Melt together:
Half a jar of peanut butter
A bag of chocolate chips
Stir in a container of whipped cream.
Let it set in the fridge for three hours.
Scoop out of the mixture with a melon ball thing.
Roll the balls in powdered sugar and place on wax paper.
Stick the tray back in the fridge.
That's all, folks!
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Restaurant in Denver!
Tokyo Joe's is a fast, healthy restaurant with a neat envirornment and very knowledgable, friendly service. The food is fine; not for those who like Americanized Chinese, as it is very lean and green. Menu includes "make your own bowl" with rice, meat and veggie choices, lettuce wraps and various other usual Chinese fare.
It is also VERY gluten-free friendly; they offer GF soy sauce AND teriaki sauce and even offered to cook my tofu separately to keep it wheat-free.
I can't TELL you how exciting it is to get to eat a sauce on something when going out to eat! YAY!
It is also VERY gluten-free friendly; they offer GF soy sauce AND teriaki sauce and even offered to cook my tofu separately to keep it wheat-free.
I can't TELL you how exciting it is to get to eat a sauce on something when going out to eat! YAY!
Identification, Please
Cami and Tasha dropped me off at the airport on Friday morning reaaa--aaaally early. I rather worriedly handed them the keys to Bertha ("Road trip! road trip!" Tasha was singing under her breath as she offered a guileless smile and "Have fun!") and made my way into the deserted airport.
Seriously, I was pretty much THE ONLY PERSON THERE. I weaved my way through the security tape feeling pretty stupid because there was NO ONE in line. I considered the technique Shrek employed when walking up to Prince Farquad's castle (through the tape, instead of around)--but the security guard was already giving me the evil eye.
I offered him my best smile and toss of the blond curls as I handed him my ticket and driver's license. He was not amused.
"Is your name Diondra or Dia?"
"Ohhh, Dia is my nickname!" I giggled back.
"Well, your ticket here says Dia Darcey on it, so you're going to have to produce some ID that HAS that name on it, or I can't let you on the flight."
"Uh....huh?" I tried the hair toss again.
He was stone. "Not gonna cut it, honey."
Dang, I gotta think fast! None of my IDs have DIA on them; it's practically a made up name!! However, Mrs. Sabey, the generous purchaser of my ticket, had unknowingly put my pseudonym down in my flight information, so now I was stuck.
"Well, handsome, let me see what I have here," I said with a slow wink as I opened my purse and stared into it in a blind panic.
My mind was working furiously and, as it tends to do in emergency situations, completely nonsensically: Maybe I could hit him over the head with the purse and make a break for it! No, a better plan would be to loudly require my legal counsel. Or try to convince him I don't speak English--Ooo, wait, that I'm a long lost LOVER who doesn't speak English! OK, um, fake a heart attack! Warn of an impending stampede!
Just when I was on the brink of a breakthrough ("I know! Confuse him with a tap dance routine!") my eye fell upon salvation: my BYU ID!! Goodness knows why I decided to bring it to Colorado or why I put my name on it as DIA in the first place, but praise be! There it was, and I pulled it out with a screech of pure victory, "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"
The security guard dropped his keys.
"Ooops, sorry," I practically yelled, still exulting, "but I FOUND ONE!" I slapped it on his security stand with all the triumph I could muster.
He looked it over carefully.
And his steely eyes shifted back up to mine.
"I need another one."
My jaw hit the floor; no, no. Surely not. ANOTHER ONE?!
I tried one last act of diplomacy and laughed gently, "Wait, seriously. You need another ID BESIDES this one-- this one, which says my name on it AND has a matching picture?" I formed a contented smile onto my face and attempted to breath normally.
"...Yup, if the names are different, I have to confirm with two IDs, not just one."
That's it. I was DONE with the "pretty, naive, possibly-Scandinavian traveling girl" charade.
This was war.
We faced each other, still the only two souls in the whole airport atrium.
A tumbleweed blew past and I swear I could hear a faint echo of the theme from "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" from some forgotten airport speaker.
I stared into his dark, emotionless eyes and felt for the comforting, cold metal of my wallet (my wallet really is metal, you guys).
His eyebrow twitched.
I drew, faster than the eye can follow, and twitched my wallet open with a thumb. I scanned the names on my cards as they flew by like the jet plane I should've been on: Oklahoma Central Credit Union: Diondra Elizabeth Darcey--Healthcare: Diondra E Darcey--Insurance: Darcey, Diondra--Random Walmart giftcard--Summit County Library: scrawled signature--Red Cross: Diondra E Darcey------wait.
Miss Dia Darcey.
