A simple "Thank you" is all I ask (or, you know, actual answers to my questions). It's called Manners, people!

Absolutely. If she has just sent her request, I would have replied "no problem,I'll send it when I get it" But, forwarding a request from her boss with "please reply to him by email and copy me" gets NOTHING from me.

you can make your own pancakes too!

They're so simple it's barely worth using a mix (I guess if you want to get around the buttermilk-having, but still).

Here's the pancake chain you want to try next time you're out this way (although I don't think they have any in New England) like them, and

Nom nom nom.

I do make pancakes, but DH doesn't like them and I never feel like there's much point making them for myself. I used to cook them every Saturday morning for all my hungover friends.

Here's the pancake chain you want to try next time you're out this way (although I don't think they have any in New England):

They're the ones with the BACON pancakes. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

They're so simple it's barely worth using a mix

Alton Brown has a recipe for pancake mix that is brilliant. It's basically just premixed dry ingredients that you can label "pancake mix", but it makes it feel so much easier.

I am a big fan of powdered buttermilk for baking. It keeps just this side of forever and solves the whole "now what the fuck do I do with the rest of this quart of buttermilk?" issue.

I'm a bisquick pancake girl.

The make your own mix idea is a good one. Not that it's difficult to make them anyway!

Weatherbug just alerted me that we're under a tornado watch. Great.

I just finished wolfing down my lunch of TJ's Indian (spicy, spicy chickpeas, mmmmm) and kicking myself for being so embarrassingly, ferociously hungry so early in the day after all the massive breakfasting that had happened earlier -- and it wasn't until the thing was halfway down my gullet that I counted off all the things I'd made in the kitchen this morning and realized that in fact none of them were for me and that I'd had no food at all since 7:30 yesterday evening. And now I can't stop being hungry, no matter what I shovel in or how much. I am extremely annoyed at myself.

From way upthread, Allyson, those pictures of Gavin and Neave (Naeve? now they both look wrong) are gorgeous.

ION, Matilda continues to be the cutest, funniest, adorablest 15-month-old in creation. Last night she spent ten minutes in the little passageway between the kitchen and living room, using it as a stage for the most awesome toddler soft-shoe routine ever, stomping and rump-shaking and shuffle-ball-STEP, shuffle-ball-STEPping and jazz handsing all over the place, then cracking up when we cracked up. Emmett laughed so hard he fell off the couch. It killed me that the camera was at the other end of the apartment, and if I'd gotten up to get it she would've stopped.

Also, this morning we were nearly late because she was hovering by her bookshelf, clinging to several of her favorites and begging to be read to.

People I currently want to punch in the head until the head comes off: People who ask for a Matilda update, listen to her latest exploit of awesomeness, and then chuckle and say, "Wait till she's a teenager. You'll be sorry you ever had her," or "Sure, it's fine now, but wait until you have a grandchild and you get all that fun plus you get to hand it back." What were you, raised by weasels after the wolves ran away screaming?

What if you dipped the inside of the strawberry in chocolate? Ugly as hell, though.

the whole "now what the fuck do I do with the rest of this quart of buttermilk?" issue.

My answer is usually "make more pancakes." I mix it up in the proportions for the recipe (buttermilk:milk) and freeze it that way, and defrost and decant as required.

My last IHOP experience (post-concert in suburbia) led to gastrointestinal unpleasantness. Granted, it could have been due to the hours I spent in the mosh pit, but I remain unconvinced.