?

5. ...backed up your computer?

Last week.


same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Amusingly misheard song lyric for the day: The cruddy old radio at work was cranked up and tuned to a classic rock station, and as ancient and beat-up as those speakers are, it sounded for all the world like Ozzy Osbourne was singing about Gravy Train. "Mental wounds not healing...something something brain...something something something on the Gravy Train..." was about how it sounded.

Actually, that could make for a good jingle, should Ozzy's river of simoleons ever dry up and he needs some quick grocery money. "Beggin' Strips aren't filling, Alpo is insane, the only one I'll buy is Gravy Train..." Try getting that out of your head today.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:10 AM | Comments (0)

February 17, 2004

Internetted and Intersexed

ah...Netscape 7.1. This is a little more like it. It actually functions and renders like IE instead of like some prehistoric non-HTML-speaking mutant program. And it works better with the new firewall settings, at least for blogging.

Yes, I got everything back up and running, more or less. And without further ado, here's the Ball.

ooh, okay, there's a slight bit of ado...this version still doesn't render my auto-HTML buttons. Dammit.


So is this gay marriage thing gonna take off?
Reply hazy try again

Well, is this thing in Frisco finally gonna prove to some people that their own marriages aren't going to suddenly become worthless and fall apart because gay people did it too?
It is certain

Will Bush be one of those people?
My sources say no

Isn't the rhetoric about "preserving the sanctity of marriage" by making it ONLY allowable by heterosexual couples tantamount to saying that gay people are somehow dirty, unholy, and generally inferior; and shouldn't these bigots just come out and say what they think so people don't get taken in by this "sanctity" crap?
As I see it yes

Well, that last one was actually two questions, but what the hell.

I could go on for hours about it, but I'll close with this: If you're against same-sex marriage, don't marry somebody of the same sex. Doesn't get any simpler than that.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Thought for the day: If you're a hermaphrodite, could you get married or would you have to go for a civil union? And what would you be called at the wedding? The broom? The gride? What would you wear, a tux and a veil, or some unisex getup like the aliens are always wearing on "Star Trek"? ~goes off mumbling to self~

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:59 AM | Comments (0)

February 13, 2004

Stupersti...er, suppitition...er, old wives' tales

Friday Five.

1. Are you superstitious?

Surprisingly, not much. One has to allow oneself some supersition, some belief in connexions between things that may not be intrinsically connected, in order to practise witchcraft; one example is the attachment of meaning to sigils, herbs, colours, and all the other various things we use symbolically as a means of helping to focus the will during a spell or ritual. But as for the walking-under-the-ladder variety of superstitions, I think it's mostly a bunch of hoo-ha.

2. What extremes have you heard of someone going to in the name of superstition?

Two words: Winchester Mansion.

3. Believer or not, what's your favorite superstition?

I don't do faves, but I'm in a good mood, so I'll humour you by just picking one that I happen to like. I like the Japanese one about bats being good luck.

4. Do you believe in luck? If yes, do you have a lucky number/article of clothing/ritual?

This is retarded, since I just used the word "luck" in the previous response, but it's such an overused word that I had to look it up to regain a working grasp of its meaning. The dictionary defines it as chance or accident. The context of the question, though, implies manipulability as an inherent factor of luck, which would place it squarely in the realm of what witches work with--we tweak probability. So do I believe in luck, defined as a random factor which can be altered? Absolutely. Although I do believe in a form of karma, I doubt that everything that happens to us is a direct result of something we've done in the past. It's often the result of someone else's doing, and while you can "make your own luck" to an extent by thinking things through before making decisions, you certainly can't control what everybody else is doing, and what they do affects your life, like it or not. Shit happens, and some of the shit that falls on you is shit you threw up into the air, and some of it is just random shit being flung around by people and circumstances.

As for a lucky item, other than the pentagram I wear sometimes for protection, I can't think of anything offhand.

