Tag: food

SaturDATE

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Sometimes people ask me on dates.  They see me on the internet.  Maybe they think I’m the answer to their life problems, or loneliness.  Invariably I prove them wrong:

Me:  So cute!  Thanks for the drawing.

Him:  You’re welcome.

Me:  They look so happy.

Him: They are.

Me: Did you notice how you put color in everything, except the people?

Him:  Yes.

Me:  You did that intentionally?

Him: Yes.

Me: Why?

Him: Because people are all empty inside.  Is that your backyard down there?  Do you have access?

Me:  It’s the down-stairs neighbor’s  It’s their backyard.  Can we go back to the drawing?  People are all empty?

Him:  Yeah,  people are all empty.  Corrupted.  Void.  Nature is the only thing that is perfect and the people in the painting are empty.  They need to keep the yard better.  Don’t you think?

Me:  Don’t get me started.  If that was my back yard there’s be a sundeck and a garden, and then some.  Hey.  So..  the people have no color because they’re empty?

Him:  Yes.  They are void and imperfect and they are empty.  That’s how they are able to be so happy.

(long pause)

Me: Well, thanks for the drawing.

Him:  You’re welcome.

(long pause)

Me:  Maybe I’d put in a fish pond, too, if it was my backyard.

Surprise ending –  I walked him to the train instead of inviting him to stay over.  There’s a combination grave marker store/bakery (I shit you not) on my street.  He stopped to photograph it and muttered to himself what a great find it was.

Enjoy the SaturDATE, jerks.

I can EXPLAIN!!!

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Damn that Japanese Little Brother Kazu!

He comes over every so often and gets me into the trickiest situations!  I think he’s possessed by an Ancient Demon Apple Pie Monster.  He always smells fragrant, like apples and cinnamon.  Maybe it’s his lip balm.

I promised him baked goods, but all I had in the house was stale blueberry quick bread.

I had to think fast.

You don’t want the Ancient Demon of an Apple Pie Monster to get angry.

Oh.  Sidebar:

Look.  Usually i don’t wear underwear like this, okay?  I usually have something a little less ‘Grandpa-ish’ on when I’m entertaining house guests, especially if they’re young and gay and etc.

But hey.  It was laundry day and they were running a sale at one of those dollar stores in Greenpoint, which created a perfect storm for me wearing these horrible undies.

Bread pudding is pretty simple.  You just take any stale baked good (bread, muffins, cake, whatever) and you break it up into crumbs.  Then you add a certain amount of milk, brown sugar and eggs.

I’m not going to tell you the exact proportions.  It’s really simple – just search ‘bread pudding‘ online.   Did you click the link?  Aren’t I an asshole?

So I used the blueberry quick bread and some fresh blueberries I found at the market.  I also put some dark chocolate chips inside the bread.

I had to.  I was afraid of the Ancient Demon Apple Pie Monster.

And if I ever want to be Hokage I will have to learn how to keep the Apple Pie Monster from taking over when I’m fighting for Leaf Village.

Little Brother brings out the best in me.  Or the worst?

It’s really easy for him to get me to pose for ridiculous photos.

God.  I can’t get over how saggy these underwear are.

Lordy.

What was I thinking?

Jeez.

Look at the window behind me.  You can see a reflection of my butt.  Look at how the underwear sag like an old lady’s triceps.

Oh well.  I’ll have to live with it.  Laundry doesn’t come back until tomorrow.

The bread pudding was totally great.  I ate too much of it and now I have to start going back to the gym.  Spring is here, after all, and there’s nothing like being a full grown man obsessed with his body.

I think I banished the Ancient Demon Apple Pie Monster for the time being.

In other news:  I made a new video to ask President Barack Obama to come to my house for pie.  Please Watch it!

Enjoy the Little Brother, Jerks!

One Photo

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Sometimes people contact me online.  This guy Lex and I have been emailing back and forth.  He’s offered to draw me an action shot.  I’m excited.  This is the prototype.  Enjoy it, Jerks.

Emergency.

