One to Nothin'

Ice Cream S’more Cake

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I’m not sure when I decided to start making celebratory desserts for everyone, but it has kind of become my thing and I think I like it. This one is especially cool because it’s an ice cream s’more cake, which means it’s cold on the inside and toasted on the outside. Read on to learn more about this sorcery.

I found this recipe here, but I put my own touches on it because a) I couldn’t find a springform pan and b) I thought it would be fun to write out the old man’s age in chocolate chips. 
Here’s what you need:
1 package of graham crackers
1/4 cup butter
2 T sugar
1 package semi-sweet chocolate chips (8 oz)
1 tub of Cool Whip
Carton of chocolate ice cream
1 package large marshmallows
1 package small marshmallows
2 T milk

First crush up about 8 of the graham crackers, mix with the butter and sugar and press into the bottom of the pan to form the crust. Bake for about 12 minutes at 400 degrees and let cool. Next microwave the chocolate chips and Cool Whip until melted and spread over the crust. Next stick graham crackers around the perimeter. With a springform pan, you’ll have a more structured cake, but I let mine go out at an angle because MacKensie’s my name and imperfection’s my game. Freeze for 20 minutes.

Now that the graham crackers aren’t going anywhere, spread the slightly softened ice cream into the pan and stick it back into the fridge for the next 4 hours or so.

Then combine marshmallows (reserving some for decorating) with the milk and microwave for about a minute. Once it’s nice and creamy, spread it out over the ice cream layer and decorate with the leftover marshmallows and chocolate chips and heat up the broiler. Stick the cake under the broiler for about a minute or until the tops are golden brown.

Then be sure to pick out trick candles and use all 29 of them so that you can set off the smoke alarm and make sure the birthday boy/girl gets plenty of spit all over the marshmallows trying to blow them out.

That’s all there is to it, folks. Who’s making this bad boy tonight?

I confess..

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I flicked someone off while driving to work the other morning. I’m usually a very peaceful, passive person, but when it comes to the hellish Bay Bridge at 8:30am, I go into full-on rage mode and not in a good way.
I listened to this song about 18 times in a row. I’ve also listened to this one a stupid amount of times. I’m not usually repeat-song offender, but..I’m also not usually a road-rager. WHAT IS HAPPENING?
While taking photos for this post, I apparently rubbed my hair in tree sap and it was still in there a week later.

Speaking of hair, before chopping it all off, it had been over a year since my last haircut.

I think I officially decided it was time to cut it when I dropped my phone (very loudly I might add) next to the toilet and came dangerously close to dipping the ends into the toilet bowl while trying to retrieve it.

My stylist kept calling me “little bird.” I’m not sure what that means, but I liked it.
I am donating my hair, but I haven’t yet because I don’t have a printer or an envelope, so chances are I’m bringing a creepy ass Ziplock full of human hair to my office as you read this.

My dog just farted directly onto my adorable ABM planner.

I’m running a half marathon in two weeks and the farthest I’ve run since the 10k has been 6 miles.

I pulled out four grey hairs the other night. FOUR. 

I might’ve bought wrinkle cream shortly afterward. 
That’s all I’ve got. Go link up with Melissa.

My hair is gone & other weekend adventures

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First let me address the elephant, or peacock, in the room — I chopped off 10 inches of my hair.

It was a last-minute decision, I’m not sure how I feel about it yet and I got a lot of reactions at work this morning. More on that later, but for now let’s talk about my second last-minute decision of the weekend..

Sonoma!
Lucky for me, I found someone who likes spontaneous adventures and wine as much as I do (someone besides Ziggy, I mean), so we headed out to Buena Vista winery where the dogs are loved more than the humans.
We stayed at an Airbnb place with a horse and chickens out back. Turns out Ziggy is more afraid of cats than gigantic horses. Turns out I’m more afraid of horses than everything else.
The rest of the weekend was spent pondering, hand-s(t)anding and watching Ziggy roll around in dead crabs on the beach.

How was your weekend?

PS: I was nominated for best “Savvy Single” blog over on My So-Called Chaos–go vote for me here!