5. Do you believe in astrology? Why or why not?

Yup, for several reasons. First off, I want to, and it's not hurting anybody for me to believe in it. Second, the main argument against it is, "Well, it...it just can't be possible!" which is about the most asinine argument against something's existence I've ever come across. A hundred years ago, they would have said that about Celeron processors. Three hundred years ago, they would have said that about electric lighting. So if you don't believe in astrology, and that's your argument, shut up. The other argument against it is that the stars are too far away to influence us, or that the constellations have shifted [which is true due to the precession of the earth] and therefore the signs aren't correct anymore...at which point I usually have to excuse myself and beat my head against a wall for a few minutes before kindly explaining to the person that the stars don't have bollox to do with astrology, except for a few specialised branches thereof. Most astrology is planetary, lunar, or solar astrology, so the stars could all get on a bus and go to the Q Continuum for all the difference it's gonna make in astrologers' calculations. [If you ever need a good picture of a completely blank, uncomprehending expression, try explaining this to somebody while holding a camera.] The contention that the sign should be determined by the constellation the sun [or moon or planet] rises in doesn't make sense to me. I think it has more to do with the positional relationship between the planets or luminaries and the Earth. In solar astrology, the cardinal signs begin at the solstices and equinoxes, which occur at the same time in the Earth's revolution and have done for millions of years no matter what direction it's tilted in. I'm tired and I'm out of practice and I can't really give a whole explanation because it's been years and I really don't remember everything I read, but that bit sticks out in my mind as having a major bearing on my deciding on which theories to put stock in.

The theories behind astrology sound plausible enough, given that the brain functions electrochemically and could reasonably be expected to be influenced by anything that exerted an influence on matter, such as gravity. However, this alone is only enough to give me a "yeah, okay, it might be true" reaction. What really makes me lean toward belief is the evidence I've seen statistically linking people with certain astrological characteristics to personality traits and career choices [the preponderance of Libra and Pisces judges springs to mind from a study I did using the birthdates and listed careers of famous persons in the Encyclopaedia Britannica]. I've also been able to construct charts for people that I've been told are accurate and that I've taken care to word so that they don't conform to the type of generalisation that could apply to anybody.

As for the horoscope in the newspaper...that goes by your Sun sign, the sign the sun was in when you were born. For it to be really accurate, you'd have to be smack dab in the middle of the sign, and it would help to have a couple other planets in that same sign as well. The reason it's inaccurate is not that astrology is a fraud. It's for the same reason you can't just go to a bin of user manuals for microwave ovens, pick one at random, and expect it to teach you to use the model of microwave you have. Every microwave oven follows the same general format, but there are tons of differences in how the specifics of that format are organised. There is no manual that will apply to all microwave ovens. By the same token, lunar, ascendant, and planetary influences will colour the characteristics of the Sun sign, sometimes so much that a person with heavy influences in other signs may not conform well to the standard personality for their Sun sign. So there is no horoscope that will work the same for all Leos or all Capricorns, any more than there's a standard user manual for all microwaves or all cars. There are too many differences in the details that make a big difference in the end product.

Okay, done. Hoo boy, that's a lot of text. But that's one of the few things I can blab on and on about. I actually had to use WordPad for that because of the oppressive size of this field window.

Well, that's enough diarrhea of the keyboard for one day. Til next time, intrepid reader...

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Thought for the day: Still thinking about that Winchester house. If I could pick which house to live in...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:57 AM | Comments (3)

February 12, 2004

I don't wanna talk about it.

The computer issue, that is.

I would, however, like to blog at Mom's for a while, since she has functioning IE, which actually renders little details like the HTML buttons on this entry page and the "Type your comment here" field on Lisa's blog comments window. However, that'll have to wait til after Valentine cookies.

I finally had to order my Valentine's present to myself over the phone, because Netscape won't load a checkout page either. I don't know what the hell's going on.

Somebody tell me why, if you ask a doctor why you lost 3 lbs. in 24 hours, they will readily admit that it's fluid, but if your weight is up 4 lbs. from the last time you were weighed at their office 6 weeks ago [and now that it's the end of your Depo cycle and you always gain water then, and lose it after your next shot], it's automatically all fat, every microgram of it, and you get a lecture on exercise. My GP wonders why I'm having my gyno oversee so much of my health. This is why. The gyno would take one look at the date of my last and next Depo, the dates of my last and current weigh-ins, and she wouldn't say a peep. She'd just know. Yeah, I grew two fucking cup sizes, but of course I don't retain any fluid, why do you ask? ~rolls eyes derisively~

eh. She's a good doc. I just hate it when they don't give you a chance to present the facts in your favour, like the fact that you can weigh yourself every day of the week and get a different number each day, but that each week generally averages out the same. I wish they'd work my job for a month or two, or at least come and see what I do, and then tell me I should be exercising more.

I'd say more, but what's the point?

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Thought for the day: I hate Netscape with the fire of a thousand suns.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:38 AM | Comments (0)

February 11, 2004

a bad case of keyboard face


Somebody e-mail me some cocaine, please. thx


Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:29 AM | Comments (0)

February 09, 2004

Dude, where's my firewall?

