Gather 'round children, and listen to the tale of my addiction.

Yesterday I got off work from job 2 at 3 p.m. I drove home in the gloomy fog, looking forward to going grocery shopping and zoning out in front of Invader Zim for awhile with a small project. When I got to my apartment, I realized (and this will come a total shock to those who know me personally) that I had forgotten my apartment key. Totally out of character, I know! I buzzed at the door but there was no answer, so I decided to rest my head against the cool glass and daydream until the door opened. Shortly afterwards one of the frat style boys on the second floor took pity on me and came down to let me in. Apparently a whole bunch of them are moving in, because there was an awful lot of furniture going in and out of their balcony door. There were people standing in a truck bed handing up shelving units. All of the boys look exactly alike. Almost all trendy Ohio boys between 19 and 30 have a certain look. You know, nylon track pants with a side stripe, a grey hooded sweatshirt advertising some Ohio college, athletic shoes or Adidas slides, and a $50 haircut carefully styled with gel AFTER getting out of the shower to look as though it hasn't been styled at all. (I would not doubt these guys were dating the girls who get up, shower, blow dry and straighten their hair, apply full faces of makeup and earrings, and then get back into hoodies and athletic pants with ass-writing.)

Anyway, they were very polite and even kicked the beer and mountain dew cases out of the way to let me in, which I greatly appreciated. I made it past the rubble to my door where I knocked and knocked. There was no answer, so I called Bryan on my cell phone, where I learned that he was actually in Cleveland with Harrison "the Stallion" Ambs, and would not be home for 20 minutes. They both advised me to do something "hot."

I thought about it for a minute, considered taking a nap in the hallway, and then realized that I should be working away from hobo behavior instead of embracing it. So I went to the Yarn Barn in Avon's historical district.

Let me explain Avon's "historical" district. There is a "historical" shopping center that was erected three years ago. The antique store is noveau. I live in an area where people try to reproduce "quaint" with money and crappy construction. This is called old-world charm, and all of the parking spots are made for compact cars when 90% of the residents drive SUVs. It's laughable. The yarn stores are nice havens in the middle where people are fully willing to embrace their nerdiness. The Yarn Barn is not actually called the Yarn Barn, but is rather a group of two buildings, one of which is actually a barn. I walked into the smaller, an old cottage which I believe is probably the only authentic historical building in the city limits. I walked in and said I wanted sock yarn and needles. The clerk held up a bag next to my ear and shook it, and a faint tinkling sounded from within. Sock needles! Perfectly sized for making an elegent merino blue pair of dress socks, thin enough for spring but warm enough to keep out the damp! I purchased them, along with some gorgeous cobalt yarn that matched the fog outside. I was charmed.

I drove home, was buzzed into my apartment at long last, and found the most gorgeous pattern ever. I learned how to cast on toe-first! No sewing! I learned how to cable (thanks in part to a brief lesson weeks ago from a Miss Jennifer Williams) and the finest, most delicate socks I'd ever worked on were taking form under my hands. I went to put tip protectors on the ends of one, so that none would fall off and botch my work...when one of my sock needles SNAPPED. It snapped in two pieces. I was HORRIFIED! Now, on the weekend when this is my only time to knit...no! NOOOO!

It was too late to do anything. So this morning, I got my ass up, cleaned the apartment, bought toilet paper, and set out to find a replacement. After much driving around I realized that no one in the immediate area carried them, and I didn't have the time nor money to go to the yarn barn.

So I'm pissed. Shocked and pissed. How can knitting stores not carry size one sock needles?! Socks are fundamental! They're classic! How can they not stock them??

In the midst of my horror and anguish I realized that most people don't stand in retail outlets, mouths agape, cursing everyone who doesn't knit socks. This is not normal behavior.

I think I have a problem.

I mean, aside from the problem of not having a damn sock needle. I NEEDED that one. I'm doing CABLES for crying out loud!

Right. Not normal behavior at all.

Remember yesterday? You and dad came over and played with the animals and we went to the grocery store and bought soup, Reuben makings, sushi and various kinds of alcohol? That was fun. I'm sorry I almost forgot to give your sweater back to you at the end of the night. That would have been tragic. I distinctly remember putting it up on the cat tower, right next to the broken ironing board/coat rack you were using for your coat. Man, I sure can be forgetful sometimes. Don't you hate when you forget things?
Yeah, that's never fun.

