First off, I think I’m all caught up now on comments responses. Sorry I’ve been so lame about it the past couple of weeks.

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It was my birthday yesterday (35, woo frickin’ hoo). We didn’t do anything in particular, by my request. I’ve just lost all desire to be made much of on my birthday. Still, Marie got me some flowers and a card, and Calvin and I cooked together last night (the always awesome steak dinner, with rib-eye and broccoli and grilled portobello caps and baked potatoes). Michael was going to take me to see Harry Potter on Sunday but the plans went awry.

One thing in which I did intend to indulge myself, however, was THE Pie(tm). It was a recipe recommended to me by Taoist Biker and provided to me by Dyskinesia, last year when I was looking for something different to make for dessert for Thanksgiving dinner.

OH. MY. GOD. You guys, this stuff is CRACK. Pretty, sparkly crack with rainbows and kittens.

I don’t know what the rules are regarding sharing this recipe. I know I can’t call it by its given name, or some random Trademark Nazi from Tennessee will rise up and smite me. So it has been dubbed THE Pie(tm), because whenever I mention it to my family, or Dys and TB, we all instantly know what we’re talking about.

Observe, if you will (and I apologize for the quality of some of these shots, food photography is a difficult thing in my dark cave of a kitchen):

Ingredients for THE Pie(tm), and I swear to God the backspash isn't dirty!

Ingredients for THE Pie(tm), and I swear to God the backsplash isn't dirty!

Pillsbury, but you cant tell the difference! I was rather proud of how the fluting came out.  I suck at crust.

Pillsbury, but you can't tell the difference! I was rather proud of how the fluting came out. I suck at crust.

Ingredients mixed and put into the crust.  Good enough to eat by the spoonful!

Ingredients mixed and put into the crust. Good enough to eat by the spoonful!

Getting artsy with my bad self.  We love bokeh!

Getting artsy with my bad self. We love bokeh!

Fresh out of the oven.  You can imagine what the house smelled like.  HEAVEN.

Fresh out of the oven. You can imagine what the house smelled like. HEAVEN.

Mere seconds away from being stuffed into my pie-hole.

Mere seconds away from being stuffed into my pie-hole.

The best pie I have ever had in my entire life. EVER. And a fantastic self-given birthday present, if I do say so myself.

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I close with this, a new favorite song that I heard while working out and listening to the radio the other day. Straight Lines by Silverchair.