Trying to bang out an entry here at ann-frank.diaryland.com – I just knocked my beer over. It spilled all over my pant-leg.
Perhaps the universe is telling me drinking on a Monday night is maybe not so much of a good idea.
Well, never you mind. I can bring home the six-pack and fry it up in the crock-pot, okay?
Actually, there is no beer a-stewing in the crock-pot. Just a little Szechwan chicken, veggies and rice. Never claimed I am gourmet.
It should be done in a few hours, just about the time I am ready to pass out. That is all right. It’ll keep.
And yes, I own a crock-pot –what of it? It was a Christmas gag gift from my brother a few years ago. At the time, he knew I was always making fun of the crock-pot cookin’ ladies so what better gift to bestow upon The Great Sarcastic?
At least, that is what I tell myself. Because his actual words were something like a very sincere, “well you are out of college and that means you will need things like this now.” Which of course, implies something to the effect of, “maybe if you learned to cook, you won’t be the cat owning shawl-wearing old lady that is your destiny” or perhaps even smacks a little of the “Go fix me a turkey pot pie!” But a. not really and b. my brother, that big misguided shite, was sadly, just a liiiiitle bit right.
I give you: The Office PotLuck.
Young readers of ann-frank.diaryland.com, besides relatives crawling out of the woodwork to claim family antiques once your parents pass away, The Office Pot Luck is also another tough lesson in life you may one day have to learn.
That is, should your future place of employment have some sort of Holiday Gathering where each employee is expected to chip in some sort of Food Thing, in general (and I mean, general, really) it is more accepted for the Fellas (the penis wielding kind) to all head out last minute and grab a shrimp platter/cookie/cold-cut tray/stale bunt cake or any other grocery-store-bought item.
Maybe they will even fork up the cash for the non-denominational holiday napkins. Who knows?
What I am saying is, sure as hell not many of them are going to haul in a crock-pot full of The Hott Lunch.. Or Home MadeAuntie Fiona’s Special Brownies/Sugar Cookies etc etc. No, they are not expected to cook really.
But, the ladies?
This is how this whole ann-frank Gets A Crock-Pot For Christmas thing started. My first post-college job, I was at an office-holiday-potluck-thing and the Crock-Pot recipe competition between the ladies was something fierce, I tell you. The electricity alone to keep those things plugged in and pippin’ hott would have been responsible for the collapse of Enron had they not done themselves in the first place.
So, soon after witnessing such a frightening event, I talked to my brother. He bought me a crock-pot for Christmas. Smart-ass!
I am not saying Men Do Not Cook. I am saying, they sure as hell get away with stale cookies at these functions for the most part. Yeah, that is all.
Gentlemen please feel free to reply to my e-mail - subject line: Sweeping Generalizations. Thanks.
In other holiday news. I am totally heart broken. Weeks ago I bought the nephew a super-cool remote control Spider-Man ™ monster truck for Christmas.
And just last night, I got a phone call from the Sister In Law last night telling me she is very sorry, she had no idea, but her and my brother’s friends who were in town gave the nephew his present to open while they were there this past weekend and it just so happened to be the super-cool remote control Spider-Man ™ monster truck.
The split-level-aluminum-siding-home-owning bastids!
Umm, hello I almost cried! Not only because the nephew adores anything Spider-Man ™, but the super-cool remote control Spider-Man ™ monster truck is like, the coolest of all things Spider-Man ™ so I was totally excited I was going to be the super-cool super-hero Aunt who bestows the coolest of the cool presents Christmas morn’.
Selfish? Hell yes! I adore that kid, he is almost five and give him a couple years and bribes are the only thing that’ll get him to talk to his Dorky Aunt. I need to score points no holds barred, here!
Secondly, and probably the most selfish of all – he was the one person for which I was already done shopping! I bought early for the nephew specifically because who wants to be in a crowded, sweltering toy store a week before Christmas?
So now, I have to haul my ass back to the toy store, stand in line to return, then maneuver my way safely around all of the baby strollers and children screaming “Barbie in Hot Pants! Mama I want Barbie in Hot Pants!” like some sort of whacked out Frogger game, just so I can purchase something else that won’t be as nearly cool.
Oy. I love that kid. This, is a true test of said love. Wish me The Luck.
If you do not see me in a few days, look to the sky for the flare I will inevitably have to rip out of the G.I. Joe Box and shoot to the sky in distress before I pass out in aisle 4 at Toy-R-Us. Okay?