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

There was an emergency.  Blood was spilled and well…  mistakes were made.  I’m being dramatic, but still –

This is Enrico D. Wey.    He’s a friend of mine.  Stop looking at me like that.  I don’t beat him.

I DON’T!

I should, maybe.  But I don’t.  I couldn’t, really.  I’m not like that.

STOP.  Don’t look at me like that.  I DIDN’T DO THAT TO HIM.  I PLAYED NURSE AND THEN MADE HIM  DINNER.  I swear.

Oh jesus.  That’s not helping.  He’s looking at me like he’s totally suspicious of me. But you have to understand, that’s because he doesn’t quite like me .  Don’t get me wrong.  I think he thinks I’m cute and all, and maybe slightly amusing (MAYBE).  But I think he also finds me pretty annoying.

Or…  hm.  That’s too strong, maybe.

Let’s just say he doesn’t find me NEARLY as charming as I think I am.

And that DRIVES ME CRAZY.

Because he’s wrong.  I am charming.

What?

I didn’t rough him up, jerk.  Now you’re just saying it to annoy me.

Stop it.  Listen:

I asked him over when he mentioned  he was rehearsing in the neighborhood.  I was planning on cooking dinner anyhow.  I made a rather poor imitation of Korean food.  I had some kim chi lying around and I tried to make a Bi Bim Bop stone bowl affect with my cast iron skillet.  And then I roasted some sprouts, because it’s late February now, and they’ll be totally out of season soon.

Then I asked him if he’d make some blueberry quick bread.

He said okay.

That doesn’t mean he actually likes me as a person, I pointed out.  He was quick to agree.

I’m glad we settled that.

Enrico is an interesting case.  I’ve been following (online stalking) his career for a few  years now and I’m always impressed with the stuff I turn up about him.  Seems like every six months he succeeds in a different arena.  I’m not kidding.  He’s a technical director.  He also has a name for himself as a choreographer.  Sometimes I’ll ichat him and he’ll be in some far-off land, on an artist’s fellowship at some university or theater.

He’s modest, and he won’t tell you what a great career he’s having, but he’s having one.

Oh.  Yeah.  He’s also a puppeteer.

His most recent gig has been with this Broadway show at Lincoln Center – War Horse.

That’s right.  He’s doing puppetry and acting in a Broadway show.  Pretty cool, eh?

I think it’s pretty cool.  Yes.  You’re right – I buried the lead.

What?  Shut up.  I didn’t cause that scrape.

Anyway.  As I was saying.  I love to internet stalk this guy.  I’ve been at it off and on for a few years I guess?  I like to meet people online and chat with them for months or years before I actually meet them.  It weeds out the loonies and crystal meth addicts.

Isn’t he good looking?  So handsome, right?

This is the first time I’ve ever annoyed someone into hanging out with me.    I whined and whined until he finally consented.

Oh, is that surprising?  I should have mentioned before now that I have zero pride.

I have very little pride.  Also, I’m lying about having very little pride.  I’m way too proud.

Anyway.  He came over and I dressed his wound from rehearsal.  Then I made us dinner. He made some quick bread.  It had canned blueberry pie filling and dark chocolate chips.  He’s a nice guy, as it turns out.  He’s funny and sardonic, and he takes a while to warm up to you.

I think I may have won him over.  I may have moved myself, incrementally, in his head. from one category to another.  By the time he left he was treating me less like a “creepy weirdo” and more like a “benign weirdo.”  Score.

What can I say.  When you’re charming you’re charming.

Now I suppose it’s back to Googling him every so often and harassing him on ichat.

Enjoy the internet stalking, Jerks.


Cupid Arrives

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

What’s wrong with you?

Put your tongue back in your mouth.  That’s just Robbie Fowler.

Hm?  What?  He’s gorgeous?

I’ll let him know you said so.  Now focus:

So, first of all – congrats are in order.  Robbie’s boyfriend James proposed to him.   They’re getting married!

But, they’re getting married in New York, since that’s where they solidified their love.  Which means they’re waiting for it to be legal.  But they’re engaged!

