<< prev = comments [26] = pings [0] = next >>


virtual pampering
07/09/2006 = 11:00 AM

New podcast is up:

9 mb, right click, save target as

My life is busy, but not interesting, and I am broke.

Hence all this advertising. I feel like la Dooce. Only I don't talk about poop. So I got that going for me.

My new Pampered Chef pizza stone has arrived. It's lovely, the perfect size, and feels durable enough even to withstand abuse at the hands of That Man Who Breaks Everything He Touches.

Last night, I gave the stone its baptism by fire. Bless the Mom for teaching me yeast dough techniques when I was a tiny kid. My shoulders are sore (arthritis + kneading + rolling; solve for X) but we got cinnamon rolls out of the deal.

Without raisins, mind you, 'cos That Man of Mine is an Idiot Who Doesn't Know What's Good, but they still rocked hardcore.

And yes; evenly browned and no imperfections. I didn't realize all the rolls I ever baked before on metal pans, even with parchment underneath, were so inconsistent till I baked a batch on a pizza stone. I'm never using a pan for cinnamon rolls again.

I only had one. You might think I have wonderful willpower, but you would be gravely mistaken.

I did, with all good intentions, walk away from the kitchen and say to myself, "I promise, if I wait one hour longer and still want another cinnamon roll, I will go have one," and made it all of twenty minutes.

I plead justifiable insanity. The whole house smelled like cinnamon rolls. You'd have done the same thing. Shut up.

However, by the time I sprinted back into the kitchen, the plate was already in the dishwasher and That Man was happily ensconced in front of the telly, a combination of bliss and crumbs on his face.

I said, "You just remember that, next time we're at dinner and you decide to stare at a skinnypretty. She probably doesn't know how to make scratch cinnamon rolls."

"Huh?" he replied.

Boys. You can't throw them out on the gutter, 'cos that'd be littering.

So when Amy dropped off the stone, she told me she liked her party so much she decided she wants to be a consultant, and my heart sank.

It isn't just that I know consultants love to try to talk you into throwing a party, and my house is in no shape for it unless someone suddenly makes it vogue to have Baseball Card parties.

By the way, if you need baseball cards, 'cos who doesn't need to spend good money on small bits of cardboard, click the links for That Man's eBay^® store and That Man's eBay^® listings and force him to part with the stacks that are cluttering my home.

Sorry.

But anyway, it's not just that, it's also, and more crucially, the fact that all our friends just went to Amy's party, and I therefore have no one to invite, even if I did have a nice neat home (which I don't because, as I mentioned, my living room resembles a clearinghouse at the moment. Really. I've got more pictures of Roger Freakin' Clemens than I do of my nieces and nephews) in which to throw a party.

So before Amy could say, "Let me show you all the free stuff you get when you throw a successful Pampered Chef party," I shot her down. I hated to do it, especially when she's only just getting started, but I really didn't want to be talked into a random fiesta for the sake of a few extremely wonderful kitcheny shiny gadgets and geegaws.

"You could have a catalog party!" she chirped.

You don't know Amy. She is the perkiest person in the known universe who doesn't also come across as annoying. I'm not sure how she manages it. Sometimes I hate myself for liking her so much, but I never hate her. That's how unannoyingly perky she is.

"I still have no one to invite," I reminded her, and she said, "Put a link on your page, silly."

Hrm.

So maybe I will hold a Virtual Pampered Chef party. But only if I thought you guys would be willing to attend. You'd all be invited.

It'd probably suck, in the sense that you wouldn't get to sit in my living room and have taco rolls (I'm sorry to tell you how good my taco rolls are, but I am Just That Non-Humble — they are the bombziggityshiznit, yo) and play trivia games for gadgets, but you also wouldn't have to drive here, or bring anything, or even comb your hair.

Furthermore, you wouldn't have to buy anything.

That's another reason I hate these parties — someone's always pressuring you to purchase. I refuse to be that kind of hostess. If I'm going to do this at all, you're going to have to feel comfortable enough to look at the whole catalog and say, "I'm not buying any of this shit," resting secure in the knowledge that there will be no repercussions for your decision.

Try that at a living room party.

Rsvp in the comments.

Tags: Pampered Chef, charity, golf, Hanahoe Children's Clinic

It's that time of year again ...

CLICK!

If you donate to That Man's Paypal, he'll know who you are and tell me to put you on this year's shirt, but if you donate directly to the United Way or mail your donation directly to the clinic, I have no way of knowing what a nice thing you did unless you tell me. So note me or comment me and I'll add your name to the Shirt of Much Tackiness.

Here are my latest heroes:

Art
Boxx (locked - but ask her for a password)
Bud Buckley
Bunny828
Cabin-Boy
captive firefly (locked - but it couldn't hurt to ask)
Cosmic
Creamsicle
D-Man
Dixie
fuzzy-grey
HEIDI!!
Jenn I Am
Thoroughly Modern Mel
Michael Manning
myspinonthings
sallydallydo
T Stough
trishtastic
warcrygirl

Click here to see the 2005 shirt

drinking: iced coffee
listening to: Rush, Distant Early Warning
further plans for pizza stone: same rolls, but savory, with pesto and sun-dried tomatoes