White Russian Cake

Had to check back to see where I'd left off. So, the cancer and the dad. First round of chemo done. Surgery, done. Second round of chemo, done. Nothing now for three weeks. And then, well, and then, it gets awesome - five and a half weeks, chemo/radiation, everyday. Not sure about weekends.

It is a goddamn good thing that I am not in school this semester. School started the week after I got back, yes, I have moved back to Pittsburgh - and my bunny brain could not handle it. I moved back into my old apartment. Through a sad circumstance, but, here I am. In the apartment I lived in for 3 of the years I was here before.

It is, without question, my apartment. I did a dance when I first walked in - I love this apartment. It loves me. I feel badly for the girl who thought it was going to be her apartment. But she got arrested with several bags of heroin in her purse and is now in rehab. Her dad is a lovely person. Her stepmom, I'm not so sure. She'd never seen the place. M was here for 2 months and they live 7 minutes away...a bit of me wishes that this space could have been the safe haven for M that it has been for me. The other part of me is glad that I'm here.

It may have been a safe haven for M. I know that M being here wasn't good for the other tenant of the building. And that makes me feel a bit less empathetic towards M. Nancy fr does not deserve drama and drugs and strange threatening people around. Nancy deserves cats that will come visit her, and open invitations to come up for a chat. Nancy deserves someone that she can trust with the key to her apartment should she go into diabetic shock. Nancy deserves someone that keeps fruit punch in the fridge, just in case.
This is not to tout my own horn. I didn't know enough about diabetes when I lived here before. I know a lot more now. And now that I have keys to her apartment the paramedics won't have to break the door down.
The re are many things.

I have no recipe for you right now, although I have been cooking a lot. But I will pass this hint along:

I worked for an amazing woman who made the cakes we served to raves. Her secret? Duncan Hines + alcohol + fresh whipped cream.

To this end, I have two layers of chocolate cake in the freezer waiting to be doused with Kahlua, and frosted with vanilla whipped cream. I am calling it a white russian cake and it is a belated cake for Becky who reads tarot cards where I now work.

Expect much more.

Th