Happy Unofficial Pancake Day!!! – Bacon Pancakes w/ Maple-Peanut Butter Syrup

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BACON PANCAKES WITH MAPLE-PEANUT BUTTER SYRUP

Breakfast ready in 35 minutes! Enjoy this hearty bacon pancake that’s made using Bisquick® mix and served with maple and peanut butter syrup.  

INGREDIENTS

3 – tablespoons peanut butter

1 -tablespoon butter or margarine, softened

1/2 -cup maple-flavored syrup

Pancakes

2 -cups Original Bisquick™ mix

3/4 -cup milk

1/4 – cup maple-flavored syrup

2 – eggs

1/2 – cup real bacon pieces (from 3-oz package)

DIRECTIONS

In small bowl, beat peanut butter and butter with electric mixer on low speed until smooth. Beat in 1/2 cup syrup until well mixed.

2
Heat nonstick griddle to 350°F or heat 12-inch nonstick skillet over medium-low heat.

3
In medium bowl, stir all pancake ingredients except bacon with wire whisk or fork until blended. Stir in bacon.

4
For each pancake, pour slightly less than 1/4 cup batter onto hot griddle. Cook 2 to 3 minutes or until edges are dry. Turn; cook other sides until golden brown. Serve pancakes with syrup.

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Are you really Sorry? – Reasons why people will Never Apologize


For non-apologists, saying “I’m sorry” carries psychological ramifications that run far deeper than the words themselves imply; it elicits fundamental fears (either conscious or unconscious) they desperately want to avoid:

  • Admissions of wrong doing are incredibly threatening for non-apologists because they have trouble separating their actions from their character. If they did something bad, they must be bad people; if they were neglectful, they must be fundamentally selfish and uncaring; if they were wrong, they must be ignorant or stupid, etc. Therefore, apologies represent a major threat to their basic sense of identity and self-esteem.
  • Apologizing might open the door to guilt for most of us, but for non-apologists, it can open the door instead to shame. While guilt makes us feel bad about our actions, shame makes them feel bad about their selves—who they are—which makes shame a far more toxic emotion than guilt.
  • While most of us consider apologies as opportunities to resolve interpersonal conflict, non-apologists may fear their apology will only open the floodgates to further accusations and conflict. Once they admit to one wrongdoing, surely the other person will pounce on the opportunity to pile on all the previous offenses for which they refused to apologize as well.
  • Non-apologists fear that by apologizing, they would assume full responsibility and relieve the other party of any culpability—if arguing with a spouse, for example, they might fear an apology would exempt the spouse from taking any blame for a disagreement, despite the fact that each member of a couple has at least some responsibility in most arguments.

By refusing to apologize, non-apologists are trying to manage their emotions. They are often comfortable with anger, irritability, and emotional distance, and experience emotional closeness and vulnerability to be extremely threatening. They fear that lowering their guard even slightly will make their psychological defenses crumble and open the floodgates to a well of sadness and despair that will pour out of them, leaving them powerless to stop it. They might be correct. However, they are incorrect in assuming that exhibiting these deep and pent-up emotions (as long as they get support, love, and caring when they do—which fortunately, is often the case), will be traumatic and damaging. Opening up in such a way is often incredibly therapeutic and empowering, and it can lead them to experience far deeper emotional closeness and trust toward the other person, significantly deepening their relationship satisfaction.

Credit: Psychology Today

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This is your Chance to Post on BLW!!! – Share your Thoughts, Stories & Ideas with us!!!

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WE AT BE LIKE WATER BELIEVE THAT WE ARE ALL PART OF THE LEARNING EXPERIENCE, SO WE WANTED TO REACH OUT TO OUR FRIENDS & FANS TO SAY WE APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT

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Deep Fried Big Mac (Double Cheeseburger) What are your thoughts? Would you eat it?

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On his website, Peep My Eats, the chef breaks down the steps to making one at home. Turns out, all you need is four ingredients, one of which is a toothpick. (Other three: A Big Mac. Eggs. Breadcrumbs.)

The Deep-Fried Big Mac topped the crispy, battered creation with extra Mac sauce, naturally.

What are your thoughts, is this too much? Would you eat it?

