12 Things I Deduced from Conan The Destroyer After Watching the Last 20 Minutes When I Woke Up and Couldn't Go to Sleep at 3:00am

Conan the Arnold Schwarzenegger | Conan Candle

On July 5th, 2014, I awoke at 3:00 AM after a full day of binge wine cooler drinking. I couldn't fall asleep, so I turned on the TV and watched the last 20 minutes of Conan The Destroyer. This is my story:

  1. Arnold Schwarzenegger is the leader because he's big and beefy and even though I've never seen any of these movies, I'd have to be a real idiot not to know Conan the Schwarzenegger when I see him.
  2. They aren't on earth because the sky is like a water color painting and it looks magical.
  3. Arnold is forcing his maybe-outlawed group to rescue some chick named Jenna who is a princess and lives in this cave castle here.
  4. I bet Arnold met Jenna earlier in the movie and they were smitten with each other, but things were left unsaid and unfinished. I bet they're gonna do it later.
  5. That woman is not a queen, but she wants to be a queen, so she's gonna kill the soon to be queen who's younger and fairer than she. This movie is a rip off of Snow White.
  6. In this land, some horns are magical and bedazzled, and damn Jenna. Girl, you on drugs.
  7. Damn Jenna, you the sister from The Wonder Years.
  8. Grace Jones is fierce as all hell.
  9. Ew, what is that monster thing? He looks like he's made of poop. Why would you conjure a poop monster? This movie is a rip off of Joe Versus The Volcano.
  10. Ew, you pulled the horn off and the poop monster and it's even grosser than it was before. That horn is full of noodles.
  11. Princess Peach Jenna has gained control over her cave castle once more. Arnold and Sister from The Wonder Years are totally going to do it now even though she's only like 16 or something.
  12. What the hell kind of ending was that? Not nearly enough rrrromance in this movie. I bet everyone that watched the full hour and a half was really pissed off about the lack of sensuous closure.

The original photo up top is a Public Domain Arnold photo. 
The original drawing down below is a work of art. Show some respect.


Where Everyone Went on The Leftovers

Where Everyone Went on The Leftovers | Crappy Candle

I have no idea if people are enjoying this show or what the consensus on it is thus far, 4 episodes in. I'm purposely abstaining from reading anything about it because I don't want it to taint the theory I developed after the first episode. I know where everyone went on The Leftovers and I don't want anyone else's fan theories to ruin my false sense of confidence.

So, yes there are *spoilers* in this post, but I suspect you already knew that. I'm hoping my theory will end up being a big mega spoiler for the entire show. I hope I ruin it for everyone that reads this. Also, obviously, I have not read the book, nor do I have any speculation as to whether the book ending and the show ending will be the same. That could be a real spoiler, now wouldn't it?

Before I get to the heart of it, I'd like to lay out the guts:

  1. Everyone that is gone disappeared instantaneously, clothes and all. No one has any idea why or how this happened.
  2. The people that disappeared seemed to disappear at random across all nationalities, genders, ages, creeds, and perceived moralities. We're talking Gary Busey and babies, rapists and The Pope, poof, gone.
  3. The people that are left, ahem, The Leftovers, are doing about as well as you'd expect given the situation. The world keeps functioning, but there is some emotional fallout.
  4. A lot of these leftover people have been slowly losing a grip on themselves since the disappearances, even those who have not lost a loved one.
  5. There is a cult like group of people called "Guilty Remnant" that live together, don't talk, wear only white, and chain smoke cigarettes. They peacefully assemble at town gatherings and "recruit" by stalking their marks from a distance. No one on the show has any idea what their deal is yet.
  6. There is another cult like group with a leader who acts like some kind of creepy, huggy, antichrist. He has a thing for young Asian girls and has impregnated one of them.
  7. Domesticated dogs have gone feral.
  8. Our main dude Kevin Garvey, a cop played by Justin Theroux, is starting to maybe see things that other people aren't seeing. It looks like he might be going crazy just like his crazy ole dad.  

Outside of this, I know that the guy that created this show is the same fella that created Lost. All I know about Lost is it was about a group of people stranded on a deserted island after a plain crash, and mystery and mystery were revealed then wrapped up with a maybe-not-so-great explanation that it was some kind of *spoiler* Dallas-esque afterlife dream? Regardless, there was a reality bending undertone.