Oh, speaking of forgetting things:




IT'S MY SWEATER NOW, WOMAN! AH HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

Labels: stealing

Look at this face. Would you believe that this is the kind of face that would eat the last page of a cherished book mere hours before I got to finish reading it?

Labels: parenting, reading

Hey there! You, over there! You, with the newborn baby you are about to name after yourself. Let's have a conversation, shall we?

You weren't REALLY thinking of making that poor new human being a Junior, were you? Destining him (or maybe her, but probably not) to a lifetime of being a diminutive? For shame!

I suppose if you were naming your child in honor of a favorite relative that would be acceptable. Traditional family names are OK, I guess, except that I got saddled with a "traditional" family middle name of the sort that IMMEDIATELY upon my birth allowed my grandfather to stride in and bestow upon me my very first inappropriate nickname: Fanny Liz. Maybe you should think really hard before you force a treasured family name upon someone.

What's that, you say? Your son isn't a III or an IV or other such numeral? I'm confused. I thought you were passing on a family name. I guess I can see that by "family" name all you are really doing is naming that poor helpless infant after yourself, you big egotistical prick. What did YOU do that was so great? Don't you want your son to do better than you? Don't you want your son's achievements to stand on their own, rather than years down the road people saying "Yeah! That guy was awesome! Wait, or was that his dad?"

You can't live vicariously through that poor baby, you know. Aren't you creative enough to come up with another name? There are millions out there! They're all so meaningful! Pick one! Any name but your own.

Do you know what you're about to do to that poor baby? Years from now you and that child are going to be receiving each others' mail. Bills will be lost, credit scores will be horribly intertwined forever, and arguments over who that prize money was REALLY for are going to haunt you in a little under 18 years.

I can't believe that you would assume that you are such a model of human form that you would name another being after yourself. Do you want to be George Foreman? You're not going to have EIGHT juniors, are you?

Let's put a little time into the baby-naming process, shall we? Because, while I'm sure Reginald Lauren Bottomhumper is a fabulous name it its own right, your child will probably eventually want his own identity.

Down with "Juniors!"

Tonight we ate at Las Barras in Avon Lake. It was exceedingly good, the food was authentic and the service was excellent. My only issue is with their Margarita sizing. See, a small was almost $5, a medium was $6 and a large was $11, so I decided the most economical size would be a medium.

The "medium" came in a fishbowl and tasted VERY strongly of tequila. So strongly that by the time I finished it I realized I was quite silly.

So while my intention was only to have one drink, I guess I can say that 1. at least I wasn't driving and 2. I'm really glad I didn't order the large.

I think that'll be the new margarita place from now on. Plus they make a pretty delicious chili rellano which is a thousand times more delicious than it sounds.

Dear James Blunt,

I hear you music every day at my second job. It comes on over the PA system, those first soft, sad piano chords with you whispering your chorus over them. And then...that song. That horrible, insipid, creepy song about you trying to pick up women on the subway. Why, James Blunt, why?

Let me refresh your memory, and post the song lyrics to "You're Beautiful" right here:

" My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw you face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Fucking high,
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw you face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.
You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you."


Now, I am aware that the music industry is in fact an industry, and I'm willing to accept that you probably did not write these actual lyrics yourself. Still, I think maybe you should take the time to realize this song is complete and utter crap, and that you are lending your good name to such horrible drivel.

Let's focus on the words first, since I find them them even more offensive than the whiny tone of voice you use throughout the whole damn song.

In the first stanza you introduce the idea of the song. You're riding the subway and you see a hot chick and you express your thoughts thusly "man, I'd like to hit that. Snap, she already has a dude! No worries, brah, I got a plan!" Obviously you sing it usingly slightly more subtle words, because if you're going to entice some random girl off a subway and into your bedroom you're going to have to go for the sensitive guy aspect. A plan, huh? I'd like to see that.

Translation of the chorus: "You have a nice ass, I've decided I want to date you solely on the basis of that. You could be an axe murderer for all I know but you're pretty so I don't care. Whine whine whine, why isn't my whining working? I'm all hung up over a girl I've never spoken to, boo fucking hoo."

In stanza two you say that you're "fucking high." I'm sure as far as the song goes this is supposed to be poetic, maybe you're high on love or life or anything that isn't technically illegal. I don't believe you. I believe you were taking the late train to Burger King. You were drunk and stoned and horny, and you were hitting on women who were clearly in a relationship. Is this part of your plan, James Blunt? The plan you reference in stanza 1 but never finish up with any sort of resolving solution? Yeah, go eat your fries, you stoner.