I read it, then read it again, "Miss Dia Darcey... MISS DIA DARCEY?!?!"
VICTORY! I threw the card--the blessed card which had saved me many times before in moments of transportation terror--onto the vanquished security guard's crumpled form and pumped my arms in the air with a howl of animal abandon:
"THANK YOU, TRIPLE A!"
I did have one parting word for my defeated foe, which I offered as I picked up my duffel bag and tossed my hair back over my shoulders, "In this world, there are two types of people, my friend..." I continued Clint's timeless quote as I stepped forward onto the security platform and tossed my bags into the X-ray machine:
"Those with loaded guns, and those who dig."
Unfortunately, THOSE security people took me seriously ("GUN? WHERE?! CODE RED!!!")...
.
Seriously, I was pretty much THE ONLY PERSON THERE. I weaved my way through the security tape feeling pretty stupid because there was NO ONE in line. I considered the technique Shrek employed when walking up to Prince Farquad's castle (through the tape, instead of around)--but the security guard was already giving me the evil eye.
I offered him my best smile and toss of the blond curls as I handed him my ticket and driver's license. He was not amused.
"Is your name Diondra or Dia?"
"Ohhh, Dia is my nickname!" I giggled back.
"Well, your ticket here says Dia Darcey on it, so you're going to have to produce some ID that HAS that name on it, or I can't let you on the flight."
"Uh....huh?" I tried the hair toss again.
He was stone. "Not gonna cut it, honey."
Dang, I gotta think fast! None of my IDs have DIA on them; it's practically a made up name!! However, Mrs. Sabey, the generous purchaser of my ticket, had unknowingly put my pseudonym down in my flight information, so now I was stuck.
"Well, handsome, let me see what I have here," I said with a slow wink as I opened my purse and stared into it in a blind panic.
My mind was working furiously and, as it tends to do in emergency situations, completely nonsensically: Maybe I could hit him over the head with the purse and make a break for it! No, a better plan would be to loudly require my legal counsel. Or try to convince him I don't speak English--Ooo, wait, that I'm a long lost LOVER who doesn't speak English! OK, um, fake a heart attack! Warn of an impending stampede!
Just when I was on the brink of a breakthrough ("I know! Confuse him with a tap dance routine!") my eye fell upon salvation: my BYU ID!! Goodness knows why I decided to bring it to Colorado or why I put my name on it as DIA in the first place, but praise be! There it was, and I pulled it out with a screech of pure victory, "EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!"
The security guard dropped his keys.
"Ooops, sorry," I practically yelled, still exulting, "but I FOUND ONE!" I slapped it on his security stand with all the triumph I could muster.
He looked it over carefully.
And his steely eyes shifted back up to mine.
"I need another one."
My jaw hit the floor; no, no. Surely not. ANOTHER ONE?!
I tried one last act of diplomacy and laughed gently, "Wait, seriously. You need another ID BESIDES this one-- this one, which says my name on it AND has a matching picture?" I formed a contented smile onto my face and attempted to breath normally.
"...Yup, if the names are different, I have to confirm with two IDs, not just one."
That's it. I was DONE with the "pretty, naive, possibly-Scandinavian traveling girl" charade.
This was war.
We faced each other, still the only two souls in the whole airport atrium.
A tumbleweed blew past and I swear I could hear a faint echo of the theme from "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly" from some forgotten airport speaker.
I stared into his dark, emotionless eyes and felt for the comforting, cold metal of my wallet (my wallet really is metal, you guys).
His eyebrow twitched.
I drew, faster than the eye can follow, and twitched my wallet open with a thumb. I scanned the names on my cards as they flew by like the jet plane I should've been on: Oklahoma Central Credit Union: Diondra Elizabeth Darcey--Healthcare: Diondra E Darcey--Insurance: Darcey, Diondra--Random Walmart giftcard--Summit County Library: scrawled signature--Red Cross: Diondra E Darcey------wait.
Miss Dia Darcey.
I read it, then read it again, "Miss Dia Darcey... MISS DIA DARCEY?!?!"
VICTORY! I threw the card--the blessed card which had saved me many times before in moments of transportation terror--onto the vanquished security guard's crumpled form and pumped my arms in the air with a howl of animal abandon:
"THANK YOU, TRIPLE A!"
I did have one parting word for my defeated foe, which I offered as I picked up my duffel bag and tossed my hair back over my shoulders, "In this world, there are two types of people, my friend..." I continued Clint's timeless quote as I stepped forward onto the security platform and tossed my bags into the X-ray machine:
"Those with loaded guns, and those who dig."
Unfortunately, THOSE security people took me seriously ("GUN? WHERE?! CODE RED!!!")...
.
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