Where was I? Oh yes. I was in the middle of uploading a file when Netscape crashed. So until IE is back up, this blog will be imageless unless I e-mail myself image files and download them to my mom's computer, then upload them here.

Oh, and if you uninstall IE6 on a buggy old Win98 system, Norton Firewall will crap all over you. How will it do this, precisely? Well, first it won't show up in the taskbar tray. When you go looking for the shortcut on the desktop [or stashed in a folder on the desktop like I have], finally find it, and open the app, everything will be turned off and it will say "Urgent Attention" with a big red filled-in circle with an X in it. Urgent attention indeed. So urgent, in fact, that when you go into Options and try to switch the firewall back on, it gives you a dialog box explaining that you can't do it because only the Supervisor [with a capital S] can change things. There is no indication given as to who in the blessed blue fuck this Supervisor is.

According to the bro [the one who doesn't blow smoke out his ass], it sounds like it's best just to wipe the bitch and reinstall eeeeeeeverything, which is gonna mean many, many backup disks.

Must go stick pins in a little doll of Bill Gates now...[kidding, barely]

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:41 PM | Comments (0)

February 06, 2004

My jaw hurts.

This is gonna be a tough Friday Five, because the subject matter includes things that have been stuffed in some of the back rooms of my consciousness and left there for very good reasons. But I'll give it a go anyway.

1. What's the most daring thing you've ever done?
Had unprotected sex with a boyfriend who'd owned up to having about 15 partners. [Yes, it was stupid. No, I am not accepting commentary about just how stupid it was and why.]

2. What one thing would you like to try that your mother/friend/significant other would never approve of?
Nothing, because I don't see how those two things connect up, unless you're a spineless slug. There is no "would like to try." I just do it. You don't like it, tough. The only exception I can think of would be a theoretical one, such as if I had a sex partner and there was something I wanted to do in bed that they didn't [which you kinda can't just haul off and do, because that's sexual assualt]. Then I'd have an answer for you. I could see having a boyfriend who didn't wanna do the anal thing. That would fit the "would like to try" and "would never approve" criteria. Of course, he wouldn't be my boyfriend very long, because if he's that protective of his anus, he has some major feminine side issues to work out before I'll put up with him. As for my mom, if it's a minor disapproval, I do it anyway and let her deal with the fact that I'm an individual. If it's a major disapproval, I just do it anyway and don't tell her. In fact, that's pretty much what she expects me to do, because that's what she always did. As for my friends...I am what I am and I do what I do. If you don't like it, nobody's holding a gun to your head and forcing you to be my friend. If I really want to keep you as a friend, and what I want to do will be a deal-breaker, I'll just do it anyway and not tell you. The only way I'd relent would be if it was something that foreseeably affected you.

3. On a scale of 1-10, what's your risk factor? (1=never take risks, 10=it's a lifestyle)
I don't know, about a 2, maybe a 3 or a 4 occasionally. Depends how crazy my hormones are making me.

4. What's the best thing that's ever happened to you as a result of being bold/risky?
I got the hell out of Tennessee.

5. ... and what's the worst?
Some things really aren't anybody else's business. Suffice it to say, it was ugly, humiliating, and scarring, and I feel better about myself when I don't have to think about it. Foot the bill for my therapy and I might tell you. Might.

Well, that was less painful than I'd expected.

I think I'm gonna buy a shoe-scraper for the restaurant downstairs. I'm sick of listening to people stomp snow off all damn day. I just wanna go down there, wrestle their shoes off their feet, and smack them in the head with them. Then they can beat their heads against the wall to get the snow from their shoes out of their hair, and they'll have a headache like me, and they won't want to stomp their feet or yell across the restaurant to the waitress or do any of the other aggravating crap that people do when they totally don't care that a human being lives upstairs because said human being cannot find another livable apartment on her salary. I'm not asking that everybody be mouse-silent around me all the time, although that would be wonderful. I'm just saying, will somebody somewhere put themselves in somebody else's fucking position for once in their miserable, self-important, unexamined lives? If you can't stand snow on your shoes, don't walk in the goddamn snow.

Good news for a change: Weird Al is coming to Mankato. Tickets go on sale at noon today. Guess who's surfing over to ticketmaster.com this afternoon?

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Stress-related bad habit for the day: Involuntary bruxism.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:19 AM | Comments (0)

February 03, 2004

Booby Prize

Le Ball.