They will be married, some day.  Soon as you kind straight folk start voting the right way.

Listen up:

Robbie is a popular New York actor.  He does theater and television.  Which is not to say you shouldn’t cast him in your movie.  You totally should.  He photographs well.

Robbie wanted to make a red berry pie, for Valentine’s day.  He brought over raspberries, strawberries and blackberries.   Good call, Fowler!  It made a kick ass pie.  We didn’t put very much sugar in it, because we wanted it to taste sharp and tart.  We spiked the crust with a little powdered ginger.

I sat down with Fowler to chat while the pie was baking:

PF: What do you do for a living?

RF:  I act…  swiffer my apartment…  take care of my puppy….

I’m an uncle…  for a living…

PF: How’s being engaged?

RF: We both have rings and we walk around a little taller, I guess? We would like to get married in our home state, so we’ll wait…  It affects me a lot.

PF:  How did you learn how to bake pie?

RF:  I learned from my grandmother.  Ernestine Nowlan.  My mother’s mother.  She was hilarious.  Taught me how to make a pie crust.  She was an actress when she was younger and she played Polly Darton in a Kansas musical review.  She was 75 or 76 when I was born.  They would take me to get haircuts – my grandparents.  And to theater camp.

PF:  Can you talk about the pie you selected?

RF:  Sweet, messy, juicy – just like Valentine’s Day.

PF:  Tell me an odd story about auditioning?

RF:  I went in for a show, right after moving here.  The audition was run by a reputable company – I sang my face off – belted those high B (flats).  The choreographer was yelling sass at us the whole time.  I went home, felt good about it, logged onto the Facebook, and I get a message from the director.

He found me, but my info is not at all on my resume.  He didn’t care to talk about my audition at all – he was just like ‘oh, what were those tattoos?’

Finally I had to ask – hey, did I make the cast of the show?

PF:  DID you?

RF: Oh.  Yeah, I did.  It was a lot of fun.

PF:  Do you have any advice for other young actors?

RF:  Take it as it comes.  If you need to take a break, do it.  Take care of yourself before you take care of your career.  You have to stay sane.  If you need to take a pottery class take a fucking pottery class.  Bake a pie.

I couldn’t have said it better myself.   Thanks, Fowler.

Guys, I hope you’re happy this Valentines day.  Whether you’re together or alone, I hope you’re having fun.

I love you.  Jerks.

Kazu’s Birthday

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

Kazu turned 25!

He blackmailed me on Facebook.  He shamed me into making a pie for him.  Plus, he re-posted my Barack Obama video a few times, so I kind of owe him.  Plus, he’s kind of like my adopted Japanese little brother.  I look out for him.

No I don’t.

But I would.  I feed him sometimes.  He likes my food.

We got a little playful this time around. Kazu has a delightfully free spirit, and it’s contagious. We got a little carried away.

I’ve never done a chocolate banana cream pie before.  That makes me a dummy,  because as you can imagine, it’s amazing.

Just trust me.  I know this picture looks like a dump you might take after a barbecue where you had too much Keystone, pulled pork, and Mexican corn on the cob.  But just trust me.  This pie is, well…  the shit.

I sliced the bananas really thin.  I wanted the layers of hand made chocolate custard and bananas to get sort of confused with each other.  Like the stagehands must feel – every night – at  Spider Man Turn Off the Dark. Don’t click that link.

I told you not to.  It’s a horrible website. 65.  Million.  Dollars.  Folks.

Uhhhh…

Well like I said, things got carried away.

Yes.  I know what this looks like:   An Easter chocolate version of Bunnicula bit me on the face.

Yes.  I know what it also looks like:  I was changing a particularly messy diaper and didn’t notice the shit on my face yet.

It was around this time of the evening I decided that this blog entry was going to be full of shit jokes.  What?  Oh, you’re sweet.  You’re welcome for all the shit jokes.  It’s no less than you deserve.

