Oh, lookie!!!!   Brett gave ME a recipe when he came down to take us to Marine World last weekend!!!!    It used to have oat flour in place of eggs, but we don't do that version.   (Too gnarly.)   For when you're sort of roughing it:

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CANNED APPLE CAKE

1 cup dried apples, diced small
1 cup boiling water
1 cup sifted cake flour
1 cup whole wheat pastry flour (nonleavened)
1/3 cup instant nonfat dry milk powder
1/2 teaspoon each salt and baking soda
1/4 teaspoon each ground cinnamon and mace
1/2 cup chopped walnuts
1/4 cup lightly packed dried currants
1/2 cup applesauce
1/2 cup bland vegetable oil
1/2 teaspoon each vanilla and butter extracts
2 large eggs
1 cup firmly packed brown sugar

Pour boiling water over apples in mixing bowl; set aside.   In another bowl, mix together flour, milk powder, salt, baking soda, and spices; stir in nuts and currants.  Grease and flour an 8-inch round by 2-inch deep cake or springform pan.  

When apples have plumped and cooled down, preheat oven to 325 degrees Fahrenheit and stir in applesauce, vegetable oil, and extracts.  Beat in eggs; add sugar and mix until smooth.  Incorporate dry ingredients, mixing until just smooth.  Do not overbeat or finished result will be dry. 

Pour into prepared pan and bake until cake shrinks from the sides and center bounces back when pressed with finger, about 40 minutes.  If you wish to remove it from pan, cool about 20 minutes first.

Variation:  For Caramel Apple Cake, spread about 1/2 cup (4 ounces) thick caramel ice cream sauce or dulce de leche on top of cooled cake.  Garnish with walnut halves and/or thin dried apple rings.  Topping will set somewhat upon standing, but if you're in a hurry or desire it firmer, gently bring 2/3 cup caramel to a boil and apply hot.

TAKING A breather at work over a philly steak sand I bought at this dubious shoddy Ma and Pop down the street.   Hopefully the microwave killed all the germs; the bastard was so steaming hot I couldn't even pick it up for five.  

Couldn't wait to get away this morning.    Last night, Dad and I had a bad blow out over my "atrocious language."   

"Hey!   I didn't send my best daughter away to school to talk like that!"

Referring to my tres student habit of using "fucking" as an adjective for anything the slightest tad offensive, like:    "What did you fuckin' do to my dog?!!"   "I can't stand that fuckin' car!"   "What's with all this fuckin' fog we're having?!?"   And last but never least, "If Brett doesn't fuckin' call me I'm gonna have a fucking shit attack!" 

"FUCK THIS!"

"'Fuck this, fuck that!'   Whatever happened to 'freaking?'"   said Daddy.   "You were much better in high school when you tried to show some manners."

Truthfully; back then the very words under discussion hurt my virgin ears.    "Fuck" was like RAPE, man; not a good word to women at all.   But,  "Duh-uh,"   I retorted Valley Girl style, being the man was no purist himself.   This sent my stressed-out parent into a tirade.  Now, it was my shocking "yen for gossip," my "whorish manner of dressing" ("Call that a skirt?!?"), my constant annoying phone messaging ("Will you stop that for one minute, please!   How rude!"), and so on and so forth.   I was becoming a terrible person whom he was embarrassed to have brought into the world.  Well, dandy candy; that takes care of helping out at the restaurant for a while!    (Sure, I love cooking, but not for the masses; it's total DRUDGERY.   Time one Romano set out for new territory.)

Okay, so I chickened out of forestry camp.    After one look at the barracks--er, LODGE--I just couldn't hack it.   The john has major plumbing probs, and I would've been the only chick there besides Barbra, a real dyke and my assigned roommie.    Just the thought of her twirling her coy tongue inside my stale piss twat on the saggy spermed up mattress to get my mind off my guy's luscious dick makes me wanna up chuck.    It's been a loooong time since I was a prepube in the exploratory stage, playing Legos on the floor in a squatting position to feel my awakening clit twitch.    (I found some ancient but still-good caramel apple lolly pops in a zip lock bag in Noni's fridge on the way up.   They're flat and hard and uber sticky and can't touch your teeth without clamping onto an filling, so go figure.)

So I'm hanging out at my folks again and jerking off like crazy 'til my honey gets a break.    I'm HORNEY!!!   It's cooler this summer, and he promises to drive down more often for a visit.   Meanwhile, it's back at the Fosters for some honest hard work and practical experience.    This season should be exciting, what with Mrs. Billings, the lady who manages the office next door, running a secret call girl ring.   Maya's gotten fat and happy and even gets along with the cat--once the Chloster bit a hole in her ear to teach respect.    Cokie's on a roll and too busy to invade my space.    (Such as waking up like a guard dog to the slightest sound of heavy breathing and creeping up to my bedroom door in the dead of night trying to catch me in the act, the rotten little voyeur.)  And tomorrow, Mom says she'll take me to that posh new North Beach cafe for the 4-layer black chocolate fudge cake I've been craving if I help finish the restaurant china inventory.   [Daddy:   "No more big nappies!!"   Brett:   (Seemingly caught yawning.)    "Excuse, me, Sir."]    Should be fun!