Here’s a quick video on how to make a deep fried Big Mac:

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Forever Young – Still Crazy by Alienated Nation (BLW Contributor)

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One day I stopped, looked around me, and with 19 year old eyes, could only see people sitting behind desks waiting for their pensions. I panicked. Surely there had to be more to life than this. Luckily for me there was.
My boss was understanding, and knowledgeable – and from behind a large oak desk in an executive suite in central London informed a rather shy young man about a volunteer movement, an ideal, and a different way of life. To me it sounded perfect – an opportunity to escape the humdrum of every day life, to experience new things, new ways, new horizons.
With his assurance that I could have my job back in a years time I headed off, case packed, stomach full of excitement – a head full of warnings from those who knew me vaguely gnawing at my brain.
And suddenly I was here, sunburnt face, sun bleached hair, (long), nervous tummy – jet lagged legs climbing concrete stairs in anticipation of what might just lie ahead.
The building looked new. Two story, white, rooms to the left of the corridor, a shower at one end, a class room on the ground floor, and a place to collect work clothes, cigarettes, chocolate and pocket money. Over night I had become a kibbutznik, a volunteer farmer- the great outdoors beckoning. How exciting!

When you are still a growing young man food is very important, and the dining room didn’t disappoint. So much to choose from, so little time. But I did my best in the 15 or so minutes I had to eat Porridge, bread, fruit and yoghurt- drink coffee, tea, and ice water – all consumed with an insatiable appetite. ‘Come, we are waiting’. And so I was forced to stop, still chewing as I followed a swarthy man, muscles bulging from a dark blue work shirt, down dining room steps to the awaiting canvass topped flat bed truck.
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‘My Sweet Lord’ cackled from a speaker hanging loosely from inside the drivers cab as we glanced at each other with dazed, nervous eyes – bodies dressed in inappropriate clothing, bobbing up and down on a dirt track journey to an unknown place of work- the already hot day heating up to boiling point as we arrived in the fields beneath The Gilboa Mountains – their fat mounds bulging into impossibly blue sky as we sank further and further into the shade of the tree dense Jezreel valley.

Grapefruits, big fat fruit eventually stamped with the words ‘Jaffa’ – once we had filled a very large chest with them that is – hung low from trees struggling to bear their weight.
And so we were handed the tools necessary to relieve them of their burden, instructed by our leader in how to clip the fruit at their stalks, never to pull them free, and then on how to place these lush juicy spheres into the wooden chests provided without bruising them.
We picked in silence, our minder keeping a close eye on surrounding mountain slopes with a chunky pair of industrial binoculars meanwhile. Occasionally he would announce that we were being watched, his observations turning our heads to try to see what he had seen. But did we care? Of course not. We were young, immortal, on a great big adventure – our pioneering enthusiasm only waning when city limbs flagged and homesick stomachs rumbled.

Back at the dining room we tossed bare chicken bones into stainless steel pots soon filled to overflowing, gulped ice water, placed dishes onto trays on a conveyor belt trundling off into the distance before we ourselves trundled back up the path to our Ulpan.
Friendships began to form, language proving not to be a barrier in our enthusiasm to learn about each others cultures – why we were here- who we liked and didn’t like on the Kibbutz. Some made us welcome we agreed, even became our friends, others looked down on us. And some even shouted at us in a language we hadn’t learnt yet.
But try we did, aided and abetted by a large busty teacher, a woman bursting with enthusiasm and given easily to laughing – especially at our attempts to pronounce impossibly sounding words. She paid no respect to personal space either, her proximity often causing me to blush. But in truth she only had eyes for Steve, a  Canadian, a brutish hunk with red neck charm and very little interest in learning. Was I jealous?
Trips were arranged, a bus organised, a desire to teach us about the country we had come to visit taking us to Massada, Kiryat Shmona, to a bunker beneath a kibbutz on the border with neighbouring Lebanon. Families would have to flee here when under attack we were informed, a reality causing me to shiver despite the red hot humid day.
But in truth we were the luckiest people on earth – working the land, bathing in sunshine, feasting on fresh organic produce long before it had become fashionable.
And then of course there were the huge water melons devoured whilst we chatted, the friendships, the getting to know people from completely different back grounds – the partially shaded Ulpan lawns an adopted meeting place where we could get together and set the world to right. And swat flies, and look upwards, drawn by the deafening sound of jets flying low above us. We’d always assumed that they were friendly, and continued with our banter untroubled as they disappeared over a hazed horizon.

Saying goodbye was hard, but after a year and a bit it was time for me to explore new horizons. And so I left, full of knowledge and different perspectives, healthy, strong, and with an overwhelming sense that I had been a part of something special.

I never did return to my job in London – ended up in the United States instead. But that is an entirely different story.
But what I would like to say now, that I didn’t get to say then to all those people who supported me, laughed and cried with me, is this: ‘Thank you for a wonderful experience and for all of your kindness and generosity. Good luck and every success with whatever you are engaged in now. Where ever you may be, I hope the memories bring you just as much joy as they still do me.

Happily remembered, never to be forgotten, long live the days of the pioneering spirit.

Check out other great articles from Alienated Nation
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BLW Interview w/ Charlie Hunnam talks about his favorite King Arthur film

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