Sidebar: They’ve just gotten L.A.’D

L.A.’D.  L.A.’D…  L – A -I – D  They’ve just gotten laid!

AH – HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

HA….

HA.  Ah, heh…  ha.   ha.

Asshole.

Back to the pie!

I’m not going to tell you the recipe for this one.  I haven’t perfected it yet.  Plus, part of the fun of learning how to cook is doing your own research.

But here’s HOW I made it.

I baked the crust, duh.  then i let the crust cool.  Then i made some custard.  Just regular vanilla custard.  Except that, during the milk simmering phase of the custard I melted chocolate into the milk during the two minutes you’re supposed to simmer it.  Don’t ask me how much.  I don’t know.

For me, the crust is always very precisely measured, but the fillings I FREQUENTLY eyeball.  I’m a renegade like that.

At heart, I’m probably more of a cook than a baker.

Kazu and i  took some of our clothes off while we were baking and had fun with the camera. It was all very innocent.  Except when it wasn’t.

Yes.  Then we made out afterward.  Do i have to draw you a picture?

Enjoy the voyeurism, jerks.




Old Ladies on the Bus

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

BLIZZARD!!!

A blizzard can mean only one thing:  I’m not going to bake a damn pie because I can’t get to the store.

Also:  I’m going to take the bus to the bank tomorrow.  Those are the things a blizzard means.

This is not to say that I won’t bake SOMETHING, so stop hyperventilating, okay?

Seriously.

You need to get an inhaler or something.  That sounds like asthma, or a severe smokers cough.

Well, see a doctor, anyway?  Oh I DON’T? I sleep next to you!  I should know what a death rattle sounds like.

Okay, you know what?  I’m trying to blog right now.  I’m not going to ARGUE WITH YOU.  Because.  You’re IMAGINARY!!!

I’m sorry.  I know that’s not playing fair.  I’m sorry.  Yes.  I know it’s not fair to create you as a narrative device for my blog and then resent you.  Okay.  You’re right.  CAN WE MOVE ON?

Thank you.  Where was I?  Oh, yes.  Taking the bus.

Beware, intrepid New Yorkers.  Beware the bus.  It’s a great mode of transport and everything.  It works well, and it tends to run on schedule, as far as my experience has shown me.  But at least be aware.  You’re entering the territory of the Old Bus Lady. You might notice that I’m getting a confused look.  It not because I’m covertly photographing them.  Old Bus Ladies love to be photographed.  And anyway, they didn’t notice.  What they DID notice is that i sat in the first six seats.  They DID NOT like that.  There’s a sign!  It says, please give this seat up to Old Bus Ladies! Boy.  There was a big to-do about me sitting there. I should mention that we were the only people on the bus.  Old Bus Lady! You’re so silly!

But I respect your territory and pretend I’m Polish.

What’s creepier than Old Bus Ladies on a Wednesday afternoon?

Nothing.

But finding ripe, cheap blueberries that taste good in the dead of winter can run a close second.  It really creeps me out.  But what could i do?  It was more than a pint for less than 5 bucks.  Had to take the mutant hot-house blueberries.

I didn’t have the ingredients to make a pie, so I whipped up some blueberry quickbread for myself and a friend who came to visit.

 

 

 

This was after enduring the outrage and scorn of the ancient Italian Old Bus Ladies.  One of them made deep eye contact and whispered ‘Thinner!!!!”  Right as I left the bus.  Haven’t felt exactly myself since, but I’ve dropped 10 lbs in two days…

People are calling it the SNOWPOCALYPSE and SNOWMAGEDDON and SNOWLOCAUST.

People are being dramatic.  People LOVE to be dramatic.  Look at the media.  They can take a phrase like ‘health care reform’ and change it around to read ‘death squads.’   Ta da!

That’s called ‘pushing paper’ in the journalism biz.  You take the most dramatic, most terrifying angle on something and then act like your hare brained half-theory is FACT.

Watch – I’ll show you how it’s done:

Look at this!  Amid all the warnings about white flour and fat and an ever expanding, girthy America – SOMEONE is making duck fat  and heavy cream gravy to go atop buttermilk biscuits.