Enough back story, here's my theory:

The people on The Leftovers disappeared because they are in a computer. The disappeared suddenly and without explanation the same way I could delete this sentence with a few keystrokes. I'm not talking a Matrix computer situation, I'm talking no bodies in goo-pods, no scorched sky former earth. On The Leftovers, their entire existence and their entire universe is in a unfathomably large and complex computer system that some other being created millions of years ago. This is why "Guilty Remnant" has abstained from speaking or breathing normal air and opt to wear white, the absence of color. They know that there is no earth, there are no people, and there are no families. They are telling other people to "save their breath" because nothing is real and nothing matters. Their behavior is the bare minimum of effort they can give and the bare minimum of participation with the world they live in without killing themselves.

Other people, like Liv Tyler's character, are slowly becoming aware of this. They are innately able to sense that something is off, even if they cannot pinpoint exactly what it is. The dogs act as a kind of canary in the coal mine (which was mentioned in one of the episodes); the idea is that eventually, everything will fall into chaos.

I believe a few of the characters that have been revealed so far are more keyed in to what's happening. One of those people is Kevin Garvey. Like his father, Kevin Garvey Sr, Kevin Garvey (Jr) is starting to see the things that are "off" or peculiar in his world. His father does not believe that he or his son is crazy, and advises his son to keep his observations under wraps for the time being lest he end up in a mental health facility like he is. I don't think it's an accident that both characters have the same occupation and the same name.

And the weird Antichrist guy? Initially I thought he might actually be crazy, but I'm starting to think that he might be more similar to Kevin Garvey. He is aware of something and connects to reality in a way that other people cannot. I haven't decided if he's a Neo, an Oracle, or an Agent yet, but he's different from everyone else somehow.

So that's it. I wouldn't be surprised if other people have the same theory because nothing is truly new or unique in this world, right? It's not a matter of what you think of, it's a matter of how fast you think of it and publish it on the Internet. Nothing matters. There is no deep meaning behind life. Holy hell this show is a downer. Was Lost like this? Why do I feel so empty, so... leftover.


The Leftovers is on Sunday nights on HBO. It airs at the same time as The Strain, so if you like worms coming out of eyeballs more than you like slow-paced bent-reality type shows, I recommend you watch The Strain. Unless, of course, you have a DVR, in which case you can record both. I assume you do have a DVR if you have HBO. Oh wait, you can watch it on HBO Go. Yeah, do that.


Anyas Ghost - Book Reviews 2014

Anyas Ghost - Book Reviews 2014 | Crappy Candle
by Vera Brosgol

This summer, I visited my local library for the first time since I was 15. Greg and I both got library cards and I found a book to "kick off" my freshly hatched summer reading scheme. Considering that I had just finished Neil Gaiman's Sandman series (which I thoroughly enjoyed and will have to review at a later date), Anya's Ghost, by Vera Brosgol, seemed like a good follow-up. Brosgol did story boarding for Gaiman's Coraline and he gives her a hearty recommendation on the cover.

Anya's Ghost is a graphic novel that is about 225 pages. It's something that can be read easily in an evening before going to bed. For comparison's sake, it took me about a year to read all 10 trade paperbacks of The Sandman. (I'll pause for some silent judgement.) Anya's Ghost is targeted at younger teens, but I think it's a fun short read for adults too. I remember thinking I liked The Hobbit more than The Lord of the Rings Trilogy, but then felt a little miffed when I was told it was a children's book. Whatever. The heart wants what the heart wants, and sometimes the heart wants something that's easy to understand.

Anya's Ghost is beautifully illustrated with a muted greyscale palette. The story is simple and explores the life of a disgruntled teen girl trying to find her place in the world as well as her newly formed relationship with a ghost that only she can see and hear. It includes common themes for young girls including negative body image and generalized insecurity, the dirty awful clique dynamic in high school, cute boys and the palpitations they give our hearts, and the clash of American and immigrant culture for a child of an immigrant parent.

Granted this was my first foray into YA comics, but I was surprised by how candid and realistic Brosgol was with her characters. I clutched my pearls a little when I saw the main character partook in (gasp) tobacco cigarette smoking(!), but I realized quickly that it was just a knee-jerk reaction given my old-fart distrust of teenagers. The story has a certain John Hughes quality to it while maintaining a balance with a Coraline-esque whimsical spookiness.