WTF is this??!? Please tell me this is a joke. Please?
My sources say no

And it was a Norwegian politician who nominated him and Blair?
Without a doubt

Should I be ashamed to be 1/4 Norwegian now?
It is certain

Is the Nobel committee actually gonna take this shit seriously?
Cannot predict now

I want a drink so bad.

In other news...

They accidentally lied about cutting our hours. It's nice to know I'll probably get another full paycheck, but I was looking forward to going home early on Friday morning. But noooooo, some damn customer had to go and order a whole bunch of stuff that has to be assembled before it can be shipped, so we'll be shutting down early Friday as planned, and then sitting around for four hours putting little thingies together with an arbour press. Wheeeeeeee. Maybe I'll get sick around 3 am.

Everybody knows about Janet Jackson's mammary gland, so I'm not even gonna link to it. She apparently had a pasty on said peek-a-boob, which removes my last major doubt that it was an accident or a sudden whim on Timberlake's part. Though I must admit, she did do a good job of looking shocked for the cameras. And isn't February National Breast Cancer Awareness Month or something anyway? Maybe it was a public service announcement: "Make sure to do your self-exam every month and get examined annually by a professional, several million of them if possible. This message brought to you by MTV: Making Titties Visible."

Oh, enough of this.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Thought for the day: The headline in the Mankato paper referred to the Jackson incident as a "spectacle." If her whole top had fallen off, would they have had to call it a pair of spectacles?

Posted by Frida Peeple at 08:01 AM | Comments (1)

February 02, 2004

Happy Imbolc!

[Have you kissed your groundhog today?]

Well, folks, I'll tell ya, looking outside...if I were the groundhog, I wouldn't be sticking my head outside my hole today. My middle finger, maybe, if people kept insisting, but not my head.

It snowed all day yesterday and it's supposed to snow all day today. Why? Because the storm front currently moving across the Midwest is being perverted. In our area, they're generally shaped like this: / or like this: ( and they move west to east, which means they cut a wide swath but don't last very long. This one is shaped like this: / and is moving northeast. Why? I don't know. Gas? Somebody crapped in its Cloudy-O's? No way of telling. But instead of sweeping swiftly across and leaving a fine dusting of white to cover up the hideous heaps of grey shit that have been shoved into empty lots and the edges of parking areas, it has instead decided to scoot its ass across Southern Minnesota and Northern Iowa like a naughty puppy on your living room carpet.

All of which means one thing: I'm probably going to have to reschedule my doctor's appointment. Again. I'm also going to have to wait that much longer to find out if Hy-Vee actually carries Alpen, stuffed away somewhere in the "organic" area, which is actually just where they stick all the pinko hippie food because it's actually good for you and it therefore makes them suspicious; or if I'm going to have to order it online, which might actually be cheaper anyway.

For Imbolc, I made blueberry scones, straightened up my altar, washed and refilled my chalice, listened to Tori Amos, and swore at the snow. I think that covers all the major Imbolc concepts fairly well. No, I am not a ceremonial magician or even a particularly formal witch. If you have time for that, bully for you. I'm still looking for the spell that gives you 40 hours in a day.

Vomitine's Day is coming up in a couple weeks, thought I'd link to Meish.org's anti-Valentine's Day cards. Send one to somebody you love. <3<3<3

Everybody's seen this, I'm sure, but in case they haven't, here's the story about the guy who ate McDonald's for a month to see if you could really live off it and got deathly ill. I told you that shit was bad for you. Here, have one of my steamed chicken tacos with fresh spinach and tomatoes. You'll feel much better.

Go to my meme already.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Recipe for the day:
Blueberry Scones

2 c. flour
1 T. baking powder
1/2 tsp. baking soda
1/2-1 tsp. salt [more if you want slightly fluffier scones, less if you have sodium issues]
2 T. sugar or fructose
1/3 c. butter, lard or shortening
2/3-3/4 c. milk or water [more for whole wheat, less for white]
1 c. frozen blueberries, thawed and drained [drink the juice! yummmm]

Heat oven to 450F [230C]. Mix dry ingredients. Cut in fat, add berries and liquid until dough forms a ball. Knead 10 times on a floured surface and either drop onto ungreased pan in 1/4-cup [approximately] wads; roll out to about 3/8" and cut out with a biscuit cutter; or roll out and cut into wedges or squares with a pizza cutter. Bake 10-15 min. until golden brown on the outside. Cool on a rack or someplace where they won't get soggy on the bottom from steam. Perfect hot with butter and a cup of tea.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 04:08 AM | Comments (0)