Perhaps I Was Bitten by a Werewolf That Used to be a Housewife?

As if my coworkers didn't annoy me enough eight hours a day, five-- occationaly six-- days a week, they've managed to infect me with their germs so I can now think of them while I'm coughing and sneezing and hacking and snotting all over myself at home. 

Jerks.

Needless to say, I haven't been in the mood to bake those pretzels I was talking about last entry.  I do have the mix, though, and I'm really, um, interested to see how mine turn out.  Not interested enough to do so in an Alka-Seltzer Cold Medicine-induced haze.

I've also got a bag of spiced praline pumpkin bread mix I'm saving for a special occasion.  Man and I were talking to our other couple friends about a night at The Mortuary (An event I'm sure I'm a billion times more excited about than your average 13 year old horror nerd.).  Of course, 20 minutes after the conversation, I had decided that we'd do a pre-haunted house dinner party complete with pumpkin place settings (Bought at Target tonight.  The plates are pretty... And made of cardboard.) and an airing of "It's The Great Pumpkin, Carlie Brown" over coffee.  I'll have to call the whole thing off, however, if I don't get the pumpkin shaped bunt cake pan I saw tonight. 

Yeah, it's that serious.

I don't know where this sudden Martha Sweart-esque streak of mine has come from, but I'm gonna roll with it until the novelty wears off and I move on to obsessing over something else like learning to speak Italian or join a Roller Derby (You never know with me.  I never know with me.).