How to picnic like a champ

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I received compensation for this post through my relationship with the Quality Blue Community. I also received a product for this review. All opinions are my own.
I know the concept of picnicking is pretty complicated for most people, so let me break it down for you. Here are the essential steps for ultimate picnic ownage:

Step 1: Go to Safeway and buy all the things, and by all the things I mean: pretzel crisps, hummus, turkey, bread, condiments, bell peppers, purple carrots (because why not?), salami, goat cheese brie, fruit and sweet tea (if you’re a former southerner like myself, otherwise wine. Better yet, both!).
Step 2: Scout out a rad location. This one just so happens to be less than a quarter mile from my house and has sweet views of the Bay.
Step 3: Make epic turkey sandwiches (or have a boy do it for you). 
Step 4: Chop up fruits and veggies and package them up in VacuCraft containers.
Step 5: Vacuum seal said containers for freshness and fun pumping action.
Step 6: Spread out a blanket and stuff your face.
Step 7: Guard the goods from hungry beagles.
Step 8: Take lots of photos. Obviously.
My first California apartment had lots of things I miss: my own bathroom, lots of grass for Ziggy to pee in, plenty of parking spaces, wooden floors. That place owns so many of my first memories of this place, but my second apartment? This one will stick with me forever. Quirky neighbors, mysterious carpet stains, yappy dogs and so many beautiful things surrounding me. Loving roommates, cool bars just a Lyft away, a tiny, grungy kitchen perfect for packing picnics and gorgeous views to stuff my face in front of.
These VacuCraft containers are kind of amazing too. The other day I threw away tomatoes, a (disgustingly furry) cucumber and almost a whole container of strawberries, so I’m pretty stoked about this vacuum sealed goodness Made with Tritan plastic (kind of like glass except I can’t break it). You know you’re becoming an adult when you get legitimately excited about food storage. I kind of like it. 

Be sure to check out Eastman Tritan on Faceboook and Twitter!

OM Cake

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My super cute yogi friend’s birthday was over the weekend, so I decided to try my hand at a yoga-themed birthday cake. I had never used fondant before, but it’s kind of the best thing ever. It may not taste like the best thing ever, but when it comes to fashioning om symbols for the tops of cakes, I can think of no better way. 

Here’s what I used:
A box of yellow cake mix (nothin’ fancy here)
Vanilla frosting
Blue and red gel food coloring
White fondant (found in the cake section at Safeway)
Cake pan
Cooling rack
Rolling pin
Powdered sugar
Sharp knife

First I baked the cake per the directions on the back of box (rocket science, I know) and let it cool on my new handy dandy cooling rack. While it cooled I started playing with the red and blue dye mixing it with the icing until I found a muted purplish blue color. Then I started playing with the fondant.

I had way too much fun playing with this playdough-like substance. I molded a fish, my sous chef molded a little Gumby-like man in downward dog and eventually once it was kneaded well enough, I sprinkled powdered sugar on a cutting board and rolled it out with a rolling pin. Once it was about 1/8 inch thick, I freehanded my om symbol with a knife. If that’s not your jam, I’m sure printing the design out and indenting the outline before cutting would work just as well.

I then iced the cake as smoothly as I could and squealed a lot as I scooped the fondant off the cutting board with a thin spatula and placed it on the wet icing

Then I went out into the yard to take pictures of it, naturally. Also I have like a pound of fondant left and I’m not sure what to do with it. Any dessert decorating requests? 
I can’t stop with this song.

I confess..

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I don’t like Farmers markets. There, I said it. They stress me out. I hate to admit this because I am enamored with the idea of them, but that’s about where it ends. Even their spelling freaked me out back in editing class–Farmer’s? Farmers’? Farmers!

I don’t mind the booths where you just walk up and order some food because that’s a process I, as a 25-year-old American female who drove to Dunkin’ Donuts every day of her 15th year, am very familiar with. Order food, pay for food, wait for food, walk away. I get it. That makes sense. What doesn’t make sense to me, however, is walking up to a booth filled with 437 types of leaves and then responding to the expectant stares of the growers of said leaves who think I have something intelligent to say to them. I don’t know the difference between these leaves, Mr. Farmer Man. I desperately wish I did, but truth be told I don’t even know how to order them. Can I just point to 7 different ones and say, “I’ll take one of each, thank you very much”? Or is picking seven in poor taste? How many leaves does one need? Should I ask where they came from? Does the color gradation make a difference in taste? Is $5 a good price for one leaf? Can I use my debit card? Should I sample the leaf first? There are just way too many variables! I can’t take the pressure!