Why would he ever serve that to a guest?  No one can know for sure, but here’s a theory:  He wants to clog the arteries of his young guest because he’s jealous of him – his beauty, his youth, his energy and light-hearted verve.

What a bitter aging fairy – making a sludge filled breakfast of biscuits and gravy!

See.  I just sensationalized it!  That’s called ‘being a good journalist.’  But don’t blame the journalists.  They’re just putting food on the table.  Blame yourself.  You’re the one reading it.

Wow.  Tangent.

This is not on the floor.  It’s cooling on a metal stool.

It only looks like it’s on the floor.

So,The next morning I made these puppies.  Look at them.  They were quick and easy and full of butter and buttermilk.

I learned a lot on my trip to the bank and the fruit market.  I learned that Old Bus Ladies are not to be trifled with.  They’ve lived longer than you, they know more about the world.  Some of it good, some bad.  They can put a gypsy curse on you.

They’ve worked hard to raise their children and slowly poison their husbands with butter and sour cream and whole milk and flour and heavy cream and lard and duck fat and other mysterious poisons like anti-freeze.

And sometimes, fags – sometimes you gotta respect that.  Sometimes you have to move to the back of the bus, like Rosa wouldn’t, even if there’s nobody else on the bus.

At least, until you’re an Old Bus Lady yourself.

God willing.

Enjoy the Blueberry Quick Bread and Biscuits and Duckfat Buttermilk gravy, jerks!!

Stop being so NEGATIVE

by piefolk, posted in Uncategorized

AIDS.  There I said it.

AIDS.

Oh, wait.  Sorry.  I wasn’t making a cheap AIDS joke.

I was merely thinking aloud.  I have to get an AIDS test today.

My friend Kazuyoshi and I have been talking about going to get HIV tests together, mainly because we’re both single and both TERRIFIED to go alone.

Also, he’s been bugging me to make a pie for him.  He’s heard about the PIEMAN OF GRAHAM AVE (i just coined that phrase) and he wants in on the action.

Anyway.  Why not make a day of it, I said to myself?

This is a picture of a crystal skull vodka bottle that i filled with coffee.  It has nothing to do with this blog entry, but I felt it was manipulative and ominous.

FORESHADOWING!!!!!!

I’ve been blind baking pie shells lately.  A real NIGHTMARE.  It’s totally different than baking a double crust pie.  You use a blind shell  when you make pies that use a chilled or non cooked filling.  Like custard pies, silk pies, key lime…  That sort of stuff.  I SAID KEY LIME!!!  KEY.  LIME.   WHY DO YOU ASK A QUESTION AND THEN LEAVE THE ROOM????  DRIVES ME CRAZY!!!

So you roll out the crust, line it with tinfoil and then weight down the inside to keep the crust from rising, and making a dome shape instead of a pie crust shape.  Most bakers use ceramic weights that you can buy.  I use change from my dresser top.  Six of one, half-dollar of the other, I never say….

The free, anonymous clinic is on 28th and 9th.  The one I go to is at least.  I want the test to be anonymous, or semi anonymous, because I want to decide how public I want to be about it, if I ever do contract HIV.  I opted for semi-anonymous, which means you get written results, but they take your driver’s license number and probably hound you if you turn up positive.

Still.  It’s nice to have those papers, as ephemeral proof that you don’t have a hard-to-identify super virus attacking your immune system.

I get the idea the people in this poster are not ready to have children.  I hope they don’t have the baby, because they don’t look like they trust each other a lot right now.  Actually, it occured to me that the man feels like he was molested or raped.  He’s not AT ALL glad to have had sex last night.  He didn’t plan it.  Did she rape him????

WHAT HAPPENED?!!??!!??

NO.  NOT YOU.  NOT!!!!!  YOU!!!!!!  GO BACK INTO THE OTHER ROOM.  I’M BLOGGING.