I'd recommend Anya's Ghost to just about anyone, but I think it's a good introduction into the world of comics, especially for younger girls. Don't think it's only for girls though; Greg read it too and he's a real live man.

Optimal Reading Situation: Laying under the covers with a headlamp on.
Optimal Reading Snack: A box of Nerds and some candy cigarettes.
Optimal Reading Followup: A binge of Seventeen Magazine quiz taking.

This review is from my Summer Book Club series. Next up is The Girl Who Played with Fire by Stieg Larsson.


Summer Book Club

"Reading takes time, and the glass teat takes too much of it." -- Steven King

I've always wanted to be a bookish girl. When asked what I wanted to do on Friday night in magazine quizzes, I always wanted to choose the "curl up with a good book" option. I've always wanted to say that a book was so good that I devoured it in one sitting.

Instead, I curled up on the couch with my good TV. Disgusting, isn't it? In school, reading was a chore; I only started dabbling in recreational reading in college in a meager attempt to become a mysterious, clever, and cultured person. Somehow, I never became Rory Gilmore. While I've gotten better with reading in recent years, I'm still gently nibbling on books rather than devouring them.

Well, That just won't do. If I want to be a proper writer, I'm going to need to read more.

This summer, my husband encouraged me to take on a summer reading challenge. We went down to our public library and got library cards, and I compiled a list of authors that I want to explore. I will review each book I read and put a link to it right here.

This is my summer book club.

Summer Book Club | Crappy Candle

Anya's Ghost
Coming Soon:  The Girl Who Played With Fire


Celine Loaf

I'm sure it's been said before, but two of the most iconic music videos of our time are remarkably, nay spookily, similar: Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back To Me Now" and Meat Loaf's "I'd Do Anything For Love" were cut from the same candlelit, sexy-castle cloth.*

Celine Loaf

There are four things we must keep in mind:

  1. Celine Dion's and Meat Loaf's love interests must be as boringly attractive as possible so as not to detract from how sensual and grandiose these songs are.
  2. If you're heartbroken and there isn't a thunderstorm going on, your emotions were not strong enough to conjure almighty Thor. Get over yourself.
  3. Motorcycles only lead to tragedy, and sweet gothy sumptuousness.
  4. Gilted frames will totally throw off your feng shui. 

First, we've got a facially-misshapen man who haunts the forest-dwelling love of his life. It's a love he'd do anything for, as long as it's not keeping his misshapen face.

Next, we've got a woman who's love-haunted by her dead boyfriend.** She's so love-haunted in fact, that she ghost-makes-out with him.

God, this stuff is so sexy and brooding. Has anyone written any Celine Dion/Meat Loaf fan fiction? 

Okay, now for the fun part. It turns out, Meat Loaf was supposed to record "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" before Celine got her grubby Canadian mitts on it. Apparently, the Loaf wanted it real bad, but the writer viewed it as a "woman's song" and got a court order preventing him from recording it. Meat Loaf didn't let this stop him though; he DID end up recording it in 2006.***

Meat Loaf sits on his music video throne: "This song has come back, this song has come back to me now. There were moments of gold and there were flashes of light. There were things I'd never do again but then they'd always seemed right. There were nights of endless pleasure. It was more than any laws allow-baby, baby!" He takes the liner notes from Falling Into You, wads them up, and puts them in his mouth.
Director: "Meat Loaf, we need to start shooting."

* It might be because they were both written and produced by the same guy, but I'd rather pretend it's because Celine Dion and Meat Loaf are members of the same vampire coven. 

** Jaime Lannister, is that you?

*** Come now, Meat Loaf. We all know that that chick was not even born yet in the 1920s. You could have at least gotten a 90 year old for the video.


My a Spot in Pilates Class

See this spot? This is my spot. You aren't allowed to be in my spot. I don't care if it was your spot before it was my spot, it's my spot now. My spot.

I get a little territorial with my spot in pilates class. I like to position myself along the left wall, in the second row. When my class started filling up with workout revivalists after New Years, I started coming to my class a full 10 minutes earlier so no one would get my spot. MY SPOT, bitches. 

Did I mention that this class is mostly 45-65 year old women? Come summer, a lot of them will bring their teen/college aged daughters to class. This summer proved to be no different. One of my spot neighbors had her daughter in class today. I know this because her daughter had a mat in my spot when I showed up. When my spot neighbor moved the mat to the space in front of her daughter, I immediately moved my mat back up into my spot. Cause it's my spot.