Instead of trying it out and learning from my mistakes like my terrified 15-year-old self did at the drive-through, I smile awkwardly at the person selling leaves and briskly walk to the next booth knowing that they know that I know that I’m going to buy pesticide-covered broccoli pre-chopped in a plastic bad from Safeway later. I guess my favorite part is the free samples. Even that stresses me out a little though. What if someone just left their wide variety of sugar and cayenne pepper crusted pecans out on accident? What if the last person who took some just got done blowing their nose before neglecting to use the scoop? Even if they did use the scoop, chances are I’m going to forget which hand I used to hold the scoop handle last time and lick their boogers anyway. I don’t like fighting my way through crowds and seeing people push their tiny dogs in strollers. I do like looking at the little babies trying to toddle around but I can’t play with them anyway and I get scared some stroller dog is going to accidentally knock them over.

Last time I went to the farmers market they wouldn’t even let my dog into the market area. There is a significant medium-to-large-dog-ist attitude in this country. Everyone hates on little dogs in everyday conversation but when it comes down to it, guess who gets to sit in the stroller getting pet by strangers about to dunk their hands into communal kettle corn and guess who has to sit in the hot-as-balls car with no water? That’s right, my medium-sized beagle mutt is the one having a heat stroke in the car while I’m sampling 17 varieties of blood oranges. They all taste the same, y’all.

I’m certain my distaste for this craze has nothing to do with sustainable farming or buying local and everything to do with my discomfort in crowds and crippling self-doubt when it comes to the unfamiliar. Remember my carwash debacle? Same thing. I’m paralyzed by unfamiliar options. Watch me try to navigate the vitamin section at Whole Foods, I dare you. You’ll have a good laugh as the annoyed yogis practice deep breathing while my face turns beet red (there’s most likely a supplement for that–try baboon anal gland extract and never blush again!)

None of this is going to keep me from actually going to farmers markets, mind you. Chances are I’ll come across one that turns this whole thing around for me any day now, but for now since it’s Wednesday and all, I figured I’d get this confession off my chest.

Go link up your confessions with Melissa.

Weekend things

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Despite what my blog might have you believe, my dog rolling in feces did not kill me. Actually, I had the best blogging intentions on Wednesday–I even wrote out my confessions but alas, had no photo. Wednesday night I unofficially deemed “BLOG TIME” but then after my gym sesh, I got a “Want to go to a Pentatonix concert in an hour and a half?” text to which my FOMO would not let me say no. 

It was incredible, you guys. I forgot to bring my phone so there was no Snapchatty proof (although I did jack this photo from my PIC), but those crazy a cappella’ers know what’s up. They ventured out into the audience and I high-fived them all. Needless to say, the next day I nursed a hangover until it was time to start drinking again a la work dinner. Basically you can safely assume that if I’m not showing up to the blog on time it’s because I’m busy partaking in awesomeness. Kidding. Kind of. Sometimes it’s just because I’m watching Broad City.
By the time Friday rolled around, I was determined to stay awake long enough to prep some goodies for a friend’s birthday hike to Alamere Falls the next morning. Sadly she was too sick for the hike, but luckily this meant I had time to pose with it for a post later this week (and that orange squirrel up there was ready to pounce on it). So my homies and I went on a hike in Tilden Regional Park representin’ the East Bay instead. That’s where all the nature-heavy and hooded realness photos above come into the story. Not included in the photos is the biggest pig/hog/whathaveyou I’ve ever seen in that farm up there.

The rest of the weekend included a bonfire on the beach, a picnic in a cemetery, baseball and hair braiding with cute kids and snuggling with a sausage dog. There were a few downfalls as well, but no one stole my sandwich, so overall I’d say it was a winner.

