#6: All right, fine. I'm 23. There. Are you happy now?
Well, last Monday was the (duh, duh, duuuuuuh) birthday. I am now officially old. Unless you are past thirty, like most of the people in my office, in which case, I am officially young, sprightly and not allowed to bitch about my age. Not that that would stop me.
I celebrated last Saturday with my family by making them all French toast (or shall I say "Freedom" toast? No. I do not think I shall). They got me a fabulous Kitchen Aid mixer that I've already used to make cookies. Of course, this means that my house was plagued with an infestation of delicious chocolate chip cookies, which kept my leftover birthday cake and pumpkin pie company. I am not allowing myself to eat these sweets of course. The plethora of fatty foods on the holiday horizon scares me. Especially since I have been oh so lazy about going to the gym. I'm going to go tonight. I swear.
I was taken out to dinner on my actual birthday night to one of my favorite restaurants to be properly wined and dined. The person who took me out wishes not to appear in this newsletter so we will call him Sir Not Appearing in This Column. (Any Monty Python fans out there? Anyone? Anyone? Your loss.)
After much deliberation over which exotic food to try, I bit the bullet and ordered the nightly special - Mahi Mahi. It's dolphin fish. Which, I found out, are not at all related to the cute and cuddly mammals of "Flipper" fame.
I don't usually eat fish - I have an issue with the smell, consistency and those little tiny bones that find their way into your mouth and you don't realize it until you are crunching down on them. Then of course you realize you are eating bones and your taste for anything fleshy just flies out the window. (Okay maybe you don't react like this, but I do. I'm a vegetarian at heart. I'm just too lazy to keep up the diet. That and tofu is icky.) Besides the pungent odor that followed the dish to our table screaming "THEY ORDERED FISH OVER HERE!" (it was a rude little odor) the Mahi Mahi was really good. I wouldn't go as far as saying it tasted like chicken, but the spicy sauce was excellent and the fish was so tender you could cut it with a fork. And no bones. Yay!
Of course, in true Heather form, I missed my mouth while trying to take a drink of water during dinner and ended up flooding the table and my clothes - all to the extreme amusement of those around me. I also kept loosing the innards of the pot stickers we ordered as I tried to get them from the plate to my mouth. Sigh. Really, you can't take me anywhere.
Friday night was my "I refuse to get older but want an excuse to party" party. Essentially an Unbirthday party, but with a certain "Me" flare to it. Unfortunately, not as many people showed up as I would have liked (You party-missers know who you are and yes, you should feel bad). But I had a good time anyway. How could I not? The company was excellent (well, it could have been more excellent if some of you had decided to show up. That's right - cower in your guilt!) and the guests finished the evil cookies that snuck into my kitchen.
However, I was disappointed in the overall lack of consumption at the party. I had several fine male specimen present and they did not even manage to finish one of the delicious dishes that I concocted specifically for the party. Not only that, but they didn't finish the beer I bought either! So now I am left with the majority of two 24-packs of cheap beer that I will be forced to lug with me to each of the subsequent parties I have been invited to this month, begging people to take them off my hands. Now tell me, what is the good of having male friends who are self-professed bottomless pits if they don't finish off the food you want to get rid of? Applicants for new male friends/human garbage disposals are now being accepted.
Happy Holidays!
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Well, last Monday was the (duh, duh, duuuuuuh) birthday. I am now officially old. Unless you are past thirty, like most of the people in my office, in which case, I am officially young, sprightly and not allowed to bitch about my age. Not that that would stop me.
I celebrated last Saturday with my family by making them all French toast (or shall I say "Freedom" toast? No. I do not think I shall). They got me a fabulous Kitchen Aid mixer that I've already used to make cookies. Of course, this means that my house was plagued with an infestation of delicious chocolate chip cookies, which kept my leftover birthday cake and pumpkin pie company. I am not allowing myself to eat these sweets of course. The plethora of fatty foods on the holiday horizon scares me. Especially since I have been oh so lazy about going to the gym. I'm going to go tonight. I swear.
I was taken out to dinner on my actual birthday night to one of my favorite restaurants to be properly wined and dined. The person who took me out wishes not to appear in this newsletter so we will call him Sir Not Appearing in This Column. (Any Monty Python fans out there? Anyone? Anyone? Your loss.)
After much deliberation over which exotic food to try, I bit the bullet and ordered the nightly special - Mahi Mahi. It's dolphin fish. Which, I found out, are not at all related to the cute and cuddly mammals of "Flipper" fame.
I don't usually eat fish - I have an issue with the smell, consistency and those little tiny bones that find their way into your mouth and you don't realize it until you are crunching down on them. Then of course you realize you are eating bones and your taste for anything fleshy just flies out the window. (Okay maybe you don't react like this, but I do. I'm a vegetarian at heart. I'm just too lazy to keep up the diet. That and tofu is icky.) Besides the pungent odor that followed the dish to our table screaming "THEY ORDERED FISH OVER HERE!" (it was a rude little odor) the Mahi Mahi was really good. I wouldn't go as far as saying it tasted like chicken, but the spicy sauce was excellent and the fish was so tender you could cut it with a fork. And no bones. Yay!
Of course, in true Heather form, I missed my mouth while trying to take a drink of water during dinner and ended up flooding the table and my clothes - all to the extreme amusement of those around me. I also kept loosing the innards of the pot stickers we ordered as I tried to get them from the plate to my mouth. Sigh. Really, you can't take me anywhere.
Friday night was my "I refuse to get older but want an excuse to party" party. Essentially an Unbirthday party, but with a certain "Me" flare to it. Unfortunately, not as many people showed up as I would have liked (You party-missers know who you are and yes, you should feel bad). But I had a good time anyway. How could I not? The company was excellent (well, it could have been more excellent if some of you had decided to show up. That's right - cower in your guilt!) and the guests finished the evil cookies that snuck into my kitchen.
However, I was disappointed in the overall lack of consumption at the party. I had several fine male specimen present and they did not even manage to finish one of the delicious dishes that I concocted specifically for the party. Not only that, but they didn't finish the beer I bought either! So now I am left with the majority of two 24-packs of cheap beer that I will be forced to lug with me to each of the subsequent parties I have been invited to this month, begging people to take them off my hands. Now tell me, what is the good of having male friends who are self-professed bottomless pits if they don't finish off the food you want to get rid of? Applicants for new male friends/human garbage disposals are now being accepted.
Happy Holidays!
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posted by Sun at 11:30 AM
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