So that whole bird fiasco from last week happened like an hour before we had a couple of friends come over for a dinner party. I was all scared the smell would travel through the house and concentrate itself in the dining room.
Wouldn’t that be a nice way to impress some folks?
“My Crissy, the wine does go well with the chicken. Is that a hint of evil I smell?”
“Why yes it is! Satan wiped his ass on our house!”
But luckily it disappeared rather quickly with a can of Raid and a butt load of bleach. So our house smelled like an exterminator’s swimming pool instead.
But better than death and assholes, right?
So I thought about cancelling our dinner party for all of like 2.5 seconds, how much longer are we going to grieve for the little guys–we have to move on at some point, and decided to go ahead with the plan.
Everyone had lots of fun, and I’d show you pictures but really if you get all excited when I show up looking SEXY! one day then I know you cannot handle it.
It was that kind of a party.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!
No it wasn’t.
You still can’t handle it though.
Anyway, I sort of love to have dinner parties. We do this really fun thing we call Pot of Crap™ with our neighbors. Michele makes some crap (only last night she weaseled out and ordered a pizza. Hi Michele!), I make some crap, and I bring it over to their house and we all eat some crap together.
It’s fun and we dirty her dishes and not mine.
I mean it’s win/win, really.
I use a lot of Weight Watchers recipes. They’re all very, very, good but for some reason they sometimes make Mister throw up in his mouth a little bit.
Last night I made this:
It’s Moo Shu Tofu.
But when I told Mister about it he was less than happy. I think he said something like “What the fuck is Moo Shu Tofu? Oh come on! Do I have to eat it too? What’s Michele making?”
It’s vegan, it’s Weight Watchers, it looks like a plate of vomit next to Michele’s pizza, but what’s not to love?
I don’t get it.
Boys are fussy.