My dog is disgusting

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So, okay.
Sometimes you sit down to write some sweet sentimental words about your furry, sausage-shaped best friend and as you sit there typing away, you hear whining.
You just took her out to take care of business and her food bowl is full, so you know the noises coming from her cute little face are directly related to you getting ready to go for a run. She sees running shoes and suddenly this would-never-make-a-peep-if-a-burglar-were-in-the-house pup is the most vocal little butt head ever.

BUT you just wrote all these sweet words about her and really it is kind of cute how she just seesyour running shoes and remembers all the good times you’ve had running together. She’s forgiven you for that time you took her running without water in 98 degree Florida weather and ended up throwing her in an ebola-infested retention pond to keep her from dying of dehydration. And that other hot day when you got lost and made her run 8 miles instead of a reasonable 4? Forgotten. All those times she drank so much water so quickly at the end of a run that she puked all over herself are a non-issue in her mind, so you give in.
You save your barely written blog post as a draft and put the leash she’s been pawing (as if you don’t already know what she wanted to do) on her and head out for a run. You start out innocently enough. She’s not not pulling your arm out of its socket but you’re used to it, and by the time you get to the top of those mountains hills the sun starts setting. You take her off her leash because you’re in a field reasonably far from cars and you soak in the orange and pinks surrounding the city’s silhouette.
While you took your eyes off of the dog, she took it upon herself to scope out the area. 
“A boring field, you say? I think not.” 
She disappears under a tree and as you’re about to do some burpees, you call her to you knowing not the ancient and very important ritual she has performed.
As she comes sheepishly toward you, you are immediately suspect of her nonchalance, then you notice her matted back fur. Then, wait, shadows, right? They haveto be shadows – no, her leash dragging on the ground has gone from light blue to black and– mud? Dogs like mud, right?
She comes slowly closer and there it is. You get a whiff.
“Shit,” you say both literally and figuratively.
It’s a unique moment in your life when you realize that the mammal you’ve raised for five years wants, no needs, to roll around in feces just because you took your eyes off of her for 8 minutes.
So that’s my dog, friends. Ziggy Stardust loves dinosaur chew toys, carrots and rolling around in poop. It’s good to know what your passions are.

Special thanks to Chewy.com for sending Ziggy this fantastic dino-shaped dental chew Nylabone. She’s completely obsessed. Be on the lookout for a fabulous giveaway from Chewy.com coming soon!

Nate Ruess “Nothing Without Love”

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YOU GUYS.
I am nothing without love

I’m but a ship stuck in the sand

Some would say that I’m all alone

But I am, I’m nothing without love



I wanna hold her in my arms

She feelin’ alone, she feelin’ sad

I would take credit for what’s wrong,

But I am, I’m nothing without love



Three years at sea after the storm

And this sinking ship that love put me on

God, I wish a gust of wind would come

And carry me home

But I, I got nowhere to go


Now I hear you sharp with the force of a wave

So I said myself I’m headed for the Empire State

Hey hey, I don’t wanna lose this one

She made me feel whole, you know

I am, I’m nothing without love

Nate Ruess

sandwich thieves

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Friday night my sandwich was stolen. 

There was a rowdy game of corn hole going down in the middle of the bar, I was sipping on a gross chocolate/raspberry beer situation, I was super hungry and I hadn’t even taken a first bite of the hot fried chicken skin BLT sitting on the picnic table in front of me. I looked away, and suddenly it was gone. Vanished. I’m still processing. Mulling over the thoughts and general not-coolness that would go into jacking someone’s hot and ready sammy right out from under them.

One day, perhaps I will heal, but for now I must forge on. I tried to drink away the pain with red wine but then I got hit in the head with a bean bag. I did win a game, however, and eventually dominated a burrito at a different establishment, but that sandwich will forever hold a place in the unsated part of my mind. The rest of the weekend was all about spending time outdoors. A farmers market, a group hang at Dolores Park, delicious sushi and an all-day Napa wine tasting extravaganza with a bunch of cool cats.

I even had my very first book club meeting with Plucky Reads and it was pretty incredible. We read and discussed “Where’d You Go, Burnadette?” (which was hilarious–you should read it) and we’re taking suggestions for next month’s book selection. Who’s interested? Click here. Also click here to see who won $25 to the Mint Julep Boutique.

How was your weekend? Anyone steal your food?

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