I'm fine with this. I'm in my spot, she's in her spot. We've got some good personal space in our respective spots. The class fills up and we start. Five minutes in, a new person walks in. She's young and confused. She picks up a mat and heads to one of the only empty spaces left, then changes her mind at the last second and heads towards my neighbor's daughter, because my neighbor's daughter is her friend, of course. She then places herself in between my neighbor's daughter and my spot.

The reaction I had inside my body was much bigger than this. I was actively repressing rage. I moved over to my right a little, but, come on, there is not enough space for this bullshit. We then did some exercises in which we kept brushing up against each other because she was on top of me. She giggled as I drilled an icy hole into her brain with telepathy. Who does this girl think she is, wedging her way into my spot. 

Next, we bring out the resistance bands.

Instructor: "Now be sure to place the band flat along the ball of your foot. I don't want you flinging this thing into your eye!"
Me (to myself, pointing and flexing my foot in the air): I bet miss no-personal-space over here (point) will fling a resistance band into her eye (flex) because she is oblivious, does not take this class or this space seriously, (point) and obviously has never been to an exercise class be-- (flex)

I then fling the resistance band into my own eye. 

That resistance band in my eye taught me a valuable lesson today. I realized that life is short, and someone squeezing into my spot in pilates isn't going to ruin everything. I don't need to passive aggressively make this girl feel like crap because she wanted to be next to her friend. I felt terrible about being such a curmudgeonly jerk and tried to make things right by smiling more in her general direction. I also put her weights away at the end of class. I don't think she noticed.

Ungrateful little shit.


"Break the Rules ONLY if It Works"

You know how teachers (specifically those in the arts) will say, "Hey, here are some rules. You can break 'em, but only if it works." Well no shit, teacher. Basically, you've told me that I just need to be good. Follow the rules and be good, or break the rules and be good. Just be good. Just be good, dumbass.

Me: "Hmm... I have an idea, but it's against the rules. Do I break them?"
Teacher: "Is it a good idea? If it's not a good idea, don't break the rules."
Me: "I think it's a good idea."
Teacher: "Don't think. Just be good."
Me: "I'm not following."
Teacher: "Here is a chart."

Me: "But what if this happens"

Teacher: "Now I'm not following."
Teacher: "Just be good." 


My New Favorite Nude Polish: OPI Dulce De Leche

I've waited nearly a month to post my OPI Dulce De Leche review because something traumatic happened while I wore it last month. Yes, I had the same rosy nude manicure on when I tried to set my cousin-in-law's kitchen on fire, but that is not what I'm referring to. (sigh) Ok, I'll be brave. Here it is: I took my dog to a new dog park, and a Weimaraner peed on me. I'll wait for you to compose yourself.

Holding Hands with My Dog | Crappy Candle

It was awful. The dog came up next to me and as I pet it, it lifted it's grey dog leg solemnly. I was quick to move out of the way, but it was too late. The pee pee had made its way onto my shoe shoes. The dog scampered off, probably relieved because he had just relieved his full bladder on me.

I vented loudly, making my unease known as my husband and inlaws reveled in my despair, "There is no way this dog hasn't done this to someone else before. This dog should not be allowed at the dog park if the owner doesn't want to watch it." I side eyed the owner viscously, hoping my passive aggressive attack had reached its mark. Nay, they were too busy chatting with someone else, probably exchanging pleasantries about how their dog likes to shit on other people's lawns so they don't have to pick it up.

It was then that I realized: I'm a breedist. I'm prejudiced against Weimaraners. 

I will explain. The neighbors up the street from us have a Weimaraner that has been shitting on our front lawn for the past decade. They let their deaf, and probably mostly blind dog wander the neighborhood, leaving giant horse sized turds in his wake. Attention, aging-Weimaraner owners who don't care that their dog could get hit by a car: cease and desist.

I realize pee pee Weimaraner and horse turd Weimaraner are not the same dog, but darn it this whole breed looks the same to me. What I need to tell myself is that the dog at the dog park was probably trying to claim me because he liked my odor, and the neighborhood dog was probably just trying to show our family how much he loved our lawn. Maybe he's got a tough home life. Who am I to judge.