And THEN, THEN you go on to say that an "angel" decided you two were destined to be together. REALLY? An ANGEL you say? Is "angel" a code for the voice in your head telling you to stalk this poor girl through the subway system?

Pardon me, James Blunt, but I do feel a lot of malevolence towards these lyrics.
I may have misinterpreted them. Maybe you're not a dangerous rapist-drug abuser as your lyrics suggest. Perhaps you're just one of those whiny guys who likes to stare at girls and cry about how you never have a girlfriend without even going up and talking to her. You're that guy who likes to obsess and write creepy songs about women you KNOW you won't have a chance with because it's easier than striking up a conversation.

Here's some advice for you, Mr. Blunt. You think you "shared a moment," huh? You want to see this girl again? Try taking the same train at the same time. She's probably a commuter. Maybe put an ad on Craigslist. Put up a flyer and an email address in the damn subway station for crying out loud. Don't be an impotent weenie.

I think maybe my hatred of your song is due in part to your voice. It's not a bad voice...it's rather distinctive and I think your plaintive sort of whine-yodel thing works very well for your breakup song "You Have Been the One," which manages to be sad and yet still rational and sort of upbeat all at the same time, even if it is the sort of cock-rock song a guy would write solely to get into someone's pants. However, being sad over a failed relationship and stalking a girl on the subway are two different things, and your singing style does not reflect that.

Lastly I will focus on your video. I think your video sheds light on the "plan" you so boldly refer to in stanza one. Remember the video? You're dressed like a college kid, and you have that sort of trendy bedhead thing going, and you're looking directly into the camera. During the song you methodically strip and proceed to jump off a cliff.

Woah, slow down there, James Blunt! There's no reason to kill yourself over some hot "chick" you saw on the subway. Let's talk about the subway for a minute. A LOT of people ride the subway. That chick might have been a dude. You're probably better off.

In conclusion, I really hate this song. I'm still willing to give you personally a shot when it comes to music likeability, but you're going to have to work on it. Consider this a warning.

Sincerely,
Stephanie

I decided not to go in to work today because I felt like death when I woke up this morning. Not Death in the Terry Pratchett sense (DEATH WHO TALKS IN ALL CAPITALS) but death as in I wanted to drink NyQuil and sleep all day.

I realized shortly after making this decision that my license had expired and if I was going to renew it I'd damn well better do it today. So I did. There was a bit of a hassel about why I was going off the organ donor registry (I'm not eligible, and you'd think that wouldn't be a hard thing to understand) and about the vision test because the vision dealey kept moving while I was trying to squint at the ant-sized letters. Also, I didn't change any part of my physical description, so my weight and hair color are both sort of comically wrong, but I don't care. It was forty degrees in there, their machines weren't working correctly, and in true BMV form I managed to leave with a picture that makes me look drunk, fat and really lopsided in my 1984 style jean jacket. I blame the way I sat down and was startled by a troll doll they have above the shitty webcam they're using. It's definately a picture where I'm sort of obviously looking at something off to the side and it appears that I'm thinking "this is really stupid, also, my face looks even bigger than it did when I was on a much higher dose of steroids, how bizarre." It will go in the recesses of my purse to be dug out only when purchasing alcohol at places where I am unknown and for the occasional traffic stop, not that I'm planning on getting pulled over any time soon.

Now I will go crash with a book and some tea, and sleep for the rest of the day, knowing that at least if a cop knocks down my door my I.D. will be updated.

Predicted highest temperature for the day: 45
Chance of rain: 80%

Actual current temperature at 7:19 am.: 55
Also, it is currently raining.


Forecasts? Pshaw! Lake Erie and Canada decide our forecasts!

1. What is/are your favorite yarn/s to knit with? What fibers do you absolutely *not* like? I really love working with merino and cotton. I hate chunky chenille, it made my hands hurt and covered me in little red fuzzies. I also don't like those novelty fringey type yarns, they're very annoying to work with.

2. What do you use to store your needles/hooks in?
I'm using an old tackle box for the ones of reasonable size, anything with projects on it or anything really big gets stuck in a skein and goes in the big Tupperware bin.

