And Other Stories

I made a cheesecake for Miss D, as mentioned in the previous three thousand entries. I also HATE cheesecake, so I wasn’t sure how it was going to turn out. As I always do when baking, I tasted the batter throughout the process and each time I tasted it, I made a horrible face. So I figured it had to be on the right track.
At the party, when it came time to serve the cake, I made Betty Nebraska carry it for me because I was shaking too much. I was just so nervous it was going to be awful and ruin the cake portion of the birthday party. We put the candles on and sang our girl a rousing version of Happy Birthday. As I cut the cake, people crowded around the bar for their slice. So there I was, cutting the cheesecake and placing slices on plates, when I accidentally got a bit on my finger. Out of habit, I licked the cake off my finger and then made a HORRIBLE face. Unfortunately, two people across the bar saw this and, when asked a few seconds later if they wanted cake, both hurriedly declined.
In the end, it turned out to be their loss. Everyone LOVED the cake and I was told it was the best cheesecake in the world. So let this be a notice to you all. If you want me to make you a cheesecake, I will make you one hell of a cheesecake. And I will not eat a single bite of it because cheesecake is the worst dessert in the whole world.
You’re welcome.
The party was fantastic. So many people showed up to love on Miss D and send her happily into the next year of her life. I saw people I hadn’t seen in months and I met some wonderful new people, which was lovely. And at least 4 people told me they’d seen something in the past few months that had reminded them of me. On that list?
-Lonestar beer
-Pork rinds
Alida Moore: Bringing the klassy since 1981.
This morning I had brunch with some friends from high school who happened to be in Seattle for the weekend. I hadn’t seen a couple of these boys since before graduation, so it was great to share some bacon and catch up. Two of these boys especially are dear to my heart. You see, they were both responsible for making my senior prom awesome.
Matt Saunders was my best friend in high school. We’d been friends since 5th grade and he was my first tiny kiss, in the back of a van on the way to a drama competition in the 7th grade. (He claimed the van went over a bump and he fell over into my lips. It was awesome. And terrifying. Because you know, I was young.) He was a super punk rock skater boy, so cute, and played in a band (Fatt Saunders and the Fabulous Cellulite Boys. Or at least they were until his mom heard the name and got mad, saying it was degrading to people with glandular issues and made him change it.)
Anyway, Matt Saunders and I did everything together so when it came time to go shopping for my prom dress and my bff Jill was busy, I begged Matt Saunders to go with me. He balked. Dress shopping interfered with his punk rock skater image, apparently. I finally convinced him by promising to have a dress, shoes, and jewelry purchased within one hour. He bet me I wouldn’t be able to do it. Loser had to buy lunch at Bennigan’s. I won, with 13 minutes to spare, purchasing the 3rd dress I tried on, a dress that was as lovely as it was purple. Spaghetti strap, empire waist, ball gown style skirt and tiny diamond belt under the bustline. Beautiful. (I had the chicken tenders, FYI.)
Unfortunately for me, the dress ended up being the bane of my senior prom existence. It was already a rough night because I was going dateless. Stupid Matt Saunders swore he wouldn’t go to prom, so when Erica Bonner asked him, it was no big deal since he wasn’t going. HE WASN’T GOING. But then in our senior English class, our teacher thought it was awful he was going to miss his senior prom, so she offered the entire class 10 extra credit points in our research papers if Matt Saunders agreed to go to prom. He had no choice but to go or face the wrath of 23 angry teenagers with senioritis. And since dumb old Erica Bonner had already asked him, he had to say yes to her. So there went my safety date. Stupid Matt Saunders. Stupid Erica Bonner. (Who is actually a Facebook friend and quite a lovely person. I’ve since forgiven her for stealing my safety date. Nearly. Besides, Matt Saunders and I have a marriage pact and she can’t swoop in there and steal him for that. It doesn’t even matter that she married the love of her life years ago. When we turn 40, Matt Saunders is mine, Erica Bonner. MINE.)
So there I was, on my way to prom with a bunch of my friends, all who were coupled up. The waiter at the fancy restaurant couldn’t believe I was going to prom dateless and was a douche about it the whole night. “Oh, honey! Where’s your date? YOU’RE ALONE?? OOOH, HONEY, HOW AWFUL FOR YOU!! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU DON’T HAVE A DATE!” and then throughout the evening, kept PATTING MY SHOULDER and winking at me to reassure the poor dateless loser that it would be okay. Douche. Bag.
You’re probably thinking it couldn’t get much worse than this. You are also wrong. It was way worse. My dress, y’all. My beautiful purple dress in the shimmery fabric? It was apparently some weird hybrid, part dress, part SWEAT WICKING ATHLETIC MATERIAL. Within the first 20 minutes of wearing it, the stupid dress had sucked the sweat from my armpits and I had HUGE dark purple circles under my arms. It was so bad I spent the entire evening with my arms pressed against my sides, shoulders slightly elevated.
I looked like I was frozen in an eternal shrug.
Enter Joe Ferrell. Sweet, saving grace Joe Ferrell, who saw me hunched over with my arms wrapped around my body and assumed I must have been freezing.
Joe Ferrell: Oh, you look like you’re cold! Are you cold? Do you want my jacket?
And with that simple move, he saved my prom. I got to dance and mingle and smile and lift my arms and not worry about pit stains. And then he asked me to slow dance with him and I was in LOVE. I still have a polaroid picture someone took of the two of us, me grinning like a maniac in a humongous tuxedo jacket.
God bless Joe Ferrell. I tried to give him my bacon this morning; that’s how grateful I was. And when the other boys at brunch started to make fun of him, I might have waved my knife in the air and shouted, “YOU LEAVE SWEET JOE FERRELL ALONE. HE SAVED MY SENIOR PROM.”
And it was at that moment I realized he had no idea what I was talking about. Sweet, beautiful Joe Ferrell.
Right now I am making my second birthday cake of the weekend. It’s my friend Dreamweaver’s birthday dinner tonight and I’m making a triple layer chocolate raspberry cake with a dark chocolate ganache glaze. And it smells amazing.
Last night, as I walked into our house after the party, I glanced at the clock over the stove. It was 12:55am and my first thought was, “Oh, yay! Early night tonight” And then I giggled because in what world is 1am an early night? But the answer is: in my world. And I love my world. I love my world and all the crazy people swirling around in my life. People who eat cheesecake and go prom dress shopping and offer girls their tuxedo jackets.
And I love them all.