Nail Polish + Dog Nose | Crappy Candle

Oh right, this is supposed to be a nail polish review? Okay, well, OPI's Dulce De Leche is indeed my new favorite nude. My skin is olive toned and it matched perfectly. It has some pink in it, so it won't make you look like a corpse (come on, you know some of those greige-y nudes give you corpse nails).

OPI Dulce De Leche Indoor Light | Crappy Candle

The Perfect Rosy Nude Nail Polish | Crappy Candle

My New Favorite Nude Polish: OPI Dulce De Leche | Crappy Candle

Five pennies for you, Dulce De Leche. None for you, bad dog-owners.


Get Ahold of Yourself: Privilege

Get Ahold of Yourself: Privilege | Crappy Candle

I spent the better part of my Sunday writing an article about privilege in response to that pesky article re-published in Time called "Why I’ll Never Apologize for My White Male Privilege." If you don't know about it, or don't care to read it, here's the gist of it: the author, a freshman at Princeton, had been called out (presumably by classmates and professors) and told to "check his privilege," specifically his white male privilege. These remarks made him go on the defense and write an essay for the Princeton Tory in which he literally "checks his privilege." While he admits there are many things about his circumstances that he is privileged to have, he won't apologize for it because his grandparents escaped the Nazis, came to America, and built a life from nothing. It appears as though he's a smart enough guy (he is at Princeton after all), but his piece completely misses the point.

So, I wrote a nice flowery essay of my own, full of big words and run on sentences, about what privilege really means. I quoted the dictionary and gave my take on how to deal with the issue. Are your eyes rolling in your head yet? I'm not a professor or a sociologist, and I have no personal experience with an imbalance of societal privilege. I have no authority to give advice on this subject because, outside of some minor fallout from being female, I haven't really been negatively affected by it.

I woke up this morning, grateful that I hadn't published the essay last night. Rather than deleting it, I cut and pasted it into a text document (what can I say, I'm a pack rat, I save everything). I wanted to write the essay again from my perspective, plus I already made the pretty graphic up top for this. I won't be going into the detailed nuances of privilege as other, more adept people have done it already. Read this piece if you want a clear definition of privilege.

Heres the lowdown on me: I'm half Iranian, which means I'm white. I'm a woman, which means I'm a white female. I've never really felt negatively judged due to my ethnicity/gender combo. My family is not rich, but when compared to the rest of the world, they do appear that way. I've never gone hungry or run out of gas in my car. I have a car. I was raised in a safe, sunny neighborhood and I had a kick-ass childhood. I am privileged, and that's okay. I'm grateful for everything I was lucky enough to be born into.

I think that a little gratitude goes a long way. No on has ever called me out that I can remember, heck this is the first time I've ever had a good think on the subject. Privilege is an abstract, but relatively simple concept that gets muddled somehow. "Check your privilege" can sound accusatory or confrontational, but I understand it as "remember your good fortune." I'm a lucky girl, but these things do not define me as a human being. They don't guarantee my success either.

Of course gratitude is not married to this idea of privilege. Anyone can benefit from gratitude. It's been scientifically proven to improve happiness, reduce anxiety, and strengthen relationships. Plus, I'd wager if Tal Fortgang had written his piece from a perspective of gratitude, he wouldn't have had to delete his Twitter account. Fine, maybe he would have still had to delete is Twitter account, it was pretty awful, but he almost certainly wouldn't have had his 15 minutes. We love train-wrecks, don't we.

This guy is also young and lacks the foresight that is earned from life experience. He had access to a platform where he could tootle his little horn to his heart's content. It's not too dissimilar from what I do on this blog, but I'm a decade older than this kid. I can't imagine the dumb things I would have written about at 18. I'm grateful that social media and blogging weren't a big thing when I was younger because I would have made a fool out of myself. I'm a far more loving and accepting person now because I've had some life experience to help me grow. I understand that the world is not a fair place.

My biggest issue as a teenager was that I never thought about what it would be like to be another person - another race, another sexuality, another nationality. Without empathy, it was easy for me to pass judgement. This is where I struggle because some of those thoughts are still there. They never went away, not fully.

