So we all have someone in our life for whom e-mail is apparently still a novel phenomenon and from whom we can therefore expect no fewer than 18 pointless e-mail forwards a week, right? What's that? No? It's not 1998, and you have somehow managed to put an end to that nonsense? How, pray tell... HOW??
Actually, I suppose I don't have nearly the string of offenders for this that I used to, but I still find myself somewhat routinely visiting Snopes.com to dispel some myth or absurdity that my mother received and thereafter forwarded to everyone in her address book. Yes, that's right, I said my mother. And in case you are wondering, no, she does not read my blog. At least, not that I know of. Um, hi Mom?
I bring up my mother and her forwards not because I want to talk about the ridiculous message she forwarded implying that my choice for our next president attempted to assume the highest office in our land with only 143 days of experience under his belt, nor to ponder the egregious pandering to the right wing in the absurd "let's blame Obama for botched late-term abortions" YouTube video she sent recently. No, the e-mail I'm referring to was decidedly less controversial but no less questionable. It was a message titled "The most dangerous chocolate cake in the world," and it claimed that one could, in fact, bake a legitimately tasty single-serving cake in the microwave in three minutes flat from ingredients I might actually have in my kitchen right now.
People, I was skeptical. I thought this would be a fun experiment, my own Snopes.com-esque research task. I expected to report back on the disastrous results and confidently steer you away from absurd three-minute e-mail cake. But you know what? It was delicious. Granted, I have had three glasses of wine tonight, for no better reason than it sounded like a tasty accompaniment to my dinner salad, and perhaps my currently a wee bit tipsy state might make any chocolate cake taste divine, but I'm pretty sure that's not fully the case. One can make chocolate cake in three minutes by stirring up a few tablespoons of ingredients in a coffee cup. Who knew?
Speaking of food (nice segue, Stef), you know how some of us occasionally introduce some new link by saying, "A friend of mine just started a blog, and you should check it out"? Yeah, I haven't done a whole lot of that here, mainly because none of my real-life friends have blogs, and now that one of them does, I feel compelled to tell you about it, even though it is a blog with a decidedly specific niche, and it's a niche that I can only imagine isn't necessarily useful or compelling to those of you outside the greater Twin Cities metropolitan area. (By my unscientific calculation, I'd say that's, oh, roughly 95% of you. Oh well.) In any case, my friend Carrie (she of the highbrow guilty pleasures and my partner in crime for infiltrating the RNC) is exercising her writing muscles by reporting on her dining experiences around the city, and if that sounds interesting to you (and why wouldn't it?), you should check it out. (Um, hi, Carrie. Should I have waited until you had more than three posts up before I linked to you? Perhaps. I guess this just means you have to go out to dinner with me to gather up some more new material. Deal?)
Next? Let's see. What old business did I have to attend to? Well, there is the fact that I had dinner with -R- last night, and although I did not bring a camera to document it, I can confidently assure the Internet that our pal -R- is, in fact, pregnant, and not merely telling "pregnancy card" stories just for fun. Mind you, the pregnancy card is not necessary. -R- was just as cheery and delightful as usual (well, cheery and delightful with the twinge of deviance and subdued rage that I so appreciate in her), and she looked just as adorable as you'd expect an eight-months-pregnant -R- to be. (Again, I can provide no photographic evidence, but you'll just have to take my word on this.)
Oh. Also, I neglected to comment back to comments on that last post, so to sum up and fill you in, 1. No, I have not gone on my second date with the yet-to-be-Internet-aliased prospect yet, but I will keep you updated once I do; 2. Sauntering Soul, yes, your next house should have a garage, but you should make sure it has no-maintenance siding; and 3. the Little House musical was good but not phenomenal; had the series and books not held a fond place in my heart, I can't say Melissa Gilbert's performance would have moved me much nor that more than two of the songs in the score would be anything more than forgettable. As Little House does hold a fond place in my heart, however, I fully enjoyed the experience anyway. Do with that conflicting review what you will.
Hmm. I also had a Facebook story I was going to share with you, but first of all it is past my bed time yet again and secondly I fear mentioning Facebook in three out of five consecutive posts is overstating its importance in an unsettling way. So we'll table that one for later, shall we? I promise you, however, it is absurd, and it proves I am not the only one among my blood relatives for whom a sitcom titled [insert name here]'s awkward life could be in the works. Really.