Post Decoupage

There really is nothing going on in my life right now that is big enough to write an entire post about. Instead, I give you some small pieces of story, which I will glue together in this post and then cover them with a clear lacquer. Please read in a well ventilated room.

My dad makes the best stuffing in the whole entire world, and I know this because I've eaten stuffing made by about four other people and his was the best. Also because my dad is the best at everything. But anyway, I decided it would be really fun and not at all taxing in any way to host a dinner party at my house for the Liz crowd, at which I decided to serve my dad's stuffing. I requested the recipe. The problem with this technique is that there IS no recipe, much like there is no recipe for almost anything he makes. He's one of those natural cooks where everything he does turns out fabulous, and everyone proclaims his awesomeness but secretly hates him for it. So the answer to my question went something like, "Well, you know, bread cubes, some onions and celery, saute those in butter, get some italian sausage, put that in there, chicken broth, pepper, parsley, sage, rosemary, thyme, just like the song (I'm not even kidding you, he said that), couple eggs, you might need some more water. Needs to bake about an hour." Which is not so much a recipe as it is a list of ingredients, and so I was left on my own to figure out proportions of things, which I did mostly by sight as I know what the stuffing is supposed to look like. At any rate it seemed to work, and it got rave reviews and I'm going to make stuffing all the time now.

Speaking of the holiday dinner, I am so Fabulous at throwing parties that Martha Stewart should be watching MY show for ideas. This is mainly because I am insanely anal and make endless lists, and also a schedule for the entire day which actually began with the entry "Wake up". I had tasteful holiday plates, and cloth napkins with festive napkin rings, and an actual TABLECLOTH. All my flatware matched and so did my wine glasses, in which I served actual wine just like a real grown up. Candles and festive lights were our only illumination and Frank Sinatra softly crooned holiday classics from some unseen location while we chewed. All the food came out at the right time and was delicious including, it seems, the mashed potatoes. I was a little troubled about the potatoes because I think they are vile and so I've never actually made them before. And my arm almost fell right off too, from the actual mashing of them, because I kept seeing little tiny chunks and had no idea whether or not that was normal so I was trying to destroy every last one. When I was finished I had no idea if they were going to be awesome or ass because even if they are awesome they're going to taste like ass to me and knowing this I sure as hell wasn't about to sample them for no good reason. People asked for seconds, and thirds, and then they took the whole bowl home with them, so I'm assuming that's good. Though I still haven't gotten an answer about the chunks.

When people send you mixed nuts for the holidays, and the mix happens to include peanuts, everything in the bag will taste like a peanut.

Today I was at Walgreens getting a bag of Doritos for lunch and saw maybe the stupidest thing ever. They have these really ugly-ass black and grey stockings that scream "CHICAGO WHITE SOX WORLD SERIES CHAMPIONS 2005" on the side. You'd think that's the stupid part but you'd be wrong. Because stuck to each of these hideous oversized socks is a big round yellow sticker which reads, I kid you not, "$14.99 or $14.99 each". I can only assume these stickers were issued by the Department of Redundancy Department.

Melle is at it again, and this time she cut off even more of my hair and turned a good chunk of what remained a bright red-purple plumlike color. I am way extremely hot right now, enough to even overlook that extra layer around my waist, because da-ymn. Also, when I found the bartender wandering down Addison, attempting to walk from the Addison blue line stop to his car at Tai's three and a half miles away in 25 degree weather with a giant suitcase and no hat (uphill both ways) and I stopped to give him a ride, he looked at my hair and said, "Your hair looks nice," which if he's speaking directly to you means "I would totally fuck you right now" because he's one who's sparse with the compliments. Or maybe he was just grateful for the ride, it's hard to tell.

I've been having incredible spider luck lately and it's kind of scaring me because I think they're trying to lull me into a false sense of security before the big assault. But while cleaning for the holiday dinner, out of nowhere there's this GIANT SPIDER crawling around on my wall. I'm known for exaggerating the size of my eternal tormenters but in this case I don't even have to because this asshole was the size of a daddy long legs. And in a big fat hurry. I had just closed the front door when I saw him running along at a frightening clip on the adjacent wall. I screamed and stood paralyzed, as per usual. When he got to the door, though, he stopped on the molding and looked around, not with malice, but in confusion. Then it hit me and I somehow mustered up the courage to re-open the door. Through the crack of which he promptly crawled out as if he were late for his own wedding or something. I don't know if maybe he was doing recon or if he just wasn't a fan of ceramic pine trees or stockings hung by the chimney with care. Either way, he left and I was grateful.

Here is why my cousin Rick is funny: He e-mailed me to ask how things were in Chicago, so I wrote back that they were fine, I liked my apartment and my neighborhood and I had become a regular at Tai's. He answered me, "I'm glad to hear that you are a regular. I was afraid when you moved to Chicago you'd become a large."