I've cut and pasted this last part from my original article. It's a little preachy, a little self-helpy, and it's totally out of place with everything else I've written here, but I still really like it and I don't want to bury it in text edit. Deal with it:
We all have prejudiced thoughts. They exist in us because of what exists around us: who we are surrounded by, what they teach us, and what our experiences teach us. Our education, formal and informal, teaches us what is moral and right. We speak these truths in spite of ourselves in the hopes our hearts will catch up to our mouths. In doing so, not only do we condition ourselves towards a greater morality, we condition those around us as well. We prime a younger generation to be better than we are. 
We do not have control over our privilege, but we do have control over our actions. Our attitudes shape our own realities and our words shape the world.


Mini S'mores Pies: A Pinterest Failure

I'm obsessed with Pinterest. I use it to keep track of pretty nail polish, seductive makeup swatches, snuggly baby animals, and sloppy hair cuts. I treat it as a shopping list for things I really like and will probably never buy, but sometimes buy because Amazon Prime is a wicked temptress. I also promote my own stuff because it's the only social network I've found that doesn't make me feel like a used car salesman for doing so.

That said, my favorite use for Pinterest, by far, is as a recipe keeper. I pin recipes I want to make, use that recipe straight from my Pinterest iPhone app as a shopping list at the store, then follow the recipe straight from the Pinterest app on an iPad in the kitchen. I knew the day would come that I would screw up a recipe so badly that it would end up yet another hackneyed "Pinterest Fail" that litters the gutters of the Internet. That day has come for me. It scoffs at my pretentious Pinterings.

About a week ago, I decided to make some adorable s'mores mini pies for my inlaws at my husband's cousin's house. These are the pies in question: S'mores Mini Pies

Ok, I know what you're thinking because mom already told me: Why not make them before hand and bring them over? Well no MOM, they need to be served warm, they are S'mores after all. Plus with ingredients like pudding and marshmallow fluff, how could this go wrong? I've made more complicated recipes than this. What kind of amateur do you think I am?

This recipe is going flip off my spoon, onto these premade graham cracker crusts, and into my inlaw's hearts. I will be a hero and they will tell stories of how good my pudding pies were around the Thanksgiving table for years to come. Greg's Grandmother will weep at the beauty of my baking prowess. Everyone will beg for me to make them, and I will, graciously. When I die, they will place a bronzed mini S'more pie on my grave, and my children's children will sprinkle fresh marshmallows there each year in memory.

With my trusty Greg helper by my side, I tackle the box of Jello pudding. What I failed to understand in my years of instant pudding making is that you have to add the powder before you heat the milk up if it's regular, non-instant pudding. My pudding arrogance was amplified by 2 glasses of wine bravado, so I did not read the instructions completely. When I added the pudding powder to the boiled milk it pudding-curdled and there was gross pudding skin all over the pot. Greg graciously offered to get me another box at the store.

With a fresh box, I mastered the delicate art of making non-instant pudding. I ladled the gloop into the pie crusts, added the marshmallows, and carefully arranged the mini chocolate chips on top. It was Pinterperfect. I set the oven to broil, which is 500 degrees. Anyone who has used a broiler can see where this is going.

Burnt Marshmallow S'mores Pies | Crappy Candle

It's ironic because I set Greg in front of the oven and said "One of us has to watch this at all times." I decided it was appropriate to make good use of my time by pouring out the rest of the pudding in a tupperware. I asked Greg to put the ladle in the sink, where he proceeded to wash it like the good helper he is. I didn't realize he was washing it, and he thought I was watching the oven (probably). I glanced up just in time to see the tops of the marshmallows were a nice golden brown. Oh they're doneaaaaghhahdammit THEY ARE ON FIRE. Then the entire oven was enveloped in hellish hell-flames. I frantically pushed buttons on the unfamiliar oven as the kitchen filled with smoke, setting the fire alarm off.

We ended up eating the pies anyway, sans charcoal marshmallow top. They were hideous, but everyone at least pretended they were good. Okay, fine, I'm a huge drama queen. They were fine, but I was super embarrassed about blowing up my husband's cousin's oven. Sorry Sev and Sarah. I promise not to try burn your house down ever again.

In conclusion, If you want to impress your inlaws, I highly recommend this recipe. If they have a good sense of humor (like mine do) it will be hilarious story to tell at family gatherings, plus it will lower their expectations for anything you make in the future. I now know that anything I make for them in the future will be straight up gourmet.

Mini S'mores Pies: A Pinterest Failure | Crappy Candle

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