3. How long have you been knitting & how did you learn? Would you consider your skill level to be beginner, intermediate or advanced? I started when I was 12 or so. My dad helped me learn from a book. I picked it up again about six months ago. I'm going to say I'm sort of a stupid intermediate. I'm not afraid of challening projects, I just don't have the time right now to sit down and learn them. After May, when I am down to one job, I will knit much more.

4. Do you have an Amazon or other online wish list? No, I don't know what I'd put on it. Terry Pratchett books, maybe.

5. What's your favorite scent? Food cooking. Especially when it's something I've cooked. I'm sure if it smells good that means it's not going to kill me when it's finished. Pretty sure, at least.

6. Do you have a sweet tooth? Favorite candy? I do not have a sweet tooth. I do have a craving for those jolly rancher candies with the liquid fillings in them. They tend to be sort of sour though, so I suppose they wouldn't satisfy an actuall "sweet" tooth.

7. What other crafts or Do-It-Yourself things do you like to do? I like to cook.

8. What kind of music do you like? Can your computer/stereo play MP3s? I like a lot of 90s alternative, 70s funk, and some obsure British bands. Makes for an odd playlist. Yes, send me MP3s.

9. What's your favorite color(s)? Any colors you just can't stand? I like green and black. I don't really like red. Well...not true. I don't really like red on me.

10. What is your family situation? Do you have any pets? I have a husband, two cats and a puppy named Steve.

11. Do you wear scarves, hats, mittens or ponchos? I wear hats and scarves all the time, even in the summer. I'm a terminal glove-loser.

12. What is/are your favorite item/s to knit? Items for me!

13. What are you knitting right now? "Cleaves" from knitty.com, and a sort of chunky lilac tank top. Oh, and a lacey shawl made out of novelty pink disco ball looking yarn.

14. Do you like to receive handmade gifts? Yes, send me gifts.

15. Do you prefer straight or circular needles? Straight or double-pointed needles, in bamboo! Bamboo, bamboo, I like to type bamboo.

16. Do you own a yarn winder and/or swift? No, I let the cats unwind my yarn and then I scramble around and rewind it in any order possible before they can swallow it : (

17. How old is your oldest UFO? Ummmm......five months.

18. What is your favorite holiday? Thanksgiving and Halloween are both near and dear.

19. Is there anything that you collect? Lovers? Black knee high nylons. I buy them cheaply and in bulk, because they can be worn with anything.

20. Any books, yarns, needles or patterns out there you are dying to get your hands on? What knitting magazine subscriptions do you have? Nah, I'm a browser. If I see something I covet I'll buy it individually or try to find something comparable for free.

21. Are there any new techniques you'd like to learn? I'm going to learn cabled knitting soon. Soon!

22. Are you a sock knitter? What are your foot measurements? I knit many socks in the quest to make Ben's giant wool "Penis Envy" socks. I discovered I liked it but have knit none for myself. My foot is 9.5 inches long and my thick man ankle is 8.5 inches around. I like knee socks (for those of you who want to make or buy me some!) and from heel to knee is 18."

23. When is your birthday? March six. I just turned 25 19. *shifty eyes*

Today I turn 25 19. I'm not overly thrilled about it. Sure, I'm a quarter of a century old 19 year old on the outside, but on the inside what that really means is I'm going from an 80 year old woman to an 81 year old woman, and that really sucks.

What does one do when she is 25 19 on the outside (Lovell would say 13 on the outside but he's a drinker) and 81 on the inside?

One knits, drinks tea, watches Britcoms, reads Terry Pratchett and Jasper Fford, complains about the weather and young people today, has too many pets, eats oatmeal, wakes up at the crack of dawn and carries a bag of 100 prescriptions, all to do with symptoms that are only vaguely related to other things. Also, I spend a fair amount of time fighting with the Social Security people, who REFUSE to stop paying me even though I am technically working more than full time and have been doing so since last June.

Yes, I am elderly. On a good note, Harrison "the Stallion" Ambs' birthday was yesterday, and I hear when Stallions get to a certain age they "put them out to pasture." At least I'm not the only crippled horse stumbling around this two-bit town.

To commemorate, here is a bit of a conversation Harrison and I had via text message yesterday while we were both "working":

First, I sent Harrison a rather inappropriate picture message at 7:30 in the morning to say "Happy Birthday."
Harry: "That's the last time I open your messages on the bus."
Me: "Aw, you're no fun."
Harry: "Oh I'm eight inches of fun. I'm just saying I should have known better."
Harry: "What? No pithy comeback?"
Me: "Eight inches eh? Sorry, I prefer my men metric."
Harry: "Metric eh? Do you want it in furlongs as well?"
Me: "Oh baby, I want in leagues. Give it to me like an 1800s Canadian!"