This was a custard pie, which involves bringing milk and sugar to a simmering boil, then adding egg yolk and chocolate and vanilla. Essentially it’s making chocolate pudding, but much better pudding than that crap you can get in the grocery store.

I chilled the custard in the fridge.

On the way to the clinic I met up with a number of straight people I know.  It was one of those serendipitous days in New York City where you meet just about every goddamn person you ever did comedy with, went to college with, or used to work at a bar with.  They all asked ‘where are you headed.’ Now, mind you:

Most of the time that I’m on the way to the Aids clinic I don’t run into people – but IF I DO, and if they are straight, I usually don’t tell them where I’m going.  I don’t know why, exactly, but I’ve heard a lot of my gay friends say the same thing.  Maybe it’s some internalized shame over being gay, or maybe we’re just trying to spare the straights the quarterly horror of us having to face our own mortality – being in a ‘high risk’ group for AIDS.  I don’t know.  What I do know is ON THIS DAY, I told all the straights i saw where i was going.

This pie was a nightmare.  I had some extra crust leftover, but I didn’t have enough for a full pie.  I thought i would just roll the crust out thinner.  Mistake.  It shrank, and buckled and basically acted like an ASSHOLE.  Plus look at it.  It’s clumsy and hideous.  But it was tasty.

I was surprised at the reactions I got from straight people.  Most looked surprised.  Mostly this was my fault.  “Where are you off to?” they would inquire in a balmy tone of voice.  “Off to the AIDS clinic,” I chirped back, trying to mimic their tone of voice as if to say, oh, you know, bank, AIDS clinic, food shopping – ERRANDS!!!

P.S.  Sidebar – American Apparel is making a t.v. show?  I bet it’s not as good as the British version, which I’m still not totally sold on.

But yeah.  Straight people.  I guess on some level I want them to know and hear about my AIDS test.  I want them to know that I live in constant fear for my life, just for expressing love.  And I know EVERYONE can say that. And I know that EVERYONE should get tested every three months.  And I know that ONLY GAY AND BI PEOPLE ACTUALLY DO.  Because we (along with prostitutes and heroin/meth addicts) are the high risk group.

I whipped cream and then broke chocolate chips up into fragments for the topping.

I’m tired of feeling ashamed that I’m going to the clinic.  I’m tired of feeling like it’s gauche to bring it up to my straight friends.  I’m tired of them acting panicked when I DO bring it up.

I hope the gays reading this blog will be a little more visible/audible about practicing safe sex.  Straight people need to realize that going to get an AIDS test doesn’t make you slutty or depraved – it makes you responsible.  We need to shed our shame about it, straights and gays – so that we can acknowledge the fundamental fact that our lives are very different.  Being straight can be harder than being gay in ways that gays cannot fathom (childbirth, child rearing, sex with the opposite sex – ew).  But being gay ain’t no cakewalk.

Though.  Sometimes, there’s pie involved.

Kazu and I both came up negative.

The pie was hideous, but delicious.

Thanks for asking, jerks.


Subtext: If you get Syphilis, make sure it’s WORTH it.

BD 11

by piefolk, posted in Pie, Uncategorized

Don’t touch that.  Just don’t!  Because I said so.  Now you’re rubbing your eye.  Now you’re sneezing and crying.  BECAUSE, DUMMY.  It’s not cinnamon – it’s cayenne pepper.  I told you not to touch it.  It’s going into my next set of pies.  Specifically, I’m whisking it into the flour before I cut the fat into the crust.

You can’t see it but it’s in there.  There’s cayenne pepper and cinnamon.  It’s mostly invisible – like Mary Kate Olsen.  Or Ashley.  Whichever is the one who doesn’t ever eat.

OH?  Both of them?  Really?

Do you KNOW that, or are you just spreading rumors?

Then shut up, this is my blogging time.

I was asked to another fancy party, and I’m making a pie.  What’s going on with my calendar this holiday season?  Not that I’m complaining.  It beats ringing in the new year with the Sissor Sisters at Metropolitan Bar.  No, I’m totally excited to go to the home of a well connected Asian American Broadway Legend and TV star.  Look, I’m not going to spell it out for you, mostly because I forgot to ask permission to use his name on my website.  But, piece it together, dummy.

