I went to a BBQ at my friend Joslyn’s house. And Joslyn is kind of known for her pies. She makes these insane pies from her grandmother’s recipes, where the crust has thousands of layers due to the industrial strength Crisco she gets. On the rare occassions my husband is free to come with him, I don’t have the heart to point out to him that technically, since he’s a vegetarian Buddhist, he really shouldn’t eat them, since Crisco is lard is ANIMAL FAT (mmmm). You know, that whole Transmigration of Souls thing.
Her party was fun. There were eight-year-olds, so I hung out with them and ended up ignoring the majority of adults. The girl Jet is going to science camp where they’re learning to make bubble gum (dude, can I quit my job to make gum?) and she and her brother amused themselves collecting beer bottles caps (just don’t share that with Child Protection Services) and tricking people into taking beer bottles filled with water.
Joslyn made this phenomenal strawberry rhubarb pie and her husband made three kinds of homemade ice cream. And it was, as I promised, incredibly delicious. But I kept thinking about the store-bought key lime pie the kids mom Tanya bought, even though I know what it’ll taste like, I was thinkng of stealing a sliver…and this is b/c…I am pathetic. When Joslyn reads this, I hope she won’t be offended, b/c this not about her cooking (are you kidding? She made me an apple pie once for my birthday and I ate almost all of it in two days. SICK, and yet strangely wonderful.) but I am one of those retarded people who always wonder about the unopened door, the path not taken, I can’t be all content with the choice I did make. Like when I chose to get a fattening item with my friend Jesse, I ordered mac and cheese (delish). And while I enjoyed it, i couldn’t ignore the voice in my head that kept saying “I should have ordered the calamari.” I’m such a haunted soul.