So we see that as far as dirty mentally elderly people go, Harrison and I are up there, and that makes me feel better.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go fetch my cane, linament and plastic hat before I go to work.

Labels: idiocy

Am I the only person in the country who thinks those "Truth" commercials are absolutely terrible? I think you know the ones I'm talking about. The "Truth" commercials are the anti-tobacco PSAs which use a sort of performance art twist to advertise the point that really, marketing people have WAAAAAYYY too much spare time. They're right up there with the commercials about people who smoke pot, the commercials where a girl tokes up and gets in a car and then...prepare to laugh...speeds down the street and doesn't see the old man trying to cross the street so she runs him down. I believe the first time I saw that commercial I actually DID laugh out loud because I was trying to picture my friend's old college roommate (the one who named his goldfish "Endo" and used his fishbowl for bong water) doing anything at more than tortoise speed. I can't imagine it. It took him three minutes just to get out a complete sentence, and a trip to the corner store could take a whole weekend. He would have braked for individual air molecules, I can't believe there's no way he wouldn't have braked for an entire person.

I think the pot commercial people (they might have even been the Truth people, now that I think about it) realized their commercials were absolutely hilarious and at some point they started producing more honest stuff, showing a bunch of geeks sitting on a couch being stupid and eating lots of snacks while everyone else went out and did fun stuff and got laid. See, now THAT'S a commercial that speaks to 17 year olds. They don't care about "peer pressure." They care about panties and how to get into some.

Of the Truth commercials, I have seen only one that doesn't make me want to light up in spite. It features a man singing "you don't always die from tobacco" through his stoma and electronic voice box. See people? That's realism. There's a commercial that says "here. This sucks. You're only laughing because you're horrified and it calms the terror." Some smarmy ass little girl with an eyebrow piercing talking about how she gets in peoples' faces and yells "you shouldn't SMOKE" because she's so punk rock isn't going to endear me to rude nonsmokers. I suppose me getting in that girl's face and screaming "you shouldn't pierce your eyebrow, your face will AGE UNEVENLY" would be wrong, but I think it sort of equates to the same thing. I know a handfull of smokers, and I will take them politely standing downwind from me any day, compared to some militant little brat who really needs to learn some manners.

I think people know that smoking is bad. Let's not insult peoples' intelligence by putting baby dolls in melting ice sculptures of pregnant women (I don't even remember the point of that one) or by implying that the mom who takes her kid to a restaurant with a smoking section is nothing more than a slow sadistic child abuser. Let's be serious. Smoking is a HABIT. It's addicting. Nicotine becomes an instant gratification thing. So, let's think about some instant gratification reasons not to smoke.

It's expensive. Show the working class guy shelling out $400 a month to give himself a cough and a squint struggling to pay his rent or to go on that vacation. It smells pretty bad...show the girl on the date who gets rejected for tasting like an ashtray. Heck, show a time lapse slide show of the faces of people who smoke, showing the mouth lines and the skin tone and the teeth after only a few years.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting that the health risks aren't very terrible and very real. I just think that people are perfectly aware of them, and using bratty teenagers as spokespeople is probably not the greatest idea on the planet. I get enough of people lecturing all the time, I don't want to see it on TV too. I'm pretty sure there are better ways of convincing people to quit smoking than blaming "big tobacco" and implying people didn't have a choice in the first place when they first started because it's all the evil corporations' faults. (Well...maybe the people from the 1940s were really misled, but come on, can anyone under 60 honestly say they had no idea smoking was bad? Seriously?)

I don't know, maybe I'm the only person who thinks the commercials are dumb. I'm sure they're good intentioned, but they're just so irritating I can't stand them. They really make me want to walk in on a filming wearing a Joe Camel shirt. Surely that's not the effect they wanted.

Last night was Laura's bridal shower and bachellorette party, and I think was a lot of fun. Everyone did a lovely job, and we all shared the work and ate lots and lots of cake. If you're in North Central Ohio, Gibson's in Oberlin makes a mean white cake with a raspberry filling.