MMMMMMMMM!  BUTTERFLIES!!!

So it’s going to be a Mexican Silk pie.  I took the traditional French Silk recipe and made some minor changes. Along with the crust, laden with cinnamon and cayenne – I’m adding Smoked Hungarian Paprika to the chocolate filling.  I want it to be smoky, chocolaty, and spicy – like a Mexican Hot Chocolate.

Once I had a ‘Mexican Hot Chocolate’ during spring break at South of the Border.  You know what?  I’m not going to tell that story right now, because I realize that I’m using the phrase euphemistically to describe a sex act with a certain equine barnyard animal.  The point is, I’ll never take mushrooms again.

Also, if you see a half human, half donkey from Mexico looking for his father – you never met me.  Got it?

There were no mushrooms in this pie, just chocolate, eggs, butter, and sugar.  Lots and lots of sugar.  And that Hungarian Paprika.  I know, it sounds weird right?  It was actually really good.  Like, so so good.  And you have to realize – there were wealthy New Yorkers there!  You can’t serve them DINER FRENCH SILK PIE!!!  You have to serve them something crazy that sounds like garbage, but is really quite elegant.  There’s no cooking in NY anymore without being an insufferable foodie.  Insufferable,I said.  INSUFFERABLE!!!!!  WELL THEN COME OUT OF THE BATHROOM AND SHUT THE SINK OFF, DUMMY.

Sheesh…   Okay.   So.  This guy on the billboard?

This is Daniel K. Isaac.

He’s a nice guy.  He’s the one that invited me to the party.

What?  Yeah I GUESS he’s good looking, if you like tall dark and super cute.

I guess so?  I never thought about it.  Okay.  Yes.  He’s handsome.  Anyway…  YES.  HE’S VERY GOOD LOOKING.  CAN I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION BACK PLEASE???  Lordy.  You’re unfocused today.

Okay so I topped the pie with whipped cream, and white/dark chocolate fragments.  It was supposed to look like confetti, for New Years.  What?  Yes, I suppose it was a little ‘on the nose.’  Thanks for pointing that out.  Jerk.

On top of the confetti, I made pie crust ‘cookies.’  They’re covered with dark and white chocolate.

What?  It’s an 11. Stop gaslighting me.

Gaslighting is a form of psychological abuse in which false information is presented to the victim with the intent of making them doubt their own memory and perception.

Oh yeah, this is Jon Norman Schneider.  I know, super cute, right?  I have to mention that he was a huge help with the pie, and designed the typography for the 11 that you were just being so snide about.  What?  I guess so…  I never thought about it.  Yeah, I guess he IS a hottie.  Pay attention.  YES.  I AGREE.  HE’S VERY GOOD LOOKING!!!  CAN WE MOVE ON???

Sheesh…  Jon is a talented actor and has ruined many shows up and down the east coast and really, all over the country.  He continues to book film and tv work.  Look for him in the upcoming Bryan Greenberg movie The Normals.  He ruins it by playing a weirdo.  (He doesn’t ruin anything – he’s great.  AND hold on to your hats, ladies – he remains unmarried)

There were a lot of unmarried men at this party.  A LOT.  Do I have to draw you a picture?

Hm… Okay…  When two men love each other very much, and have been dating for a significant amount of… never mind.  Just leave it in the same head space as the Mexican Hot Chocolate comment.

I mean.  Some of the people in this photo HAVE to be women, right?

Somewhere in there?

Right?

Okay.  This blog entry is getting out of hand.  I’m going to have to lay down the LAW with you guys AND establish some ORDER.  What?  I said I’m going to have to…  just turn the sink off and come out of the bathroom, will you?  No?  Okay, then I’m not telling you whose party it was.    No.  I’m not.  I’m ending the blog entry. Yes.  I am.

Happy New Year, jerks!

TALK ABOUT HANDSOME!