It was a good night, and Laura made an excellent bachellorette, and I think she and Andy will have a good time together, at least they will once their housemates leave. She's also incredibly low maintenance and doesn't seem neurotic or picky at all about her wedding or shower or anything of that nature, despite the fact that she's told us a few times that she's going to be a crazy control freak. I certainly haven't seen it yet!

One word of advice though: avoid shooters. They're higher alcohol content than you would expect, but not high ENOUGH to be "good" and will leave you with a headache like you wouldn't believe. It was almost a schnapps headache, but without the nausea. Maybe it's the food coloring, or the preservatives? Ugh.

And now I am going to drink coffee, watch Mythbusters and Knitty Gritty, knit on my sweater and wonder why my hair doesn't look like Nicole Kidman's in "Bewitched."

My friend Laura is getting married in a few weeks, and I am a bridesmaid. My duties include wearing a pink dress, processing, and helping out with the bridal shower tomorrow. Now, I've only thrown one bridal shower in my time, and it was for my cousin Jess. We managed to fit something like thirty women in my parents' house, and I don't remember there being food, but I know there was coffee and wine. It was a lot of fun but not really what you would call a high class affair. I didn't even HAVE a bridal shower because I hate planning things and I REALLY didn't want to spend four hours opening bags of towels and saying "awwwww!" I understand I can't hold everyone to my standards (which are very low) because I am pretty much a man without a penis when it comes to things like weddings and babies. I'm not really so sure about either, but I know both are expensive and I'd be happy if someone else just took care of the whole deal.

With the exception of Vikki and Jen, my friends are not like that. In an effort to respect Laura and her vision of a pretty princess wedding, I volunteered to make tea sandwiches for this bridal shower. Tea sandwiches! They're ladylike, they're aesthetic, they involve healthy things such as cucumber and fresh herbs. I like to try new recipes! I can whip them up in twenty minutes!

Ha ha ha. It turns out that ladylike tea sandwiches are NOT ladylike in any fashion up until that final moment when you place them on fine china and some sort of lacy table decoration. (They are also not, as I explained to my father this evening, sandwiches made with tea bags.)

Lady Sandwich Fallacies:
1. They are healthy and dainty.
2. A lady can whip them up in five minutes, in between caring for her bi-lingual twins and ironing her white lace pinafores.
3. They are dunkable.
4. A proper lady can whip them up with things she usually finds in her kitchen.
5. Sandwiches involve little to no clean-up.

Lady Sandwich Truths:
1. They contain more fat than your average Krispy Kreme doughnut. They also ooze and squish and are damn near impossible to keep inside their own bread boundaries. Currently my cucumber paste is trying to mingle with the braunschweger-goat cheese and I'm pretty sure it's going to taste as disgusting as it sounds. They also want to fall apart, something I hope will fix itself after a night in the fridge.
2. A lady can NOT whip them up in five minutes. A lady must utilize food processors, various knives, spoons, bowels, cheesecloth, a microwave oven, toothpicks and, in my case, a bottle of Fantastik spray.
3. You probably should not dunk these sandwiches in tea. They are dangerous. They will slop garlic powder and mayonnaise and onions all up in your tea and you will probably become very ill.
4. I don't know what most people keep in their fridges, but I ended up buying an awful lot of pork products and cream cheese. Don't get me wrong, I love cream cheese, but I'm lactose intolerant and I don't usually keep whole pints of it in waiting for the perfect finger food. I also do not usually carry mini rye and pumpernickle breads, nor do I carry various meat spreads.
5. My whole kitchen is now covered in flecks of dairy and various processed meats and smells like onions and bacon grease. I tried to rinse out the food processor and ended up just spraying it everywhere. The grease has caused it to fuse to the plastic surfaces, and as it is 11:30 and as I've already had one giant fishbowl margarita, I'm going to say screw it.

Also, a word of warning, if you've ever looked at Armour brand potted ham spread and thought "hmm, it's probably just like ham salad!" you should probably push that thought aside right now. I opened the tin and it was orange. Ham spread should not be that color. I tasted it and I thought I was going to lose my margarita right there over the stove. The cats wouldn't even eat it, and the cats are pretty much whores for any kind of food. . We threw it out. Armour, please take this product off the shelves.

I have to admit that tastewise the sandwiches turned out pretty good, and I hope people can at least tolerate them tomorrow. Still, next time one of my friends gets married, I'm hoping she just decides she wants something easier and with fewer ingredients, such as lasagna, or a recipe for cold fusion. Or maybe just a pizza. Doesn't anyone order pizza anymore?